A week passed.
The dreams about Riser continued - each night, his death replayed from his perspective - but they'd become more... manageable.
Less a screaming terror and more a familiar ache.
The guilt was still there, heavy and permanent, but I'd stopped fighting it.
Processing, Rias had called it. She was right.
The awkwardness between us hadn't vanished, but it had shifted into something else.
Friendship without pretense.
Trust without the confusion of almost-kisses and deferred promises.
We trained together, ate together, existed in the same space without the weight of expectation crushing us.
We just didn't touch. Not yet.
The peerage had noticed. Of course they had.
Kiba was the first to test the new me.
We met at the training grounds on a gray morning, mist clinging to the barrier walls. He held two wooden practice swords, tossing one my way without a word.
I caught it. The weight felt familiar - Kiba's room in my mind humming with recognition.
"You have been avoiding solo training," he observed. His stance was perfect, as always. Formal posture, feet positioned for maximum efficiency. "Why?"
"Processing."
"And that requires solitude?"
"It required time." I mirrored his stance. The movement came naturally now - not borrowed, but integrated. "But you're right. Time's up."
We circled each other. The mist swirled around our ankles.
"I noticed you with Buchou," Kiba said. "The distance."
"Yeah."
"It is not my place to ask."
"But you're asking anyway."
His lips twitched. Almost a smile. "I am merely observing."
I lunged first.
The spar lasted fifteen minutes.
Kiba pushed hard - testing my limits, probing for weaknesses.
I responded with fluid integration, shifting between his sword-sense and Koneko's density and Dohnaseek's precision as needed.
No headache this time. I'd learned to pace myself.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Kiba studied me with something new in his eyes.
"You are different," he said. "Whole."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It is an observation." He lowered his sword. "Before, you fought with borrowed pieces. Now... now you fight like someone who has found all of themselves."
The words landed heavier than he intended.
"I'm working on it."
Kiba nodded once. "That is enough."
Koneko found me at lunch.
I'd claimed a bench near the training grounds, a bento box open on my lap.
The food was simple - rice, vegetables, some kind of grilled fish - but I was eating mechanically, mind elsewhere.
She appeared beside me without a sound. One moment the bench was empty, the next she was there, golden eyes fixed on my food.
"...hungry."
Not a question. I handed over half the bento.
She ate in silence for a moment. Then:
"...you feel better."
I glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
"Before." She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "You felt... scattered. Pieces not fitting." Her eyes met mine briefly. "Now the pieces fit."
"The Integration helped."
"...mmm." She went back to eating.
We sat in comfortable silence.
Koneko wasn't much for conversation - her presence said more than words ever could.
The fact that she'd chosen to share my bench, to sit close enough that our shoulders almost touched, meant something.
Family, I thought. The word felt right.
"Rias is waiting," Koneko said eventually.
I stiffened slightly. "I know."
"...patiently."
"I know that too."
She finished her portion of the bento, set down the chopsticks, and looked at me with those ancient golden eyes.
"...don't make her wait too long, senpai."
Then she was gone, slipping away as silently as she'd arrived.
I stared at the empty space where she'd been.
Is this me? The person who can accept advice from a girl half my size?
Yes. All me.
Akeno's approach was less subtle.
She found me in the clubhouse library that afternoon, researching Fragment history.
Books were scattered across the table - Azazel's notes on previous users, historical accounts of the Architect's shattering, theories about the Watcher's true nature.
"Ara ara, such dedication." She appeared at my shoulder, close enough that I could smell ozone and perfume. "And here I thought you were avoiding us."
"Not avoiding. Just..."
"Processing?" Her smile was knowing. "You have been using that word a lot lately."
"It's accurate."
She circled the table, trailing her fingers along the book spines. Lightning crackled faintly around her nails - not threatening, just present. A reminder of what she was.
"You know," she said conversationally, "when I first learned about my heritage - about the fallen angel blood - I spent months processing.
Hiding.
Pretending the darkness wasn't there."
I looked up from my notes.
"It did not help." She met my eyes, and for a moment the teasing mask slipped.
"The darkness was still there.
It waited until I stopped hiding.
And then it became something I could use instead of something that used me."
Akeno's room, I thought. The observation deck in my Soulscape. Her duality, integrated into my foundation.
"Is there a point to this story?"
"Ara ara, so impatient." The mask returned. "My point is that processing is good. Hiding is not. And you, Ryder-kun, are very good at hiding."
"I'm not hiding."
"No?" She leaned forward, eyes glinting.
"Then why have you not spoken to Buchou properly in three days?
Why do you train alone when the peerage is available?
Why do you sit in the library reading about things that cannot help you, instead of dealing with the things that can?"
The questions hit like lightning strikes. Precise. Uncomfortable.
True.
"It's complicated."
"Love always is." She straightened, her teasing lilt returning. "But she is waiting. Patiently. And patience, unlike some things, does have limits."
She left me with that, her laughter echoing through the stacks.
I stared at the books in front of me.
Ara ara, still no progress?
The question hadn't been about research.
Asia caught me that evening.
I was returning from a walk - clearing my head, trying to process everything the others had said - when I found her waiting outside the clubhouse.
Her green eyes were soft with concern, and she held a small basket covered with a cloth.
"I made cookies," she said. "I thought you might want some."
I took the basket. The cookies were warm, shaped like little crosses. The irony wasn't lost on me.
"Thanks, Asia."
She fell into step beside me as we walked toward the building. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
"She's waiting patiently," Asia said finally. "Buchou, I mean. She understands you need time."
"Everyone keeps telling me that."
"Because it is true." Asia's voice was earnest. "And because we are worried. About both of you."
I stopped walking. "Both of us?"
