On the final battlefield of the war, Akito had seen Toya exactly once. On the day the front lines collapsed, a demon with black horns stood among the ruins, looking down at him. His gaze was sharp enough to kill—yet, he sheathed his sword and turned away. Akito didn't ask why. He thought they would never meet again.

Not long after, Akito stood in the Heavenly Court. The charges were trivial, but the sentence was heavy. Just as his wings were about to be torn away, it was that demon who broke through the doors.

This one is my property.

With that single sentence, everything changed.

The moon was exceptionally large.

Akito opened his eyes before he could even process his situation. The ceiling was unfamiliar, and his body felt heavy. The brand engraved on the nape of his neck was pulsing hotly.

His wings were still intact. Pure white without a single feather out of place, spread across the bed. That was what made it more sorrowful—the fact that while he looked like an angel on the outside, neither the power nor the status belonged to him anymore.

You're awake.

Turning his head at the sound of the voice, he saw Toya leaning against the doorway. His cool gaze swept over Akito as if checking a piece of merchandise.

"...You have no right to do this to me."

I do.

He was so calm that Akito couldn't even muster the strength to be angry. Toya approached and sat beside the bed. When his fingertips touched Akito's cheek, Akito reflexively tried to turn away—but the brand on his neck tightened with a sharp sting, and his body refused to obey.

I've wanted to look at this face you make when you're displeased for a long time.

Toya's voice was a mix of a victor's composure and something resembling affection. Akito wasn't sure if he had the strength to push that hand away, or if he even wanted to.

The only thing he knew for certain was one thing. He no longer belonged to the sky.