It was strange… how quiet the town felt without him.
Even though Zevion wasn't directly involved with our affairs most of the time, his presence always filled the room.
His reckless remarks, his unfiltered honesty, that infuriatingly warm confidence—somehow, all of it made the air feel more alive.
Now, with him gone to England, Kuoh seemed to breathe differently.
Quieter.
Colder.
Emptier.
But peace never lasts long in our world.
Yesterday, we set out to search for Kiba, who had suddenly vanished after learning about the stolen Excalibur fragments.
From the start, I had a bad feeling.
There was something in his eyes again… the same emptiness I saw the night he joined my peerage.
That boy never truly healed.
He just learned how to smile through the cracks of his pain.
We followed his traces near the old abandoned church—Akeno, Koneko, Sona's group, and me—when we sensed a faint burst of energy by the riverside.
But before we reached it, we froze.
Standing ahead were Xenovia and Irina, both looking weary and annoyed—and between them, limp in their arms, was an unconscious Kiba.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then, like a spark in dry grass, the tension ignited.
Akeno's wings flared out with a sharp rustle, sparks of lightning crawling across her fingertips.
Sona's magic pressure rippled like a storm barely contained.
Even Tsubaki's hand hovered near her mirror, ready to strike.
The two exorcists reacted instantly, drawing their blades, their holy energy slicing through the air like fire.
For a few heartbeats, I was sure we were going to clash.
And then Irina's voice cut through the silence—high, strained, a bit panicking.
"Stop! We're not your enemies!"
Her plea hung in the air, raw and trembling.
Xenovia stepped forward, lowering Kiba carefully to the ground.
"He fought us," she said, tone flat but heavy.
"He came to us on his own—alone—and challenged us."
My brows furrowed.
"Challenged you? For what reason—"
"To destroy our Excalibur fragments," she interrupted firmly, blue eyes unwavering.
"He said it wasn't something Rias Gremory's peerage should get involved in. That it was his sin to bear."
The words struck deeper than I expected.
Irina knelt beside Kiba, brushing some dirt from his cheek.
Her voice softened.
"He fought until he collapsed. Even when he lost, he tried to stand again. We couldn't just leave him there… so we brought him here."
No one said a word.
The wind rolled gently over the river, whispering between us.
We had come ready to fight—to defend, to accuse—and yet the truth stood right in front of us.
They weren't here to provoke or harm.
They'd stopped Kiba from destroying himself.
Holy swords — Excalibur, at that, were poison to devils; even being near them for long could eat away at one's life force.
If they had wanted to kill him, they could have done so easily.
But they didn't.
And in that silence, shame bled into me—slow, suffocating.
I looked at Irina, Zevion's childhood friend, still managing a tired but genuine smile even after all this.
Then at Xenovia—cold, disciplined, but not cruel.
Two humans showing more restraint than the devils who prided themselves on intellect and civility.
Sona let out a quiet breath beside me, eyes lowering.
"…We misjudged them."
"Yes," I whispered.
"We did."
How ironic.
We mocked the Church for being narrow-minded, for labeling everything different as evil… and here we were, mirroring the same sin.
When Zevion once scolded Irina for us, I had brushed it off as his usual interference.
Now, it felt like he should have scolded us instead...
Xenovia rose to her feet, brushing off her cloak.
"No need to apologize. After all, Zevion told us to get along. Just make sure he recovers. He's reckless, but his conviction isn't wrong."
Irina smiled faintly.
"Tell Zevion we're doing our best. He'd probably yell at us for overworking, but… We'll manage."
"Wait—"
I stepped forward, reaching out.
"At least let us help. You don't have to do this alone."
Xenovia shook her head, eyes firm.
"We're not doing it alone. We just don't want anyone else getting hurt."
And just like that, they turned and walked away, their figures swallowed by the fading light.
That night, we carried Kiba back to Zevion's house—the place that had quietly become our second home.
The faint scent of him lingered there: warm tea, old paper, and the faint metallic tang of tools and oil from his endless tinkering.
Koneko tended to Kiba's wounds with surprising gentleness while Asia worked her healing magic.
Akeno brewed tea, her usual teasing smile replaced by quiet focus.
The steam rose silently between us, carrying an unspoken heaviness.
Watching Kiba's unconscious form, I couldn't help the memories that clawed their way up.
The night I found him—broken, furious, and alive only out of spite.
The survivor of a nightmare that called itself the Holy Sword Project.
He had sworn to destroy every Excalibur fragment, no matter the cost.
Even if it meant defying me.
Even if it meant dying.
Morning came quietly, sunlight creeping through the curtains.
I gathered everyone in the living room.
They deserved to know why Kiba was the way he was—to understand the pain behind his smile.
As I told the story—the experiments, the betrayal, the discarded children—my voice wavered more than I'd like to admit.
Koneko's fists tightened on her knees, Akeno's eyes darkened with fury, Sona's calm cracked at the edges, and Asia lowered her head in silent prayer.
When I finished, no one spoke.
Only silence… and guilt.
Later, we went upstairs to check on him.
The bed was empty.
The window stood open, curtains swaying in the cold wind.
A faint mana trail shimmered in the morning air.
"He's gone…"
Akeno whispered, voice barely audible.
Koneko's lips trembled.
"He went after the Excalibur fragments again…"
Frustration burned in my chest—sharp and bitter.
Not at him, but at myself.
I wanted to protect him.
To be his support, his anchor.
But all I'd done was stand by, watching him drown in silence.
As I looked out the window, the wind brushing against my face, a realization settled in.
Maybe this was how Zevion felt when he learned of my engagement.
That silent, suffocating helplessness of watching someone walk straight into pain—knowing you can't stop them, only wait to catch them when they fall.
And yet, Zevion had faced the entire devil faction for me.
He had let himself become a monster in their eyes, just to protect my choice.
My hands clenched at the thought.
This time, I won't stand by.
This time, I'll be the one to bring Kiba back.
No matter how far he runs.
No matter who stands in my way.
This time… I refuse to be a spectator.
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