100 Chapter 100
I didn't know how long I walked.
Time felt unreliable here. Not broken—just indifferent. Like it would keep moving whether I paid attention to it or not.
The road stretched ahead of me, cracked asphalt slowly giving way to something cleaner. Streetlights appeared one by one, humming softly as dusk settled in. Cars passed. Real ones. Loud. Messy. Ordinary.
That was when my chest tightened.
"…No," I muttered.
The skyline rose in the distance, familiar in a way that hurt more than it comforted. Buildings stacked the way I remembered. Not grand. Not alien. Just… human.
This wasn't some reconstructed echo. It wasn't a forged realm.
It was my world.
My steps slowed without me meaning them to. I stood there, armor long gone, Durandal dormant, hands empty at my sides like I didn't know what to do with them anymore.
People walked past me.
Someone brushed my shoulder and muttered an apology without looking up. Another laughed into a phone, complaining about something meaningless. A couple argued quietly at a crosswalk.
None of them knew who I was.
None of them felt the weight I carried.
I exhaled, shaky.
"So that's it," I whispered. "You just… put me back."
I kept walking.
The city pulled memories out of me without permission. Streets I hadn't walked in years. Stores that shouldn't still exist but did anyway. I stopped at a corner and stared at a traffic light like it might explain something to me.
Red.
Green.
Yellow.
Simple rules.
I didn't remember the last time the world had rules like that.
I turned down a side street.
And then I saw it.
The neighborhood.
My pace slowed to a crawl. My heartbeat picked up, not from fear, but from something worse—hesitation. Like if I acknowledged it fully, something would break.
The houses were smaller than I remembered.
Or maybe I was just bigger now.
I stopped in front of one without realizing it.
The gate was still crooked. The front steps still uneven. The window on the left still had that faint crack in the corner of the glass that never quite spread but never healed either.
Home.
My throat tightened.
I didn't move for a long time.
I thought about Serenia.
Ko.
Rin.
Yoru.
I thought about Wonshin's last look. About the weight of a heart being held in someone else's hand. About Daiha's smile as she tore the universe apart and called it mercy.
I thought about how many times I'd told myself I didn't belong anywhere anymore.
And yet— Here it was.
Waiting.
I stepped closer. The front door was locked. Of course it was.
I laughed quietly under my breath, a short, broken sound. "Figures."
My hand slid into my pocket out of habit more than intent.
And froze.
Metal.
Cold.
I pulled it out slowly.
A key.
I stared at it like it might disappear if I blinked. Same scratches. Same worn edges. The one I stopped carrying when I convinced myself I'd never need it again.
Apparently, the universe disagreed.
My hand trembled as I slid it into the lock.
It turned.
The door opened.
The smell hit me first. Dust. Old wood. Faint traces of something that felt like memory more than scent. The hallway looked exactly the same. Shoes by the wall. The small dent in the frame I never fixed.
I stepped inside.
The door closed behind me with a quiet click.
Silence wrapped around me—not the heavy kind. Just… quiet.
I stood there, unsure what to do next.
No enemies.
No objectives.
No voices telling me what I had to become.
Just me.
I moved through the house slowly, touching things like they might vanish. The table. The couch. The wall where Serenia once marked our heights when we were kids.
I stopped in the living room and sat down.
The weight finally hit me then.
Not power.
Not responsibility.
Loneliness.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.
"I'm still here," I said softly, to no one. "After everything… I'm still here."
Outside, the city continued. Cars passed. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed. Life went on, ignorant and stubborn and alive.
I didn't know where the others were.
I didn't know what Daiha had turned the universe into.
I didn't know what I was supposed to do next.
But for the first time in a long while—
I wasn't running.
I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes.
"Alright," I murmured. "I'll stay."
Just for tonight.
The couch was uncomfortable.
I realized that halfway through drifting off—too short for my legs, the armrest digging into my ribs. Still, exhaustion won. Not the kind you fix with sleep. The kind that shuts systems down whether you agree or not.
