ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ

| ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ |

Since the very start, there has been a time before and after...

Where perfect things exist, diamond absolutes...

But what falls, falls without mercy. And what is fallen...

...Is fallen forever.

As the autumn breeze brushes gently through the landscape, a crowd dressed in black slowly makes its way toward a mausoleum—located at the heart of a cemetery. Men and women, young and old, walk with heavy steps and solemn expressions, faces hidden beneath the brims of hats and dark veils. No words are spoken among the sea of figures—only silence punctuated by the faint rustle of leaves swirling at their feet and into the air.

At the center of this procession stands the Watomi family mansion, a sprawling cathedral-like structure whose towering spires loom over the estate like silent guardians, casting long shadows across the cemetery grounds. The mansion, symbolizing wealth, power, and legacy, feels almost out of place amid the somber gathering. Yet today, it no longer exudes the grandness and security it once did.

Because even the mighty fall.

The Watomi family—known not only for their influence but also for their kindness, philanthropy, and commitment to bettering the world—was not invincible. Their power, built over centuries, could not shield them from the harsh truths of human mortality.

And today is a painful reminder that even the strongest among us are not spared from tragedy.

The mourners gather closer as they slowly approach the mausoleum, its marble façade carved with detailed patterns that reflect the family's long history, dating back to the 16th century. Names of ancestors are inscribed into the stone walls—men and women whose legacies shaped not just the Watomi family but the world itself.

But today, those names will not stand alone.

Three coffins stood out among the masses—two large ones at the front and back, with a smaller one carried between them. Each step forward was a reminder of the devastating loss that weighed in on everyone who knew the family well.

The gathered crowd consisted of those connected to the Watomi family—friends, acquaintances, and some distant relatives—all united by the shared grief of losing almost the entire family. Some grievers kept their heads low, with their lips pressed in silence. Others wept softly, tears falling without restraint. But all knew the boy at the front of the procession: the last surviving member of the Watomi family, Toru Watomi.

Toru walked with his head down, his dark brown hair falling in loose strands over his pale face, hiding his grey eyes from view. His steps were slow and hesitant due to the overwhelming grief and sorrow he was feeling currently.

The family's butler, Akira Okimoto—a middle-aged man in his early forties—was at his side. His hand rested on the boy's trembling shoulder as he tried to offer quiet comfort. Akira had been with the family for years, witnessing their highs and lows, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

Rui Yano, a lilac-haired woman, walked behind them, accompanied by her four-year-old daughter, Hiiro. Rui also grieved the loss of the Watomi family—they were dear friends who had been like extended family to her. But as much as she mourned the parents and daughter in those coffins, her heart ached more for the boy walking ahead of her.

Hiiro, holding tightly onto her mother's hand, also, feels the weight of the loss. Though only four, she understands enough to know that one of the people inside those coffins, Toru's now deceased sister, her best friend, is gone forever. The two had been inseparable, and now, her absence leaves an emptiness Hiiro cannot yet name. But even as her young heart mourns the loss of her friend and her parents, her gaze keeps drifting to Toru.