Thoma strode toward the only path leading out of Ritou, his gait relaxed yet purposeful. The bustling port town was alive with the usual hum of merchants and sailors, but the atmosphere was tinged with the ever-looming tension of the Vision Hunt Decree.
Two guards flanked the exit, their sharp eyes scanning for any outlander foolish enough to defy the shogunate's orders. They noticed Thoma approaching, his tall figure and warm demeanor standing out amidst the crowd. Despite his cheerful expression, their faces remained cold.
"Hey there, fellas!" Thoma greeted them as he neared them, his voice bright and friendly. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
One of the guards scoffed, exchanging a sly glance with his companion. "Well, look who it is," he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "The Kamisato Clan's loyal little lapdog. Bet you fetch real well, don't you, Thoma?"
The second guard chuckled darkly, crossing his arms. "Yeah, it must be nice being a pet for the big shots. Get all the scraps, huh?"
Thoma's smile didn't falter, though the glint in his eyes hinted at a deeper resilience. "Now, now," he replied with an easy laugh, "no need for all that. Just doing my job, same as you guys."
He stepped past them, his height making the guards seem almost insignificant in comparison. One of them called out after him, his voice laced with malice. "Still holding onto that Vision of yours, I see. Doesn't matter how long you hide behind the Kamisato Clan—soon enough, even they won't be able to shield you. And when the Vision Hunt Decree comes for you, I'll be the one to confiscate it."
Thoma paused briefly, turning his head just enough to meet the guard's gaze. His expression remained calm, almost disarmingly so. "Well, that's your job, isn't it?" he replied lightly, his tone devoid of animosity. "I'll be sure to wish you luck when that day comes."
The guard's jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a fist as Thoma resumed his stride. He spat on the ground in frustration, watching the tall blonde disappear down the path. "Cocky bastard," he muttered under his breath.
The second guard shook his head. "Doesn't matter. The Vision Hunt Decree will catch up to him soon enough. Let's see how cheerful he is then."
Thoma stepped off the narrow land bridge that connected Ritou to the main expanse of Narukami Island. The horizon was painted in hues of deep orange and purple, signaling the onset of dusk. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of salt from the sea, and the soft hum of cicadas created a soothing backdrop.
Behind him, Aether, Paimon, and Momon walked in silence. As soon as Thoma reached the other side, Momon waved a hand and deactivated the invisible spell surrounding them. Aether and Paimon reappeared with a faint shimmer, their forms solidifying once again.
"Well, guys," Thoma began, his voice carrying a welcoming warmth, "we made it. From here, this road will take us to Konda Village. It's getting late, though, so we should probably find a place to rest for the night. We can rent a house there—no need to rough it out in the open."
"Sounds like a plan," Momon said, his tone neutral but approving.
"Yeah, I could use a cozy place to relax!" Paimon chimed in cheerfully, floating beside Aether.
As they began walking along the dirt road, Aether broke the silence. "Hey, Thoma, about those guards back in Ritou…" he said hesitantly, glancing at the tall blonde.
"Yeah!" Paimon interjected, floating up to Thoma's shoulder. Her tiny fists were clenched, and her face was scrunched in indignation. "They were so mean to you! Calling you a lapdog and stuff—it's just not fair!".
Thoma let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it, guys. I'm used to it. It's not the first time I've dealt with that kind of treatment, and it probably won't be the last."
"But still," Aether said, frowning, "it's not right. You've done nothing to deserve that kind of hostility."
Thoma's expression grew thoughtful, though his smile remained. "Maybe not," he admitted, "but people fear what they don't understand. Being an outlander with a Vision puts a target on my back, especially with the Vision Hunt Decree in full swing. I can't let their words get to me, though—there's too much at stake."
Momon, who had been silent up to this point, spoke in his deep, measured voice. "What will you do if the authorities come for your Vision? Will you surrender it to avoid conflict?"
Thoma slowed his steps, his gaze falling to the ground as he considered the question. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the seriousness of his expression.
"I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I've seen what happens to people when they lose their Visions. Some are never the same—they lose their drive, their sense of purpose. Others… they seem fine, but you can tell something's missing like a piece of their soul is gone. I honestly don't know what would happen to me if it came to that."
"That's so scary—and sad!" Paimon said, her voice trembling slightly. "How can anyone stay the same after losing something so important?"
