Makoto and Cross continued their travels, moving from town to town, often in silence. The routine had settled into something almost predictable: Cross finding leads on Akuma activity, Makoto facing increasingly difficult battles, and Timcampy fluttering between them like an unbothered spectator.
The rolling hills of the countryside gave way to a dense forest as they trudged along a narrow dirt road. Makoto carried his bag over one shoulder, his other hand resting on the hilt of his Innocence wheel, which he now kept partially materialized as a precaution.
"You're fidgeting," Cross remarked, his sharp gaze fixed ahead.
Makoto glanced at him, startled. "Huh?"
"Your hand," Cross said, nodding toward the glowing edge of the wheel. "You're holding it like a child clutching a blanket."
Makoto frowned, pulling his hand away. "I'm just... being cautious."
"Cautious is good," Cross said, lighting a cigarette. "But fear makes you sloppy. The more you hold onto it, the more likely you are to lose control."
Makoto didn't respond, his cursed eye faintly glowing under the cover of his bangs. He had seen too much in recent weeks—the faces of Akuma souls, twisted and broken, reaching out to him. No matter how much Cross told him to focus, the visions haunted him, lingering like a weight he couldn't shake.
Their next stop was a village nestled deep within the forest, its cobbled streets and wooden houses eerily quiet. Cross walked ahead, his coat billowing behind him, while Makoto lagged behind, his cursed eye throbbing faintly.
"This place feels... wrong," Makoto murmured, glancing around. Timcampy chirped in agreement, circling above them.
"Good observation," Cross said. "The Akuma were here."
Makoto froze. "Were?"
"Look around," Cross said, gesturing to the abandoned houses and broken windows. "The Earl's already been here. The Akuma have moved on, but the scars are still fresh."
As they walked through the village, Makoto noticed remnants of what had once been a bustling community—clothes left on a line, an overturned cart filled with rotting vegetables, a doll lying abandoned in the dirt. The silence was oppressive, and every shadow felt like it was hiding something.
"Why do the Akuma do this?" Makoto asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why do they destroy everything?"
"Because they can," Cross replied, his tone cold. "And because the Earl makes them. They're tools in his war against humanity. Nothing more, nothing less."
Makoto stared at the ground, his hands clenched into fists. He thought of the souls he had seen through his cursed eye, their pain and desperation etched into his memory. "It's not fair," he said quietly.
"Life isn't fair," Cross said, glancing at him. "But you already know that."
As they reached the edge of the village, Makoto's cursed eye began to burn, the familiar ache spreading across his face. He winced, clutching his head as his vision distorted.
"Makoto?" Cross asked, his tone sharp. "What's wrong?"
"There's..." Makoto's voice faltered as he looked up. His cursed eye showed him something his normal vision couldn't: the faint, flickering outline of a child standing in the shadows.
The boy couldn't have been older than seven. His form was translucent, his expression vacant as he stared at Makoto. Around his neck was a metal collar, its jagged edges glowing faintly with a sickly green light.
"He's... a soul," Makoto said, his voice trembling. "He's still bound to this place."
Cross's eyes narrowed, and he lit another cigarette. "An incomplete Akuma."
Makoto turned to him, confused. "Incomplete?"
"The Earl doesn't always get it right," Cross explained, his tone casual despite the weight of his words. "Sometimes the transformation fails, and the soul ends up stuck between life and death. They're harmless, but they're also trapped. There's nothing you can do for them."
"There has to be something," Makoto said, his cursed eye throbbing as he looked back at the boy. The child's lips moved silently, as if trying to speak.
Cross sighed, his gaze distant. "There isn't. Let's go."
Makoto hesitated, his heart aching as he watched the boy fade into the shadows. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I wish I could help you."
They left the village as the sun began to set, the forest growing darker with each passing moment. Makoto's cursed eye continued to throb, and he kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the boy again.
"You need to learn how to let go," Cross said abruptly, breaking the silence.
Makoto frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You can't save everyone," Cross said, his tone blunt. "The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be."
"I know I can't save everyone," Makoto said, his voice rising. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't try!"
Cross stopped walking, turning to face him. "Trying is fine. But if you let every failure drag you down, you'll never make it as an Exorcist. You'll freeze in the middle of a fight, and then it's game over."
Makoto stared at him, his chest tightening. He thought of Mana's words—"No matter what happens, you have to keep moving forward."
"I'll keep moving forward," Makoto said quietly, his hands clenched into fists. "But I won't stop trying. Not for as long as I can fight."
Cross smirked, his sharp teeth glinting in the fading light. "Not bad, kid. Let's see if you can keep that resolve."
That night, as they camped by a small stream, Timcampy decided to add a little levity to the otherwise somber day. The golem fluttered around Makoto, chirping as it tugged on his scarf.
"Timcampy, stop it," Makoto said, swatting at the golem. "I'm trying to eat."
Timcampy ignored him, swooping down to steal a piece of bread from his plate. It darted into the air, circling above him like a mischievous child.
"Seriously?" Makoto groaned, reaching for the bread. "Cross, can you—"
He stopped mid-sentence, realizing Cross was fast asleep against a tree, his hat pulled low over his face. A faint snore escaped him, and Makoto sighed.
"You're no help," he muttered, glaring at Timcampy. The golem chirped in amusement, dropping the bread back onto Makoto's plate before landing on his head.
Despite his irritation, Makoto couldn't help but smile. The weight of the day's events was still heavy, but moments like these reminded him that there was still light to be found, even in the darkest of times.
The next morning, Cross handed Makoto a map, his expression unusually serious. "We're heading to a larger town this time. There's been confirmed Akuma activity, and it's not just Level Ones."
Makoto's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
"Level Twos," Cross said bluntly. "More dangerous, more intelligent, and a lot harder to kill. Consider this your next test."
Makoto swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the map. "I'll do my best."
"You'd better," Cross said, smirking. "Because I'm not bailing you out."
As they set off, Makoto glanced at Timcampy, who chirped reassuringly. Despite the fear building in his chest, he felt a spark of determination.
I'll keep going, he thought, his gaze fixed on the horizon. No matter what.
To Be Continued...