(Time skip)
Five years passed quietly, the way years tend to in a shrine forest—measured more by the blooming and falling of sakura petals than by numbers. The clearing near the small pond had become one of Jinx's favorite places, though he'd never actually said that. He didn't say much unless he wanted to.
Right now, he sat at the water's edge with a fishing rod resting lazily between his fingers, his posture far too composed for a child his age. His expression was blank in that almost serene way that made people underestimate him. The line drifted in the pond, barely disturbing the surface.
He had grown into something unexpected.
Sadayuki had once imagined a son who would carry his broad frame, his sharp jaw, his cold intensity. Instead, Jinx had become nearly a reflection of Kikyo. The same elegant bone structure. The same smooth movements that felt deliberate even when idle. Even the subtle curve of his shoulders mirrored hers. The only visible trace of Sadayuki was the faint white at the tips of Jinx's dark hair, like frost lingering after snowfall.
And his eyes.
They still held that impossible night sky. Deep violet layered with distant stars, the crescent moon faint but unmistakable within. They didn't glow anymore, not openly, but sometimes—when the light hit just right—it felt like something inside them was watching from far beyond the forest.
Kikyo stood a short distance away beneath the trees, arms loosely folded, watching her son pretend not to notice her. He knew she was there. He always knew.
He let out a quiet sigh, tilting his head slightly as if bored of the pond itself. A fish surfaced briefly near the line, examined the bait, then turned away. Jinx didn't react. Instead, a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"You're not even trying," Kikyo said, stepping into the clearing at last.
"I am," Jinx replied calmly without looking at her. "I just don't want it."
Sadayuki followed her out, arms folded across his chest. "Then why fish?"
Jinx finally glanced over his shoulder at them. "Because the pond is thinking too loudly."
Sadayuki paused. "The pond… is thinking."
Jinx shrugged slightly, turning back to the water. "Everything thinks. It's just slow."
Kikyo exchanged a brief look with her husband. There it was again—the way he spoke. Not childish. Not confused. Just… observant. Too observant.
Over the past five years, that had been the pattern. Jinx wasn't wild or impulsive. He was playful in a way that felt calculated, sometimes even teasing shrine visitors with a softness that made them laugh without realizing he'd been studying them the whole time. He smiled easily, moved gracefully, and carried Kikyo's flirty, composed energy like he'd inherited more than just her face.
And that thought always led Kikyo back to the same memory.
Early in her pregnancy, before Jinx had even begun to show, she had fought a sorcerer from one of the great clans. A man who despised her association with yokai. Who believed sorcerers like her diluted tradition. The fight had been vicious. Foxfire had split the air, illusions bending the battlefield around her. And then he had used it—his fusion technique.
The strike had landed against her stomach.
She remembered the blood. The pressure. The sickening feeling of something spiritual shifting inside her. The technique hadn't felt destructive. It had felt invasive. Rewriting.
Sadayuki had killed the man shortly after.
But the damage—or whatever it had been—had already settled.
After that day, her pregnancy had felt… different. As though something had intertwined itself with her developing child. When Jinx was born, she knew immediately he was not merely her son. He felt like an extension of her essence. Her personality echoed in him too clearly to be coincidence.
And yet—
He had no cursed energy.
None.
Not suppressed. Not dormant.
Absent.
Even a child born under Heavenly Restriction left some trace—a compensating density, a tension in the air. But Jinx felt like still water.
That absence worried them more than weakness ever could. Especially now.
Cursed spirits had been growing restless again. Stronger. Less predictable. Similar to what had happened decades ago when Kiyohara no Masatsune was born, a child whose presence had subtly shifted spiritual currents. And lately, the disturbances had intensified.
Sadayuki stepped closer to the pond, eyes narrowing slightly. "Did you feel anything just now?" he asked quietly.
Jinx didn't answer right away. He lifted one hand and lightly tapped the water's surface with his fingertip.