"Well," Thoma said, clapping his hands together, "let's not dwell on it. The road to Konda Village isn't too long, and if we hurry, we might catch someone still awake to rent us a place for the night. Come on, I'll lead the way."
The group finally reached the entrance of Konda Village, a modest settlement nestled amid the rolling hills of Narukami Island. The village was encircled by low stone walls that seemed less like barriers and more like remnants of old foundations. Lanterns flickered faintly, casting long, wavering shadows over the dirt paths.
But something was off. The faint sound of screams and cries carried through the cool evening air, breaking the usual tranquility of the countryside.
"Trouble again, I guess," Aether muttered, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.
"At this point, 'trouble' and 'us' are basically the same thing!" Paimon huffed, crossing her arms and floating closer to Aether.
Thoma's expression darkened, his earlier cheerfulness replaced by grim determination. "Let's not waste time. We need to see what's happening."
The group broke into a run, their footsteps crunching against the dirt road as they made their way toward the center of the village.
When they arrived, a distressing scene greeted them. The villagers were all gathered in the open square, forced to kneel on the ground with their hands behind their heads. Fear was etched into their faces, and some clung to each other, trembling. Surrounding them was a group of armed Nobushi—wandering swordsmen who had abandoned honor and fallen into banditry.
Leading the group of bandits was a hulking Kairagi, his imposing figure silhouetted against the warm glow of the village lanterns. His crimson armor, though battered, reflected the light like fresh blood. Resting on his shoulder was a massive katana, its blade gleaming ominously in the dim light.
The village chief, an elderly man with a hunched back and a shaking frame, knelt at the forefront of the hostages. His voice quivered as he pleaded for mercy. "P-please… we have nothing of value. The Sakoku Decree has made trade impossible. Isolation has already left us struggling to survive!"
"Lies!" snarled one of the Nobushi, a wiry man with a cruel glint in his eyes. He stepped forward and aimed a sharp kick at a nearby clay pot, smashing it to pieces. "You're hiding something. Everyone always has something to give. So where are the goods, old man?!"
"We have no hidden goods, I swear it!" the chief begged, bowing his head so low it nearly touched the ground.
The Kairagi leader growled, his deep voice reverberating like distant thunder. "If you don't talk, we'll rip this place apart until we find what we're looking for." He swung his massive katana lazily, the blade slicing through the air with a menacing hum. "Maybe we start with your homes. Or…" His gaze drifted to a young woman among the villagers, her wide eyes brimming with tears. "...something more precious."
"No! Please, don't do this!" the chief cried, his voice cracking under the weight of his desperation.
"Quiet!" barked another bandit, striking the chief with the hilt of his blade. The old man crumpled to the ground with a groan, clutching his side.
From the shadows at the edge of the square, Aether clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "This is horrible," he whispered, his voice filled with restrained anger.
Paimon's eyes were wide with shock, but her resolve hardened. "We've got to stop them, Aether! We can't just stand here!"
"Stop this madness!" Thoma's voice rang out, firm and resolute as he stepped into the square, drawing the attention of the bandits.
The Nobushi turned sharply, their gazes locking onto the newcomers. At first, they appeared surprised, but their expressions quickly twisted into mockery and disdain.
"Hah! Would you look at that?" sneered one of the bandits, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek. He gestured with his blade toward Thoma. "The Kamisato Clan's little lapdog has decided to bark at us."
Another Ronin chuckled, his yellowed teeth glinting in the lantern light. "And what's this? Outlanders." He scanned Aether and Momon with greedy eyes before his lips curled into a sinister grin. "Bet they're loaded with Mora. Adventurers always are."
The towering Kairagi leader, who had been leaning lazily on his massive katana, now straightened to his full height. His presence was oppressive, like a storm cloud ready to break. "If you value your lives," he growled, his deep voice a rumble of thunder, "hand over every last Mora you've got. And maybe… just maybe… I'll spare the villagers."
Momon took a deliberate step forward, the ground seeming to vibrate faintly beneath his armored boots. His crimson gaze locked onto the Kairagi, unyielding and ice-cold. "Thoma, you can fight, can't you?" he asked, his tone as calm as if discussing the weather.
Thoma glanced at Momon, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced with a quiet determination. "Of course I can," he replied, reaching behind him. In a flash of light, a spear appeared in his hand as if summoned from nowhere. He twirled it expertly before settling into a ready stance.
