The reaper-like phantom standing behind Timeo cast a towering shadow across the room. This Eidolon was nothing like the one they had seen before. It was harsher in form—more brutal, more dangerous. There was no elegance to it, no divine glow. It didn't look like a protector.
It looked like a weapon.
"Holy shit, dude! That thing's way different than last time!" Leo shouted, sweat clinging to his forehead. Despite the fear in his voice, there was a trace of awe—almost amusement—as he stared at the entity known as Legion.
Marin, on the other hand, was frozen in place, trembling. "Y-You guys are acting like this is normal! He sliced his own neck!" she cried out, voice breaking.
Her fear wrapped tightly around her like a second skin. She didn't want to believe what she had seen—but her mind couldn't deny it. The blood. The transformation. The phantom. It was all real. Horrifyingly real.
Souta, for the first time, said nothing. His black mask offered no expression, but his posture shifted ever so slightly. Behind the calm, the twisted desires buried in his mind flickered through—still hidden, still restrained, but there. He knew what he was looking at. And he recognized the threat.
Then, Timeo raised his head.
His hair shifted with the breeze that didn't exist, parting just enough to reveal his second eye—sharp, unwavering, cold as steel. His expression didn't twist with rage or pride. It remained calm. But something in his gaze had changed.
There was confidence now.
Not loud, not boastful.
But the quiet, solid kind. The kind carried by someone who finally understood the weight of the life he had been given.
"How is this even possible...?" Souta muttered through gritted teeth, his voice low and tense behind the mask. His eyes narrowed, the smooth surface of the mask shifting subtly with the movement. Something about this didn't add up. "You're just a high schooler. No one has ever been able to control two separate Eidolons. It doesn't make sense… it shouldn't make sense."
But Timeo didn't share that belief.
He didn't think he had summoned two different beings. From the moment he awakened his power, the feeling had always been the same—one presence, one resonance. The truth, as he understood it then, was simpler: he hadn't called upon two separate entities.
He had only ever summoned one.
Legion and the other form—Seigetsu—were not different Eidolons. They were the same being, a single phantom with multiple faces. What changed was not the spirit itself, but the form it took in response to Timeo's state of being.
They were one and the same—reflections of the same power shaped by different moments.
At least, that's what Timeo believed. For now.
But something still gnawed at the edge of Timeo's thoughts.
The blade—when it first appeared—called itself Seigetsu.
But the phantom that rose behind him now had introduced itself as Legion.
Back then, during that desperate moment of awakening, the first form never gave a name. It had only fought—silent, radiant, regal. A force of divine weight and impossible power. But now… this one spoke. This one named itself. And it was different.
Timeo couldn't shake the feeling. Maybe Legion wasn't the true name at all. Maybe it was a code—a mask for something deeper. Maybe Seigetsu was the real identity… or maybe they were just fragments of the same whole, revealed only when Timeo changed.
He didn't know. Not yet.
Leo stepped forward cautiously, still keeping one eye on the looming phantom behind Timeo.
"I don't know what the hell that thing is," Leo muttered, voice low and tense, "but it ain't like the one from before."
He motioned vaguely with his hand toward Legion, keeping a safe distance.
"The last one was all quiet and glowing—like some holy warrior from another world. But this one? This one looks like it crawled out of a grave and brought the whole damn underworld with it."
He shook his head, uneasy.
"Whatever it is… it sure as hell ain't here to protect anyone. That thing's made to end people!"
Timeo rubbed the back of his neck, a little awkward, almost embarrassed by Leo's comment. Being compared to a murderer, even jokingly, struck closer to home than he wanted to admit.
Leo caught himself immediately, eyes widening as he remembered Timeo's rumored criminal record.
"O-Oh shit, sorry!" he stammered, raising his hands slightly. "I didn't mean it like that, man!"
Timeo didn't say a word. He cracked his neck once, calmly, then adjusted his grip on the blade. Instead of responding, he gave a silent command—and Legion began to fade, dissolving into tendrils of dark mist that vanished into the air.
But the energy lingered.
The power was still there—running through him, steady and silent. The blade in his hand now shimmered faintly with it, the edge humming with residual force.
Souta let out a low chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he slowly shook it.
"Well, whatever," he muttered, stepping forward. "You've just awakened. You don't have the strength to face me. Everyone—"
But he never finished the sentence.
In a blink, Timeo had already closed the distance.
A flash of motion. A sudden, fierce cut.
The black blade in his hand surged with energy—deep purple and midnight-black light coiling around it like liquid flame. It flowed over the steel like water, alive and violent.
Souta's instincts kicked in just in time. He countered, raising his own weapon and catching Timeo's strike with a sharp clash of metal.
Steel rang out.
Sparks flew.