The ripple froze.
Not solid ice.
Not frozen in temperature.
Frozen in motion.
For a fraction of a second, the ripple simply hung there.
Then it continued outward as if nothing had happened.
Sadayuki inhaled sharply.
"That wasn't cursed energy," he muttered.
"No," Kikyo agreed softly.
Jinx tilted his head. "Why do you both look like that?"
"Like what?" Kikyo asked.
"Like you're waiting for me to break."
The words were calm. Not accusatory. Just curious.
Kikyo crouched in front of him, brushing his hair away from his face. "We're not waiting for anything."
"You are," he said gently. "You keep checking."
Her fingers stilled.
He reached up and took her hand, his small grip warm and steady.
"I don't feel empty," he continued. "I just feel… quiet."
Sadayuki's jaw tightened. "You don't feel cursed energy at all?"
Jinx blinked once. The crescent moon in his eyes shifted faintly.
"I don't think that's what I'm supposed to have."
The clearing fell silent.
A faint chill brushed across the pond, though the evening air was still warm. Somewhere beyond the trees, a cursed spirit stirred—but did not step forward.
Kikyo felt it again then. That same brief, bone-deep sensation she had felt five years ago when he first grabbed her finger. Not malice. Not danger. Just inevitability. Vast. Impersonal.
Like standing too close to the concept of an ending.
It passed quickly.
Jinx released her hand and stood up smoothly, brushing off his clothes. "I'm done," he said lightly. "The fish aren't hungry."
"You didn't catch anything," Sadayuki pointed out.
Jinx gave him a faint, amused look. "I wasn't trying to."
As he walked past them toward the shrine path, the air shifted subtly around him—not cold, not warm, but thinner somehow. The surface of the pond stilled completely, reflecting the sky like polished glass.
Sadayuki watched his son carefully. "He's not like us."
"No," Kikyo replied quietly.
The night sky began to deepen overhead.
And somewhere at the edge of the shrine grounds, something that had been growing bold over the past months hesitated—and stepped back.
(timeskip)
(Time skip)
Night settled over the shrine grounds slowly, the way it always did—quiet and patient, slipping between the trees until the world was washed in silver moonlight. Inside the small wooden house, the air carried the faint scent of incense and old cedar. Crickets hummed somewhere beyond the paper walls, their rhythm steady and calm.
Kikyo and Sadayuki lay side by side on their tatami mats, the room dim except for the pale glow of moonlight filtering through the shoji screens. For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Sadayuki stared up at the ceiling beams, arms folded behind his head, his ice-blue eyes unfocused. Kikyo lay on her side facing him, though he could feel that her mind wasn't resting. She had that stillness about her—the kind she had right before making a decision she knew she wouldn't take back.
Finally, she spoke.
"I'm going to show him."
Her voice cut through the quiet like a pebble dropped into still water.
Sadayuki turned his head slowly, confusion flickering across his face. "Show him what?"
But even as he asked, something in his chest tightened. He already suspected the answer.
Kikyo held his gaze, her expression calm but unyielding. "You know what I'm talking about, honey."
Sadayuki exhaled through his nose, rolling onto his side to face her fully now. "Kikyo…"
"We both know Jinx isn't exactly what we expected," she continued, her voice steady but low so it wouldn't carry through the thin walls. "I know I promised never to even think about it again. I meant that when I said it. But things are changing."
Her eyes drifted briefly toward the sliding door that led down the hall where Jinx was sleeping.
"That sword might be the only thing that could give him a chance," she said quietly. "Not to become strong. Not to become famous. Just… to survive."
Sadayuki didn't answer right away.
He knew exactly which sword she meant.
"Even being our child puts a target on his back," Kikyo went on, the weight of the words settling into the room. "The clans already look down on us. They tolerate us because we're useful. Because we deal with things they don't want to dirty their hands with."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"But if they ever decide Jinx is a weakness…"
She didn't finish the thought.