"Good." Momon's voice dropped, heavy with authority. "You and Aether handle the smaller trash. That oversized brute is mine." He tilted his head slightly, the crimson glows beneath his mask flaring momentarily.
Aether gave a sharp nod, drawing his sword. "Got it. Let's take them down quickly."
"Yeah, let's teach these jerks a lesson!" Paimon chimed in, hovering near Aether, her fists clenched in determination.
The bandits exchanged uncertain glances, the air shifting as the group's confidence became palpable. But the Kairagi barked a harsh laugh, dispelling their momentary hesitation.
"Hah! Bold words for a handful of fools," the Kairagi sneered, gripping his katana with both hands. The blade's edge gleamed dangerously in the firelight as he pointed it toward Momon. "Come then, let's see if your bark is louder than your bite!"
Aether sprinted into the fray, his boots kicking up dust as he closed in on the nearest Nobushi. The bandit turned with a sneer, drawing his katana in one fluid motion. Their blades met with a sharp clang, sparks flying as steel collided.
The Nobushi's grin widened as he leaned into the clash, trying to overpower Aether. "Punk, when I'm done with you, I'm taking that braid of yours as a trophy!"
Aether smirked, unfazed by the threat. "How about you focus on the fight instead of daydreaming?" With a sharp pivot, Aether drove his elbow into the Nobushi's jaw with a sickening crack.
"Phu~!" The Nobushi staggered back, spitting blood and a tooth onto the ground. His free hand wiped his mouth as he glared at Aether with murderous intent. "You're dead, you little—"
Before he could finish, the Nobushi reached into his sash and yanked out a compact crossbow, firing it at point-blank range.
The arrow zipped toward Aether—but stopped mere inches from his face, disintegrating in a burst of flame against a shimmering barrier.
"I've got your back, bro!" Thoma called, his Vision glowing as a protective fire shield enveloped both of them. The flames danced around them, crackling with energy as they deflected the incoming attack.
Aether glanced over his shoulder, a brief look of gratitude flashing across his face. "Thanks, Thoma. That was close."
Thoma grinned, spinning his polearm into a ready stance. "Don't mention it."
Thoma stood firm, his spear at the ready as three Nobushi circled him like wolves stalking their prey. Despite their numbers, he grinned, his demeanor as calm as ever. "Now, now, guys," he said, twirling his spear with practiced ease. "I wouldn't get too close if I were you. You might get burned."
The Nobushi exchanged glances, their confidence bolstered by their advantage in numbers. With a roar, they attacked in unison, their katanas slicing through the air toward Thoma.
Clang!
Thoma's spear intercepted all three blades in a single sweeping motion. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal, the impact sending vibrations up his arms. "Oh, come on," he quipped, his voice steady despite the strain. "Is that really the best you've got?"
Before the Nobushi could press their attack further, a sharp voice rang out. "Thoma, duck!"
Without hesitation, Thoma crouched low, his instincts trusting Aether's command.
"Lightning Blade!" Aether shouted, his sword glowing with crackling electro energy. With a powerful swing, three arcs of thunderous lightning shot forth, streaking through the air like vengeful shadows.
The arcs struck the Nobushi in rapid succession, each one collapsing to the ground in a smoking heap. The smell of singed cloth and ozone filled the air as the bandits groaned in defeat.
Thoma stood and dusted himself off, giving Aether an impressed look. "Well, that was flashy," he said, resting his spear against his shoulder. "Didn't even leave one for me."
Aether chuckled, the faint glow of his electro powers fading from his sword. "I figured you could use a hand. Those three were getting a bit too friendly."
Thoma grinned, shaking his head. "I could've handled it, but I appreciate the backup. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?"
"Exactly," Aether replied, offering a quick fist bump, which Thoma returned.
Thoma and Aether continued to clash against the remaining Nobushi, their teamwork honed to perfection. Aether's sword danced in the moonlight, dispatching foes with swift precision, while Thoma's polearm parried and countered every strike aimed his way. Together, they fought like a well-oiled machine, gradually overwhelming their opponents.
Meanwhile, a more daunting confrontation was about to unfold.
Momon and the Kairagi stood several paces apart, their standoff illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. The air between them seemed to vibrate with tension. The Kairagi's fire aura flared to life, engulfing his armor and blade in a menacing glow of crimson flames. The heat warped the air around him, casting shifting shadows on the trees.
