Chapter Text
There's definitely something not quite right within you.
You've known it long before the Black Order placed a uniform on your shoulders—before they called you an Exorcist, before they named you a savior.
It lurks in the quiet.
In the spaces between your breaths.
In the way your chest feels too full—an extra presence nestled there, listening when you think, waiting when you sleep.
Sometimes, when the world falls silent, you swear you can hear it.
A voice not entirely separate from your own.
Not loud. Not clear.
But familiar.
A memory you were never meant to remember.
And yet—
You fight.
You stand among Exorcists. You wield Innocence. You carry out the will of a force meant to be pure.
Even if, deep down—
A part of you recoils at the word.
The mission to recover an Innocence is every Exorcist's purpose.
It is the one truth carved into your bones the moment you are chosen.
And right now—
You have it.
Cradled in your right hand, the Innocence gleams with a blinding, almost holy light. It hums against your skin, alive, resonating with something deep within you—a presence that answers. A hunger that stirs.
The air around you shifts.
Metal clicks. You lift your gaze. “Huh...?”
An army of Level One Akuma surrounds you, their hollow eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, gun barrels raised—locked onto you from every direction. Their bodies creak and twitch, joints jerking unnaturally as they tighten their formation.
You don't move.
Instead, your eyes flicker from one to another, counting.
One.
Five.
Ten—
Your lips part slightly as you exhale.
Twenty-three.
Twenty-seven.
Thirty.
A full circle. No escape.
“...Thirty,” you murmur under your breath, voice low, almost thoughtful.
Your grip tightens around the Innocence. It pulses—once. Twice—your heartbeat echoing in it.
While you've been away on this mission, Lenalee's voice lingers faintly in your memory.
A new recruit, she had said, gentle but curious.
A boy around our age... a cursed one.
Your lashes lower slightly, gaze unfocused for a fleeting second.
“A cursed one...” you repeat quietly.
Someone who can see the souls of Akuma.
Your head tilts, slow, contemplative.
“Souls... huh.”
Is that even possible?
Your gaze drops to the light burning in your hand. The Innocence glows brighter, reflecting in your irises.
For a moment, the battlefield fades.
And another presence slips in.
Destroy—!
The word doesn’t feel like your own.
It curls at the edges of your mind, soft… coaxing... familiar.
Welcoming.
Your lips part.
A smile forms—twisted, wrong. Inhuman—like it's been worn before, countless times, by something far older than you.
As if you've done this before.
As if you remember.
Your eyes snap back to the Akuma surrounding you.
“Destroy yourselves.”
Your voice comes out distorted.
Layered.
The second the command leaves your lips—
Silence.
Then—
BOOM.
The world erupts.
One after another, the Akuma explode in violent bursts of light and metal. Fire and debris scatter into the air, fragments raining down like ash. The ground trembles beneath your feet as the last one collapses into ruin.
Your breath catches. Your eyes widen.
You stagger back a step, boots scraping harshly against the ground.
“What the...?!”
Your voice is yours again—but unsteady, laced with disbelief.
Your heart slams violently against your ribs, each beat too loud—pounding as if it's trying to break free from your chest.
Your hand trembles.
No—
Not just trembles. It shakes.
Violently.
You stare at it, breath hitching as your fingers twitch uncontrollably around the Innocence. It pulses erratically now, light flickering, unstable.
“Ah—”
A sharp gasp tears from your throat. Your hand jerks.
It tightens—
Not by your will.
Your fingers curl harder, gripping the Innocence as if you're about to crush it—an urge inside you pushing, demanding, relentless.
Destroy
Destroy
Destroy
Destroy—!
“No... wait—!”
Pain hits. Sudden. Brutal.
It tears through your body, something ripping you apart from the inside.
You collapse forward, knees slamming against the ground. Your hands barely catch you—your trembling arm buckling under your weight as another wave crashes through you.
It burns.
It tears.
Two forces collide within you, clawing, devouring, fighting for dominance.
You choke on a scream—but it forces its way out anyway.
“Agh—!”
Your body gives out completely. You fall face-first onto the ground, fingers digging into the dirt.
“It hurts—!”
The words come out broken, strangled between gasps for air.
