Toki and Utsuki walked together down the dim corridor, the flickering wall sconces casting shifting shadows along the stone walls. The warmth of firelight beckoned ahead, spilling from the grand dining hall like the glow of a hearth after a long journey. Their footsteps echoed faintly on the polished floor, mingling with the distant clatter of dishes and faint laughter from within.
As they entered the room, a wave of warmth washed over them—spiced air, roasted meat, and the hum of soft conversation. Leonard, Suzume, Tora, and the mischievous triplets—Haru, Natsu, and Aki—were already seated at the long, carved oak table. The only one missing was Yuki, which struck no one as odd. She was likely in the kitchen, as usual, most likely preparing the evening's meal herself. Despite being one of the eldest, she took quiet pride in ensuring every detail was perfect.
Toki glanced around briefly and made his way to the opposite end of the table, seating himself directly across from Leonard. He allowed himself a slight sigh as he settled into the high-backed chair, subconsciously eyeing the nearby doorway, half-expecting Yuki to appear with some bubbling cauldron of suspiciously "nutritious" stew.
He muttered under his breath, "Let's just hope she didn't poison tonight's menu."
Then, just as his gaze drifted lazily across the room, his attention snagged on an object he hadn't noticed before. In the far-right corner of the hall, half-buried in shadow, stood an old pianoforte. Dust clung to its wooden frame, dulling the once-polished mahogany to a lifeless gray-brown. It was so inconspicuous, so forgotten, that it might easily be mistaken for an old cabinet or a piece of unused storage.
Toki stared at it, eyes slightly narrowed, thoughts trailing further and further away from the present conversation.
Leonard noticed the distant expression on his face and, with the air of a man who enjoyed breaking silence with a well-timed jab, spoke up.
"That old thing?" he said with mock disdain. "That's Yuki's pianoforte. I bought it for her when she was only four years old. She used to play like a little prodigy. Surprised me, honestly. But ever since she started taking her responsibilities seriously, she hardly touches it anymore. I've been thinking about throwing it out."
Toki blinked, pulled out of his reverie. He turned his head toward Leonard, raising an eyebrow.
"Throw it out?" he said incredulously. "That would be a waste. A classic instrument like that—I'm sure it wasn't cheap. And beyond the cost, it probably holds a lot of sentimental value for Yuki."
Leonard gave a half-shrug, half-smirk. "You know how it is. If something isn't used, it collects dust. And that thing's been doing a lot of collecting."
Suzume snorted into her tea, and the triplets tittered amongst themselves.
Leonard then leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "Say, Toki… do you know how to play?"
Toki gave a small, dismissive chuckle. "A little. I've traveled quite a bit over the last twenty years. When you're constantly on the road, you pick up things. Languages. Songs. How to charm a dragon or outwit a drunk baron. I happened to learn a few instruments along the way."
The glint in Leonard's eyes grew. "Then why don't you grace us with a melody before dinner?"
Toki opened his mouth, then closed it again. He gave Leonard a weary glance. "I really don't think Yuki would appreciate me pawing at something that belongs to her."
"Oh, come on!" Haru cried. "Please?"
"Yes, please!" Natsu chimed in, clapping her hands.
"You have to play something!" Aki added, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
Suzume nodded enthusiastically. "You can't drop a line like that and expect to walk away without proving it."
Toki looked helplessly at Utsuki. She met his gaze calmly, then spoke in that quiet, confident voice of hers.
"Don't refuse them. Just a little song," she said softly. "Let us hear."
Tora leaned over the table, arms crossed with a grin. "Yeah, I'm curious to see what kind of bardic nonsense you've got hidden under that mysterious attitude of yours."
Toki let out a long, theatrical sigh, raising his hands in mock surrender.
"Fine, fine. But if Yuki walks in and throws a knife at my head, I expect a proper burial. Preferably somewhere scenic."