The skeletal visage beneath Momon's mask remained emotionless, his empty eye sockets fixed on his opponent. Despite the Kairagi's dramatic display, Momon's towering, armored form was eerily still.
The Kairagi let out a guttural laugh, his voice echoing with confidence. "Prepare yourself, you miserable wretch! My blade will cut you down, and your mask will adorn my collection!"
Momon tilted his head slightly, the faintest movement, as though considering the threat. "Bold words for someone so weak." His voice was cold and emotionless, a sharp contrast to the fiery rage of his opponent.
Enraged by the insult, the Kairagi let out a furious roar. "I'll cut you to pieces!" With a burst of explosive speed, he launched himself forward, the ground beneath him cracking under the force. His blade, alight with flames, cleaved through the air toward Momon with deadly intent.
Thoma and Aether paused mid-battle, their eyes darting toward the clash. "Momon—" Thoma started, but his voice trailed off as the scene unfolded.
In a move almost too fast to follow, Momon raised his hand and caught the incoming blade with two fingers. The impact sent a gust of wind rippling outward, extinguishing nearby torches and momentarily silencing the battlefield.
The Kairagi's eyes widened in disbelief, visible even through the slits of his mask. "Impossible! How could you—"
"Stop your struggling," Momon interrupted, his voice colder than the mountain peaks of Dragonspine. "Your strength is laughable."
With a flick of his fingers, the Kairagi's blade shattered, molten fragments scattering across the ground. The bandit stumbled backward, clutching at his now-useless weapon. Before he could recover, Momon moved.
The dark armored figure blurred, his black cloak billowing like a shadow in the night. In the span of a heartbeat, the Kairagi's right arm was severed, the blade too fast for mortal eyes to follow.
The samurai froze, his mouth agape as he looked down at the stump where his arm had been. But before he could scream, Momon's greatsword materialized in his other hand. In a single, graceful swing, the Kairagi's head was severed clean from his body, soaring into the air before landing with a dull thud on the scorched earth.
A stunned silence fell over the battlefield.
The remaining Nobushi froze in place, their weapons trembling in their hands. Thoma lowered his polearm, unable to process what he had just witnessed.
"How… When… What just happened?" one of the Nobushi stammered, his voice barely audible.
Momon turned his empty gaze toward the surviving bandits, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Leave, or join him."
That was all it took.
"R-Run!" one of the Nobushi screamed, dropping his weapon. The others didn't need to be told twice. They turned and fled into the night, stumbling over themselves in their haste to escape the nightmare they had awakened.
Thoma let out a low whistle, finally snapping out of his shock. "Well… that's one way to deal with them."
Aether exhaled, his grip on his sword relaxing. "That was… something."
Paimon, who had been hiding behind Aether, peeked out. "Momon! That was both scary and incredible! You didn't even break a sweat!"
Momon turned his hollow gaze toward Paimon, "Break a sweat?" he echoed, his tone almost disdainful. "There is no way I'd get serious for low-level trash like that."
Paimon blinked, her wings fluttering nervously as she processed his words. "Uhh… Paimon was just saying! I mean, that was still super impressive! You didn't even flinch!"
Thoma chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced between Paimon and Momon. "Well, you sure have a way with words, huh?"
Aether sighed, sheathing his blade. "Let's not argue over how easy it was. The important thing is that the village is safe now."
The villagers of Konda Village were still shaken. The earlier skirmish with the Nobushi bandits had left them shaken. Though the immediate threat had passed, fear lingered in their eyes, their gazes darting toward the forest as if expecting the bandits to return.
When they saw Thoma approaching from the outskirts, their expressions shifted. Relief swept through the crowd like a gentle breeze. They recognized Thoma immediately—his bright, reassuring demeanor and reputation as a dependable ally were well-known across Inazuma.
"Thoma!" the village chief called out, stepping forward with a grateful smile. "You've come to our aid once again."
Thoma raised a hand in greeting, his usual kind smile on his face. "Is anyone hurt? Did the Nobushi harm anyone before we arrived?"
The chief shook his head. "No, thanks to you and your friends. The Nobushi might have killed us by now if you hadn't interfered. We owe you our lives."