I don't know how long I was out.
What woke me wasn't danger.
It wasn't instinct.
It was cold.
Freezing.
I sucked in a sharp breath as water slammed into my face and chest, soaking straight through my clothes. I jerked upright on reflex, heart spiking, hand already moving—
"What the fuck was that?!"
I wiped my eyes, vision blurry, adrenaline flaring for half a second before my brain caught up.
Kitchen.
Lights on.
A woman standing a few feet away, holding an empty glass.
She looked… furious.
No—confused. Shocked. Angry in that very specific way only someone who knows you can be.
We stared at each other.
Her hair was tied back loosely, strands falling out like she hadn't bothered fixing it properly. She was still in her work clothes, jacket half-off, keys tossed on the counter behind her. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired.
She looked real.
My breath caught.
"…Mom?"
The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then she squinted at me, head tilting slightly, like she was trying to line up a memory with what she was seeing.
"…No," she said slowly. "No, that's not funny."
I swallowed. My throat felt tight, like it had forgotten how to work.
"Mom," I said quietly. "It's me."
Her jaw clenched.
"Oh, you've got nerve," she snapped, grabbing another glass and filling it aggressively at the sink. "Breaking into my house, sleeping on my couch, and calling me by my name like that—"
She turned and threw the water.
I barely managed to block it with my arm this time.
"HEY—!"
"That's for the door being open," she shot back. "And that's for making me think I'm losing my damn mind."
I stared at her.
Really stared.
The way she stood. The way her shoulders were tense but not afraid. The way her eyes kept flicking over my face, like she hated that something about it felt familiar.
"…You dumped water on me," I said dumbly.
"You were sleeping in my house!" she yelled back. "Who does that?!"
"My house," I said without thinking.
Silence.
That did it.
She went completely still.
Slowly, carefully, mom stepped closer. Her anger didn't vanish—but something else crept in underneath it. Doubt. Recognition. Fear she didn't want to name.
She reached out.
Then stopped herself.
"…Say it again," she said, quieter now.
I swallowed. "This is our house."
Her breath hitched.
I pushed myself up from the couch, standing fully now. I realized how tall I was compared to her. When did that happen?
"You used to complain about the draft near the window," I continued softly. "Said it made the place feel colder than it should've. You never fixed it because you said we'd move eventually."
Her lips parted slightly.
"And you always yelled at me for leaving my shoes by the door," I said, gesturing down. "Even though Serenia did it more than I did."
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the floor.
She slapped my arm weakly. "Don't— don't touch me—"
"I'm sorry," I said immediately, lowering her carefully onto the chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
She looked up at me.
Really looked.
Her hand came up, shaking, and pressed against my cheek.
Warm.
Real.
"…Aruno?" she whispered.
My chest caved in.
"Yeah," I said. My voice cracked despite myself. "It's me."
Her face twisted—not into joy. Not yet.
First came disbelief.
Then grief.
Then something raw and ugly and relieved all at once.
She stood abruptly and punched me square in the chest.
Hard.
"You idiot," she choked. "Do you have any idea—"
She hit me again.
I didn't move.
"You disappeared," she sobbed, fists pounding uselessly against armorless skin. "You just—vanished—no body, no answers—"
I wrapped my arms around her.
She fought it for half a second.
Then broke.
She clutched my shirt like she was afraid I'd disappear again if she let go, shoulders shaking as years of fear and unanswered questions poured out of her in one silent collapse.
I held her.
Didn't say anything. Didn't explain. Didn't apologize yet.
I just stayed.
After a while, she pulled back, wiping her face aggressively with her sleeve, regaining control the way only a parent who has to can.
She looked at me again, eyes sharp through the tears.
"You're soaking wet," she said.
"…You threw water on me."
She sniffed. "Deserved."
I huffed a weak laugh.
Then her gaze hardened just a little.
"You're not a dream," she said. "And you're not a ghost."
"No," I replied. "I'm really here."
