[Strangely, that anger is almost soothing. It's not...entirely a surprise, either. Kurama has found enough common ground with the ancient king that it's one more flicker of similarity.

He rolls back his sleeves, incidentally revealing some faint but noticeable circular scars with the shiny quality of old burns. He moves to stand next to Izunia, reaching for another dirty dish. He scrubs at it a bit before speaking. His voice is threaded with ice, not directed at Izunia but there, because Kurama's anger has always been precise and cold.]

Any innocence but feigned is a luxury such as I could not afford. As to the rest, all apply. My mother was in danger.

[Izunia...might recognize the way he says that, really. This is Kurama's Ardyn, the sun he orbited until he no longer could, the gravity a significant part of him still longs for even as other parts of him struggle to break free.]

I was the final killer in our game. But my resolve faltered. They were willing to risk their lives for mine but I realized I was not. I took the decision from their hands. I died. It was cruel. It was, perhaps, another betrayal. But they lived. Akira lived.