Grains of sand are lifted up by the water as it sweeps up the beach; Yuuma can see them swirling around his ankles. The ocean is cold this time of year.

This is the graveyard in which he mourns. Early in the morning, there are no innocent children, no eager joggers, no sunbathers laughing to disturb him; it is just Yuuma, and the steady slow of the sea, and the streak of fire the sun leaves on the surface as it rises. He has found himself here more than once when the sight of people smiling is too much. It is a solemn sight, the ocean; it is a reminder that in one night all the stars fell, the moon cracked, the sun set forever, and now Yuuma is without hope.

The empty house is a shrine to his family, all taken from him while his back was turned. The school is full of chairs that he cannot bear to see filled. And every bike that passes by leaves Yuuma looking for purple and blue, for Shark's perpetual frown, every bird in the sky leaves him looking for Orbital 7's master, every flicker of blue makes him turn for Astral's steady gaze.

He keeps forgetting that they are all gone.

That is his curse, he thinks, his punishment: he will never be allowed to move on. He will never be able to let go. The wound will always be as raw as it was the moment they died. He will always be reaching out, hand outstretched for Shark's last smile, for Kaito's last breath, Kotori's last cry. There will always be tears in him left to cry, and he will always, always, always have to remember this — that he lost them because he failed, that their lives were the price of victory, that they will never see the sun rise over a safe world.

Sand cakes in between his toes as he walks. The water licks his ankles, then his calves, then bites his thighs. He steps on shards of shells, on skittering crabs, and then something sharper jabs between his toes. Yuuma looks down to see the glint of steel; a black cord is entangled round his foot.

Shark's necklace has survived the sea without a dent or scratch. Yuuma dries the steel off with the hem of his shirt and it gleams. The picture on the back, though, is ruined — it's nothing but a pulpy mess, the people unrecognizable — and Yuuma scrapes off the remains to reveal the polished back. He runs his thumb over the surface. It would be nice to have a picture of Shark, but instead all he has is this reminder that Shark traded everything for his fellow Barians, only to watch each of them die.

"It's useless," Yuuma whispers. "Why did…why did they have to die? It should have just been me…"

He fastens the pendant around his neck. It's the first time he's worn a necklace since the Key was…

"I'm sorry, Shark," he says, and then he turns his face from the ocean, back to the city behind him. It's beginning to wake. It's time for him to go.

Yuuma glances back over his shoulder — if only he had the courage to drown — and then walks away. The necklace bumps into his chest as he walks, a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.