The night had grown quiet around Kagegiri Villa, the air humming softly through the bamboo leaves as the moon shimmered silver upon the lake.
General Hishori, loyal as ever, bowed low as Nozomi stepped down from the carriage.
"Welcome home, my lord," Hishori said, voice heavy with both respect and sorrow.
Nozomi smiled faintly, brushing the dust off his robe.
"Home… how strange that this word still fits a place built for exile."
That night, after all the formalities and reports, Nozomi slipped away quietly, still dressed in his soft night robes. He walked barefoot across the moonlit path toward the old garden pavilion, where moonlight poured like liquid silk over the wood. The world was silent except for the distant chirping of cicadas.
He sat, gazing upward — the same moon that once watched his birth under a cursed eclipse.
"It's been so long, hasn't it?" he murmured softly. "I finally met her…my Mother."
He laughed under his breath — the sound trembling. "She still remembered me… after all these years."
The night breeze brushed through his hair as if the moon itself was listening.
"I told her I don't blame anyone. But sometimes…" his voice faded, "…sometimes, I wish someone had just held me and said it wasn't my fault."
He looked down at his hand — the one that almost held the poisoned cup.
"And then, there was him," he whispered, remembering the stranger's voice — quiet, firm, warning him not to drink. "Why did I listen without question? Why did I trust someone I've never seen before?"
He rose to his feet, walking toward the pond where the moon's reflection wavered.
"Was there truly poison…? And if there was, who would wish me gone?"
The soft murmur of the wind carried no answer. Nozomi exhaled, tired, and turned back to his chambers. His shadow trailed long behind him, like a second, quieter self that would not let him rest.
Meanwhile, at Tsukiyomi Palace…
The first rays of dawn had barely touched the horizon, yet Prince Rikuya was wide awake. His jaw tightened as he stared at the half-empty goblet of wine on his table — a bitter reminder of his failed plan. He began pacing the length of his chamber, the fabric of his silk robe swishing like restrained fire.
"He didn't drink… did he?" he muttered, eyes narrowing. "How…?"
For a moment, fury flashed — but then his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk.
"So you've survived once, little eclipse. Let's see how long the light stays on your side."
He poured himself a drink, the wine catching the morning light as he raised it in mock toast.
> "You'll learn soon enough — every ray of moonlight is born to fade."
Moments later, he fixed his hair, donned his court robes, and left for the Emperor's chamber. His steps were calm — almost elegant — but each one echoed with hidden intent.
Inside the grand Golden Hall, Emperor Masanori sat reading reports when Rikuya entered, bowing gracefully.
"Father," he began with a practiced smile. "Last night's banquet was magnificent. The nobles couldn't stop singing praises of your reign."
Masanori gave a tired nod. "Flattery never ends, Rikuya. Get to your point."
"Of course," Rikuya replied smoothly, lowering his eyes just enough to seem obedient. "I came across an exceptional physician last night — one with a rare knowledge of healing… "
Masanori looked up. "Oh? And his name?"
Rikuya's smile deepened — too gentle, too sweet.
"His name is Takao, Father. I believe… he should serve as the royal doctor of the palace."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed, studying his future heir's expression. But before he could respond, Rikuya bowed again, hiding the wicked gleam in his eyes.
"Sometimes, to cure the body of a disease… one must bring the cure closer to the heart of the poison." He muttered which no one could hear except himself...