The morning winds dragged down the peaks of Mount Kaigara like breath from a dying beast. Kamui woke up, his kimono still bloodied because of yesterday's fight.
His side burned — the gash hadn't closed right. He'd wrapped it in linen but didn't stitch it. Couldn't be bothered. He lay on a torn mattress, boots still on, eyes cracked open to the hole in his shed's roof where sunlight spilt like judgment.
It was quiet. Finally.
No screams. No alarms. No steel slicing through flesh.
Only the mountain breathing and the soft sound of the wind through the pine.
He stood, his limbs stiff, his body covered in dirt. He dragged himself to the well just outside his cliffside hideout, carved into stone, hand-built after he'd left the old woman Rina's house in Yurehara two years ago. The water was sharp and clean. He splashed it on his face, washed his hands, and cleaned the blood from his knuckles — a stain from yesterday's kill. Another general, gone. Riku Seido. Crossed off the list.
He boiled tea, sitting beside the names scratched onto his wooden wall. Almost all were crossed out now.
Only two remained.
Yoshiro Shinjuku.
President Kuzan Shoushiki.
But not yet. First, the old man. Master Ishido.
Kamui exhaled deeply as he sipped his tea. Bitterness. Earthy. Like ash.
His left hand was still shaking slightly from the fight.
He picked up his tools to fix the leaking roof — small work, meditative, distracting.
Then he heard it. A heavy thud outside.Close.
He dropped the hammer, heart quick, body moving before thought. He ran out — fists clenched, blood still dried on his nails.
Nothing.
The path outside the shed was clear.
He stepped back inside, still tense, eyes scanning everything—
And that's when he saw him.
Sitting in his chair. Like it was his.
Calm. Relaxed. Legs crossed, head slightly tilted. Same age. Fifteen. Taller now. His hair was cropped short, but a beard had begun forming on his chin. The boy had bulked up. Broader shoulders. Calm eyes.
"...It's been a while, Kamui."
Kamui's breath caught in his throat. His eyes narrowed.
"...Arma?"
The boy smirked faintly.
"How long has it been?" Kamui asked, almost like a ghost speaking.
Arma stood up, his tone suddenly cold.
"I thought you were dead."
Kamui clenched his jaw. "What took you so long?"
Arma blinked — then laughed. Bitter.
"What took me so long? What took you so long, Kamui? Look at the state you're in."
Kamui's brow furrowed. He turned back toward his tea. "Don't start—"
"Yesterday, you killed another general," Arma snapped. "And your knuckles are still bleeding from it. You haven't stopped since the day he was taken."
Kamui didn't answer. Just sipped his tea and stared at the fire pit.
Arma took a step closer.
"But the real question is... why? Why are you doing this?"
Silence.
"If you're here to play saviour," Kamui muttered, "please leave, Arma. I've had enough people with that tone in the past two years."
"Saviour?" Arma barked. "You're the one playing saviour. You're pretending to fight for him — for Master Ishido—but you've dropped to their level, Kamui."
Kamui stiffened.
"You kill in cold blood. Strategically. Without hesitation. You've become exactly what Shoushiki wanted you to become. And he knew he'd get it."
"Don't speak to me like you know me," Kamui said. "You weren't there."
"And you never looked for me!" Arma roared. "You never even tried to find me. You don't know where Argon is. You never asked! All you've done is sit in this rotting shed, covered in blood, surrounded by a wall of names and war maps — acting like that's doing something!"
Kamui's voice was low, trembling with quiet rage.
"I'm doing what needs to be done."
Arma stepped forward, fire in his eyes.
"You're on a nationwide execution order, Kamui. You can't step outside without your name being displayed on every entrance to a town. And what do you do? Keep killing. Keep raising hell. Keep crossing names until your own is at the top."
"Because someone has to!" Kamui snapped. "Because they took him, and I—"
"And you what?" Arma interrupted. "You think killing all his enemies will bring him back? You think bleeding for his sake makes you a better disciple? No, Kamui — you didn't do this for him. You did this because you couldn't live without being angry. You turned your grief into murder."
Kamui stood. His fists were trembling. But his face was blank.