The villagers murmured their agreement, their eyes now shifting to Aether and Paimon. It was clear they recognized the two as outlanders, like Thoma. Aether's calm demeanor and the small, floating Paimon were curiosities, but ones the villagers welcomed as friends after seeing their bravery in battle.
Then their eyes fell on Momon.
His towering, dark figure emerged from the shadows like a phantom. The long, gothic hooded cloak he wore seemed to drink in the moonlight, making his presence even more imposing. His strange dark mask caught the faint glow of a lantern, and the intricate, blackened armor beneath gave him an air of foreboding. To the villagers, he looked less like a warrior and more like a grim reaper who had stepped out from the depths of the unknown.
The crowd grew quiet, unsure of what to make of him. A few children hid behind their parents, clutching their sleeves. Even the chief hesitated for a moment.
Then Momon spoke.
"Hope you people are alright."
His voice was deep but refined, resonating with a noble quality that carried authority and assurance. The villagers froze, their apprehension slowly giving way to a strange sense of calm. Despite his fearsome appearance, his words held no malice—only concern.
The village chief was the first to bow deeply. "Thank you, sir! Your assistance was invaluable. We might not be here if not for your intervention."
The rest of the villagers quickly followed suit, bowing their heads in gratitude.
"We will do our best to repay this noble act," the chief continued, his voice trembling with sincerity.
Momon's skeletal face remained hidden beneath his hood, but his tone was resolute. "There is no need for repayment. Your safety is thanks enough. However, we do require a place to rest for the night."
Aether stepped forward, sensing the villagers' lingering unease. "If it's not too much trouble, we'd like to rent a house for the evening. We don't wish to impose."
"Of course! Of course!" the chief said quickly, straightening up. "You are all welcome here. Konda Village may be small, but our hospitality is sincere. Please, allow us to prepare a place for you."
Thoma placed a hand on the chief's shoulder, his warm smile putting everyone at ease. "Thank you, Chief. And don't worry about us—we're just glad we could help."
The group had settled into the modest house provided by the village chief. Despite the chief's insistence on waiving payment, the group had pressed a pouch of Mora into his hands, refusing to take no for an answer. Gratitude and hospitality radiated from the villagers, but the group's exhaustion was undeniable.
Now, three hours later, the house was steeped in a tranquil silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fireplace in the common room. Thoma had long retired to a separate room, and Paimon, after her usual complaints about how uncomfortable the situation was compared to a luxurious inn, had fallen asleep next to Aether, curled up on a makeshift bed.
Aether remained awake, seated cross-legged on a simple rug, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. Across from him stood Momon, his imposing frame cloaked in shadow, the firelight casting dancing patterns across his dark armor.
"You should go to sleep too, Aether," Momon's deep voice rumbled softly, breaking the silence.
Aether shook his head. "It's okay. I don't feel like sleeping right now," he replied, his eyes briefly flicking to Momon's mask. That mask—it was always there, concealing whatever lay beneath. Since they had met back in Mondstadt, Aether had never once seen what Momon looked like. The thought stirred both curiosity and unease within him.
"Momon…" Aether called out tentatively.
Momon's head lifted slowly, the crimson dots within the mask's eyeholes flaring brighter, as if awakened by the call. They burned like embers in the dark, locking onto Aether with an intensity that made him momentarily hesitate.
"Yes?" Momon's tone was calm, almost disarmingly so.
"How did you get so strong?" Aether finally asked, though deep down, he knew this wasn't the question he truly wanted to ask. He had wanted to ask about the mask, about what lay beneath it, but he couldn't bring himself to voice it. Something about Momon's presence—his aura—commanded respect and, if Aether was honest, fear.
Momon tilted his head slightly as if amused by the question. "How did I become strong? By fighting and killing, of course," he answered, his voice devoid of arrogance, stating the fact as plainly as one might recount a mundane task.
Aether frowned, his hands resting on his knees. "I kind of figured that out," he said, his tone lighter to mask the unease in his chest. "I mean, I've already seen you terrorize enemies. It's… well, it's something else."
Momon chuckled faintly, the sound deep and hollow, reverberating in the quiet room. "Terror, you say? I suppose that's accurate. Fear is a powerful weapon, Aether. In many cases, it ends battles before they even begin."
Aether clenched his fists, his mind flashing to his own struggles and the battles he'd fought. "But... does it ever bother you?" he asked hesitantly. "The things you've done to gain that strength—the lives you've taken?"
