Kaoru couldn't stop the shaking in his hands, no matter how hard he tried. His legs felt wobbly, like they might give out any second, but he kept walking, holding onto Sayuri's hand so tight his fingers ached. Sayuri was gripping Rei's hand just as hard, her face pale and smudged with ash, her brown hair a tangled mess falling into her eyes. Rei wasn't crying anymore, but his little body trembled, his blue eyes staring at the ground like he couldn't bear to look up. Kaoru wished he could tell Rei it would be okay, but he didn't know if it would. At seven, Rei was too small for this kind of pain, and Kaoru, at nine, was supposed to be the brave one—but he felt like a scared little kid too, his heart heavy with the memory of Mama's scream, Papa's shout, the way their house in Tsukikage had burned.
The Forest of Whispers stretched around them, the trees tall and twisted, their leaves glowing with a faint, silvery light that made Kaoru think of the moon on better nights. The air smelled sharp, like pine, with a hint of something sweet, like the wildflowers Mama used to pick. It was cooler here, away from the fire, but Kaoru could still taste the smoke in his throat, bitter and stinging, reminding him of everything they'd lost. He kept looking over his shoulder, his heart racing, sure he'd see those monsters—the ones with scales like burning coals and claws that tore through everything—chasing after them. But the forest was quiet, except for the crunch of leaves under their bare feet and the soft tap of the old man's staff on the ground.
The old man—Yorimitsu—walked a few steps ahead, his silver hair catching the glow of the leaves, his tattered cloak dragging behind him. He hadn't said much since they'd left Tsukikage, just told them to follow him, his scarred face hard and unreadable. Kaoru didn't know if he could trust him, not after everything, but what choice did he have? Mama and Papa were gone, their house nothing but ashes, and Kaoru was all Sayuri and Rei had left. They weren't his siblings by blood—Mama and Papa had taken them in one by one, Kaoru after a flood took his first family, Sayuri when her mama died, Rei as a baby left at the village gate—but they were his family, the only one he had now. He had to keep them safe, even if it meant following a stranger into a forest that felt alive, its shadows whispering things he couldn't quite hear.
Sayuri tripped on a root, her hand slipping from Kaoru's for a second, and he stopped, his breath catching in his throat. "You okay?" he asked, his voice rough and scratchy from the smoke. She nodded, but her lips were trembling, and her eyes were red from crying. At eight, Sayuri was always the one who tried to be strong—she'd make Rei laugh when he was sad, braid little crowns from grass for them to wear—but now she looked so small, like she might break if Kaoru let go of her. "We're okay," he said, more to himself than to her, pulling her close as they kept walking.
They walked for what felt like hours, the forest growing darker, the glowing leaves dimming as the trees crowded closer. Kaoru's feet hurt, the rocks and twigs digging into his bare soles, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Rei was barely keeping up, his little legs stumbling, his hands still clutching the dull blade he'd picked up in the village, like it was the only thing he had left to hold onto. Kaoru wanted to carry him, but he didn't know if he had the strength—not after everything.
Finally, Yorimitsu stopped in a small clearing where a wooden hut sat, tucked between two big oaks. The hut's walls were rough, covered in carvings of swirls and crescent moons that shimmered faintly, and the roof was made of moss that glowed like the leaves. Kaoru stared at it, his chest tightening. It looked like something out of one of Papa's stories, but Kaoru wasn't sure he believed in stories anymore—not after tonight.
Yorimitsu pushed open the door with a creak, and a warm, golden light spilled out, smelling like cedar and wet earth, like the ground after a rain. "Inside," he said, his voice low and rough, like he wasn't used to talking much. "You'll be safe here tonight."
Kaoru hesitated, his fingers tightening around Sayuri's hand. Safe? He didn't know if that was even possible anymore—not after seeing those monsters, not after watching Mama and Papa disappear in the fire. But Rei was swaying on his feet, his eyes half-closed, and Sayuri looked like she might collapse too. Kaoru nodded, leading them inside, the warmth of the hut wrapping around them like a blanket he wasn't sure he could trust.
The inside was small and cluttered, with shelves full of scrolls and strange things—jars of glowing stones, a cracked orb that shimmered like a star, a rusty blade with a crescent handle. A small hearth burned with blue flames, casting flickering shadows on a woven mat in the corner. Kaoru helped Sayuri and Rei sit on the mat, their bare feet leaving smudges of dirt on the floor. Rei curled up right away, his knees pulled to his chest, still holding that dull blade, his breathing shaky but slowing as he closed his eyes. Sayuri sat next to him, her hands in her lap, staring at the blue flames like they might tell her something—maybe where Mama and Papa had gone.
Kaoru didn't sit. He stood, watching Yorimitsu as the old man set his staff against the wall and moved to the hearth, poking at the flames with a stick. Kaoru's stomach growled, loud enough that Sayuri glanced at him, a tiny smile flickering on her lips before it faded. Yorimitsu turned, pulling a loaf of bread from a wooden box and setting it on a low table near the mat, along with a clay jar of water. "Eat if you can," he said, his voice quieter now, like he knew they were hurting. "Then sleep."
Kaoru sat down next to Sayuri, breaking the bread into pieces and handing one to her, then one to Rei, who took it with shaky hands. "Come on," Kaoru said softly, trying to sound like Mama used to when she'd make them eat their vegetables. "We need to." Sayuri nibbled at the bread, her eyes still on the flames, and Rei ate a little, leaning against her, his head on her shoulder. The bread tasted dry and a little stale, but it was something, and the water helped wash away the bitter taste of smoke in Kaoru's throat.
He glanced at Yorimitsu, who was sitting on a stool by the hearth, his scarred hands resting on his knees, his eyes far away, like he was thinking about something sad. Kaoru's chest felt tight, the question burning inside him. "What were they?" he asked, his voice small but steady. "Those monsters—what did they want?"
Yorimitsu's face darkened, the firelight making his scars look deeper. He looked at Kaoru, his eyes sharp, like he was deciding how much to say. "They're called the Shattered Court," he said finally, his voice heavy. "A cult. They wanted something in Tsukikage—something they think will make them stronger. That's all you need to know tonight."
Kaoru's hands clenched, the bread crumbling in his fingers. He wanted to ask more—why Tsukikage, why Mama and Papa had to die—but Yorimitsu's tone said he wouldn't get more answers right now. Sayuri made a small, choked sound, like she was trying not to cry, and Rei pressed closer to her, his trembling starting up again. Kaoru reached out and pulled them both into a hug, holding them as tight as he could. They weren't his siblings by blood, but they were his family, and he'd do anything to keep them safe—even if he didn't know how.
Yorimitsu stood, turning back to the hearth. "Sleep," he said, not looking at them. "I'll keep watch outside."
Kaoru nodded, even though he didn't feel like sleeping. He lay down on the mat, pulling Sayuri and Rei close, their breathing slowly evening out as they drifted off. The blue flames flickered, sending little sparks up like stars, and Kaoru stared at them, trying to focus on the warmth instead of the cold ache in his chest. He didn't know who Yorimitsu was, didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but he knew one thing—he'd protect Sayuri and Rei, no matter what. They were all he had left.