The silver threads shimmered between the moss-dark trees, each one strung tight like a trap the forest itself had conspired to weave. They hummed faintly with Xio's curse-woven power, a sound too low for most ears — but it vibrated in the bones, prickling along the skin.
Mist clung to them, and where droplets caught the faint light, they trembled like beads of glass, threatening to fall yet never breaking.
Kirihito clung tighter. His face stayed hidden against Xio's neck, his breath shallow and uneven, dampening the skin there with every exhale. Even his hair — usually alive, drifting and swaying with a will of its own — had drawn close, curling in around his body, coiling toward Xio's chest like a frightened creature seeking shelter.
Xio's hand rested on the back of his head, fingers sliding through the ink-black strands, scratching gently in the way that always seemed to quiet him.
"Don't look," Xio murmured, his voice quiet enough to almost disappear into the mist. "You're only torturing yourself."
Kirihito nodded faintly, chin brushing Xio's collarbone, but the tremors didn't stop. His body was tense as a bowstring, every small shift betraying how badly he wanted to believe the words — but couldn't.
He dared one quick peek. The shapes crawling beyond the silver lines twisted in ways that bent the stomach, and bile rose sharp in his throat. He swallowed hard, but the bitterness coated his tongue.
The first insect — its chitin cracked from Xio's earlier arrow sign — spasmed on the mossy ground, legs scraping wildly at nothing.
Xio's breath drew in slow, careful. The venom ache in his ribs gnawed deeper, every inhale dragging heat through the wound. His red-rimmed eyes locked on the silver threads, and his claw-tipped fingers hooked inward. The motion was sharp, deliberate — nails dragging down in a slow sweep, like a musician coaxing a grim melody from a guqin.
Three beats followed — low, resonant, each one heavy as the sea tide striking hidden reefs.
The spiritual sound slammed into the insects. Two black-striped ones loosed unearthly screams — a sound too deep and wet to belong to anything natural — before shattering into dry sand that spilled across the moss. Another, green as riverweed, darted away with impossible speed.
But the last one… lingered.
Green-and-yellow, its shell split open like a rotten seedpod. From inside curled a pale yellow mist, the smell faintly sweet at first… until the rot sank in, clinging to the back of the throat.
Xio's eyes widened.
"An insect yokai…? Do they even exist?" he breathed, more to himself than anyone else.
There was no time to linger on the thought. The creature hissed, its splayed legs stretching unnaturally wide as it turned toward them.
Kirihito whimpered — not the sharp sound of anger, but something trembling, raw. The sound didn't suit the predator he was. His body shook harder, black hair tightening around Xio's arm like vines in a storm.
Xio's guilt came hot, a sharper burn than the venom.
"They're gone now…" he whispered, still smoothing Kirihito's hair. His voice had lost its edge, dulled by pain and something else he refused to name aloud.
But Kirihito pressed closer, until every tremor, every small shiver of his heartbeat was felt through Xio's chest.
"They're really… disgusting," Kirihito murmured, voice muffled against his shoulder. His forked tongue flicked nervously, tasting the sour air.
"Yeah… I know," Xio answered, the words rasping. "Even if you could kill them… you still wouldn't touch them. Not even to save yourself."
Kirihito didn't answer. The silence pressed in heavy, as if filled with the ghosts of memories too foul to speak.
The silver threads still quivered faintly, the last vibrations of their deadly hum fading into the forest. The insect yokai's form finally dissolved into drifting mist, swallowed by the Fukaki's ancient dark.
The clearing fell into an uncanny stillness. The only sound was the sigh of the morning wind moving through ferns, carrying the scent of wet earth and old blood.
Xio shifted, careful not to jolt the one in his arms. His right arm burned where venom had grazed old wounds; each breath scraped him raw.
"You can look now… they're gone," he said at last, softer than before — no order, only invitation.
Kirihito hesitated, then lifted his head just enough to peek from behind a curtain of his own hair. He caught a glimpse of the moss, empty and still… then turned away again, as though afraid the safety wouldn't last.
His mouth opened, lips trembling faintly — but no words came. They closed again, pressed into a thin, stubborn line. When he finally spoke, it was so quiet Xio almost missed it.
"...saved now… insects gone…"
The admission startled Kirihito himself; his eyes flickered, unsettled, as though he didn't know why he'd spoken at all.
Xio's mouth curved into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. "Just don't bite me again," he teased weakly, though his voice carried a tired warmth.
Kirihito's eyes darkened — not in anger, but in a slow, reluctant softness. The crushing hold of his arms eased, though he still clung as if letting go too soon might undo the safety.
Around them, the Fukaki Forest settled into deep silence once more. The air smelled of moss and old secrets, and in that hush, every beat of Kirihito's heart felt like a small, stubborn drum against Xio's chest...And xio could feel every seconds of it....