The two blades locked, pressing against each other in the air. Timeo and Souta stood eye-to-eye—one calm and cold, the other tense and grinning.
That was when Souta felt it.
Timeo wasn't weak. He hadn't just awakened to power—he had merged with it. Something about the boy in front of him was unnatural. He hadn't been granted strength through desire or force.
It had chosen him.
"You're different…" Souta muttered, a hint of respect buried beneath the tension.
With a quick motion, he broke the clash, pulling his blade free and swinging toward Timeo's neck in a blur of speed.
But Timeo had already moved.
He stepped back, composed and clean, the blade grazing air where his throat had just been.
No panic. No hesitation.
Their blades locked once more, metal grinding as Timeo pushed forward, his strength steady and unshaken. Souta held his ground, his arms trembling slightly under the pressure—but his grin returned, bitter and cruel.
"You really think any of this matters?" he muttered, low enough for only Timeo to hear. "You think power makes you strong? You think standing up to me means something?"
Timeo's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak. He pressed harder against Souta's blade.
Souta leaned in, his masked face inches away, voice dripping with venom.
"These students… they're nothing. Obedient little tools. I mold them how I want. The boys are just noise. The girls? Playthings. Pretty faces desperate for praise. Useless outside their dance routines, but they listen."
Timeo didn't react—not with words. His body remained composed, but the tension in his muscles shifted.
Souta continued, tone darker now.
"You think I don't know how to make people stay quiet? How to own them? That's what school is—a cage. And I'm the one holding the key."
Then, with a sudden twist, he broke their clash and swung high—aimed straight for Timeo's head. But Timeo ducked low, spun beneath the strike, and brought his blade up in a clean, retaliating arc that forced Souta to jump back.
This time, there was no grin.
Timeo stood still again—one hand in his pocket, the other gripping the blade, eyes fixed on him with quiet intensity.
"You're done talking," he said flatly.
And in that moment, Souta finally realized—
He had crossed a line.
With a brutal twist of his body, Souta stepped into Timeo's space, catching him off guard. He drove his elbow into Timeo's shoulder with a sickening thud, forcing his hand open.
The blade clattered to the floor.
Timeo staggered, his balance lost for just a second—and it was enough.
Souta smirked behind the mask. "Too slow."
He raised his hand, and in an instant, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature dropped. The classroom dimmed. Shadows surged toward him, dragging behind them a massive, hulking pressure that crushed the air like a vice.
Then it happened.
His Eidolon emerged.
The monstrous phantom loomed behind him—Gorvane—wordless, hulking, silent. Souta didn't speak. He didn't boast.
He simply raised his sword.
And Gorvane obeyed.
The giant cleaver in Gorvane's hands swung down in perfect sync with its summoner—a single, devastating motion. The phantom blade carved through the air with a deep roar, too fast and too powerful for its size.
And then came the impact.
The swing didn't just shake the room—it erupted.
A shockwave exploded out in every direction. The force tore through the classroom like a storm—chairs were sent flying, desks crashed into the walls, papers shredded mid-air, and the windows shattered in an instant, glass raining down like shards of ice. The very walls groaned beneath the pressure.
Timeo rolled hard toward his fallen blade. His hand gripped the hilt just in time, and he raised it in front of him to shield his body.
The shockwave hit like a bomb going off.
Timeo barely had time to bring the blade up in front of him, both hands gripping it tight as the wind roared against his body. The moment Gorvane's cleaver struck, the world seemed to bend—and then snap back with a violent recoil.
The air detonated around him.
The pressure tore through his guard like it was paper. His feet left the ground. He was lifted—not pushed, not thrown—but torn from the floor like a leaf in a storm. The force slammed into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs before he even realized what had happened.
Timeo's body was hurled through the shattered window, the frame still lined with jagged glass. He didn't twist, he didn't fall—he flew, headlong into open air.
Three stories of empty space rushed past him in an instant.
He hit the concrete courtyard below with a sickening, bone-jarring crash, his body skidding violently across the stone until it finally rolled to a broken halt. Blood streaked behind him, pooling beneath one arm as his limbs sprawled unnaturally across the ground.
"Yamamoto!" Marin shrieked, her voice cracking into shock as she ran to the broken window.
Leo was right beside her, his hands gripping the frame so tight his knuckles turned white.
"Shit—Timeo?! What the hell?!" he shouted, breathless.
He stared down at Timeo's crumpled body on the pavement below, eyes wide with disbelief and panic.
Timeo lay still below, but from the window above, Leo could just make out the slow rise and fall of his chest. He was alive—barely—but the sight of his body sprawled across the stone, stained with blood, made Leo's stomach twist. He swallowed hard, fear choking his throat, unable to form more than a whisper.
But behind him, Souta stepped forward, brushing dust from his coat, his mask tilting ever so slightly as he looked at them with a wicked grin.
