Umma cut through the capital like a dark arrow of feathers and frost, her massive wings stirring the cold morning air. The streets parted as she descended, talons clicking against the cobblestones of the palace courtyard. Toki slid down her side with practiced ease, helping Ozvold follow a heartbeat later.
Inside the courtyard, his men were already gathered. Wrapped in thick winter coats, scarves pulled to their noses, each of them clutched a shovel . Their breath rose in white plumes, mixing with the early sunlight that glimmered off the thin coat of ice covering the ground.
"Commander!"Lethan lifted a hand in greeting, snowflakes gathering on his eyebrows. "We've prepared the equipment exactly as you requested."
Before Toki could answer, the courtyard gates opened again. Mr. Smith strode in, his coat buttoned all the way to his chin, a thin layer of frost clinging to his monocle. Behind him, a carriage rattled up, stacked high with burlap sacks filled to bursting.
"Just in time," Smith called, adjusting his gloves. "The sand-and-salt mixture is ready. Every sack has been weighted properly, just as you asked."
He stepped closer, scanning Toki from head to toe with a mixture of curiosity and mild disapproval.
"But tell me, " Smith continued, lowering his voice, "is it truly your business to clear the capital's roads? Wouldn't it be wiser to remain indoors rather than marching through the cold like a laborer?"
Toki didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned toward Umma and placed a hand on her beak, guiding her closer to the carriage. With a single sharp whistle, the enormous bird leaned down, allowing the reins to be secured around the carriage's front frame.
Only then did he look back at Smith.
"No one asked me to do this," Toki said simply. "But it matters. If the roads freeze, people won't reach their homes, merchants won't deliver food, and doctors won't reach those who need them. Knights exist to serve the citizens—not the other way around."
Smith blinked behind his spectacles. "A noble sentiment, but—"
"And besides," Toki added with a faint smile, tightening the last knot on the reins, "Umma is sick of staying in the paddock. She deserves a walk today."
Umma puffed her feathers proudly, as if agreeing.
Smith sighed. "Should I call reinforcements? Perhaps men from the other divisions—"
"No need," Toki replied. "My division is enough."
Ozvold leaned out from inside the newly attached carriage. His eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Commander, the sacks are heavier than they look. Don't tell me you plan to do the whole main road in one go."
"We'll see," Toki said, climbing inside beside him. "A little effort never hurt anyone."
With a whistle from Toki, the men spread out, forming neat lines behind Umma. The giant bird stretched her wings once more, then pulled forward. The carriage lurched into motion, rolling through the palace gates and out into the capital.
The snow lay thick over the main streets, swallowing sound and muting colors. But as they advanced, Toki and Ozvold began slicing open sacks, hurling sand-salt mixture onto the frozen cobblestones.
"There! Hit that corner—" Ozvold pointed to a shaded bend. "If we don't salt it properly, someone's going to break a leg."
Toki threw another handful over the side. "I know. Already on it."
Behind them, the rest of the division shoveled tirelessly. Ozvold shouted instructions, Lethan broke ice sheets with rhythmic strikes, and two apprentices cleared pathways toward individual houses.
The city reacted in its own ways.
In the Noble District, curtains twitched but windows stayed closed. A few aristocrats passed by in private sleighs without sparing them a single glance. Ozvold chuckled under his breath.
"You see that? Not even a nod. They act like winter is beneath them."
Toki shrugged. "Everyone shows gratitude differently. Or not at all."
He didn't slow down.
The Merchant Quarter was warmer in spirit. Though the traders did not speak—they were busy keeping their shops open, their breaths fogging in the icy air—their eyes followed the knights with quiet appreciation. A baker lifted two fingers to his forehead in a subtle salute.
Toki nodded but kept working.
But the Peripheries… there, warmth exploded.
Children darted out of narrow alleys, chasing the carriage wheels, laughing and slipping in the freshly cleared tracks.
"It's Toki! Commander Toki is here!"
"Look! The giant bird!"
"Throw more sand over here!"
Adults waved from doorways, bundled in patchwork coats. An old woman bowed deeply as Toki passed, her hands trembling around a steaming pot she carried.