She didn't have to.
Sadayuki rubbed a hand over his face slowly. "And you think giving him that sword is the answer?"
"I think it might give him a fighting chance," she replied.
He studied her for a long moment before sighing heavily and letting his hand fall back onto the tatami.
"You're right," he admitted quietly. "He isn't like other children."
His voice softened as he spoke again. "Ana kashiko… I know you're afraid for our son."
Kikyo didn't look away.
"And so am I," he continued. "More than anything."
But then Sadayuki's eyes hardened slightly, the memory surfacing clearly.
"But are you sure this is the right call?"
Kikyo didn't answer immediately.
Sadayuki pushed himself up onto one elbow, his voice dropping lower.
"That sword isn't just a weapon," he said. "It's soaked in centuries of malevolent cursed energy. A sea of it. Death. War. Hatred. Every person who has wielded it carried that weight with them."
His gaze flicked again toward the hallway where their son slept.
"You know what it does to people," he said quietly. "You've seen what happens to those who aren't strong enough."
The sword didn't just cut enemies.
It consumed its wielder.
It twisted the mind, dragged out darker instincts, amplified rage and bloodlust until the person holding it could barely recognize themselves anymore. Sorcerers with strong cursed energy had struggled to control it.
And Jinx…
Jinx had none.
Sadayuki's voice softened, genuine worry bleeding through his composure.
"Aren't you afraid it'll corrupt him?" he asked. "Our little boy?"
For a moment, Kikyo was silent.
The moonlight shifted across the floor, the shadows of the window frames sliding slowly along the tatami.
Then she sat up slightly, her long dark hair falling over one shoulder.
"No," she said.
Sadayuki looked at her again.
Kikyo's expression wasn't reckless.
It wasn't desperate.
It was resolute.
"It's because he's our son that I'm confident," she said firmly.
Her voice held a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt.
"I believe in him."
Sadayuki studied her face for several seconds. He knew that look. Once Kikyo decided something with that level of certainty, the world itself would have to argue with her if it wanted to change her mind.
Finally, he exhaled and leaned back down onto the tatami.
"…You always were stubborn."
Kikyo allowed herself the faintest smile.
"Only when I'm right."
Sadayuki chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
They both fell silent again, though the tension in the room had shifted. Not gone—but settled.
After a moment, Sadayuki spoke again, softer this time.
"When do you plan to show him?"
Kikyo glanced toward the hallway once more.
"Soon," she said. "Not tomorrow. But soon."
Her eyes drifted upward toward the ceiling, though her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
"If Jinx really was born without cursed energy… then the world will eventually test him."
Sadayuki followed her gaze.
Outside, the night wind rustled gently through the sakura trees.
"And if the sword accepts him?" Sadayuki asked.
Kikyo's voice came without hesitation.
"Then it means our son was never meant to follow the rules of this world."
Down the hall, in the quiet of his room, Jinx turned slightly in his sleep.
For just a moment, the crescent moon inside his night-sky eyes glowed faintly beneath closed lids.
And far beneath the shrine, deep within a sealed chamber wrapped in talismans and ancient bindings—
Something inside a blackened sheath stirred.
As if it had heard its name spoken again.
(timeskip)
A month later the clearing had settled back into its usual quiet rhythm. The pond reflected the sky like a sheet of dark glass, barely disturbed except for the occasional ripple from insects skating across the surface. Jinx sat in the same place he always did, knees tucked beneath him, fishing rod resting lightly in his hands. From a distance he might have looked like any other child passing time beside a pond, but the stillness around him was a little too perfect.
He wasn't bored.
He was thinking.
The hook drifted lazily beneath the water while his star-filled eyes watched the reflection of clouds passing overhead. The crescent moon hidden deep in his gaze flickered faintly when the light shifted.
Then the silence broke.
A bush nearby rustled.
