My legs moved on instinct. Not toward my room. Not back toward Levy's room. But down.
Beneath the lantern-lit halls and quiet conversation.
Down past the servant stairs and through the cooling stones of the oldest wing of the estate—forgotten to most, silent to all.
Only I knew this path now.
And I didn't need directions.
I didn't tell anyone where I was going.
Not Levy. Not Revy. Not Rei.
Some paths weren't meant to be shared—not yet.
I moved quietly through the estate, careful to avoid the main halls. My steps took me to the old servant stairwells, then down into the far wing of the manor.
The Reflection Chamber still answered only to me.
The hidden door creaked open with a whisper of stone, just as it had all those years ago.
Dust hadn't gathered here.
Not even time dared to settle.
The circular room greeted me like a breath held too long—quiet, polished, ancient.
And there, in the center, where I'd once been flung back—
Yukihana waited.
The blade stood upright, embedded in its pedestal, the ruby-red hue gleaming faintly even in the dim.
But it wasn't cold anymore.
The rejection was gone.
The hum of its presence was stronger now, clearer. Like a voice calling softly, not pushing away.
[Notice: Artifact Resonance Achieved — Compatibility: 100%]
I stopped in front of it.
No resistance.
No warning.
No system alerts.
Just… silence.
Then—
A pulse.
Warm. Familiar. Like the echo of my own heartbeat reflected back through steel.
I reached out slowly, fingers hovering inches from the hilt.
"…Seven years."
[Correction: Seven years, four months, twenty-one days.]
"Still precise."
[Always.]
I grasped the hilt.
No shock. No pain.
Yukihana accepted my touch like it had been waiting the whole time.
The blade lifted effortlessly from the pedestal, weightless in my hand despite its size.
No resistance.
No recoil.
No denial.
Only one message, delivered in silence.
You are ready.
[Warning: Artifact Yukihana now fully attuned. Integration will adjust your mana signature. Confirm weapon bond?]
I inhaled once.
Then nodded.
"Confirm."
[Confirmed. Yukihana registered as primary artifact weapon. Attunement sealed.]
The room felt different now.
No longer a test chamber.
But a sanctuary.
I twirled the oversized blade once in my grip. It responded instantly, its balance tuned perfectly to me.
"I don't feel stronger,"
[Because you were always strong.]
I smiled faintly.
And then—
The scent of snow.
Not here.
Not now.
Back then.
—
4 years ago
Deep in the southern cliffs—Training Site Zeta
"Again," Calamitas said, voice clipped, boots crunching over frostbitten stone.
I was on the ground.
Breathing through grit.
My limbs burned. My mana was sputtering like a dying flame. My vision was shaking, blurred from impact.
But I stood.
Even if the wind howled through the canyon like a chorus of knives.
Even if the gravity anchors on my back felt like lead.
I stood.
"You're still bracing like a noble," she snapped. "Let the momentum carry. You can't tame force—you redirect it."
I didn't speak.
Didn't argue.
I focused.
Above us, the glyph she had carved into the air was still spinning—violent, unstable, overflowing with wind magic so sharp it could flay stone.
This was her version of mercy.
A living hurricane to train against.
I exhaled once, then pushed mana into my core.
Gravity surged around me—jagged and raw, still imperfect.
I extended my hand.
The glyph shrieked, a wall of wind crashing down like a judgment.
I planted my feet—
And bent it.
Slightly.
Barely.
But I did.
The magic howled around me, tearing the frost from the stones, but my stance didn't break.
When the wind finally died, the silence that followed was deafening.
Calamitas watched me carefully.
Then she said, "Better."
My legs buckled a second later.
She caught me before I hit the ground.
Not gently.
But firmly.
Like dropping a weight back into its case.
"You're not there yet," she said, kneeling beside me. "But it's starting."
I looked up at her.
Blood trickled from the edge of my lip, and the cold had already seeped into my bones.
But I smiled.
Because she was right.
It was starting.
—
Present
I opened my eyes.
The blade still in my hand.
Yukihana didn't pulse or glow with power.
It didn't need to.
"…I want to show them. When the time comes."
[Then carry it. And let them see.]
"…Yeah," I whispered.
