Chapter 68: Anima Ad Anima

Kane’s fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons, heart hammering against his ribs.

The karmic seal remained etched into his skin—but changed. Where it burned an angry red, it now pulsed with gentle silver light.

Cyrus mirrored the gesture, revealing his own transformed mark. Crimson threads wove through the original design.

"It’s still there," Kane breathed, surprised by the relief flooding through him.

"But different," Cyrus murmured, touching the mark.

Father Thomas smiled knowingly as he lifted the Midnight Chalice from the altar.

The morning light shifted, casting rainbow patterns across the altar. "The ritual is complete; you may take the chalice."

"Thank you." Cyrus accepted the ornate box from Father Thomas, cradling it with care.

Father Thomas inclined his head. "The chalice chose its path, as did you both."

Kane bounced on his heels, amber eyes bright with anticipation.

"So what does this mean exactly? Can we...are we still physically bound?" His words tumbled out in a rush.

"Because I have this case back at the Bureau that I’ve been dying to investigate, and there’s this rogue spirit in the upper district that—"

"Kane."

"—and Ginsei’s been handling my paperwork, which is just wrong on so many levels, plus Commander Qi probably thinks I’ve gone completely rogue by now—"

"Kane."

The fox spirit finally paused, tail swishing with nervous energy.

"We should test the parameters," Kane said, taking a deliberate step backward. "See how far—"

The silver mark on his chest remained calm. There was no constant tug or pull.

Kane’s eyes widened.

"Holy shit, we’re actually free."

Cyrus watched Kane’s elation with something unreadable flickering across his features.

"It would appear so."

Kane’s celebration faltered at Cyrus’s flat tone.

"Right. Well." Kane cleared his throat, suddenly unsure. "I guess this means I can go back to my regular assignments now."

"Indeed."

The single word hung between them like a blade.

Father Thomas gathered his ceremonial items, the soft clink of metal filling the awkward silence.

Kane shifted his weight, amber eyes darting between Cyrus and the cathedral doors.

"So, um." Kane’s usual confidence cracked. "I suppose you won’t need an assistant anymore."

Cyrus’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Veyr Corp will manage."

Kane nodded too quickly, his tail betraying his agitation with sharp, jerky movements.

"Great. That’s... great." He forced a grin.

"Normal," Cyrus repeated, the word tasting foreign.

The morning sun climbed higher, painting the stained glass windows in brilliant hues. Neither man moved toward the exit.

Kane’s phone buzzed. Commander Qi’s name flashed on the screen.

"I should..." Kane held up the device.

"Of course."

Kane’s phone pressed against his ear as Commander Qi’s voice crackled through the speaker.

"Ashwood, where the hell have you been? Your last report was three days ago."

"Sir, I can explain—"

Kane glanced at Cyrus, who stood motionless beside the altar, the chalice box cradled in his hands.

"Understood, sir. I’ll be there within the hour."

He ended the call, shoving the phone into his pocket.

"Duty calls," Kane said, attempting lightness that fell flat in the cathedral’s solemn atmosphere.

Cyrus nodded once, his expression unreadable.

Kane lingered, words forming and dissolving on his tongue.

He should say something—thank Cyrus, acknowledge what they’d been through, and what they’d shared.

But nothing felt right.

Instead, he turned toward the cathedral doors. He paused but didn’t turn around.

Kane walked into the gray morning light, leaving Cyrus standing alone among the flickering candles.

Stained glass windows cast fractured light across the empty nave, but the colors felt muted now.

Cyrus clutched the ornate box containing the Midnight Chalice, its weight both substantial and meaningless.

They were free.

Kane was free to leave, to return to his Bureau assignments, to chase rogue spirits without consequence. The fox had gotten exactly what he’d wanted from the beginning.

So why did the cathedral feel colder now?

Cyrus moved toward the exit, each footstep echoing in the vast space.

Kane hadn’t even said goodbye—just answered his phone and walked away like their weeks together meant nothing.

The Mercedes sat across the rain-slicked street, its black surface reflecting the cathedral’s Gothic spires.

Cyrus slid behind the wheel, placing the chalice carefully on the passenger seat where Kane had sat hours ago.

He gripped the steering wheel, staring at the cathedral’s entrance through the windshield.

Any moment now, Kane would emerge with that sheepish grin, amber eyes bright with mischief.

He’d tap on the passenger window and ask for a ride to the Bureau, complaining about the city’s terrible public transportation.

Minutes stretched into an hour.

Through their transformed bond, Cyrus felt Kane’s emotions like distant thunder—frustration, confusion, and something that felt like regret.

But no fox appeared on the rain-dampened steps. Kane had found another way back to his life.

Cyrus finally turned the ignition. The chalice box shifted slightly on the passenger seat as he pulled away from the curb.

Veyr Corp’s glass tower pierced the gray sky ahead, a familiar destination that felt strangely foreign now.

His office awaited—pristine, orderly, silent.

Everything is as it should be.

The drive through Feilun’s morning traffic felt longer than usual, each red light stretching endlessly.

By the time he reached Veyr Corp, the transformed mark on his chest had settled into a steady, almost imperceptible pulse.

Cyrus entered the building, nodding to the security guards who straightened at his presence.

The familiar hum of the lobby’s marble floors beneath his feet felt oddly foreign after weeks away.

The elevator doors slid shut, carrying him toward the fifty-ninth floor.

He found himself remembering Kane’s first visit—amber eyes wide with wonder, pressing his palm against the glass as the city spread below them.

The fox had looked so small in this vast corporate machine, yet somehow he’d filled every corner of it.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached his floor.

"Mr. Drakhal." Isabelle Winters materialized at his elbow the moment he stepped out, her ice-blue eyes scanning him with professional concern.

"How was your Mediterranean excursion?"

She paused, gaze shifting past him toward the empty elevator.

"Where is Mr. Ashwood?"

Cyrus walked past her toward his office, the chalice box weighing heavy in his hands.

"Arrange a meeting with Madam Xiu," he said instead, pushing through the black double doors.

"Tell her I have the chalice."

Isabelle’s perfectly composed expression flickered, just for a moment, before she inclined her head.

"Of course, sir."