It wasn't loud. Just the faint brushing of leaves, the careful movement of something small. Jinx's head turned slowly toward it, his expression unchanged. His face rarely showed much emotion these days. Calm, observant, distant in a way that sometimes made adults uneasy.
The branches parted.
A small white face peeked out.
It was a baby fox, its fur bright and soft, with faint patches of red scattered across its coat like someone had brushed ink against snow. Its eyes were wide and curious, completely unaware of how strange the moment was.
Jinx stared at it.
The fox stared back.
For a second the boy looked almost confused—not because animals were rare in the forest, but because of the expression on the fox's face.
Pure innocence.
The kind of innocence that felt foreign to him.
His parents had never hidden the truth of the world from him. They didn't soften reality with comforting lies. Kikyo especially had always been honest about what people were capable of—about curses, spirits, cruelty, and the endless quiet violence that shaped the world.
But Jinx knew more than they realized.
Because he remembered.
Not everything. The memories weren't clean or organized, more like fragments drifting up from deep water. But he remembered enough to understand something most children his age couldn't.
Human nature.
In his previous life, the person who had raised him had shown him exactly what people were capable of. His mother—if the word even applied cleanly—had lived in a world of manipulation and survival. She had taught him early how people worked. How desire moved them. How weakness could be turned into obedience if you knew the right words, the right tone, the right touch.
He had seen men and women who believed themselves civilized.
And he had watched how quickly that mask slipped.
People liked to pretend they were different from animals. That they were chosen. Elevated. Created in the image of something divine.
But Jinx remembered Darwin's theory. Evolution. The long, messy climb from instinct to intelligence.
Humans weren't separate from animals.
They were animals.
Just smarter ones.
And that intelligence had birthed something even more dangerous than claws or teeth.
Pride.
That was why humanity convinced itself it stood above the rest of nature.
Because admitting the truth would mean accepting that the same instincts—fear, hunger, dominance—still lived beneath the surface.
Jinx knew better.
That was why the fox surprised him.
The little creature stepped out from the bushes slowly, its paws light against the grass. It sniffed the air cautiously, nose twitching, ears flicking as it studied the strange boy sitting by the water.
Jinx didn't move.
He didn't reach for it.
He didn't even blink.
The fox walked closer.
A few more careful steps.
Then it paused, tilting its head as if trying to understand him.
Jinx tilted his head slightly in return.
For several seconds neither of them moved.
The fishing line drifted lazily in the pond behind him.
"You're not afraid," Jinx said quietly.
The fox blinked.
It took another small step forward.
Jinx watched it with the same blank expression he used for everything else, but inside he felt something unfamiliar.
Curiosity.
The fox was close enough now that he could see the faint red markings along its back. Its tail flicked once, soft and uncertain.
Most animals avoided humans.
Even young ones.
Yet this one didn't seem to sense danger at all.
It walked closer.
Closer.
Until it was only a few feet away.
Jinx slowly lifted one hand, palm resting against the grass beside him.
He didn't reach toward the fox.
He just placed it there.
An invitation.
The fox studied him for a moment longer before carefully stepping forward again. Its small nose twitched as it sniffed his sleeve, then his fingers.
Jinx stayed perfectly still.
Finally, the fox pressed its tiny nose against his hand.
Warm.
Soft.
Alive.
Jinx looked down at it quietly.
"…You're strange," he murmured.
The fox didn't seem to mind.
It simply sat beside him, tail curling around its paws as if it had decided this spot belonged to both of them now.
The fishing rod shifted slightly as something tugged the line in the water.
Jinx didn't react.
He was still looking at the fox.
For the first time in a while, the faintest hint of amusement touched his expression.
Behind him, deep in the forest, something darker moved through the trees.
A cursed spirit had wandered close to the clearing, drawn by the strange quiet that surrounded the boy.
It stopped at the edge of the trees.
Watched.
But it didn't step forward.
