Chapter Text
What came next wasn’t what Touya expected. Then again… none of this had been.
Seeing Tenko again had never felt like a real possibility. After eight years, he’d grieved the loss—felt the anger, the grief, the sadness—and found a rhythm he could work with. No closure. Just the absence.
He’d become someone his family could be proud of. He did well enough by the Todoroki house. Found a place in court. Harnessed his power, refined it, polished it into something useful.
Filled the void Tenko had left behind and moved forward. And then, all at once—there he was again.
Tenko. Looking at him with those hollow, red eyes. But the boy he’d known was long gone. Someone new stood in his place.
Long, ghostly hair. Red eyes that seemed lost. The sickly frame of someone chronically unwell.
In many ways, Tenko was afflicted by something no one else could see—no one else could feel.
In that place beneath the mountain, Touya had started to understand. The way the darkness played tricks on the mind. The shadows of something just out of reach. The voice that echoed in a place devoid of sound.
He was beginning to understand why Tenko had chosen isolation. Why he’d chosen to bear the burden alone.
That realization—this newfound understanding of what his friend had endured—ate at him.
For eight years, Tenko had battled whatever it was. Alone.
Looking at him now, Touya saw years of hurt dripping off him. It wasn’t just that Tenko was covered in blood—the King’s blood—or that he gravitated toward that gruesome book. It was everything else Touya couldn’t see.
The way the battle he’d fought in solitude had taken from him things he never even knew he’d had. His time. His spirit.
It had stolen both who he was, and who he could’ve been. A hollowed-out fragment cracked open.
And worst of all—the King was gone.
The seal—fracturing, barely held together.
Mirai was down there, holding it back. Or holding it together.
Touya didn’t really know how any of it worked. He only saw the way the markings etched themselves into his skin.
He had a feeling only the King, Mirai, and Tenko had understood what was really happening. Which didn’t make him feel any better. The first two were already gone.
What would happen to the last one who knew?
That thing in the mountain—now whispering through paper and skin. And Tenko…Tenko hadn’t come out of that place whole.
They had all watched Izuku storm off, rage tearing through the stillness like a blade.
Touya had never seen him like that. Never thought he had it in him. But watching your father be turned inside out—turned into a book—That would change anyone.
Even the strongest light couldn’t survive that without flickering.
Just thinking about the grimoire made Touya’s stomach twist. The way it had felt alive in his arms. The way it moved. It was still warm.
Aizawa had been the first to go after Izuku. He didn’t speak. Just followed.
Katsuki exchanged a look with Ochaco, then fell in behind him. The three of them vanished into the trees.
Touya stayed.
Someone had to bring Tenko down the mountain. They walked in silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
He tried, once, to say something.
Anything.
The words scraped the back of his throat, but nothing came out. The weight between them was too much.
Tenko didn’t look at him. Didn’t look at anything. Just held the grimoire against his chest with a grip that trembled—but never loosened. The gruesome thing seemed to breathe with him.
Touya couldn’t stomach looking at it for long.
Tenko’s eyes were blank. Hollow.
The walk back down took twice as long, even though they were moving quickly.
The air felt thinner. The world… quieter.
By the time they reached the edge of the woods, most of the camp was already packed.
Pegasi were being loaded and directed into the sky. The dragons were gone.
Keigo was waiting, playing with that little rabbit that wasn’t quite right. It seemed to enjoy wrestling with Keigo’s hand or playing some version of chase.
Touya had always been concerned by how clever the strange little thing was. Its flat eyes fell on Tenko, and it bounded over to greet him.
It was clearly dejected when its master wouldn’t even acknowledge it. Keigo exchanged a half-hearted smile with Touya. He didn’t ask questions.
Just held the reins of a pegasus in one hand, eyes sharp and unreadable.
But when he caught sight of Tenko—his expression shifted.
No words. Just understanding.
The King was dead.
Something terrible had happened.
And they were all breaking under the weight of it.
Keigo helped lift Tenko onto the pegasus, then flew close by Touya as they made their way back to the palace. The strange rabbit was tucked inside Keigo’s favorite flight coat.
The knight had exchanged his heavier armor for something lighter and warmer—what he wore when he flew.
Touya wasn’t sure if Tenko even knew they were flying.
By the time they touched down, his hands were still curled tightly around the grimoire. He dismounted without speaking, handing the reins to a stablehand with a dull, automatic motion. His limbs felt disconnected, like he was moving underwater.
Keigo took Tenko’s other side and helped guide him through the palace halls.