"Not at all," Momon said, his voice calm yet firm, the flickering firelight reflecting faintly off his dark mask. "If I hadn't killed to become stronger, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."
Aether glanced at him, his golden eyes shadowed by the dim light. "I see," he murmured. "It's hard to imagine you ever being weak."
Momon's posture shifted slightly, and for a moment, the faintest trace of nostalgia laced his tone. "Well, it's all thanks to this guy," he said, lifting his hand. A swirling, dark portal materialized midair, rippling like a liquid shadow. He reached into it effortlessly and pulled out a picture, its edges crisp and pristine as though it had been preserved in time.
Curiosity flashed across Aether's face as Momon handed him the photograph. The moment Aether's eyes fell on it, they widened in awe. "Wow…" he breathed, the word barely audible.
The image depicted a warrior unlike any Aether had ever seen. Towering and majestic, the figure was clad in a suit of radiant platinum-white armor that seemed to shimmer with an almost ethereal glow. Every piece of the armor was crafted with precision, the details intricate and sharp. A crimson-red cape trimmed with gold accents draped regally from the warrior's left shoulder, fluttering slightly as though alive. The entire figure exuded an overwhelming aura of strength, purity, and unwavering justice.
"What do you think?" Momon asked, his tone carrying a faint, almost imperceptible hint of pride.
Aether took a moment to gather his thoughts. "He looks… incredible. Like, beyond words," Aether said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "That armor, the cape—it's like something out of a legend. He looks like the embodiment of everything a knight should be. Justice, strength, honor… all of it."
Momon inclined his head slightly, the crimson glow of his eyes softening for a brief moment. "I'm glad to hear such praise about him. He truly was remarkable."
Aether shifted his gaze from the picture to Momon. "Who is he?"
"His name is Touch Me," Momon replied, his voice carrying a warmth rarely heard. "He was my first true friend—the one who helped me when I was at my lowest when I was nothing but a shadow of myself. Without him, I wouldn't be who I am today."
Aether blinked, taking in the gravity of Momon's words. "He sounds like an amazing person," he said softly, still holding the picture reverently.
"He was," Momon said, his tone turning wistful. "Touch Me wasn't just strong; he was righteous. A paragon of virtue. He believed in protecting the weak, and in standing against evil no matter the cost. And he extended that belief to me, even when I was at my most unworthy."
Aether glanced back at the picture, the light of the fire dancing across the glossy surface. "It's hard to imagine you ever being unworthy," he admitted.
Momon chuckled faintly, a sound that seemed both genuine and hollow. "We all start somewhere, Aether. For me, it was in the darkness. And it was his light that helped guide me out of it."
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air. Aether handed the picture back to Momon, who placed it gently into the swirling portal, which vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
"Thank you for sharing that with me," Aether said earnestly.
Momon inclined his head again. "Sometimes, it's good to remember the light, even in the darkest of nights," he said, turning his gaze back to the flickering fire.
Aether remained quiet, his thoughts swirling as he processed everything. At that moment, the mysterious and imposing figure of Momon seemed less like an enigma and more like someone who had once walked a path not so different from his own—a path shaped by pain, redemption, and the bonds of true friendship.
"You know," Momon began, his tone taking on a faint hint of nostalgia, "it's funny when I think about it now. When we became a clan, Touch Me had so many rivals—both within and outside our ranks. But his greatest rival wasn't just a competitor. He was also one of my closest friends."
Aether's eyes widened, his curiosity piqued. "Really? Who was it?" he asked, leaning closer to catch every word.
"His name was Ulbert Alain Odle," Momon's mask tilted slightly, as though he were smiling beneath it. "If Touch Me was a shining Holy Paladin of Justice, then Ulbert… he was the complete opposite—an absolute evil Demon God of Disaster."
Aether blinked, his jaw slack with disbelief. "Wait… a Demon God? In the same clan as a Holy Paladin? How does that even work?"
Momon chuckled softly, the sound low and resonant. "It wasn't easy, I can assure you," he replied. "Their ideals clashed constantly. Touch Me believed in protecting the innocent, upholding justice, and all the lofty ideals you'd expect from a knight like him. Ulbert, on the other hand, thrived on chaos and destruction. He saw the world as a stage for his own ambitions."
"And yet, they were both in the same clan?" Aether asked, incredulous.