The room filled with stifled laughter as Toki rose and walked toward the instrument. Dust swirled in the air as he drew near, the pale moonlight from a nearby window falling gently across the faded wood. He reached out and pressed a single key.
Plink.
A soft, melancholic note echoed through the hall, followed by a puff of dust that floated upward like old memory. The piano trembled slightly, the wood creaking under the sudden attention.
Then, without warning, something moved.
From behind the piano—a place where no one had been looking—a silver blur shot upward. A small, glinting shape sprang onto the keys with astonishing grace. It landed delicately, feet making a strange yet harmonious ting sound on the ivory.
Toki stumbled back a step, his arm raised defensively.
"What in the name of—?!"
The shape resolved into a small creature: a rabbit.
But not an ordinary one.
Its fur shimmered like moonlight, with faint streaks of sky blue around the tips of its ears. Its eyes glowed faintly, intelligent, narrowed. A single charm was tied around its neck—an ancient sigil woven from thread and wind.
Toki blinked. "We have a rodent problem?!"
The rabbit stared at him with something approaching regal contempt.
"Rodent?!" it barked, in a voice impossibly clear, impossibly articulate. "How dare you! I am no rodent—I am the great spirit of the wind, who has wandered the lands for centuries untold!"
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Toki took another step back, blinking furiously. "It talks?" he muttered. "It talked. I'm being lectured by a wind-bunny."
Utsuki, who had approached with barely restrained laughter, finally spoke, eyes glimmering with amusement.
"That's Arashi," she said gently. "He's… my familiar."
Toki stared at her. Then at the rabbit. Then back at her.
"So… you have a pet bunny that speaks in full sentences and threatens people?"
Arashi huffed indignantly, fur ruffling.
"Pet? Don't be absurd. I'm more like her elder brother. Her mother created me to guard her, and when the position of Wind Spirit became vacant, I naturally claimed it. It's the law of nature, after all."
He narrowed his eyes at Toki, tail flicking with irritation. "And if you hadn't saved Utsuki that day, I would've gladly relieved you of your insolent little head."
Toki offered a sarcastic smile, bowing with theatrical courtesy. "My sincerest apologies, great elder bunny. Forgive my rudeness."
He reached out to gently stroke the shimmering fur on Arashi's head. The creature tilted slightly but allowed the gesture.
"Apology accepted," Arashi said primly, then bounded onto Utsuki's shoulder with a little spin. He settled there like a proud ornament, nose twitching.
"Now that introductions are complete," he continued, "it is time for your performance. I expect to be impressed."
Toki shook his head, bemused. He turned back to the piano and brushed a hand lightly over the keys, wiping away a layer of dust.
The stool creaked as he sat. The old wood groaned slightly, as if waking from slumber. He rolled his shoulders, staring down at the familiar layout of black and white, his fingers hovering just above them.
He took a breath.
Toki pressed the keys with a slow, deliberate touch, each note blooming like petals under morning light. The melody began soft and sorrowful, a tender vibration that seemed to fill not just the room, but the very air itself, like golden sunlight spilling through a cathedral window.
The notes came in waves, seamless and smooth, perfectly aligned like stars in a forgotten constellation. Each one sang with purpose, weaving a tale not with words but with sound—a story etched in blood, tears, regret, and the sweat of perseverance. His hands glided over the keys like wind sweeping through a field of fallen leaves, every movement filled with a grace that belied the emotion pulsing beneath.
It was not just music; it was memory made audible. It was grief given a voice, joy given a shape, longing given form. The notes spoke in a language only the heart could understand, and they struck with an intimacy that bypassed thought entirely.
A hush fell over the room.
Even the always restless triplets froze, their eyes wide, their breath held. Suzume's gaze softened, her usual smirk fading into something gentler. Tora leaned in, her elbows on the table, eyes reflecting candlelight and wonder. Utsuki stood like a statue, unreadable, watching with the stillness of someone listening to a secret never meant to be shared.