She crossed her arms. "You're going to explain."
"…Yeah."
"And you're not leaving again."
I hesitated.
Just a fraction.
She noticed immediately.
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't."
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "I don't know how long I can stay."
She stepped closer. "Then you stay as long as you can."
No threats.
No drama.
Just a statement.
I nodded slowly. "Okay."
She looked at the soaked couch, then back at me.
"You hungry?"
The question almost broke me.
"…Yeah," I said quietly. "I think I am—
Ko came to walking around to get familiar with his surroundings.
That was the first thing that felt wrong.
Everything was still a bit fuzzy from what had happened— just the sudden realization that he was already on his feet, body balanced, muscles ready, like the world had dropped him into place and expected him to figure it out.
The second thing he noticed was the smell.
He stopped.
"…What the hell is that."
It wasn't rot. It wasn't blood. It wasn't magic.
It was worse.
He turned slowly, scanning the street. Pavement. Cars. Too many people packed into too little space. A fence to his left, tall and metal, with a wide yard beyond it. Kids shouting. Running. Laughing.
A school.
Ko pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why does it smell like someone lost a war in there."
A bell rang—sharp, metallic, sudden. He flinched on instinct, hand twitching toward a weapon that wasn't there.
No blade. No spear. No pressure in the air.
Just noise.
He looked down at his hands. Same scars. Same calluses. Same weight in his bones.
He exhaled slowly.
"Okay," he muttered. "So I'm alive."
That was a good start.
A bus thundered past him close enough to kick up hot air and dust. On the front, bright orange letters slid by his vision.
QUEENS
Ko turned his head and watched it go, brow furrowing.
"…That's not a city name," he said. "That's a title."
He scanned the buildings again. Brick stacked on brick. Fire escapes zigzagging like broken ladders. Signs in languages he half-recognized from overheard conversations Aruno used to translate for fun.
No mana lines. No divine pressure. No world-consciousness watching him back.
This place didn't care who he was.
That realization settled deep in his chest.
He started walking.
People brushed past him without hesitation. Someone bumped his shoulder and kept going without apology. Another stared at his coat for half a second too long before looking away.
Ko slowed, letting his senses stretch out the way they always did before a fight.
Nothing answered.
He stopped in front of a chain-link fence and stared through it at the schoolyard. Kids argued over a ball. One tripped and scraped his knee. Another laughed too hard.
No one died.
No one noticed the world almost ending.
"…Aruno would hate this," Ko said quietly. "Too loud. Too messy."
A memory surfaced—Rin talking late one night, describing her home with a softness she never used anywhere else.
Trains everywhere. People everywhere. Cities that never shut up.
Japan.
Ko straightened.
If Rin was anywhere, it would be somewhere like this.
He turned in a slow circle, finally noticing the sign bolted to the corner of the building beside him. White letters. Blue background.
Queens, New York..
"…America," he said, testing the word.
The ground didn't shake. The sky didn't answer.
So that was that.
Ko let out a breath and laughed once under his breath—short, incredulous.
"Of course," he said. "Of all places."
His stomach growled, sharp and immediate, like it had waited politely until the universe finished breaking before making demands.
He glanced down the street and spotted a small shop glowing with harsh fluorescent light.
Food.
"…Yeah," he nodded. "We're doing this one problem at a time."
He rolled his shoulders, adjusted his coat, and started walking again—no weapons, no plan, no idea of what is going on.
Just a direction.
And somewhere out there, a brother who'd told him once—
If you're lost, keep moving. I'll find you.
Ko kept walking.
Yoru stopped walking when the phone buzzed for the third time and did absolutely nothing.
No bars. No signal. No satellite ping. Not even the courtesy of pretending.
She stared at the screen, thumb hovering, then tried again anyway—out of habit more than hope.
Nothing.
"…Great," she muttered.
She slid the phone back into her pocket and exhaled slowly, forcing the irritation down. Panicking never helped. It just made you sloppy.
