Morning came loud.

  Shura shot up from his bed in the inn.

  "HAAAAAAAA—why won't they tell me anything?!"

  He sat there for half a second.

  Then stood.

  Then started running.

  Halfway down the stairs, he stopped.

  "…Wait. Why am I running?"

  He thought for a moment.

  "…Umm. Umm. Who cares—YAAAAAA!"

  And he ran again.

  He reached Juro's inn first.

  "Master Juro?" Shura asked, already out of breath.

  The receptionist blinked.

  "He doesn't stay at night," she said. "He already left."

  "…Left?"

  Shura was already running again.

  Next stop: Yura's inn.

  Then another street.

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  Then another turn.

  Then—

  Shura slowed down.

  "…Wait," he muttered. "I don't even know what year I'm living in anymore."

  A number surfaced in his mind.

  1092… at the Surface.

  Far above—

  Ruka knelt alone.

  Tears soaked the ground.

  "Where are you, my son…?" she whispered.

  "Why are you like this? Always curious… I told you not to go…"

  Her voice broke.

  Shura stopped walking.

  His steps slowed.

  A calm smile formed.

  Mother, he thought, don't worry.

  I'll come back.

  Just… wait a few years.

  By the time he reached the others, his breath had steadied.

  "Where's Master Juro?" he asked.

  Orin shrugged.

  "Who knows? Isn't he in his inn?"

  Shura shook his head.

  "He doesn't stay at night."

  Zenkyou glanced at him.

  "Leave that. Today's the fireworks festival. Near the lake. Wanna come?"

  "I need answers first," Shura said.

  Zenkyou smiled.

  Then grabbed him—

  —and threw him straight into the air.

  "I'M SORRRRRYYYYYYYY—!"

  Zenkyou watched him arc across the sky, oddly peaceful.

  Finally, she thought. He's not burning in rage.

  Elsewhere—

  Itsuki stood before Empress Rose.

  "The mission is complete," he said.

  Rose smiled.

  Confident.

  Knowing.

  Shura hesitated only a moment.

  “…Fine,” he said. “I’ll come.”

  Zenkyou smiled like she already knew the answer.

  They started moving through the streets together, the festival lights slowly coming alive as dusk deepened.

  Ren stretched his arms.

  “You get it now, right, Shura?” he said proudly. “I’m very strong.”

  Orin laughed.

  “You’re also completely exhausted.”

  Shura raised both hands.

  “Wait—wait. Before anyone starts fighting again.”

  He turned to Orin.

  “You only fight with a bow and arrows?”

  Yura answered before Orin could.

  “Don’t take him lightly. He can shoot down a target no matter the distance.”

  Orin gave a confident smile, neither confirming nor denying it.

  Shura swallowed.

  “…Okay. Then please tell me—what was that weapon?”

  Orin’s tone shifted slightly.

  “We don’t fully understand relics yet,” he said. “But they’re like living objects.”

  He paused.

  “If you aren’t stronger than the relic,” Orin continued, “it tries to dominate you.”

  Shura frowned.

  “And if you are?”

  “Then it becomes part of you,” Orin said.

  “It attaches itself. Reshapes. Starts flowing through your veins.”

  Shura stared at his hands.

  “So I still have infinite questions,” he muttered. “But if I ask more, Zenkyou might actually kill me.”

  Right on cue—

  Grrrrrrr.

  His stomach growled loudly.

  Zenkyou sighed.

  “Let’s eat first. Then we’ll continue.”

  Shura’s eyes lit up.

  “Yaaayyyy!”

  Ren suddenly froze.

  “Oh shit. I need to meet Yun Shi about the battle results.”

  He scratched his head.

  “Also… Tsuyoshi and Osuki’s fight ended with no result.”

  He started backing away.

  “I need to go. We’ll see.”

  Zenkyou waved him off.

  “Alright. Let’s eat.”

  Near one of the food stalls, a beggar sat quietly.

  As Shura passed, the man spoke—

  “Salutations, neophyte.”

  Shura stopped.

  “Your countenance radiates an epistemic itch,” the beggar continued calmly.

  “Be wary. To scrutinize the void is to permit the void to liquefy your internal heuristics.”

  Shura blinked.

  “Since your spiritual reservoir is currently a vacuum of conviction,” the beggar went on,

  “I require a fiscal subsidy to mitigate my impending metabolic collapse.”

  “…Huh?”

  “Money for food,” the beggar finished simply.

  Shura stared at him for a long second.

  Then handed over some coins.

  “Why don’t you try earning through quests?” Shura asked.

  “It’s not easy… but it’s enough.”

  The beggar smiled faintly.

  A strange smile.

  One that lingered longer than it should have.