Your vision blurs.
Your body writhes uncontrollably, muscles locking, then spasming, like you're being torn apart and stitched back together all at once.
Stop it stop it stop it stop it—!
The thought loops in your head—desperate, frantic—until it doesn't even sound like you anymore.
Because another presence is there.
Watching.
Smiling.
The Innocence within you—parasitic, fused into your very being—thrashes violently, reacting, rejecting.
A warning. A command.
Do not harm Innocence.
The one in your hand burns hotter, its light flaring in defiance—
Resisting you.
Knowing.
Your fingers tremble harder. You try to loosen your grip—
You can't.
“Stop... please—”
Your voice cracks, barely more than a whisper now. Tears spill from your eyes, slipping past your lashes and soaking into the ground beneath you.
Your body shakes.
Helpless.
Caught between a force meant to save—
And one that feels far more familiar.
The mission is a success.
That is what they will write in the reports.
That is what the Order will acknowledge.
Another Innocence recovered. Another step toward salvation.
And yet—
Your head hangs low as you walk the dim corridors of the Black Order.
The weight in your chest hasn't left you since earlier.
If anything—it's worse.
Your fingers curl slightly at your sides, trembling faintly as you walk. You keep your gaze fixed on the ground, avoiding the passing Exorcists, the Finders, the subdued mechanical noise.
You don't want to look at anyone.
You don't want anyone to look at you.
Because the feeling inside you now—
It isn't pride.
It isn't relief.
It's shame.
Thick. Suffocating.
It clings to your ribs, seeps into your lungs, makes every breath feel wrong.
Of who you are.
Of whatever you are.
Your lips press into a thin line. Your brows knit together as your steps slow.
You don't understand it.
What happened back there—what you did—
That voice. That command.
That power.
Your throat tightens.
“...There's definitely something wrong with—”
Thud.
“Ah—!”
You flinch sharply as something small bumps straight into your face. Instinctively, you bring a hand up, rubbing at your cheek with a slight wince.
“What the—?” Your words trail off.
A small, golden, ball-like creature hovers in front of you. It glows faintly, its long tail swaying behind it—two delicate feathered wings fluttering rapidly to keep it afloat.
It circles you once. Twice—
Then darts closer.
Closer. Too close.
You freeze.
It doesn't attack. It doesn't recoil.
Instead—it nuzzles against your cheek, pressing its tiny face against you with an almost eager affection.
Your breath catches.
You stare at it, eyes widening in quiet disbelief.
“...Timcanpy...?”
The name slips from your lips—soft, instinctive—before you even realize you've spoken.
Silence follows.
Your own voice echoes faintly in your ears.
And your chest—
It aches.
Timcanpy chirps—bright, almost relieved—as if responding to something only it understands. It flutters excitedly around your head before pressing itself against you again, rubbing its face into your skin as though greeting someone it's missed for far too long.
Your hand lifts. You touch it.
Warm.
Real.
Your fingers curl around its small form, careful—as if afraid it might disappear.
“I...”
Your voice falters.
Why does this feel—
Your vision blurs.
Tears gather at the corners of your eyes before you can stop them.
“...why...”
You swallow hard, your grip tightening—not enough to hurt, just enough to ground yourself.
You don't understand.
This is the first time you've ever seen this golem.
And yet—
There's a warmth blooming in your chest, fragile but overwhelming.
Relief.
Longing.
Something close to home.
“Timcanpy...!” you whisper again, voice trembling now.
It chirps again, pressing even more closer.
Waiting.
For you.
“Timcanpy—where are you?!”
A voice slices through the moment—young, urgent, laced with panic.
Footsteps follow. Quick. Staggered. Getting closer.
Your body stiffens.
You instinctively hold Timcanpy closer to you as you turn toward the source of the voice.
And then—
You see him.
Snow-white hair catches the fading light, soft and striking against the muted tones of the corridor.
A scar—distinct, unmistakable—marks the right side of his face.
Your eyes widen.
His do too.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
The world stills.
Your throat runs dry.
Your heart slams violently against your ribs—once, twice, too fast—recognizing him before your mind can catch up.
It knows.
It remembers.
“...Ah...”