Even Arashi, perched regally on her shoulder, closed his eyes, whiskers twitching to the rhythm, ears drooping in some ancient recognition.
Toki played not for them, not even for himself, but for someone or something far beyond the walls of the manor. Each note was a step taken across time. Each chord, a whisper from the past. There was no vanity in his playing, no pretense. Only truth.
It was a melody that made the impossible seem real. Heaven, if it had a sound, would sound like this—all at once joyful, aching, and pure. The music didn't need to be loud to be powerful. It held weight in its silence, in its restraint. There was strength in its vulnerability.
And when the song came to its end, it did so like a summer breeze fading into dusk—graceful, unannounced, tender. Toki's hand lingered above the final key, then pressed it with the weight of something he couldn't name.
A single tear slid silently from his left eye. Not from sorrow, not even from joy. From something deeper—a nostalgia that cut like a blade wrapped in velvet.
He blinked, surprised by the sensation, and wiped his cheek as though he were brushing away a stray thought. His face remained calm, as always—serious, composed—but something raw lingered beneath the surface.
The room remained still, wrapped in a silence so heavy it bordered on reverent.
Then, applause erupted.
The triplets clapped with abandon, their voices rising in cheers.
"That was so cool!" Natsu squealed, bouncing in her chair.
"You play like a prince from a fairytale!" Haru added.
"Why didn't you say you were a musical hero?!" Aki grinned.
Suzume leaned her cheek into her palm, smiling. "Well, well... hiding talents, are we?"
Tora gave a single, firm nod. "Alright. That was worth the hype."
Even Arashi gave a dignified sniff. "Adequate," he said with a flick of his ear. "For a human."
Utsuki said nothing at first. Then, in a voice like a breath: "You carried the wind in your notes... That's not something that can be faked."
Toki chuckled under his breath, standing up and brushing off his trousers. "Let's just say... I've spent a long time chasing wind that didn't want to be caught."
Just then, a new voice cut through the reverence like a knife.
"Well, I'll be damned... seems even baboons can learn to play piano."
Yuki stood in the doorway, a large tray in her hands. Her face was blank, but her eyes—sharp and piercing—betrayed the storm behind them.
Toki didn't miss a beat. He looked at her with the same calm expression and replied dryly:
"And I didn't think you could cook. Seems we're both full of surprises."
Laughter broke the tension. The heaviness in the air lifted like fog in morning light. Yuki rolled her eyes and entered, placing the tray on the table. Dinner resumed with renewed chatter, warm and alive.
Later that night, after dishes were cleared and yawns exchanged, Toki and Utsuki walked the halls together. The manor had quieted, shadows stretching long beneath the lantern light.
They stopped at the junction between their rooms. Utsuki glanced toward her door, then back to him.
"Sleep well," she said simply.
Toki nodded. "You too. Go ahead—I need to finish some cleaning I promised to do."
Utsuki tilted her head, studying him for a moment. Then, with a faint smile: "Don't stay up too late."
"No promises."
She disappeared into her study.
Toki turned down the hallway toward the moonlit library room—a chamber filled with scrolls and scattered parchment. He knelt near the reading desk, gathering loose pages into a neat pile.
Outside, the moon poured silver through the tall windows, bathing the floor in a cool glow. He worked in silence, the only sound the rustling of old paper.
Then—the creak of a door.
He turned. The door hadn't opened fully, just enough to reveal two figures entering the room: Leonard, tall and imposing, and Arashi perched on his shoulder, tail curled elegantly around his neck.
"You're up late," Toki said without surprise.
Leonard stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "So are you."
Arashi leapt gracefully from his perch, landing on the edge of the table, sniffing at the parchment.
"We need to talk," Leonard said. "Some things can't wait until morning."
Toki stood, brushing off his hands. "Judging by the tone, this isn't about your opinion on my piano playing."
Leonard met his gaze, all traces of sarcasm gone. "No. This is about Utsuki. And the storm that's coming for her."