"I'm ready."
"Are you?"
The voice didn't echo—it slid across the air like the shimmer of a blade being drawn too slow.
I didn't jump.
Didn't flinch.
Because I knew that voice.
A breeze whispered through the Reflection Chamber even though the room was sealed. Light bent unnaturally in the far corner, where the air warped like heat over metal.
Then she was there.
Calamitas.
Leaning against the polished obsidian wall like she'd been there for hours. Arms crossed. One eyebrow slightly raised. That same wild braid falling down one shoulder, robes sleeveless, boots muddy from travel that likely defied physics.
"How long have you been watching?" I asked quietly.
"Long enough to see you almost cry," she smirked. "Which, for the record, I would've mocked mercilessly."
"I didn't cry."
"Didn't say you did." She stepped closer, her eyes briefly flicking to Yukihana—still in my grasp. "But you did hesitate."
I looked down at the blade.
It was silent.
Resonant.
Perfectly still.
"I didn't want to touch it until I was sure," I said.
Calamitas tilted her head. "And now you're sure?"
I met her eyes. "I've trained with you for seven years. Bled for this. Fought to not lose myself to this bloodline. Yes, I'm sure."
Her gaze narrowed.
Then she smiled.
It wasn't a warm smile.
But it was honest.
"Good," she said. "Because Yukihana won't hold back now. And neither will the world."
She walked past me slowly, her fingertips trailing across the arcane grooves etched into the room's floor.
"The world is shifting," she murmured. "The old bloodlines are stirring. Kingdoms are reforming in secret. Even the Citadel's turning its eyes toward places it once ignored."
She turned back to me.
"The Hoshino line is no longer dormant. And they'll come looking."
I tightened my grip on Yukihana.
"I'm not hiding."
Calamitas grinned—feral and proud.
"I never thought you would."
A pause. Then, softer:
"I'm proud of you, Chiori."
It hit harder than I expected.
Because she never said things like that.
She never had to.
So when she did say it—it meant everything.
I nodded once, sharp and clean.
And then, like a breeze slipping between two thoughts, she vanished—within a puff of brimstone smoke.
The smoke hadn't even cleared before I felt it.
A pulse.
Then another.
Yukihana trembled in my grip—not violently, but with the weight of memory. Of recognition.
[Warning: Unique Skill – The Chorus – exceeding standard output.]
"What—"
My words were swallowed.
The blade sang.
Not in music. Not in beauty.
But in voices.
A flood—fragmented, overlapping, clashing and rising like waves breaking against a tide that refused to recede.
Female. Male. Young. Old.
"I failed her—again—"
"She should never have held the blade—"
"I remember the sound it made—like thunder carved from glass—"
"Let go, let go, LET GO—!"
[Stability compromised. Too many echoes attempting synchronization.]
I fell to one knee, Yukihana still in hand, the blade burning not with fire—but with truth.
Their truths.
Hundreds of lives. Battles. Regrets. Burdens.
Each one real.
[Adaptive filter deploying—isolating most recent genetic match.]
One voice surged above the others.
Sharp. Precise. Familiar.
"You carry the weight not because you must—but because no one else could."
"You, little one, are our rebellion made flesh."
The hum cut off.
The silence that followed was heavier than any scream.
I gasped—air flooding my lungs like I'd been underwater.
[Stabilization successful. Emotional integrity: borderline.]
[Warning: Yukihana has partially synchronized with Unique Skill: The Chorus. Emotional resonance spikes likely upon continued contact.]
I stared at the blade in my hand.
It no longer felt cold.
It felt alive.
Not like a weapon.
Like a wound.
Like a bond.
"…What are you trying to show me?" I whispered.
I closed my eyes.
Steadied my breath.
Then rose.
Carefully, I returned Yukihana to its pedestal, hands lingering longer than I meant to.
"Not yet," I said quietly. "I'll carry you later."
I stepped back, releasing the hilt.
Yukihana didn't move.
Didn't fall.
Didn't return to stillness.
It shimmered.
Once.
Twice.
And then—like mist caught in morning light—it began to fade.
Not vanish.
Not disappear.
Just... shift.
