.

Part 1

(In which Hiyori forgets and Yato expected something a little more…instantaneous.)

The day Hiyori forgot dawned like any other. It was so ordinary that it caught Yato completely off guard, although perhaps he would have never truly expected it. He had always known she would forget him one day. She would die someday even if she always remembered, but human memories were fickle things. Either way, she would leave him behind sooner or later.

Somehow, though, he had always thought it would be later. Wishful thinking. Silly of him—gods granted wishes, they didn't demand them. Who was he to try keeping one for himself?

Looking back, he blamed the exams. Hiyori always grew distracted and anxious and irritable when exams rolled around, and this round was proving to be the worst yet. Yato couldn't exactly blame her, even if he didn't understand all the fuss. Everything with his father… Well, his father had made a mess of things, just like always. It had taken a toll on everyone, in more serious ways than distracting them from studying for upcoming exams.

Yato hadn't expected all his problems would magically solve themselves when he killed Father. In fact, he thought it would open up a whole other world of problems for him. But things had gone much too far. Father had threated Yukine and Hiyori too many times and had begun making dangerous moves on the world at large, and Yato didn't know how much more he could take himself, either. So he'd set off on a grand mission, determined to defeat his father once and for all even if it killed him in the process, and everything had gone to hell. He had wanted to do it himself to keep Yukine and Hiyori out of it, but of course they had been dragged in headfirst like always.

Bishamon had survived. So had Kazuma, and he had been welcomed back into the fold, even if Yato suspected it would be a while before he accepted it. Yukine had survived too and been cut free of Father's influence despite dancing back and forth across the line. Yato and Kazuma and Hiyori had pulled him back just in time. Nora had been set as free as she could be and even formed some sort of odd attachment with Hiyori and Yukine, although she rarely dropped by to visit and Yato preferred it that way.

And Yato had survived too, somehow. He had anticipated dying along with Father or disappearing shortly afterward, but he was still here. Hiyori's belief was enough to sustain him for now, and Yukine—although he was still riddled with guilt from his time as Father's shinki and still acted odd and distant at times—had tackled the issue of Yato's popularity with new urgency to keep it that way.

But Father was dead, so Yato should have known he was living on borrowed time.

"Why can't we do the keychains?" Yato asked for the sixth time that morning.

"Because keychains with your face on them would be creepy," Yukine snapped. "Forget the stupid keychains. Real gods of fortune don't need keychains."

"But I'm not a real god of fortune yet," Yato reasoned. "So maybe the keychains could help me get there."

"No. They're tacky. Can we please move on to something actually useful?"

Yato heaved a sigh and cast a weary eye over the papers spread across the table. Yukine had been brainstorming and mapping out ideas for weeks, but Yato had a hard time seeing it going anywhere. He had tried these things over the years—centuries, even—and always come up short. It would normally still be right up his alley, but he hadn't been feeling it lately. He hadn't quite been able to summon up his normal enthusiasm or optimism since Father's death.

The man had been a vicious, toxic, abusive puppet master, but he was still the only father Yato had ever known. He haunted Yato's nightmares still. Yato had thought his death would feel good, or at least satisfying, but somehow it had still been…sad, almost. How pathetic.

He could still hear Father's running commentary in his head with every new idea proposed:

You're a god of killing, remember? Why are you always trying to be something you're not?

What a silly idea. You know that would never work. You're always wasting your time on foolish things.

You don't need shrines and believers when you have me.

Come home.

Yato was pretty sure the whole point of killing Father was to be free of him. He could only hope to manage it someday.

He couldn't let it consume him now. His very survival depended on keeping his focus, and Yukine had his own nightmares now. Helping Yukine deal with his issues with his dad was more pressing than dealing with the echoes of Father, even if the kid had been more stable lately.

"I think keychains would be super cute!" Kofuku squealed. She had been helping Daikoku prepare their meal, but he had shooed her away after one mishap too many and she'd plopped herself at the table to join in the planning session.

"Don't encourage him," Daikoku grumbled from across the kitchen.

"At least someone believes in me," Yato said with a dramatic sigh.

Yukine hesitated, his pen wavering in the air above the map he was marking up. He bit his lip and watched Yato with a cautious expression.

"Do you really want to do the keychains?" he asked, doing a surprisingly good job of hiding the reluctance in his voice. "I mean, I guess we can do something if it's that big of a deal. As long as you don't slack off on your other work."

Yato eyed him in alarm. In the old days, Yukine would never have tolerated such an outrageous idea. He'd sooner stab Yato with his own cash bottle than stoop to making anything with his face on it.

