Twilight had vanished completely.
The rain poured harder, drowning the city beneath a gray curtain of water.
In an empty open field, Yuuto stood alone.
His wet blond hair peeked out from under his hoodie—but only for a moment.
He closed his eyes.
"Let's begin."
Click.
The snap of his fingers echoed lightly, yet its effect spread far wider than its sound.
The air around him shifted.
The falling rain suddenly parted, as if something surrounding Yuuto was measuring, reading, and determining every path.
"Path confirmed."
Click.
The second snap.
Space around Yuuto rippled faintly.
His shadow distorted.
An illusion started weaving itself—subtle, thin, yet effective—aligning him with the narrow cracks of human perception.
"The illusion works well," he murmured softly.
Click.
The third snap.
The wind responded.
His Sky-Affinity danced, wrapping around his legs like invisible ribbons.
Layers of air spun, forming a thin barrier that blocked every raindrop.
His jacket fluttered under the pressure of the wind he created.
Not a single drop of rain touched him anymore.
Yuuto lowered his body, preparing his stance.
And—
BOOM.
His body vanished from sight.
Not disappeared… but moved so fast that the rain falling above him splashed outward in every direction.
Yuuto shot across the empty road.
His wind speed split the rain, carving a tunnel of air wherever his feet touched the ground.
But they rarely touched—he hovered just above the surface.
The wind screamed behind him.
Wet leaves lifted from the ground, swept by the miniature storm he created as he leapt onto a rooftop.
And beneath the heavy night rain—
Yuuto laughed.
"Hahaha… this… is way faster than yesterday."
His voice was swallowed by the small storm following his every movement.
He kept running, breaking through the rain, leaving swirling currents of wind behind him.
The faster he moved—
the stronger the storm formed around him.
---
Yuuto slowed down just before reaching his apartment door.
His feet touched the ground lightly—so soft that not even a ripple formed on the thin puddles along the corridor floor.
He landed cleanly, posture steady, breathing calm.
"Phew… that was really fun."
He took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline tingling beneath his skin.
The rain outside had begun to ease; only soft drizzling tapped against the metal railing.
Yuuto brushed the remaining droplets off his hoodie and grabbed the door handle.
Click.
The door opened.
"I'm home," he said casually as he stepped inside.
And as always—
a soft, emotionless voice greeted him.
"Welcome back, Master."
The doll stood a few steps from the door, looking exactly like the old Yuuto—short black hair, slender body, expression blank and obedient.
Yuuto glanced around.
"…Oh? You've already finished cleaning."
The apartment, previously somewhat messy, was now perfectly tidy.
Clean table, no trash, folded clothes.
Even the floor looked shinier than it did that morning.
"Yes, Master. As instructed, I cleaned the apartment after returning from school."
Yuuto nodded lightly.
"Thanks. Alright, take a rest for now. I'll check your memory with magic later."
The doll bowed politely.
"Understood, Master."
It walked to the corner of the room, sat against the wall just like last night, and slowly closed its eyes—entering a silent standby mode.
Yuuto let out a relaxed sigh as he removed his hoodie.
"I need some rest too… I had too much fun using wind magic and lost track of time."
He dropped himself onto the sofa, his body sinking into the cushions.
An arm covered his eyes.
"I… still can't believe it…" he whispered, almost as if speaking to the ceiling.
"I circled Tokyo using magic… multiple times."
Silence followed.
Only the soft rain outside and the low hum of the AC filled the room.
"…Just how strong were you, Arthur?" he whispered, caught between awe and unease.
Silence wrapped the room.
Slowly—
Yuuto closed his eyes.
Sleep washed over him quickly, his body exhausted.
---
Darkness.
Yuuto blinked—and when his eyes opened, the world around him had changed completely.
"…Where am I…?" he whispered.
He stood in a room whose walls reflected dim light—like leftover sunlight trapped inside.
But not warm… more like the cold trace of memories.
Suddenly—
"A king… does not understand the hearts of men."
The voice echoed sharply, filled with buried anger.
Yuuto stiffened. "Who's there?" he shouted, searching for the source.
But before he could move, the world cracked like shattered glass.
CRACK—
Then burst apart.
---
He now stood in a great hall.
Cold. Silent.
Before him stood twelve silhouettes—shining like the shadows of noble knights.
Their faces were unseen, yet the weight of their collective gaze stabbed into Yuuto's bones.
"What is this…?" he breathed.
No answer came.
And once again—
the world fractured.
---
Yuuto found himself behind a massive stone wall, as if witnessing something he was not allowed to see.
From a narrow gap, he heard the voice of a man—heavy, conflicted.
"Will you… leave His Majesty?"
Another voice replied—soft, sorrowful.
"Forgive me.
But believe me…
If Camelot ever needs my help,
I will return."
Footsteps walked away.
A departure that felt final.
A betrayal born not of hatred… but despair.
Yuuto tried to step forward—but the ground cracked and swallowed him.
---
Darkness.
Then blinding golden light.
Yuuto now stood upon a vast field, the dusk sky burning like an unhealed wound.
In the distance—
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Heavy steps, dripping with rage, approached.
A figure emerged from the blazing sun.
His face—
eyes wide—
teeth clenched in fury—
tears faintly gathering at the edges—
"ARTHURRRR!!"
It wasn't the call of a knight toward his king.
It was the scream of someone who felt betrayed, abandoned, discarded.
Yuuto held his breath.
That face… that voice… that hatred…
It was—
Before he could reach the figure—
—
—
Yuuto woke up.
With a choked gasp, he shot upright in his bed.
His breathing ragged, his body drenched in cold sweat as if he had actually run through that dream.
His hand clutched his chest, steadying his racing heart.
"Haah… haah…"
Seconds passed before he could whisper:
"…Were those… Arthur's memories?"
He stared at his trembling hands.
"This time… it wasn't about his life, but the people around him…"
The Knights of the Round Table… and… Mordred.
These—
were the memories of a wounded king.
Memories of someone who lost his kingdom, his knights… and his own child.