When they reached the turn that led toward Tenko’s quarters, the prince finally spoke.
“I don’t want to go back there,” he whispered.
Keigo slowed, glancing at Touya.
No confusion. Just decision.
“All right,” Touya said softly. “You don’t have to.”
They led him to Touya’s rooms instead. He’d only moved into the inner palace recently—after being made an Imperial Mage—but his quarters were spacious and private. Lined with dark wood, arched windows, and bookshelves heavy with arcane texts and trinkets he’d collected from his travels. The room was lavish.
Tenko sat when they guided him to an ottoman near the fireplace. He still hadn’t let go of the grimoire. Touya knelt in front of him. His voice was quiet but steady.
“Tenko,” he said. “You have to let go of it now. Just for a little while.”
Tenko’s arms tightened around the book. He shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I can’t.”
Keigo let the restless rabbit out of his coat and crouched beside Tenko.
His tone was gentle, coaxing. The rabbit nuzzled Tenko’s leg, looking for acknowledgment.
“It’ll be safe. Touya can lock it away. You’ll have the key. No one will touch it. But you… you need rest, Tenko. You’re barely even breathing right now.” Keigo’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. Calm. Patient.
Tenko’s grip wavered. His lips parted, but nothing came out.
“Please,” Touya said, even softer now. “Let us help you.” He laid a tentative hand on Tenko’s thigh.
There was a long pause.
Then, finally, Tenko’s fingers unclenched—slowly. Like peeling them away hurt.
Touya took the book gently, treating it like a wounded animal.
It was so warm.
The second it left Tenko’s grasp, his whole body sagged slightly forward—
Like the weight of it had been holding him upright.
Touya crossed the room and placed the grimoire inside a reinforced arcane safe near his bed. Magic shimmered faintly across the seal as it locked. He returned with a thin silver chain in hand—the key now transmuted into a pendant.
“Here,” he said, looping it around Tenko’s neck. “It’s still yours. You can get it whenever you need.”
Tenko didn’t respond, but his fingers moved to touch the pendant—clutching it as if he were still holding the book.
Keigo stood. “I’ll draw the bath.”
The rabbit took the opportunity to hop after him, disappearing around the corner.
Steam was already curling from the next room by the time Touya helped Tenko stand.
The rabbit had made itself comfortable near the fireplace.
Undressing Tenko was delicate work.
His clothes were ruined—bloodied, stiff, soaked in rot and something that smelled like the cavern itself. Touya took one sleeve. Keigo took the other. Neither of them spoke.
When they guided him into the water, Tenko flinched—just once—but didn’t resist. The water was warm. Clean. The room smelled of lavender and cedarwood, from tinctures Touya kept on hand for spellwork.
Keigo rolled up his sleeves and sat on the edge of the tub, wetting a cloth. They scrubbed gently. Carefully. Blood and soot and old skin came away in layers. It wasn’t just dirt.
It was something else.
Something that needed him to survive.
No one said it aloud. Tenko stared forward the entire time, unmoving. His breathing was steady now—but shallow. His eyes didn’t blink often. It was like he wasn’t in the room at all.
When they were finished, they helped him into fresh clothes—Touya’s.
The shirt was too big, sleeves hanging past his hands. The pants barely stayed on his hips, cinched tight at the waist. He looked impossibly small.
They got him into bed without a word.
Keigo stayed at his side while Touya went to clean up.
The silence between them was understood.
What could they even say?
When Touya returned, Tenko was curled beneath the blankets, facing the wall. Keigo, once again, scooped up the little rabbit and—with a nod and a firm hand on Touya’s shoulder—left to find his own peace for the night.
Touya hovered at the edge of the room, unsure. His voice cracked slightly when he spoke. “I can take the chair, if you’d rather be alone.”
Tenko stirred.
His voice was a whisper, raw and childlike. “Don’t leave me.”
Touya crossed the room without hesitation. He climbed into bed, clothes still damp from steam, and lay beside him.
Tenko shifted—moved closer.
Curled into him like a wounded animal seeking warmth. His forehead pressed against Touya’s chest. His hands clutched a fistful of fabric near Touya’s shoulder.
He was still trembling.
Touya didn’t move. Just held him, arms wrapped loosely around the frail form beside him. Tenko’s breathing evened out. Sleep came fast.
Touya lay awake.
Staring at the ceiling. Eyes dry. Chest aching.
The mountain. The seal. The book. Mirai. The King.
Everything.
It didn’t feel real. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
He tightened his arm slightly around Tenko.
None of this...None of this was what he expected.