"You keep us safe everyone this winter," she called. "Bless your division, young knight!"
Toki leaned out of the carriage, his breath forming a white halo. "Stay warm, grandmother. The roads will be safe by tonight."
Umma croaked proudly, shaking snow from her feathers.
Ozvold chuckled. "You do realize they love you, right? Maybe too much?"
Toki cleared another section of ice. "They love the idea that someone cares. That's enough."
Hours passed in this rhythm—salt, sand, scrape, clear. Umma never slowed. Toki almost forgot the cold biting through his gloves.
When the last street was finished, Ozvold raised his hand high. "All roads clear! That's the entire capital!"
Cheering echoed through the peripheries, rolling like a warm wave through the frozen air.
Toki stood in the carriage and faced his men. "Good work, everyone. You did more than your duty today—you made the city breathe again."
They smiled, exhausted but proud.
"Go home," Toki continued. "Warm your hands, eat something hot, and spend the evening with your families."
Lethan frowned. "But the patrol—"
"I'll patrol tonight," Toki said firmly. "All of you rest. That's an order."
Lethan grinned. "If you say so, commander."
Ozvold raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to do it alone?"
"Umma and I will manage." Toki patted the bird's neck. "Besides… she still wants to wander."
Umma croaked again, almost playfully.
Snowflakes began falling once more, slow and gentle.
The road back to the palace was quiet at first, unnaturally quiet.
Snow whispered beneath the wheels of the borrowed carriage as Umma trotted ahead, her massive paws sinking into the powder with soft, rhythmic thuds.
Toki lay draped across her back like a tired child placed atop a gentle giant.
His fingers curled weakly into her feathers, the warmth of her body the only thing stopping him from slipping into unconsciousness.
Beside them, Ozvold lay sprawled on his back inside the carriage, boots hanging over one edge, arms thrown lazily to the sides.
"Hey," he groaned, rubbing his face, "remind me again why I'm the one lying around like a corpse while you get carried like royalty?"
Toki didn't lift his head. His voice was thick with exhaustion.
"Because Umma loves me more."
Umma gave a small grunt, as if to confirm it.
Ozvold rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Traitorous beast…"
Despite their fatigue, there was a strange peace to the moment. The cold air felt clean, fresh—almost innocent.
The lamps along the palace road glowed weakly, their dim halos trembling in the evening mist.
But then—
A scream tore through the silence.
Not a simple cry.
Not a startled squeal.
A sound ripped straight out of a throat convulsing in terror—
Toki's entire body jerked.
And before Ozvold could even sit up—
Toki threw himself off Umma's back and hit the ground rolling.
"Toki—?!" Ozvold froze, staring.
But Toki wasn't even aware of him.
His pupils blew wide open.
The world around him trembled.
"My… spiritual vision…" he gasped, clutching his temples. "It just activated on its own—it's at maximum—!"
And then he sprinted.
Full speed.
Straight down the alleyway where the scream had come from.
Ozvold cursed loudly and leapt from the carriage.
"HEY—! TOKI—! WAIT, YOU IDIOT—!"
But Toki was already gone.
Cold swallowed him first.
Then the stench hit—sweet, metallic, rotten, suffocating.
His vision shimmered.
Threads of spiritual light flickered across the snow like cracks in glass—guiding him forward, pulling him deeper.
And then he saw them.
A man.
A woman.
A child.
Thrown across the snow like discarded dolls.
Or what was left of them.
Their bodies weren't simply torn—
They were bitten.
Chunks of flesh missing, bones exposed and polished by teeth, organs ripped open like wet paper.
White snow had turned red and brown and purple.
And moving through what spilled from them—
little pale worms twisted lazily, burrowing into cooling flesh.
Ozvold slid to a stop behind Toki the moment he saw the scene.
And he nearly vomited on impact.
"Oh—oh gods—" he staggered away from the nearest corpse, gagging and covering his mouth. "What—WHAT did this—?"
Toki didn't answer.
He stepped forward slowly, eyes narrowing, breath trembling.