"You are processing." She chose the word carefully. "But so is she. The things you told her - the countdown, the Watcher, the secrets you kept - she is processing those too."
I hadn't thought about it that way.
"She trusted you completely," Asia continued. "And she found out you didn't trust her the same way. That... hurts. Even when she understands why."
She's waiting patiently. But patience has limits.
"I didn't mean to hurt her."
"I know." Asia's smile was gentle. "But intentions do not erase impact. You will need to do more than wait. You will need to show her."
"Show her what?"
"That the trust goes both ways now. That you will not hide again."
She pressed the basket more firmly into my hands, then turned toward the clubhouse.
"Eat the cookies. They will make you feel better."
She disappeared inside.
I stood alone in the gathering dusk, holding a basket of cross-shaped cookies and wondering when Asia had become so wise.
I found Xenovia at the abandoned church.
It had taken me an hour to track her down.
She hadn't been at the clubhouse, hadn't been at the training grounds, hadn't been anywhere the peerage usually gathered.
But I'd remembered something from the briefings - she went there sometimes, to the place where her old life ended.
The church was small and rotting. Broken pews, shattered windows, an altar that had long since crumbled. Holy ground, technically, but the sanctity had faded years ago.
Xenovia sat in the front row, Excalibur Destruction laid across her lap. Her blue hair caught what little light filtered through the ruined roof.
She didn't look up when I entered.
"I felt him die," she whispered.
I stopped a few feet away. "Riser?"
"God." Her voice cracked on the word.
"Kokabiel announced it during the battle.
That God was dead.
Had been dead for millennia.
And I felt it - felt the truth of it settle into my bones like ice."
I moved closer. Sat down beside her on the broken pew.
"Everything I believed," she continued.
"Everything I fought for.
The Church, the faith, the certainty that there was something greater watching over us... it was all built on a lie."
"I lost my mother's voice," I offered quietly.
Xenovia finally looked at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry.
"Different."
"Is it?" I met her gaze. "We both lost something we thought was permanent. Something that defined who we were."
She was silent for a long moment.
"How do you keep going?"
The question hit harder than any attack.
How do I keep going?
I thought about the Integration. The Soulscape. The moment I'd accepted every dark part of myself and chosen to be whole instead of shattered.
"Finding new things worth believing in."
"Like what?"
"Friends.
Family." I gestured vaguely toward the church's entrance - toward the world beyond, toward the clubhouse and the peerage waiting there.
"The people who stand with you when everything breaks."
Xenovia looked down at Excalibur.
"The sword feels hollow now. I used to feel God's blessing when I wielded it. Now I feel... nothing."
"Then fill it with something new."
"Like?"
"Purpose." I chose the word carefully. "Not faith in something outside yourself. Just... purpose. Knowing what you're fighting for, even if the reasons have changed."
She was quiet.
The ruined church creaked around us. Somewhere outside, birds sang - oblivious to the crisis of faith happening within these walls.
"Thank you," Xenovia said finally.
"Don't mention it."
"I think I will stay." She stood, Excalibur still in her hands. "With the peerage. With... with the people who stand with me."
"I know."
She looked at me strangely. "You seem very certain."
"Because I've been where you are." I rose to meet her. "And I learned that the people you fight beside become more important than the things you used to fight for."
We walked out of the church together.
Both of us learning to believe in new things.
The week continued.
Training sessions became easier.
The peerage stopped walking on eggshells around me.
Kiba sparred with me daily, pushing harder as my control improved.
Koneko shared snacks without comment.
Akeno teased, but the edge had softened.
Asia checked on me with motherly concern.
And Rias...
Rias and I found our rhythm.
Not what we'd had before - that had been tension and uncertainty and unspoken feelings.
This was something different.
Cleaner.
We trained together, strategized together, led the peerage together.
We just didn't touch.
But the distance was by choice now, not by awkwardness. A conscious decision to wait until the processing was complete. Until we were both ready.
Patience, PRIME observed one evening, as I lay in bed reviewing the day. Unusual for you.
"I'm learning."
Good. Some things should not be rushed.
"Since when are you wise?"
Since you made me better.
I smiled despite myself.
The dreams still came - Riser's death, playing on repeat - but they hurt less now.
The guilt remained, heavy and permanent, but it had become a foundation rather than a wound.
Something to build on instead of something that tore me down.
I closed my eyes.
Is this me? The person who can wait? Who can process instead of rush? Who can trust that the waiting will be worth it?
Yes. All me.
And for the first time since the Integration, that felt like enough.
Mira joined us for training on the last day of the week.
She appeared at the barrier's edge as we gathered - me, Kiba, Koneko, Akeno standing in formation while Rias observed from her usual position beneath the oak tree.
"Room for one more?" Mira asked. Her voice was still guarded, but less sharp than before. Less desperate.
"Always," I said.
She stepped inside the barrier. The mark on her arm - the Consumption Fragment's signature - pulsed briefly as she crossed the threshold.
"The Restoration is regrouping," she reported. "I intercepted some communications. They know about your Integration. They're scared."
"Good."
"They are also planning something. I do not know what yet. But it involves more than just hunting Fragment users."
Rias stepped forward, her command voice sharp. "We'll need to reach out to others. Build a network. If the Restoration is changing tactics, we need to change faster."
Mira nodded. "I have contacts. Fragment users who survived the initial hunts. Some might be willing to talk."
"Set up meetings. Discrete. I want to know who we can trust before we show our hand."
"Understood."
The conversation continued - tactics, strategy, the beginnings of something larger than just our peerage. But underneath the planning, I felt something shift.
The week of processing was ending.
The work was beginning.
And for the first time, I was ready for it.