.☾

Every time her bare feet touched the beach sand, Toya always tried to run as fast and as far as possible, running until she tripped and fell.

.☾

Tsukasa stood by the shore, his eyes deep in thought as he gazed at the horizon. The sea breeze gently ruffled his long, reddish hair, but his sharp eyes, the color of dark wood, never lingered too long on anything. Occasionally, his gaze would drift down to the sand. Scattered all around were seashells of various shapes and colors, yet he didn't bend down to pick up a single one. To someone like Tsukasa, they held no meaning. He was no longer the boy who once eagerly picked up every seashell to give to the person he loved. The years spent witnessing the scheming and violence of the old world had unintentionally hardened his emotions. For him now, simple beauty was no longer enough to make him bend down to pick something up, for he had grown accustomed to evaluating everything through the lens of purpose and utility.

Or perhaps, simply put, since his only younger sister was no longer around, now, even if he picked one up, he wouldn't know who to give it to.

.☾

The sound of footsteps pounding on the sand reached Tsukasa's ears from behind. He turned, only to see a white figure streak by like a brief flash of light. Toya, with her long, snow-white hair and loose, flowing white robe, was running along the smooth sand. She ran, her feet leaving uneven, crooked marks in the sand, as though trying to outrun everything behind her. She didn't care about keeping her balance, letting her body sway, her mind blank, as if carried away by the wind and the waves. It was a reckless freedom, a fleeting moment of mischief. Tsukasa watched, a hint of curiosity flashing in his eyes.

But after only a few steps, she tripped over a mound of sand and fell. Tsukasa didn't have time to catch her, only hearing the sound of her body hitting the ground and the sand flying up. She quickly sat up after the fall, her tangled hair covering her pale shoulders. Instead of grimacing or crying out in pain, Toya tilted her head back and laughed out loud. Her clear, joyful laughter echoed, blending with the sound of the waves.

Tsukasa frowned slightly, not understanding why she could laugh in such a situation. He extended his hand:

"Get up."

Toya looked up, stopping her laughter. With her usual stubborn mischievousness, she raised her hand, but didn't immediately take Tsukasa's. It was only when his gaze unintentionally stopped at her wrist that he noticed the strange bracelet— a thin rope threaded through uneven, chipped seashells.

"Don't tell me you made this yourself," he blurted out, his eyes showing a hint of confusion.

Toya tilted her head, a sly smile spreading across her face:

"Pretty, right?"

Tsukasa didn't know why he wasn't surprised to see this bracelet. It felt as if, if it were something from Tsukikage Toya, it would be unusual—if it were unusual, then it would belong to Tsukikage Toya. He raised an eyebrow, a brief flicker of curiosity in his eyes, and asked:

"Why choose these broken shells?"

Toya shrugged, replying gruffly:

"Perfect shells are too boring."

Clearly, Tsukasa wasn't paying much attention to it, but his gaze lingered longer on Toya's face. The light breeze ruffled her long white hair, an unusual color that he had never quite gotten used to, especially in the glow of the twilight. Her eyes, dark as the night, calm and deep, seemed to swallow Tsukasa's soul in an instant. Her face, still marked by faint bruises and faded freckles across her nose and cheeks, radiated a strange vitality. In that brief moment, Toya seemed to let down her usual guard, becoming entirely carefree and genuine.

Tsukasa felt something delicate and fragile brushing against him. It wasn't affection, nor any grand emotions, but just something that made him feel unsettled. As if unaware of the hesitation in Tsukasa's gaze, Toya continued:

"Tsukasa-san, don't you think that if we keep bending down to pick up all the beautiful things, there won't be anything left for the ocean?"

Toya's words struck Tsukasa like a small wave, unexpectedly triggering a deep memory from his past. Somewhere in his mind, the image of Mirai appeared, when they were both children. His little sister had been sitting in the dimly lit living room, holding a loaf of bread. Instead of eating the soft middle, she nibbled on the burnt crust, smiling innocently when Tsukasa questioned her.

"The crust's crispy and yummy, nii-san. The middle is too soft, there's no taste."

Tsukasa had laughed at that moment, not really understanding his sister's logic but not being able to refute it either. That was one of the rare times he had noticed the small, simple things in the way Mirai saw the world.

Back in the present, Tsukasa looked at Toya and, for a fleeting moment, felt something familiar. Toya and Mirai were different in appearance and personality, but there was something very similar about them—both finding joy in the simple, everyday things that most people overlooked.

He blinked, as if to push Mirai's image out of his mind. But the lingering aftertaste of that memory remained, heavy like sand soaked with seawater.

Toya didn't know that her words had touched a deep corner of Tsukasa's heart. But she didn't need to. She raised the bracelet again, smirking:

"Hey, if you're not going to pick them up, let Toya make you one. What do you say?"

Tsukasa furrowed his brow, not out of annoyance, but because he didn't understand why he didn't mind her suggestion. Once again, his eyes skimmed over Toya. She was still standing there, making his heart tighten, as if something he didn't want to think about had collided with him. He didn't answer immediately, only slowly pulled his hand back with a firm motion.

"Don't mind me," Tsukasa turned away, his voice soft, almost lost in the wind.

Toya just smiled, not responding. She continued walking along the beach, her small figure blending into the vast scenery before her. She bent down, picking up a few more seashells, still with that relaxed expression. The breeze made her long white hair flutter, like a lost streak of light in the fading twilight.

Tsukasa stood there, silent, but in his mind, that strange feeling kept circling, like waves that refused to recede. An image flashed by—a small girl picking up seashells in the setting sun—nothing special, but it imprinted deeply in his mind. Toya seemed completely unaware, still carefree, her light steps leaving no trace in the world around her. Tsukasa, just as clueless, didn't realize that her trace had already been left somewhere deep inside him, a scar that he could never erase.