On the neck of each corpse, just above the collarbone—
A faint, red lotus mark.
Branded directly into their skin.
"No…" Toki whispered. His voice cracked. "No, no, no… this—this can't—"
Ozvold wiped his mouth, still shaking.
"Toki… Toki, what is that? What does it mean? Talk to me!"
Toki swallowed hard.
"Red Lotus," he muttered. "The cult's mark… ."
Ozvold grabbed Toki sharply by the shoulders.
"But we killed the Puppeteer! You killed him! Doesn't that mean—"
"It SHOULD have!" Toki snapped. "He should've been their leader. Killing him should've made them scatter—!"
"So why the HELL," Ozvold pressed, voice rising with panic, "are people still dying?!"
Toki didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because the truth was pounding against his skull like a drum:
Something was wrong.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a pale crystal with trembling fingers.
"Smith," he said harshly, speaking directly into it, "prepare the autopsy chamber. Immediately. The cultists… have attacked again."
The crystal burst into dust—message delivered.
They grabbed the bodies, loaded them into the carriage, and rushed toward the palace as fast as Umma could sprint.
The Autopsy Wing was cold.
Always cold.
Not from lack of heat, but because the dead made their own weather.
The moment Toki and Ozvold barged in, the metallic smell of blood and disinfectant filled their lungs.
Lorelay stood at a stone table, elbows deep in the chest cavity of a corpse.
Her gloves were painted red.
Her scalpel moved with the precision of a surgeon and the detachment of a butcher.
She didn't look up when they entered.
"Another one," she said flatly. "Put it on table six."
Toki froze.
"Another one?" he repeated. "Lorelay, we—this is—"
"This is the thirty-seventh case today."
Ozvold's throat dried instantly.
"T-Thirty—? That many?!"
Lorelay nodded without emotion, pulling another organ free with a wet sound.
"All marked with the red lotus. All torn apart. All likely eaten while still alive."
Bernard and Smith stood near the back of the room.
But Bernard's face was pale.Hard.
A storm without lightning.
Smith simply tapped his cane against the floor, brow furrowed deeply.
Toki exhaled shakily.
"But I killed the Puppeteer," he said again, quieter, pleading almost. "I killed him. Doesn't that mean—"
Bernard's voice cut through the room like a blade.
"No."
Toki's head snapped toward him.
Bernard stepped forward, each footstep heavy, cracking through the silence.
"Killing him only stopped one thread," he said. "Not the whole web."
Smith added, "The Puppeteer was a Collector, yes—but not the only one. Not even close."
Behind them, Ozvold spoke softly, expression dark.
"He was just a pawn, Toki."
Toki's breath caught.
"A… a pawn?"
Smith nodded grimly.
"There may be multiple Star Collectors directing their own branches of the cult… each with hundreds of followers."
Toki clenched his jaw.
"That's impossible. That would mean—"
"It would mean the Sect is far more organized than we believed," Bernard finished.
The weight of those words pressed down on the room like a falling mountain.
Toki slammed his fist on the stone table.
"We can't just sit here! People are being butchered—!"
Bernard held up a hand.
"And rushing blindly will get more killed—including us."
His voice was steady, but grief sat curled behind each syllable.
"We don't know their motive. We don't know their leader. We don't even know their numbers."
Ozvold shook his head.
"I'm going home," he said abruptly. "The Maho estate needs to be warned. They need to know the streets aren't safe."
Toki immediately turned.
"I'll come with—"
"No," Lorelay interrupted sharply, stepping in front of him.
"Toki. You need to examine the bodies first. With your spiritual vision. We need any information we can get."
Toki opened his mouth to argue—but Ozvold was already walking out the door.
Toki watched him leave.
A strange weight pulled at his chest.
A warning he couldn't explain.
"…fine," Toki whispered.
He approached the corpse.
Placed his hands upon the cold, torn flesh.
Closed his eyes.
And let the visions take him.
At first there was only darkness.
Thick, viscous darkness—like tar filling his lungs.
Then—
Screams.
Not one.
Not three.
Hundreds.
A wall of agony crashing into him all at once.