Yato still hadn't grown used to this new cautious, apologetic, guilty side of Yukine. He didn't like it, either. He had tried to keep things as normal as possible, tamping down any lingering hurt and making sure Yukine knew he didn't blame him for falling into Father's thrall, but sometimes Yukine still tiptoed about on eggshells. As if he expected Yato to snap and turn on him at any time, cast him out for his mistakes. That hurt more than anything Yukine had done at Father's command, but Yato couldn't blame him for it.

"Oh," he said. "No, that's alright. I don't think they would really help anything."

Yukine's face sagged in relief. "Well, if you're sure…"

"Yeah. Let's try your other plans first."

Kofuku blew out her cheeks in a pout. "Can we get keychains with my face on them, then? I'm cuter, anyway."

Yato scowled. "I'll fight you."

"Bring it on!"

"No fighting until after we eat," Daikoku interrupted firmly. "Food is almost ready."

Yato and Kofuku huffed and sulked but settled down. Yato wouldn't risk losing out on free food.

"If we've finally moved past the keychains," Yukine said dryly, "can we get back to work?"

He returned to outlining his latest plans, gesturing to the maps on the table to illustrate where they would work and what they would do there. Yato thought it was all well and good, lots of god-of-fortune-in-training work, but so far humans had been stubbornly resistant to remembering him even when he was on his best behavior.

He doodled absently on a corner of one of the maps, earning a sigh and harsh look from Yukine but no further reprimand, and watched as the kid gesticulated wildly. Yukine was looking better, at least. He seemed more like himself when he was focused on work or plans or his duty as guidepost.

Yato wished patience was one of his virtues. It would take time now, and work. Eventually, though, Yukine would accept what had happened and move on. Things would be normal again, sooner or later.

The pen stilled in Yato's hand as he felt a tug in his chest. His gaze sharpened as he searched Yukine's face, but the kid didn't show any sign of distress as he chattered away. So then what…?

The tug came again, harder this time, and it sucked the breath right out of him. The pen fell from his hand and clattered against the table.

"Would you please pay attention?" Yukine grumbled. "This is for your benefit, you know. If you would just… Are you okay?"

Yato opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The world lurched sideways, sending him tilting at a dizzying angle, and his hand flew to his chest and bunched in the fabric of his jersey. Black spots floated at the very edges of his vision, and he blinked rapidly to dispel them.

Somehow, he managed to get his feet under him, but his head spun and he flopped back onto the floor. Someone was saying something, he thought, but the voices were muffled in his ears and the words smeared together. He might as well be struggling to understand someone underwater.

When the tug came again, it seemed to pull him up past the limits of his body and keep him suspended there, like he was hanging weightless in the air or maybe floating in the water. Yukine leaned over him, lips moving soundlessly, but his features were just a touch blurry and he felt distant. Or maybe Yato was the distant one, floating somewhere just out of reach.

He closed his eyes, content to drift away. It was quiet here, and peaceful. He had never realized how heavy his body was or how loud the world roared around him until they were carefully peeled away so that he could float light and free.

But Yukine had been saying something, hadn't he? The kid had been strange lately. If Yato ignored him, he might sulk for ages or worse. But surely he wouldn't mind if Yato just rested here for a minute? Then again, he had never been all that patient either.

With some difficulty, Yato pried his eyes back open and tried to focus on the shinki's words. Yukine's eyes bulged round as saucers and his face was white, and his words were a sharp, staccato stream too fast to follow. Kofuku and Daikoku leaned in behind him, worry creasing their features and lips shaping words.

It seemed exhausting to plunge back into the loud, heavy rush of reality, but Yato dipped his toe back in for just long enough to reassure Yukine and the others.

"–you okay?" Yukine was demanding, his voice pitched high and sharp. "What's wrong with him? Yato, what's wrong?"

Wrong…?

A niggling feeling plucked at the back of Yato's mind. Nothing felt wrong, exactly. But, if he were being honest with himself, it didn't feel normal, either. Something wasn't right. A sliver of clarity pierced his daze.

Yato was many things, but he wasn't stupid. Something was very wrong. This was nothing he had ever felt before in all his centuries of existence, nor was it anything he'd heard anyone speak of. He had just killed Father weeks before. Father had been his lifeline. Without him, the only thing tethering Yato to existence was Hiyori.

Yato had wondered what it would be like to disappear many times over his long life. The threat had always loomed over his head, bleak in its inevitability, and he had worried at it, feared it, obsessed over it. He had thought it through a thousand times.

This wasn't what he had been expecting. He'd expected something more…instantaneous. There one second, gone the next. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, at least, as he slipped into oblivion.

It wasn't as if he hadn't known it was coming from the second Father's heart had stopped.

Movement was difficult when he was unmoored from his body, but he managed to slide his eyes to the side to examine himself. There. He could just make out the wood grain through the back of his hand.

"Ah," he mumbled, slurring his words a little with his heavy, clumsy tongue. "You should check on Hiyori."

