Baldwin woke slowly, the warmth reaching him before the light did. Sunlight spilled through thin curtains, dust motes drifting lazily in the air, painting the small room in gold. For a moment, he forgot where he was. The weight on his chest felt familiar—not heavy, not suffocating. Comforting.
He turned his head.
Fumitan lay beside him, her hair fanned across the pillow, her breathing calm and even. Seeing her there made something loosen in his chest, a tightness he hadn't realized he'd been carrying for months. He let out a quiet breath, the corner of his lips lifting despite himself. So this is real, he thought. I'm not waking up alone anymore.
As if sensing his gaze, Fumitan stirred, blinking sleep from her eyes. She turned toward him, and when she saw his face, she smiled—soft, unguarded.
"You're staring," she murmured.
"Just making sure you're still here," Baldwin replied quietly.
She huffed, amused, and shifted closer. "I'm not disappearing again. Not without telling you."
They lay there for a while, trading lazy words, fingers brushing, the world outside forgotten. It felt fragile, like something earned through suffering rather than given freely.
Eventually, Baldwin's expression shifted. His brow furrowed slightly.
"There's something I wanted to ask," he said.
Fumitan propped herself up on one elbow. "That sounds serious."
"Don't worry. Just… did you notice?" He hesitated. "Zion and Emma. Don't they look a bit like Ichiro and Mikazuki?"
Fumitan blinked, then smiled knowingly. "So you noticed too."
"So I'm not imagining it."
"No," she said. "I thought the same when I first saw them."
Baldwin exhaled slowly, gears turning in his head. "And you being here…?"
She nodded, already understanding the question. "It's fine. I was Edward's secretary for a while—around the same time everything started falling apart. It wasn't strange for me to be here."
Baldwin leaned back against the pillow. "Figures."
There was a brief silence before he spoke again, firmer this time. "Let's go back. To Tekkadan."
Fumitan's eyes softened. "I was hoping you'd say that. I saw Kudelia's speech recently."
Baldwin chuckled. "She's grown, hasn't she?"
"She has," Fumitan agreed, then laughed lightly. "I suppose I'll also have to explain my death to her."
Baldwin laughed with her, the sound easy, genuine. For the first time in a long while, the future didn't feel like something to dread—but something waiting.
They got up, washed, and readied themselves without much fuss. The quiet comfort from earlier lingered, but reality waited outside the room. Baldwin adjusted his coat, Fumitan tied her hair back, and together they stepped out into the corridor, sunlight giving way to the muted lamps of the building.
Zion's office was already occupied.
Zion sat behind a wide desk cluttered with tablets and paper reports, his posture straight but tense. Emma sat off to the side, legs swinging slightly, her auburn hair catching the light from the window. She looked up the moment the door opened.
"Morning," Baldwin said casually.
Emma brightened. "You're up early."
Zion stood as well, clearing his throat. "I hope the room was… adequate. According to your standards."
Baldwin laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Standards stopped existing a long time ago. After the places we've slept in?" He glanced at Emma. "This was luxury."
Emma grinned, then frowned a little when she noticed Baldwin's serious expression returning.
"Alright," Baldwin said, clapping his hands once. "Jokes aside. We need to talk. We need to go back—Mars. Home."
Zion's brows knit together. "Mars?" He shifted his weight, glancing briefly at Fumitan. "You too?"
Fumitan nodded calmly. "Yes."
Zion sighed, rubbing his chin. "That… complicates things. Business has been in a bit of a decline lately. Transport, contacts, routes—everything's tighter than it used to be." He looked up again, steadying himself. "But don't worry. It'll recover. It always does."
Baldwin nodded, accepting the answer for now. His gaze moved between Emma and Zion, studying them more carefully than before—the same shade of hair, the familiar stubborn set of the jaw, the quiet fire in their eyes.
"You know," Baldwin said slowly, "you two look a lot like someone I know. Someone I respect."
Emma tilted her head. "Someone famous?"
Zion smirked faintly. "Or dangerous?"
Baldwin smiled, but there was weight behind it. "Both."
The room fell quiet for a moment—not awkward, just thoughtful.
Baldwin nodded, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. On top of the Gjallarhorn wanted list," he added lightly, almost laughing. Then, more seriously, "Ichiro August."
The room changed.
Zion's eyes widened—just for a fraction of a second, but Baldwin caught it. It was enough.
"You know him?" Baldwin asked quietly.
Zion shook his head at once. "No—not him." He hesitated, then added, slower, heavier, "But the surname. August… that's our real surname."
Baldwin went still.
So my suspicion wasn't wrong.
Emma blinked. "Our… real surname?"
Zion exhaled and looked at her, really looked at her, as if weighing something he had carried alone for far too long. "Emma," he said softly, "listen properly this time."
Her chest tightened at his tone.
"Our parents," Zion began, "they weren't from Titan. I don't know exactly where they were from—only fragments, bits I pieced together from things they said when they thought we weren't listening." He paused, fingers curling slightly on the desk. "Before they gave us to Jake."
Emma's breath hitched. "Why?" she asked, voice trembling. "Why would they—"
"Emma," Zion said calmly, firmly, "questions later. Just listen."
She nodded, swallowing hard.
"They were being hunted," Zion continued. "By Gjallarhorn."
Baldwin's jaw tightened.
Zion went on, voice steady but strained. "From what I understand… they weren't nobodies. They came from another place—another land, maybe even another sphere—where they had complete control. They were respected. A noble family. A Gjallarhorn family."
Emma's eyes widened, disbelief mixing with fear.
"But they were betrayed," Zion said quietly. "By other Gjallarhorn families."
He stopped there, eyes unfocused, as if trying to pull memories from fog. "I was about seven when we reached Titan. Before that… colonies. Ships. Running. Always running." He shook his head. "I don't remember much. Just fear. And our parents arguing in hushed voices."
The room felt smaller.
"That's all I know," Zion said at last. Then he looked directly at Emma, his gaze steady but gentle. "Our father's name was Klein August. Our mother's name was Asterid August."
Emma felt something crack inside her.
Klein. Asterid. Names that should have meant nothing—yet they echoed painfully in her chest. Her hands trembled as she clenched them together.
"So… we weren't abandoned," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Zion shook his head. "No. We were protected."
Baldwin watched silently, a weight settling in his chest.
August, he thought. Ichiro…Mika... Emma… Zion.
This wasn't coincidence.
This was blood.
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