"You weren't there," he repeated. "You don't know what it was like watching them drag him away."
"I saw it too," Arma said, voice soft now. "We all did. But the difference is... I tried to live. I tried to honour what he taught us. You — you just lost yourself."
Silence again.
Kamui lowered his head.
"Where's Argon?"
Arma didn't answer immediately. He turned and stepped outside, his back to the shed.
"Go to the village," he said, voice cold. "You'll find out yourself."
Kamui looked up.
"I asked you—"
"You were like my brother," Arma said. "But honestly, Kamui... I wouldn't care if you were executed tomorrow. Not like this. Not the man you've become. You're not following his teachings. You're a disgrace to them."
Kamui sat on the stairs in front of his small shed, clenching his fist.
"I know Arma, I know that I am a disgrace to everything he taught us, and I know I am a disgrace to everything we stood for. It's something I can't change anymore. I've made it my entire purpose to destroy everything that took him that day. I simply can't."
"And what do you plan to do after?" Arma told him as he sat right beside him.
"What do you plan on doing if you somehow free him? What do you think we will say about your actions? Will he be proud, Kamui, will he?"
Kamui's chest rose and fell. He didn't answer.
"He wouldn't approve of any of this." Arma kicked a small rock on the ground. "First thing he wouldn't approve of is the fact that we distanced."
"I gave you honest advice, will you take it or not, will determine if we will see each other again."
"Now go into the village and find out where Argon is."
Arma took a breath — then leapt down the cliffside in a single, clean motion, vanishing down the mountainside path without another word.
The wind blew again through the hole in Kamui's roof. Kamui went to fix it again.
When he did, he lay on his bed, trying to rethink everything Arma had said to him, and he decided.
He will descend the mountain to the village of Uroboro.
As he began descending:
"They moved on…" Kamui muttered under his breath, wrapping the bandages tighter around his bloodied knuckles. The wind on the mountain cut through the silence like glass, but it couldn't cut deeper than what Arma told him.
He tightened his coat. A ragged brown thing. Dusty. Torn at the shoulder. Familiar. His boots cracked stone with each step as he walked down the path he hadn't taken in over a year.
"I have to see it. I have to see it myself."
For two years, he let anger be his only companion. It was easy to hate. Easy to sharpen himself on the whetstone of betrayal. But Arma ruined that. With just a few words, he cracked Kamui's cage.
And so, Kamui descended.
The sun hit his hood as he entered the first hill overlooking Oroboro.
"Still the same damn town…"
He pulled his hood tighter, masking his face in shadow. As he passed the guards, he kept his body language calm and stayed low. Not a sound from him. Not even a whisper of Mabitake.
Villagers stared. Some curious. Some wary. He wasn't from here. That much was obvious.
He stopped at a wooden pole near the old square. A faded poster flapped in the breeze. His face was the same as it had always been, drawn in ink. A bounty marked in red.
Kamui scoffed.
"Still using that photo, huh? Damn amateurs…"
Then a voice cracked behind him.
"Excuse me, son. Could you do an old man a favour?"
Kamui turned slowly. An elderly man stood with a cane, smile kind but worn.
"I… what?" Kamui blinked. He hadn't heard someone talk like that in years.
"My back ain't what it used to be. Wife's really sick too. Just need some groceries from the market across the plaza."
He hesitated. "This… this ain't me. What the hell am I doing?"
But then he nodded. "…Alright."
He moved fast through the market, head down, gathering everything on the crumpled list Haro gave him. Salted fish. Rice. Mushroot. A jar of wild honey. The simplest list he'd ever seen.
Then—"HEY! HEY YOU!"
Guards. One had seen his face.
"Shit!"
Kamui darted through a narrow alley, leapt over a barrel. Two guards followed, shoving townsfolk aside.
He ducked under a stall, slipped through a dead-end, then climbed a wall using old pipes. He vanished into the shadows of the rooftops, then climbed back down two blocks away.
Breathing hard, groceries still in hand, he walked up to the door of a crooked little wooden home. The old man was waiting at the door.
"You got it all?" Haro smiled.