The street she stood on was wide and clean, paved with stone that faintly reflected light like it had been polished too often. Buildings rose on either side—tall, angular, threaded with glowing lines that pulsed gently, not mana exactly, but close enough to make her skin itch.
People passed her.
Some looked human, some not so much.
Different clothes. Brighter colors. Fabric that shimmered when it moved. Some had faint markings along their necks or hands, some tattoos they had were glowing. No one stared at her scythe. No one flinched. A few glanced at it the way you'd glance at a coat you didn't personally like.
That alone told her everything.
Weapons were normal here.
Yoru adjusted her grip on the scythe anyway, resting it against her shoulder like it weighed nothing. It didn't. Not to her.
"Not Earth," she said quietly. "But not hostile."
That narrowed things down to almost nothing.
She walked.
The city stretched outward in slow curves instead of straight lines, streets bending gently as if designed to guide people without them noticing. Above, the sky wasn't blue—it leaned toward deep indigo, scattered with faint points of light that didn't move like stars.
No moons. At least, none she could see.
She passed an open plaza where vendors sold food that smelled unfamiliar but good, steam curling up in colors she didn't recognize. Laughter carried easily here. Music too—low, rhythmic, woven with tones that made the air feel thicker.
Still no one cared about her.
That bothered her more than if they had.
She stopped near the edge of the plaza and looked around, calculating. Money? She checked her pockets. Some currency she didn't recognize. Figures.
Shelter was priority. Information second. Everything else could wait.
A sign caught her eye—symbols layered over something almost readable. The universal language of "rooms available" translated itself without asking her permission.
"…Convenient," she said. Yoru unsummoned her scythe, due to the weapon was too big to enter.
The building was tall and narrow, stone walls etched with faint glowing patterns that dimmed as she approached. Inside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of incense.
A woman with black and purple hair, behind the counter looked up.
"Vacancy?" Yoru asked.
The woman smiled. "Always."
No questions. No suspicion. No tension.
Yoru paid, took the key, and climbed the stairs two at a time. The room was simple. Clean. A bed. A window that looked out over the city's soft glow.
She sat beside the bed, elbows on her knees.
Only then did the silence catch up.
"…Aruno, what did you do this time," she said under her breath, not expecting an answer.
Nothing came.
She leaned back, staring at the ceiling, letting the unfamiliar world exist around her without challenging it.
"Okay," she murmured. "New place. New rules."
Her fingers curled slowly.
"But same me."
Serenia didn't realize where she was at first.
That was the strange part.
The street was quiet. Too quiet. No warped sky, no unfamiliar constellations, no pressure humming beneath her skin. Just asphalt, sidewalks, parked cars lined up a little too neatly. Trees she recognized but hadn't seen in years.
Her boots slowed.
Her breath caught.
"…No way," she whispered.
She turned slowly, heart beginning to race—not from danger, but from recognition she didn't dare trust yet.
The house stood there like it always had.
Same faded exterior. Same uneven fence post. Same small crack near the front steps she used to trip over when she was younger. Time had touched it gently, like it was afraid to change anything too much.
Serenia's vision blurred.
Her hands trembled as she stepped closer, fingers brushing the gate. It creaked in the same familiar way.
Home.
Her chest tightened painfully.
"This isn't real," she murmured. "This can't be real."
The door was unlocked.
That alone almost broke her.
She pushed it open slowly.
Warmth spilled out. Not magical warmth—human warmth. The smell of tea. Of fabric. Of something cooking earlier and forgotten.
Voices.
Her heart slammed hard enough she thought she might collapse.
"…Mom?" she called softly.
The name felt fragile in her mouth.
She stepped inside—and froze.
Aruno was there.
Not armored. Not bloodied. Not carrying the weight of worlds on his shoulders.
He stood near the table, black turtleneck, black trenchcoat draped over a chair, sleeves rolled slightly like he'd done a hundred times before leaving the house. He turned at the sound of the door.
Their eyes met.