Because the moment it looked at Jinx, it felt something it couldn't understand.
Not cursed energy.
Not spiritual pressure.
Something deeper.
Something that felt like the last page of a story.
And curses, like all creatures that existed between life and death, knew better than to approach the ending.
The small fox had just settled beside Jinx's knee when another rustling stirred the bushes not far from the same spot it had first appeared. Both the boy and the fox lifted their heads at the same time, their attention drifting toward the sound.
Leaves shifted again, slower this time, and a figure pushed through the brush.
A man stepped into the clearing.
Jinx's eyes lingered on him immediately, studying him the way he studied everything—quietly, carefully. The stranger carried a heavy traveling pack over his shoulders, and several tools poked from the top: tongs, a small hammer, and what looked like the wrapped hilt of a blade waiting to be finished.
A traveling blacksmith.
That alone made Jinx narrow his gaze slightly.
It was a rare profession, and a dangerous one. Bandits prowled the roads between villages and shrines, always hungry for iron, coin, or anything they believed could fetch value. A man who carried the tools to make weapons walked the road with a target on his back.
The stranger noticed the boy almost immediately.
"Oh?" he said, pausing mid-step. "What fortune is this?"
He approached slowly, hands relaxed, making no threatening movement. When he stepped fully into the sunlight spilling through the trees, Jinx could see him clearly.
The man was young.
Very young for a blacksmith.
Perhaps twenty summers… twenty-two at the most.
And unlike most smiths Jinx had heard described, this man did not look like a mountain of muscle forged beside a furnace. His build was lean and compact, the kind of strength that came from controlled effort rather than brute labor. His arms held defined muscle, but not the thick bulk of someone who spent every waking hour hammering steel.
Interesting.
That usually meant one of two things.
Either he was still an apprentice—
Or he was the rare type of smith who only forged when the blade itself demanded it.
Jinx's fishing rod rested beside him as he watched the man carefully.
The fox did the same.
"Oh, hello there, child," the stranger said warmly as he drew closer, stopping a respectful distance away. "What brings you out here alone? The forest can be unkind to one so young."
His tone held genuine concern, but Jinx's expression didn't change.
"My family resides at a shrine dedicated to Izanami-no-Mikoto and Inari-Ōkami," Jinx replied calmly. "It lies but half a ri from this clearing. The land within one full ri of that shrine belongs to them."
His star-filled eyes lifted slightly.
"So that leaves me wondering, strange man… what business brings you wandering within my home?"
The fox flicked its tail.
The man blinked once, surprised—not by the words themselves, but by the composure behind them.
Then he smiled.
"Well spoken for one so young."
He bowed slightly out of courtesy.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Gorō Nyūdō Kanetsugu, a wandering swordsmith."
His tone carried a faint pride, though not arrogance.
"And who might you be, young master?"
Jinx considered him for a moment before answering.
"Muina no Jinx."
Kanetsugu repeated the name slowly, tasting the words.
"…Muina."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"The Field of Stillness," he murmured. "What a curious name for a house."
His eyes brightened suddenly.
"But a wonderful one!" he added, his voice rising with excitement. "A field of nothingness means endless possibility! Where nothing exists, anything may be forged!"
Jinx stared at him.
The fox stared at him.
Kanetsugu froze mid-gesture when he realized both of them were looking at him like that.
"…Ah."
He coughed awkwardly into his fist.
"Forgive me," he said, regaining some composure. "A smith's enthusiasm sometimes outruns his manners."
Jinx tilted his head slightly.
"You are an unusual man, Kanetsugu-dono."
The smith chuckled.
"That I have been told more than once."
He shifted the heavy pack on his shoulder and glanced around the clearing.
"As for why I am here…" he continued, stretching his arms slightly. "I travel these lands searching for the finest materials a smith may dream of. Iron touched by strange earth, stones kissed by lightning, ores buried where the mountains whisper."