"…Yeah. Barely."
They sat at a low table in the kitchen. Haro slowly stirred a pot of rice porridge. The place was old, dust in every corner. Quiet. Peaceful.
"My wife's asleep. Doesn't talk much anymore, but she still smiles when I bring her tea," Haro said, voice warm.
"You didn't have to make me anything," Kamui said.
"It's just rice and fish. Sit. You've done enough."
Kamui sat.
"So… what's your name, young man?"
Kamui paused. "Kennan."
"Hmm. Kennan. Sounds like someone who walks alone."
Kamui shrugged.
"And where are you from?"
"…Yurahara."
Haro's hand froze as he stirred. "…Yurahara, you say?"
"Yeah. What?"
"Nothing. Just… I knew someone from there once."
Kamui looked up, eyes sharp now. "You did?"
"…So. What troubles you, Kennan?"
Kamui gritted his teeth.
"I lost two friends. Over something I thought would help me move on. But it didn't. I still feel it inside. I want to let it go, but it's like it's carved in me."
Haro handed him a bowl of porridge. Sat down slowly.
"Let me tell you something, Kennan. Life doesn't wait for anyone to be ready. Sometimes it moves on without you. But if you cling to the things meant to break you, you'll never feel the things meant to heal you."
Kamui stayed silent.
"You said two friends. Did they move on?"
Kamui nodded slowly. "…They did. In their own way. One, I don't know where he even is, and the other visited me and told me basically everything that I believed in is wrong."
"Then maybe it's your turn. Your turn to move on."
There was silence. Kamui stared at the steam rising from the bowl. Then he saw it—The Tree… the Echoes… Mabitake… Ishido… I need to find out the truth what Ishido wanted us to know.
He blinked out of it.
"You alright?" Haro asked.
"Yeah… yeah. Just thinking."
Haro chuckled. "I guess I hit a nerve."
After lunch, Kamui stood, pulling his hood back over his head.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"Have a good day, Kamui."
Kamui froze. "…What did you say?"
"I said, have a good day. Kamui," as the old man laughed.
He turned slowly, fear bubbling. "How do you—?"
"I knew Ishido. Long ago. We fought under the same banner, in the same war. He was my friend. I knew that you were one of them. Besides, your fists are bloodied, and you stink of blood. There are rumours about you, but I knew it was you since the second I saw you."
Kamui's mouth opened to ask a dozen questions, but Haro held a finger to his lips.
"Shush." Same way, Ishido shushed Arma during the fight against Kuzan two years ago.
"
"You stay, you'll be compromised. These guards? They're not a joke."
"…Then tell me one thing. Where's Argon Shinjuku?"
Haro turned to the sink, washed a dish slowly, then said:
"He's where his father wanted him to be. Yoshiro Shinjuku's dream. He's serving directly under President Kuzan Shoushiki's military division."
Silence.
Kamui gritted his teeth. His hands trembled.
"…He joined them."
Haro didn't respond.
Kamui bowed.
"Thank you."
He returned to the mountain like a ghost. He didn't walk—he stormed. Rage in every step. He reached the shed. Threw off his coat. Slammed his fists into the rock wall—once, twice—cracks forming.
"Argon… that bastard…"
He punched again, this time screaming. "You were supposed to lead us! You were supposed to be the one! You said we'd rise! YOU SAID WE'D FIGHT!"
Stone shattered.
Then silence.
He looked at his hands. Torn again. Blood oozed through the bandages.
"Arma… Ishido… why does it hurt?"
He sat on the edge of the cliff.
"Why are you both able to move on, and I am not?"
The sun was dipping now. Fire across the horizon. Gold bleeding into red.
He looked down at his wrist—the symbol of Yaksha.. The same one which Ishido gave them that day....in the old shrine.
He remembered.
The laughter. The fire. The three of them as kids, swordsticks in hand. Vowing to change the world.
"…We were just kids… When he showed us the truth...."
He didn't cry. He didn't scream.
He just sat.
And let the sun set over Oroboro.
Kamui said, looking at the sunset.
"Six more days until the execution, until then, I will find out the truth."