Chapter 56: Old Scars, New Purpose
The night hung heavy over the estate, stars veiled behind drifting clouds. The fire crackled quietly in the training hall, long since emptied of battle.
Only two figures remained—Volundr seated on the stone bench, cleaning his spear with slow, deliberate motions, and Kuroka sitting cross-legged nearby, her gaze lost in the dancing flames.
She'd been unusually quiet since the sparring ended hours ago. No teasing, no smirking quips. Just silence.
"Kuroka," Volundr said, his voice a low hum.
"You've been holding something back."
Her tail twitched once, but she didn't meet his gaze. "Maybe," she murmured.
"Maybe I just didn't want to ruin a good thing."
He set the spear aside, leaned forward, and waited.
Kuroka hugged her knees to her chest, her voice soft, almost brittle.
"Do you know what it's like to kill… because you had to?" Her golden eyes shimmered—not from tears, but from old, burning memories.
"My sister… Shirone… she saw me as a murderer. So did everyone else. No one asked why I did it."
She exhaled, a shaky breath.
"He was going to use us. Twist us into weapons. Strip away what made us us. I had to stop him. But the moment I did…"
Her claws curled into her thighs.
"I became the monster they warned her about."
Volundr didn't interrupt. He simply listened.
"I ran," she continued,
"but I wasn't running from punishment. I was running from her eyes. Those innocent, scared eyes."
She finally looked at him.
"Do you get it now? I'm not loyal because I'm sweet or because you're strong. I stay because… for the first time, someone doesn't look at me like I'm broken."
Volundr's expression remained unreadable. He spoke with calm certainty:
"The past doesn't bind you. It fuels you."
Her breath caught.
"You made a choice others were too weak to make. And you lived with the price. That doesn't make you a monster, Kuroka."
He leaned back slightly, eyes still on her.
"That makes you a survivor. And survivors… make the fiercest allies."
Kuroka slowly stood, walking toward him. She stopped just beside him, silence stretching between them like a held breath.
"If I become your piece one day…" she said softly, "don't chain me."
He didn't hesitate.
"I won't," he replied. "I'll unleash you."
A beat passed—and then, quietly, she leaned into him. Just for a moment. Her head resting against his shoulder, tail curling lightly near his leg.
Not in weakness. Not in surrender.
But in trust.
The fire crackled, and neither spoke. The silence said enough.
Outside, the clouds began to part, letting moonlight spill across the training hall floor like silver threads of fate slowly aligning.