Toki watched Leonard intently, waiting for his next line. The flickering candlelight made the older man's face seem momentarily ancient, etched with the burden of decades. Leonard's fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the desk, then stopped as he locked eyes with Toki.
"The first session of the royal selection will take place in a week," Leonard said slowly, as though weighing each syllable. "And Utsuki still hasn't met all the conditions to participate. Even though you've agreed to be the knight representing her, I'm not sure the other captains of the royal guard will accept you, and I don't know if the king will approve you either."
Toki didn't flinch, but his jaw tightened. "Is there something I could do?"
Leonard exhaled and leaned back in his chair. "The royal family is the main branch of Rindal's descendants, the first legendary lawgiver, seen as a god by many. There's also the secondary branch, which includes the three generals of the army's three factions."
Toki frowned. "Aren't there four divisions?"
"Yes. The fourth spot is occupied by the representative of the tertiary family of Rindal's descendants. The secondary family has produced exceptional knights who have led the army divisions for hundreds of years; they are a noble family with remarkable abilities. The tertiary family holds the fourth position. They also have very strong representatives but are subordinate to the secondary and primary families."
Leonard stood, walked to a nearby cabinet, and pulled out a map of the kingdom. Unfolding it slowly, he pointed to the southern borderlands. "After the royal family died from a mysterious illness that left only the old king alive, the tertiary family was considered suspect and was eliminated. The head of the tertiary family committed suicide out of shame, and his son disappeared."
Toki stared at the map. "Convenient."
Leonard nodded grimly. "Now, the position of the fourth section is vacant, and if you could obtain it, we would have a serious chance. Since the knights leading the other factions and part of the secondary family each support a lady, you, as the head of the fourth division, could represent Utsuki."
Toki crossed his arms. "And how could I do that?"
Leonard gave him a look filled with cautious hope. "I don't know, but I believe things will work out on their own. All you need to do is ensure that you and Utsuki are prepared. Also, you should get another sword; yours is about to bend. With a sword like that, you won't convince anyone."
There was a pause. The weight of Leonard's words settled between them like a heavy shroud.
"Good night , Toki," Leonard added softly, then turned and left the room. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, then faded into silence.
Toki remained still, eyes fixed on the map. He traced the southern mountains with a finger. The idea of reclaiming a dead lineage—or worse, reviving it through blood and politics—tugged at something buried deep within him.
A quiet snort broke the stillness.
"You're quiet, which usually means you're either planning something reckless... or something tragic,"
Arashi said, leaping gracefully from the bookshelf to the desk.
Toki turned slightly. "You're still here?"
"Obviously. Do you think I'd leave you alone in a room full of secrets? I know your type. Smoldering eyes, mysterious past, and now you're playing knight to a girl with the weight of an empire on her shoulders. Classic disaster arc."
Toki raised an eyebrow. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Do you ever start thinking things through?"
Silence fell again. Arashi's fur shimmered slightly in the candlelight. Then, the rabbit's tone shifted.
"Toki, I don't know what you're planning, but if you ever hurt Utsuki, I'll eat your flesh and crush both your hearts. I know you're a star collector, and if you weren't important to Utsuki, I would have killed you on the spot. Be careful what you do; I'm watching you."
There was no humor in his tone. None at all.
Toki met his eyes. "I never intended to hurt her. I still don't."
Arashi narrowed his eyes, then hopped off the desk. Without another word, he disappeared into the hallway, his presence fading like mist at dawn.
Toki sat down heavily in Leonard's chair, burying his face in his hands. How did Arashi know about the authority? About his past? How much did Utsuki know?
He looked up and out the window. The moon was high, silver, distant. His thoughts spiraled.
"For Utsuki," he whispered. "I will find a way, even if I have to die again and again. Life has taken an interesting turn."
Rising slowly, he adjusted his coat and left the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The hallway outside felt different now, like a tunnel into something darker, heavier. The silence had become oppressive.