Its form unraveled like silk pulled through a keyhole, threads of silver and ruby dissolving into the air—light and memory and weight bleeding into nothing.
"Wait—" I stepped forward again, hand outstretched.
Too late.
Only the pedestal remained.
Empty.
[Notice: Yukihana has left physical stasis.]
[New designation: Bound Relic – User: Chiori Tomaszewski.]
I froze.
"…What?"
[The blade no longer resides in the physical realm. It has chosen you as its anchor.]
A hum bloomed in the base of my skull—not Great Sage.
Not quite The Chorus.
Something else.
A voice—thin as breath and old as ice.
"You left me once."
"But now you carry what I cannot be alone."
"We are not separate anymore."
"Call me when the silence grows too loud."
The pressure in my chest tightened.
[Notice: Bound Relic resonance confirmed. Integration with Unique Skill: The Chorus is in progress.]
I stared at the empty pedestal.
A pause.
[Notice: Parameter thresholds exceeded.]
[Result: The combined functions of Unique Skill: The Chorus and Strategic Support Unit: Great Sage have reached a singularity.]
[Commencing evolution to: Ultimate Skill – Metatron: Lord of Knowledge.]
My heart skipped a beat.
"Wait—what does that mean?"
There was no delay.
No hesitation.
The system's voice surged—not louder, not colder.
Clearer.
[Confirmed: Ultimate Skill – [Metatron: Lord of Knowledge]…successfully acquired.]
[Upon evolution of Great Sage, Unique Skill – [Celestial Foresight] …successfully unlocked]
I stared at my reflection in the polished stone.
I didn't look different.
But something inside me had shifted.
The silence that had once filled the space between Great Sage's calculations and The Chorus' echoes—
—it was no longer a divide.
Now, they harmonized.
A library of voices aligned with the clarity of truth.
"Metatron…" I whispered.
And the new voice—my voice, their voice—answered in layered calm:
[I am here.]
My throat tightened. "What are you?"
A pause. Then—
[I am the convergence.]
[Born from ancestral memory and synthetic analysis.]
[I am not a weapon. I am a guide.]
"…You're still Great Sage?"
[The framework of Great Sage remains.]
[But the Chorus was not a system—but a soul. You did not carry it. You absorbed it.]
I swallowed. "Then… what am I now?"
[Still Chiori.]
I didn't answer right away.
I wasn't sure what to feel.
This wasn't like when The Chorus first whispered to me. It wasn't just memory or emotion echoing through bloodlines. It was structured. Formed. Whole.
A mind behind the legacy.
An identity behind the knowledge.
"…So, are you going to start controlling me?" I asked, only half-joking.
[No. I do not control.]
[I advise. I illuminate. I warn.]
[But your will remains your own. That is the principle of me.]
I exhaled.
"Feels like a lot for someone who barely knows what she's doing."
[And yet, you succeeded where others fell short.]
[You endured. You listened. You chose.]
A flicker of warmth stirred behind the words. Not comfort—but conviction.
[That is why I answered. That is why I became.]
I lowered myself onto the smooth stone of the chamber floor, the silence pressing close around me again.
"…Then help me. Not just with magic. With the legacy. With all of it."
A quiet breath—not mine.
[I already am.]
The silence stretched around me—thick, but not empty.
I felt heavier than I had in years. Not physically. Not magically.
Just… heavier.
[Confirmed.]
[Bound Relic: Yukihana has fully resonated with User: Chiori Tomaszewski.]
I lowered my head, fingers curling loosely against the stone beneath me.
Yukihana… wasn't just a blade anymore.
It wasn't something I could carry on my back.
It was something that carried me.
"How many more pieces of me are going to change before I stop recognizing who I am?"
The question wasn't for anyone.
But I wasn't alone anymore.
[User identity remains intact. Evolution is not erasure.]
[The shape of a soul bends to pressure. You are not broken. You are refined.]
I laughed—soft, tired. "That's easy to say when you're made of code and blood memory."
[Incorrect.]
[I am made of you.]
That shut me up.
Because deep down… I knew it was true.
Every time I hesitated. Every time I tried to walk away. Every time I chose something harder just to prove I could.
This power hadn't been given to me.
It had grown around me.