His voice began rising again with excitement.
"For too long this world has been plagued with cheap swords!" he declared passionately, one fist clenched. "Blades churned out without spirit! Without craft! Without pride!"
The fox blinked.
Jinx did not react.
Kanetsugu spread his arms wide toward the sky.
"I intend to change that! I will forge weapons worthy of legend! And when I do, I shall create a system that separates true diamonds from the dirt!"
He finished his declaration with the kind of enthusiasm that would have fit better in a battlefield speech.
The clearing fell silent.
The fox slowly turned its head toward Jinx.
Jinx slowly turned his head toward the fox.
Then both of them looked back at Kanetsugu.
For the first time in several minutes, the faintest hint of amusement flickered across Jinx's face.
The man reminded him of someone.
Someone loud.
Someone passionate.
Someone who believed sheer enthusiasm could move mountains.
The memory surfaced clearly.
Might Guy.
Jinx blinked once.
"…You are a very energetic man, Kanetsugu-dono."
The smith scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
"Ah… yes. I suppose I am."
For a moment they simply stood there—the strange blacksmith, the calm child, and the silent fox.
Then Kanetsugu's eyes drifted to the fishing rod beside Jinx.
"…Have you caught anything, Jinx-kun?"
"No."
"Have you been trying?"
Jinx thought about it.
"…Not particularly."
Kanetsugu laughed.
The fox sneezed.
And somewhere deeper in the forest, something darker watched the clearing carefully—
Waiting to see what kind of child could sit so peacefully while the world slowly turned around him.
Jinx stretched his arms above his head and let out a slow, quiet yawn before standing up from the edge of the pond. The fishing rod was set aside without ceremony, the line still drifting lazily in the water.
"So, Kanetsugu-dono," he said in that same calm, almost bored tone, "what exactly are you searching for?"
He brushed a bit of dirt from his sleeve as he spoke.
"Perhaps I might assist you. Though I would rather not, if I am being honest. It sounds like troublesome labor."
The small fox immediately began yipping the moment Jinx stood. It pawed at his leg insistently, hopping up and down as if offended he had moved without consulting it first.
Jinx looked down at it.
"…Ah."
He bent down, scooped the little creature up with one hand, and lifted it to his shoulders. The fox settled comfortably around his neck like it had been doing so all its life, its tail flicking happily against his back.
Jinx continued speaking as if this were completely normal.
"My mother says proper manners earn the favor of Amaterasu-ōmikami," he added lazily. "So I suppose I should attempt them."
Kanetsugu watched the fox settle around the boy's neck with mild fascination before scratching his chin thoughtfully.
"Hmmm…"
He glanced at the pond, then at the surrounding forest, then back at Jinx.
"To speak honestly, Jinx-kun… I do not know what I seek."
The smith folded his arms, eyes narrowing as he thought.
"Any capable blacksmith can judge ore by sight alone. The color of the grain, the weight in the hand, the way it catches the light. These things speak to a smith."
He sighed slightly.
"But thus far, none have spoken to me."
Jinx blinked slowly.
"I have wandered for five years now," Kanetsugu continued. "Searching the mountains, the rivers, the old mines abandoned by men who thought them empty."
His voice lifted slightly again with that familiar spark of enthusiasm.
"Yet I have found nothing worthy of the dream I carry."
The fox yawned.
Kanetsugu didn't notice.
"A fortune teller once told me something strange before I began this journey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"She said I must travel north without hesitation. That the first step of my true path would reveal itself there."
He looked down at Jinx with a bright, almost excited smile.
"And now here I stand in the north… speaking with a curious young master beside a pond."
His eyes sparkled.
"Perhaps you are the sign that woman spoke of!"
Jinx stared at him.
"…First of all," Jinx said flatly, "calm yourself, pedo."
Kanetsugu froze.
The fox blinked.
"I am five years old, Kanetsugu-dono. Your enthusiasm is somewhat unsettling."
