--- Takeshi's POV ---
I used to think being sharp was enough.
Sharp makes doors open. Sharp keeps choices small. Sharp feels like truth because it cuts first and cares later.
I wore that belief like armor. I measured my life by what died when my knife moved. I called that strength.
It wasn't. It was just a hollow space filled with fast victories.
The room around me is quiet now. Black walls, broken red lines, white mask fragments scattered like shattered snow.
I sit with my back against the wall and let my breath struggle. The plates in my arm loosen every second. Under my ribs, the wound burns, then cools, then burns again. Blood keeps slipping out, darker than it should be. Purple, almost.
I'm not surprised. I've watched lives end from the wrong side too many times to be surprised by my own.
Revenge is like a small animal. It eats you from the inside like the poison inside of me. Feed it long enough and it learns your anger better than you do. It keeps you walking when sleep is deserved. It wears whatever name it needs to be let in - duty, rebellion, debt…
I fed it anyway.
For a long time, I thought that made me honest. At least I didn't pretend I was a good person. At least I didn't dress hatred up in pretty words.
But you can be honest and still be wrong. You can be relentless and still be empty.
My vision blurs at the edges. The poison is spreading.
Faces come to me. Clear as if they were sitting across the room.
Raizen - a boy with a heart that refuses to trade kindness for power. He'll fail sometimes. He'll fail many times. But he'll fail so much that one day there won't be any room left for error.
Hikari - a girl who didn't ask to be forged, but learned to be careful anyway. I hope her silence hides mercy, not emptiness.
Louissa, who can seat chaos at a table and make it behave.
Obi, who turns scrap into miracles and pretends he doesn't care who's watching.
Kori. Old friend. One of the few who understands that strength isn't being dangerous. It's knowing when not to be.
I should've told them these things out loud.
But I'm a coward. So I wrote instead.
If there's such a thing as a perfect family, this is what mine became at the end.
My breathing gets shorter. The room stays the same. The broken masks don't look away.
I think of hope.
For me, hope was just a trick people used to fall asleep. A bedtime story for those too soft to face the dark.
Then I watched two kids walk into the worst of it and insist on being themselves.
Hope survived that.
So I'll say it simple.
Hope is a hand that finds yours in the dark and doesn't let go, even when it's tired.
The red glow in my arm is gone now. The metal hummed once, then agreed to rest. The poison keeps crawling. Warm inside. Cold at the edges.
I'm not afraid.
Not because I'm brave. Because I've mistaken silence for safety before, and I won't do it again. This isn't safety.
This is just the end of a life.
Throughout my life, people called me many things. Killer. The Legendary Assassin. Ghost. Strongest in the Underworks.
None of those names had room for being called "father".
My vision darkens patiently, certainly, as if it has always known it would win.
But somewhere behind my eyes, a lantern is waiting.
A warm light. A beautiful girl blaming the cat. A wife with tea-stained hands and a smile wide enough to warm the whole room. Three small bowls on a wooden floor.
And if the last thing I did was remove a hungry shadow from the world, then I'm satisfied.
Farewell.
✦ ✦ ✦
The room falls still.
And the man who tried to keep the world lit finally runs out of light.
Somewhere above this darkness, I can feel it - A new vow taking shape.
Protect her.
Protect them all.
Whatever it takes.
...That's what I told him.
And little does he know... That this vow would one day become the brightest spark this world has ever seen.