"Well, now that he's out of the way…" he said, voice laced with cruel amusement, "I think it's only fair you two join him in the hospital. I'll tell the school it was an accident. A little mishap during class."
He chuckled low under his breath.
"And the best part? They'll believe me. This school worships my reputation. No one will question a word I say."
His confidence dripped with venom—victory already assumed, his intent clear. He didn't just want control—he wanted dominion. His desires were steeped in manipulation, and Leo had known it from the very beginning.
"You sick bastard!" Leo snapped, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He wanted to strike, to stop him, to end this—but he was just a student. No blade. No power. Nothing but fury.
And yet, when Marin flinched and stepped behind him, Leo threw his arm out across her chest protectively.
"Stay back, Aoyama!" he barked, planting himself between her and Souta.
She trembled behind him, voice rising in fear. "Leo, what do you think you're doing?! You're just a student! We can't fight him. There's nothing we can do but run!"
But Leo didn't budge. His body shook, not from fear—but from restraint. He knew what would happen. He knew he'd probably get hurt. Badly.
But still, he didn't move.
"I ain't leavin' him behind," Leo growled. "I don't care if he's down. I don't care if I've got nothin' to fight with. I won't run. I'm not lettin' that bastard win."
He tightened his stance, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Souta with nothing but defiance.
"If I go down, I'm takin' a piece of him with me."
As Timeo slowly pushed himself up from the ground, pain still radiating through his body, he heard that voice again.
It was soft—female, calm, and steady. Not cold or commanding like before, but warm, almost reassuring. It echoed inside him, not through his ears, but deep in his mind.
"A thread has tightened… pulled not by destiny, but by will."
"A bond forged not in light, nor born of triumph… but from the weight of standing still when others fall. Without blade, without promise, he placed himself between cruelty and fear… and did not waver."
"This is not bravery born of power. It is resolve—quiet, raw, and unyielding. Through his defiance, something has awakened. Not loud, not grand… but steady. True."
"You have seen it. You have felt it. This moment carves a new path—not for glory, but for loyalty. For the unspoken vow between those who do not run."
"Let it echo. Let it endure. For what was once silent… now begins to speak."
Timeo rose back to his feet, slow but deliberate. His heart pounded in his chest—not from pain, but from something deeper. Stronger. It wasn't rage. It wasn't fear. It was clarity. The steady rhythm of something awakened.
He turned his gaze upward toward the shattered window above, blood still drying on his chin, and in that moment, Legion emerged behind him. The phantom reappeared without sound, towering and still, its presence pulsing in sync with Timeo's breath.
With his hands still tucked in his pockets and the sword lying quietly by his feet, a ring of fire began to form around him. It curled up from the cracks in the pavement, slow and deliberate, then surged into a bright, spiraling circle that danced with heat. The flames didn't burn him—they obeyed him, as if drawn to the gravity of his will.
Timeo crouched, exhaling slowly, and picked up the blade.
The steel, once cold, ignited instantly in his grip—orange and gold fire wrapping tightly around the edge like a living extension of his thoughts.
Far above, Souta felt it. A ripple in the air. A shift in something real.
He stepped to the ruined window, leaning over slightly. The flickering light of the flames painted the walls behind him in long, shaking shadows.
He looked down.
Timeo stood below—expression still and unreadable. But something was different. Legion mirrored his stance, blade now aglow, the heat warping the air around him. Their eyes met.
Souta's mask tilted with slight irritation. "Not done yet? What's with this punk?" he muttered under his breath.
Then Timeo moved.
He slowly dragged the flaming blade over his shoulder, embers trailing behind the tip like sparks from a forge. Legion matched his motion, a synchronized shadow of fury and silence.
But that wasn't what shook Souta.
It was Timeo's eyes.
The quiet had faded.
His expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. His brows narrowed, his jaw clenched just slightly. The usual stoic stillness in his face was now carved into something colder. Sharper.
Determined.
Then came the voice—firm, unwavering, and for the first time since the day began, raised with weight.
"This is getting way out of hand, Nishizawa!" Timeo shouted, his tone stripped of patience.
He pulled his hands from his pockets, stepping forward into the flames without blinking. His hair shifted with the heat, falling to the side and fully revealing both of his eyes—burning not with power, but conviction.
And in that moment, Timeo's true nature came to light.
He wasn't just quiet. He wasn't detached. He was watchful—always calculating, always holding back. He had never been empty; he had been waiting.
Every silence was a choice. Every passive glance, a shield.
But now? That shield was gone. What stood in its place wasn't fury—it was intent. A will not to prove something, but to end what should have never begun.
Timeo had revealed himself—not as a boy with a blade. But as someone who no longer had anything to hold back or hide.
To be continued...