The smith sputtered immediately. "Wha—! I am not—!"
But before he could protest further, Jinx continued speaking, already bored of the topic.
"Secondly, I know nothing of ores or metals or whatever it is that occupies your thoughts."
He gestured lazily toward the pond behind him.
"However… there are some rather pretty rocks at the bottom of that pond."
Kanetsugu frowned slightly.
"Pretty rocks?"
Jinx lifted one hand.
"Observe."
The water split.
It did not splash.
It did not surge.
It simply… moved.
The pond parted down the center like two curtains being drawn aside, revealing the bottom of the pond as clearly as if the water had never been there.
Kanetsugu's jaw slowly dropped.
Seventeen stones lay scattered across the exposed bed of the pond.
They shimmered softly beneath the filtered sunlight, each one smooth and polished by years beneath the water. Most glowed faintly, their surfaces reflecting light in subtle ways.
But a few of them…
A few shone far brighter.
Kanetsugu's eyes widened.
For a brief moment, the young smith looked like a monk glimpsing enlightenment for the first time.
"…No…"
He took one slow step forward.
"…It cannot be…"
The fox adjusted itself around Jinx's shoulders while the boy watched with mild interest.
Kanetsugu suddenly leapt into the empty space where water had once been.
"Forgive me!"
He scooped up several stones with trembling hands, climbing back onto dry land as quickly as he had jumped down.
His fingers moved reverently across their surfaces.
"The grain… the density… the natural polish…"
His breath trembled.
"…And the aura…"
Then—
Kanetsugu began crying.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
The man openly sobbed while clutching the stones to his chest.
"Marvelous," he whispered hoarsely. "Truly marvelous…"
He rubbed the stones carefully as if afraid they might vanish if he stopped touching them.
To Jinx, they were just rocks.
He had no idea that the pond's water had become unusually pure over the past five years. That his presence—his quiet influence as something tied unknowingly to the balance of nature itself—had slowly refined the minerals resting beneath the water.
Ore that had sat there for decades had changed.
Not cursed.
Not magical in the usual sense.
But… elevated.
Kanetsugu suddenly froze.
Then his head snapped up.
"…Jinx-kun."
He turned and hurried over, holding the stones out with both hands.
"I cannot accept these."
His voice had shifted from awe to sincerity.
"They are far too precious. Stones such as these should not be turned into weapons by wandering fools like myself."
He tried to place them back into Jinx's hands.
Jinx stared at the pile.
Then he calmly picked out most of the brightest ones.
He kept them.
Two of the brightest stones remained in Kanetsugu's hands.
The rest were returned.
"Take these," Jinx said simply.
Kanetsugu blinked.
"But—"
"I am too lazy to argue," Jinx interrupted.
The fox flicked its tail approvingly.
"And too greedy to give them away for nothing."
Kanetsugu slowly lowered his hands.
Jinx continued speaking calmly.
"You will forge two swords. One from the brightest stone. One from the lesser."
His night-sky eyes met the smith's.
"And if I hear your name spoken again someday… I will seek you out."
Kanetsugu listened carefully.
"At that time, I will give you two more stones," Jinx finished.
Kanetsugu's grip tightened around the ore.
"And each time your name reaches my ears through someone I judge worthy… I will find you again."
The fox yawned against Jinx's shoulder.
"Until the stones are gone."
Jinx shrugged slightly.
"That does not mean I will not give stones like these to others as well."
Silence lingered between them for a moment.
Then Kanetsugu slowly bowed his head.
"…I understand."
His voice carried something deeper now.
Respect.
"Then I swear to you, Jinx-kun… these blades will not shame the gift you have given me."
Jinx gave a small nod.
Behind them, the pond quietly closed as the water flowed back into place.
The surface returned to stillness.
And far away in the mountains to the north, the faint outline of two legendary blades had just taken their first silent step toward existence.