Momon nodded. "That's why I was chosen as the clan leader," he explained. "I had a unique ability to connect with everyone, no matter how different or contradictory their personalities and beliefs were. I became the glue that held the clan together, even through the fiercest of storms."
Aether leaned back slightly, his admiration for Momon growing. "No wonder you're so wise and such a brilliant strategist," he said. "But… were all of you like this? Non-human, I mean?"
"That's right. Human clans, Elf clans, Demihuman clans, and Angel clans hunted us. That's actually the reason why the clan was formed in the first place. To fight back." said Momon.
The mention of "Angels" sent a shiver down Aether's spine. He straightened, his thoughts racing. "Angels?" he repeated, his voice a mix of awe and unease. "You mean… beings of light? They hunted you too?"
"Justice is good and all, but when you are blinded by it…" He paused, his skeletal hand tightening into a loose fist, the shadows around him seeming to deepen as if drawn to his unspoken thoughts. "That's when these so-called angels and warriors of justice fall into the grey territory."
Aether's golden gaze flickered with curiosity and concern. "The grey territory?" he asked, his voice tentative but eager for more.
Momon nodded slowly. "Yes," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "They cloak themselves in righteousness, brandishing their swords in the name of 'justice.' But when their cause becomes all-consuming—when they start believing that the ends always justify the means—they lose sight of what justice actually is. That's when they start using that famous sentence…"
His voice dropped an octave, a cold mockery slipping into his tone. "'For the greater good.'" He spat the words like venom, his armored hand gesturing as if to dismiss the very notion. "That bullshit. The rallying cry of those who believe their actions, no matter how horrific, are somehow justified because they think they're on the right side of history."
Aether nodded slowly, thinking of the conflicts he'd witnessed, the betrayals cloaked in righteousness. "It's like… they convince themselves that as long as the goal is noble, the means don't matter."
"Exactly," Momon replied, his tone darkening. "That's where the danger lies. Justice, unchecked, becomes its own kind of tyranny. And when they look in the mirror, they don't see the blood on their hands. They only see their 'noble cause."
"But what about you, Momon?" Aether finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady. "I don't see you as a person of justice, even though you've shown it more times than I can count. So...what drives you?"
Momon tilted his head slightly as if considering the weight of the question. His voice, deep and unwavering, carried an edge of detachment that made Aether tense despite the warmth of the room.
"That's because I am not a being of justice," Momon said, his words precise, each syllable calculated. "I am a cold being, devoid of emotions, remorse, sympathy...or compunction. That's the truth of what I am, Aether. You can take it however you want, but my nature is what it is."
Aether studied him, trying to read what little could be gleaned from the mask's inscrutable surface. Despite the calm and candid delivery, there was something chilling in Momon's tone—a finality that hinted at the truth behind the mask. Aether's imagination ran wild, conjuring images of a terrifying creature lurking beneath, one that carried out its actions without a shred of hesitation.
Aether nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. Despite the unsettling revelation, there was something oddly reassuring about Momon's honesty. "I see," Aether said at last. His voice was quiet, almost tentative. "I… I can't say I fully understand, but I respect your openness. Thank you for sharing that with me."
Momon inclined his head faintly, his gaze fixed on the fire. The flames reflected in the dark voids of his mask, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. "It was...an interesting conversation," he replied. Though his words were neutral, there was a faint hint of sincerity buried beneath his cold exterior, detectable only if one listened closely.
Aether stood, cradling Paimon carefully in his arms. She mumbled something unintelligible, her tiny wings fluttering slightly before she nestled deeper into the blankets. A small smile tugged at Aether's lips as he glanced at Momon one last time.
"Well, I'd better put Paimon to bed," Aether said softly. "Goodnight, Momon."
Momon turned his head slightly, the red glow of his mask seeming to soften. "Good night, Aether. And to her as well."
With a nod, Aether carried Paimon toward the small bedroom they had been offered, his footsteps soft against the wooden floor. He paused briefly at the doorway and glanced back. Momon was still standing by the fireplace, his towering form silhouetted against the flickering flames.
As Aether disappeared into the room, Momon remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the fire. The warm light reflected off his dark armor, the soft crackling of the flames the only sound in the room. "Good night, indeed," he murmured to himself, the faintest hint of something—perhaps amusement or reflection—hidden in his tone. He stayed there, staring into the fire, lost in thoughts known only to him.