Snapping bones.
Wet tearing.
Breathless gurgles.
A child pleading.
A mother choking.
A man begging for a death that didn't come fast enough.
Toki's heart slammed against his ribs.
"No… no—STOP—STOP—"
Images burst and flickered in frantic flashes.
Teeth.
Claws.
Red eyes.
A shadow moving faster than sight.
A scent like rot and burning copper.
A whisper of laughter—inhuman, distorted.
Toki gasped and pulled away, nearly collapsing.
Smith caught him by the arm.
"What did you see?"
Toki's voice trembled.
"I… I can't see the killer. It's like someone is covering its presence. I can only see the victims. Only the pain."
Lorelay's eyes narrowed.
"So even your spiritual sight can't detect them."
Toki swallowed, shaking.
"It's like the killer is invisible."
Silence fell.
A horrible, heavy silence.
Then Toki stood abruptly.
"No. I can't stay here. I need—I need to go home."
"Toki—!" Bernard called, but Toki was already running.
Night had fully consumed the city by the time Toki stumbled out of the palace.
Street lamps flickered.
Shadows stretched unnaturally long.
A cold wind howled between the buildings like a mourning beast.
He ran.
Past empty homes.
Past snow-covered carts.
Past alleys that felt like mouths waiting to swallow him whole.
His breath steamed in front of him.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
"Ozvold… Ozvold, please be safe…"
He rounded a corner—
And froze.
Something huge was lying in the middle of the road.
Toki's breath stopped.
"U… Umma…?"
He walked forward slowly.
Too slowly.
Because as he drew closer—
his stomach twisted.
Umma wasn't resting.
She wasn't breathing.
Her body was torn apart—
ribs cracked open, flesh shredded, feathers soaked in frozen blood.
Her insides spilled across the snow like a map of death.
Toki staggered.
"No… no, no, no—"
He dropped to his knees, hands trembling over her feathers.
"Ozvold… Ozvold left with you… then where—?"
A smell hit him suddenly.
Rot.
Copper.
Decay.
Fresh.
Too fresh.
Toki rose shakily.
He followed the scent into a narrow gap between two houses.
And his world shattered.
"Ozvold…?"
Toki whispered it at first.
Then louder.
"Ozvold—? Ozv—"
He saw the head first.
Sitting upright in the snow.
Eyes missing.
Sockets hollow.
Mouth open, frozen mid-breath—
as if the last thought before death had been disbelief.
Steam still drifted from the severed neck.
Toki's legs nearly gave out.
"No no no no no—"
He stumbled forward.
"Ozvold! OZVOLD!"
But the moment he reached the body's side—
He saw the rest of him.
Or what remained.
His torso had been sliced clean through the middle.
His lower half lay several feet away.
Intestines spilled onto the snow in coils of steaming red.
His ribs had been cracked apart like they were made of chalk.
Toki covered his mouth, falling backward.
"No… NO—"
He pressed his hands to the sides of his head, shaking violently.
"This isn't real—this isn't real—this CAN'T be real—!"
But then—
He looked down.
And saw himself.
His own body lying in the street.
Covered in bite marks.
Neck torn open.
Blood soaking the snow.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"W… why… why can I see my body…?"
"I didn't expect to find another Star Collector in this pathetic town."
A monstrous foot came down.
Right on his head.
Everything shattered.
Toki gasped violently.
He was no longer in the alley.
He was lying on the autopsy floor—
cold tiles against his back—
sweat soaking his clothes.
Ozvold was kneeling beside him, shaking his shoulders gently.
"Toki—hey—HEY—wake up! You were screaming—what happened? What did you see?!"
Lorelay's eyes were sharp.
Bernard's face was pale.
Smith stood frozen, cane in hand.
Toki stared at Ozvold's face.
Alive.
Whole.
Breathing.
He grabbed him suddenly, pulling him into a shaking embrace.
"Ozvold… Ozvold… I thought—I saw—"
Ozvold stiffened.
"Woah—hey—calm down—Toki, what did you SEE?"
Toki trembled harder.
"I… I don't know.