Rain followed him like a warning. Rei walked because his legs still worked. Because the memory of Shira's smile had teeth in it and would not let him stop. The black stone in his pack throbbed like an answered prayer and a curse all at once.
When the trees thinned, a ring of pale symbols bloomed under his feet. The air tasted older here, like paper left in a closed chest. He tightened his grip on the hilt at his hip. The Blade of Resolve. Still nicked from practice. Still humming faintly when Enso touched it. Small comfort. Everything.
A figure stepped out of the dim. Silver hair. Shoulders like carved bone. No armor, but he moved like a held-in storm.
"You found us," the man said.
Three others followed. A woman with a scar that webbed down her jaw and shadow that seemed to move of its own accord. A lean boy who lounged like he trusted fate to amuse him. And someone in a hood...still, quiet...l who hollowed Rei's chest when their eyes met.
"We are the Sayuri," the silver-haired man said. His voice folded into the chamber. "Daiken."
The scarred woman's gaze cut to Rei. "You are the one from Hurukoya."
Rei's jaw tightened. He could have let grief make him small, but something colder replaced it. A careful flame. "I'm the one who survived. I'm the one who will end whoever did this."
The gold-eyed boy laughed like a blade sliding free. "A Golden Child. Cute."
The scarred woman stepped forward. Shadows licked the ground. "Cute doesn't matter. If you want answers, you'll earn them."
Rei pressed the blade to his palm to steady himself. Its edge bit cold against the skin. "Fine. I'll earn it."
Daiken watched him long enough to weigh him. "Tomorrow. You begin."
They gave him space, but not kindness. The hooded figure shifted in the dark and vanished into the bench of the room. Rei felt watched in ways that weren't prying...more like being measured.
That night his wound itched as if the forest remembered the cut. He pulled the black stone from his pack and felt it heavier than before. A presence in the dark. He thought of Shira's hand, of the portal, and of the word that refused to leave him. Live.
He set the stone down. Kissed the scarred edge of the blade. Slept with the rain on his face. Training would start at dawn. And if the Sayuri were what they said, they would not hold back.