Makoto sat cross-legged in the middle of the clearing, his hands trembling slightly as he summoned his Innocence. The green wheel spun steadily in front of him, but his concentration wavered. The air felt heavy, filled with the weight of something unspoken.

"Makoto," Cross said, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. Timcampy hovered nearby, its small wings flapping noisily. "Do you know what Akuma really are?"

Makoto blinked, startled by the sudden question. "They're monsters," he said hesitantly. "They attack people and cause destruction."

Cross sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Typical answer. I figured you didn't know." He stepped closer, his boots crunching against the dirt. "Listen closely, kid. Akuma aren't just monsters. They're created."

Makoto frowned, confused. "Created? How?"

"The Millennium Earl preys on grief," Cross explained, his tone unusually serious. "When someone loses a loved one, he appears and offers to bring them back. But it's a trap. When they call their loved one's name, the soul is bound to a mechanical body, and the person who called them back becomes the Akuma's first victim."

Makoto's stomach turned. "So... the Akuma are—"

"People," Cross said bluntly. "People who were tricked into becoming weapons. Their souls are trapped inside those grotesque bodies, forced to kill and destroy. The Millennium Earl uses their pain to fuel his war."

The weight of Cross's words settled heavily on Makoto's chest. He thought of the Akuma he had fought, the mechanical monsters he had seen dissolve into ash. He had never stopped to consider what they were—or who they had been.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Makoto asked, his voice trembling.

"Because you weren't ready to hear it," Cross replied, lighting a cigarette. "But now you have to be. Your cursed eye doesn't just show you the Akuma—it shows you their souls. If you're going to fight them, you need to understand what you're fighting."

Makoto sat alone that night, staring into the campfire. His cursed eye throbbed faintly, a dull ache that had become a constant presence since its awakening. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of the fire, but the images came unbidden.

The faces of the Akuma he had fought. The souls trapped inside, screaming silently as their twisted bodies carried out the Earl's bidding. Makoto's breath hitched as he remembered the first time he had truly seen them—during the battle on the train.

The train had screeched to a halt, and Makoto had rushed toward the source of the commotion. He had faced the Akuma head-on, his Innocence flaring as he fought to protect the passengers. But then his cursed eye had activated.

Through its strange, distorted vision, he had seen the soul inside the Akuma. It had been a man, his face twisted with anguish as he reached out toward Makoto, his mouth moving soundlessly. For a moment, Makoto had frozen, overwhelmed by the horror of it all.

"Why... why do I have to fight them?" Makoto had whispered to himself after the battle, tears streaming down his face. "They're victims too..."

Now, as he sat by the fire, those feelings resurfaced. He clenched his fists, his chest tight with guilt and frustration.

"Still brooding?" Cross's voice broke the silence, and Makoto glanced up to see him standing nearby, his flask in hand.

"It's not fair," Makoto said quietly. "The Akuma... they didn't ask for this."

"No one said it was fair," Cross replied, sitting down across from him. "But you don't get to pick the rules of the game. You fight to protect the living—and to free the souls trapped inside."

Makoto looked at him, his cursed eye glowing faintly in the firelight. "How do I stop feeling like it's my fault?"

"You don't," Cross said, his tone unusually gentle. "But you learn to carry it. That's what it means to be an Exorcist."

The next day, Cross pushed Makoto harder than ever. The training was brutal, forcing him to summon his Innocence repeatedly while dodging incoming attacks. Timcampy flitted around like a mischievous overseer, occasionally nipping at Makoto's ear when his focus slipped.

"Pay attention!" Cross barked as Makoto stumbled, narrowly avoiding a tripwire. "Do you think the Akuma are going to give you a break because you're tired?"

"I'm trying!" Makoto shouted, summoning the wheel and sending it spinning toward a target. It struck the center, but the effort left him winded.

Cross smirked, lighting another cigarette. "Not bad. Still sloppy, though. You'll need to do better."

Makoto groaned, dropping to his knees. "Do you ever say anything nice?"

"I just did," Cross replied, blowing out a puff of smoke. "Now get up. We're not done."

Despite the harshness of Cross's words, Makoto couldn't deny that he was improving. His Innocence felt more like an extension of himself now, responding to his commands with increasing precision. And while his cursed eye was still a burden, he was learning to use its insights to his advantage.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Cross handed Makoto a flask—not of wine, but water. Makoto blinked in surprise, taking it with a hesitant smile.

"Thanks," he said, sipping gratefully.

"Don't get used to it," Cross muttered. "Tomorrow, we're heading into town. There's been Akuma activity nearby."

Makoto's stomach churned, but he nodded. "I'll be ready."

Cross raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Makoto met his gaze, his hands tightening around the flask. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready... but I'll keep going."

Cross smirked, his sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. "Not bad, kid. Maybe you're tougher than you look."

To Be Continued...