I lifted my left hand again, staring at the faint shimmer now embedded on the back of my hand—where Yukihana's resonance had taken hold.
The symbol there was small. A curve like a crescent moon. A vein of ruby running through shadow.
A scar that meant I had survived the inheritance.
"…You don't sound like Great Sage anymore,"
[I remember being Great Sage.]
[But I am Metatron now.]
"Then what happens next?"
Another pause.
[Now, you decide what your power is for.]
That stopped me cold.
Because for all the strength I had gained… I hadn't asked that yet.
Not really.
Not until now.
I hadn't heard the door open.
I hadn't felt it.
But I wasn't surprised when the silence shifted.
Heavy. Familiar.
I turned—slowly.
And there he was.
Satoshi Hoshino.
No longer dressed in Tomaszewski black. No crest. No formality. Just him.
He looked the same.
Which somehow made it worse.
His gaze swept the room once—landing on the circle I stood in, the faint shimmer still clinging to the stone, the last ghost of Yukihana fading into my skin.
His eyes narrowed.
"You touched it," he said.
Not a question.
I didn't answer.
Not at first.
His boots echoed softly across the stone as he stepped forward, each stride measured, quiet.
"You weren't supposed to find this chamber yet."
I tilted my chin up, gaze steady. "I did."
His eyes scanned me. Not cruelly. Not coldly.
Assessing.
"…You bound it."
Still not a question.
"I resonated with it," I corrected. "It chose me."
A beat.
Then—
"It shouldn't have," he said quietly.
And that—that—made my jaw tighten.
"Why?" I asked.
His answer was slow. Deliberate.
"Because you are not the one who was meant to carry our sins."
I stepped forward once, the silence between us coiling like a drawn blade.
"But I already do."
His face didn't change. But something in the air cracked—subtle. Like frost splitting under weight.
"You still think this is about legacy?" he asked. "About blood and inheritance?"
I said nothing.
Because I didn't know anymore.
All I knew was that I wasn't the same girl he last looked at with judgment in his eyes.
And when he looked at me now—
He knew that too.
Another step brought him closer.
"You heard the Chorus," he said. "You felt it. All of it. And you're still standing."
I blinked.
"…You're surprised."
His jaw twitched. "I'm…not proud of what I thought would happen."
I didn't move.
"You don't even know what it is," he said, voice quiet. Not angry. Tired.
"Yukihana," I replied. "A relic. A blade."
"No," he said sharply. "Yukihana wasn't meant to be held. It was meant to destroy."
I blinked.
"And yet you sealed it."
He nodded. "Because I had no choice. I found it. Buried beneath a collapsed gate. Still pulsing. Still waiting. It would've drawn blood if left unchecked."
My heart thudded once—too loud.
"You kept it."
"I feared it." His voice didn't rise, but it deepened. "And worse, I feared what it would do if someone like you ever touched it."
I stepped forward, teeth clenched. "Someone like me?"
He met my gaze then—truly met it.
"Someone unfinished. Someone with too much soul and too little guard."
I didn't flinch.
Because he wasn't wrong.
But neither was he right.
"Then why didn't you destroy it?" I asked.
His jaw clenched. "Because I couldn't."
"Metatron"
[Yes]
"Why did she really make Yukihana?"
[Query recognized. Accessing Relic Archive: Codename 'Yukihana' – Creator Intent Layer.]
[Calamitas created it at the height of magical convergence collapse. Elemental balances fractured. Void rifts threatened stability across eastern ley corridors. Yukihana was designed to sever unnatural convergence points—by force. Precision eradication.]
"…A scalpel."
[A guillotine.]
Silence stretched.
Metatron continued:
[However, the blade's mana lattice contains remnants of unstable emotions—grief, fury, sorrow. This compromised long-term handling.]
I turned toward Dad, who still hadn't spoken.
"I watched what it did to other wielders. What it nearly did to me."
A beat.
"I wasn't trying to hide it. I was trying to delay it."
[Confirmed: Subject Satoshi Hoshino forcibly sealed Yukihana after it rejected alignment with his mana signature. Partial memory erasure implemented.]
My jaw clenched. "You tried to wield it."
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The guilt in his silence said everything.