Yukine's entire face wrinkled up in confusion. "What?"

Daikoku followed Yato's gaze. He sucked in a breath and cursed so colorfully that Yukine started in surprise.

"Oh, Yato-chan," Kofuku breathed. Her hands flew to cover her mouth. Yato thought she might be about to cry.

"What's that?" Yukine demanded, his voice rising another decibel.

Yato didn't answer. The kid knew, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He lifted his hand to examine it more closely. It still felt disconnected from him somehow and seemed to float of its own accord, lighter than the air. Although, at this point, maybe it was just air.

His hand had gone transparent, and he could look right through it at Yukine's face. The strange sensation ate its way up his arm, turning it gradually translucent and then to a mirage-like transparency. A spot near his knee seemed to be following the same process. Maybe elsewhere too, and he just hadn't noticed it yet.

"Well," he murmured, his voice sounding distant in his own ears. "I always thought it would be faster."

"Stop it!" Yukine said sharply. "It's not like you're disappearing."

Yato cast a vaguely curious glance in his direction. What else did it look like?

Yukine swallowed hard and shook his head, more in denial than defiance. "Hiyori wouldn't forget."

"I sure hope she did," Yato mumbled.

"What?"

"If she didn't forget, something happened to her," Daikoku clarified. If possible, Yukine paled further.

Yato had always expected Hiyori to forget him one day, but he had never hoped for it until now.

"Even if she forgot," Yukine insisted, "we've been working really hard. Someone must remember you."

A quiet laugh rattled in Yato's throat like a dry cough. "Why?"

"But…"

Yukine looked so small like that, so lost. A child that needed to be protected. A child Yato wouldn't be able to protect anymore.

Yato looked overtop Yukine's head. Kofuku was crying now, so silently that no one had noticed, but she nodded once. She would make sure Yukine was taken care of when Yato was gone.

It wouldn't be easy, though. Yukine would be losing a master, and it would be difficult to find another when he still had the old one's mark branded on him. Literally, Yato realized suddenly. If Yato disappeared, the name he had bestowed on Yukine would stay. When Yukine found a new master, he would effectively become a nora. Most gods would turn their noses up at sheltering a shinki that already bore another god's name, even if that god was long gone. And that was the best-case scenario. Shinki would survive a master's disappearance, but Yato couldn't say with complete certainty that the same rules applied to hafuri.

He levered himself up with some difficulty, pitching to the side when he tried putting his weight on his vanishing arm and met no resistance against the floor, and managed to fend off Yukine's concerned hands long enough to stagger to his feet. Static crackled in his ears, drowning out everyone's words, but he could still make out their expressions, ranging from panicked to horrified to devastated.

Funny, there had been a time when no one would have cared. A long time. He had never expected to leave a footprint on the world, given how often he had tried and failed. He had expected to fade away silently, with no one to remember he had ever existed at all.

He could feel himself fading out faster now, his body fragmented and insubstantial and his mind not far behind. He raised the hand he still possessed, that was still something more than a waning illusion, and aimed his finger at Yukine's chest.

"Sekki," he croaked. But he was barely there at all, and felt no answering tug of power. He tried again, reaching out to grab all the broken shards of himself and yank them in close for one last burst of power. He was a dying god, but still a god nonetheless. "Sekki," he said more firmly, and this time he felt the power building and building in his chest. "I hereby release–"

"No!" Yukine wailed. He made a grab for Yato, but his hands met no resistance and slid through the afterimage seared in the air. All air, no substance. "You can't! Stop it! You're not going to disappear! Just hang on. We'll fix this."

Yato did stop, but not because of Yukine's pleading. Something was wrong. Even more wrong than before.

The last of the power he'd gathered up was still building, rising to a crescendo until what was left of his body vibrated with it. He was a dying star, burning up the last of his energy to collapse in on himself with an explosion. He tried to let it go, retrace his steps, but it was too late.

With his luck, he would just explode everywhere like Ebisu. As if Yukine wouldn't be traumatized enough without Yato's blood spattering the kitchen. But then, was there really enough of Yato left to spatter anything? It was pure energy now, but energy was dangerous.

"Get back," he rasped.

"No," Yukine said. "Not until you promise not to–"

"Get back. Can't you feel it?"

The power thrummed through the air and built up like static charge. The air was thick with it as it built to the boiling point. A rubber band pulled taut and ready to snap.

Kofuku made a grab for Yukine and tugged him back across the floor, Daikoku retreating on her heels. "Yato-chan," she said, her voice breaking.

For one instant, Yato felt everything with sharp, heady reality, his distant daze burning away. For one last instant, he existed.

And then the power snapped, shattering him into a million scattered shards, and his last thought was that he would go out not with a whimper, but a bang.