For half a second, neither of them moved.
Then Serenia made a sound—half laugh, half sob—and crossed the room in three steps, slamming into him hard enough to knock the air out of both of them.
"Aruno—!"
He caught her automatically, arms locking around her like he'd never let go again. His grip was tight, desperate, real.
"You're here," he said, voice breaking despite himself. "You're actually here."
She buried her face into his chest, shaking. "I thought—I didn't know where I was—I thought I lost you again."
"You didn't," he said immediately. "You didn't."
A chair scraped softly.
Mom stood frozen a few steps away, hand pressed to her mouth.
Her eyes moved between them—taking in Serenia's clothes, the faint glow still clinging to her like starlight, the way Aruno held her like she was something sacred.
"…Serenia?" Mom said, barely louder than a breath.
Serenia lifted her head slowly.
The moment their eyes met, something shattered.
"Mom," Serenia whispered.
Mom crossed the room without another word and pulled both of them into her arms, awkward and fierce and trembling all at once.
"I don't care," she said, voice cracking. "I don't care where you've been. I don't care what the world did."
She held them tighter.
"You're home."
Serenia broke then, sobbing openly, clutching onto mom like she was afraid this was a dream that would vanish if she let go.
Aruno closed his eyes.
For the first time since the fight with Ash—since Daiha, since the reset, since everything—
The Kurogane family was together.
The house felt smaller once the shock wore off.
Not cramped—just full.
Serenia sat on the floor with her back against the couch, knees pulled to her chest, eyes still red but steady now. Mom moved quietly through the kitchen, pretending not to watch them every second, pretending this was normal. Aruno leaned against the wall near the doorway, arms folded, grounding himself in the sound of breathing that wasn't his alone.
For a while, no one spoke.
Then Serenia broke the silence.
"…They're not here," she said softly. "Ko. Rin. Yoru."
Aruno nodded. "I know."
Mom paused, a mug halfway to the counter. She didn't ask questions. She just listened.
Serenia swallowed. "But they're alive. I can feel it. It's not like before."
Aruno pushed off the wall and sat beside her, shoulder brushing hers. "Same," he said. "Whatever Daiha did… it scattered us. It didn't erase us."
Mom turned, studying their faces. "You're talking like this is temporary."
Aruno looked up at her.
"It is."
There was no hesitation in his voice. No bravado. Just certainty.
Ko's laugh echoed in Aruno's memory—too loud, too easy. Rin's quiet presence beside him at the table. Yoru's steady shadow at his flank, blade always ready.
Serenia felt it too. She closed her eyes briefly, picturing them the way they were meant to be remembered—not lost, not broken.
"We've survived worse," she said. "Across worlds. Across gods."
Mom exhaled slowly. "You sound like you're saying goodbye again."
Aruno shook his head. "No. I'm saying this is a pause."
He reached out, resting a hand over Serenia's. "We don't chase blindly. We live. We prepare. And when the time comes—"
"We find each other," Serenia finished.
Somewhere far away, Ko looked up at a sky boxed in by buildings and made the same promise without realizing it.
In another world, Rin stood in front of a familiar door, key trembling in her hand, whispering their names like a vow.
On a planet of soft light and quiet magic, Yoru stared out over a city that wasn't hers yet and decided she would make it one if she had to.
Across universes, across distance that shouldn't be crossable, the thought carried anyway.
We will find each other.
Aruno leaned back against the couch, eyes closing for just a moment.
"No matter what," he said quietly.
Serenia squeezed his hand. "No matter where."
Mom watched them, something like understanding settling into her chest. "Then," she said gently, "you'll need somewhere to return to."
Aruno opened his eyes and looked around the room.
Home.
The world might have reset. The stage might have shattered. Daiha might have crowned herself queen of whatever remained.
But this— This still existed.
And as long as it did, they weren't lost.
"We as Vitanex— as a family we'll always find each other.. no matter what Serenia. Ko, Yoru.. and Rin are strong. They are our family."