With Clarity's End reborn and the Rite of Brined Spirit complete, Kazuki no longer glowed with the shine of sterilization—but with the calm of compassion.
The salt monks watched as he descended the alabaster steps of the sanctum, his form radiant, yet weathered by reflection. The Knights of Hygiene knelt—not in reverence to a war hero, but to a soul who had scoured the very concept of righteousness.
He was not above them.
He was among them.
The Stillness Before the Drain
Lila remained in her enchanted coma, her breath soft as silk, wrapped in dreamruned linens. Her body was quiet—but Kazuki knew her spirit still wandered between spores and starlight.
Sir Elrin, now imprisoned and silent, spent his days staring at the sea. Not defiant—just broken.
Even with Kazuki's inner world healed, the heavens above festered. Whispers of decay leaked from the stars. Rot was no longer a symptom of mortal failure—it was the exhalation of corrupted divinity.
And then… the Whispering Sponge pulsed.
A Stairway of Suds
Late one night, as Kazuki meditated on a cliff edge overlooking the tide-scrubbed rocks, a silence thicker than any storm rolled in.
The sky cracked open—not violently, but reverently. From the wound in the stars descended a staircase of crystal suds, each step shimmering with reflections of prayers never answered.
At its zenith: a celestial drainhole, spiraling slow and endless, dripping filth from realms unseen.
The monks collapsed in reverence.
One whispered:
"He's been chosen… not to wash the world…
…but the gods themselves."
Parting the Brined Waters
Kazuki turned to his companions—Grum, solemn but proud; the young Knight Paloma, fists clenched with purpose; and the monks who had taught him stillness.
"Stay here. Teach what you know. Clean with care.
This fight isn't above you—but it's mine to begin."
He walked barefoot to the tortoise Lysoloth, now bearing porcelain wings and an armored shell etched with salt-glass glyphs.
Clarity's End vibrated in his hand—not with pressure, but with promise.
Kazuki climbed atop his old companion.
Ascension
With a whisper of saltwind and starlight, Lysoloth rose into the sky, step by foaming step. The stairway accepted them without sound.
Below, the mortal world watched as the Saint of Soap ascended—not to conquer filth, but to understand it.
Not as a warrior of cleanliness…
…but as a Custodian of the Divine Stain.
And when the stairway vanished behind him, the wind across the cliffs smelled—not of bleach, or blood…
…but of lavender.
For the first time in centuries, the world below exhaled—
clean.