The Nakasendō stretched before them like a scroll unrolling into the unknown, its dirt path scarred by cartwheels and the fleeting steps of countless pilgrims. The sun hung low, casting long shadows that wove through the cedar trees, their branches whispering secrets older than the shogunate itself. Taro walked with a steady gait, his shoulder stinging from the bandit's blade, now bound with a strip of cloth torn from his haori. Sora glided beside him, her indigo kimono unmarred by the fight, as if the dust and blood of the world could not touch her. Kenta, the young samurai, trailed a few paces behind, his katana sheathed but his hand never straying far from its hilt.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and the distant promise of rain. Taro's eyes scanned the horizon, wary of the bandits' return or worse—yōkai, perhaps, stirred by the strange pulse of Sora's jade amulet. He'd seen its glow during the fight, a fleeting shimmer that seemed to hum with a life of its own. She hadn't explained it, and he hadn't asked. Not yet. But the weight of her silence pressed on him, heavy as the pouch of ryo tied to his belt.
"Yamashiro's behind us now," Taro said, breaking the quiet. His voice was rough, like gravel underfoot. "Next post town's a day's walk. We'll need shelter before the rain comes."
Sora nodded, her gaze fixed on the path ahead, as if she could see beyond the curve of the hill. "The road knows its travelers," she murmured. "It will provide."
Kenta snorted, his armor clinking softly. "The road provides nothing but trouble. Bandits today, spirits tomorrow. Horai-ji's no stroll through a cherry grove."
Taro glanced at him, noting the lines etched into the samurai's young face—grief, shame, or both. "You fought well back there," he said, testing the waters. "But redemption's a heavy load. What did you do to lose your lord's favor?"
Kenta's jaw tightened, his eyes dropping to the ground. "I failed him," he said curtly. "That's enough for now."
Taro let it lie. He knew the scars of a man's past; his own were carved deep, from nights running forbidden scrolls through samurai checkpoints, dodging blades for a handful of coin. He'd been untouchable once, a shadow on five roads, but Hana's illness had tethered him to earth. Now, this journey—for her, for a wish—was pulling him back into the dark.
The path dipped into a valley, where the cedars gave way to a bamboo grove, its stalks swaying like a chorus of whispers. The air grew cooler, the light dimmer, and Taro's hand drifted to his sword. Something felt wrong, like the moment before a storm breaks. Sora slowed, her fingers brushing the jade amulet, now tucked beneath her collar.
"Careful," she whispered, her voice a thread of silk. "The grove listens."
Before Taro could question her, a rustle came from the bamboo—a soft, deliberate sound, not animal but human. He signaled Kenta, who drew his katana with a hiss of steel. The grove fell silent, save for the creak of stalks and the distant cry of a hawk.
From the shadows stepped a figure, slight and quick, cloaked in a tattered gray kimono. A woman, no older than twenty, her hair a wild tangle, her eyes sharp as a fox's. She held a dagger, its blade glinting with purpose, and her gaze locked on Sora's chest—where the amulet's faint glow betrayed its hiding place.
"Hand it over," the woman said, her voice low and dangerous. "The jade. Now."
Taro stepped forward, his sword half-drawn. "You're bold for a lone thief. Walk away, and you keep your life."
She smirked, unfazed. "I'm not alone, old man." A rustle behind them confirmed it—two more figures, men with crude clubs, emerged from the bamboo. "The amulet's worth more than your lives. Give it, or we take it."
Sora's calm never wavered. She raised a hand, not in surrender but as if calming a restless spirit. "You seek what you cannot hold," she said, her words carrying an eerie weight. "The jade chooses its bearer. Harm me, and the road itself will curse you."
The thief hesitated, her dagger trembling. Taro seized the moment, lunging forward, his blade a blur. He disarmed her in a single motion, the dagger clattering to the ground. Kenta moved like a storm, pinning one of the men with a swift kick, while the other fled into the grove. The woman cursed, scrambling back, but Taro grabbed her wrist, twisting it just enough to make her wince.
"Who sent you?" he growled. "No common thief knows about that amulet."
She glared, defiant, but her eyes flickered with fear. "Nobody sent me. I heard whispers in the post towns—jade that glows, tied to Horai-ji. I want my wish. I deserve it."
"Deserve?" Kenta spat, his katana at the ready. "You're a parasite, preying on pilgrims."
Sora stepped forward, her presence commanding despite her slight frame. "Her name is Mika," she said, as if plucking the truth from the air. "She steals to survive, but her heart seeks more. Let her speak."
Taro's grip tightened, then loosened. "Talk, Mika. Why the amulet? Who's after it?"
Mika's shoulders slumped, the fight draining from her. "I'm nobody," she muttered. "Born in the gutters of Edo, stealing to eat. But I heard of Horai-ji—a wish to change it all. A new life, clean, no blood on my hands. The amulet... it's the key, isn't it? To the temple's power."
Taro exchanged a glance with Kenta, who shook his head. Sora, though, knelt beside Mika, her eyes soft but unyielding. "The temple tests the heart, not the hand that holds a blade. Join us, Mika. Walk the path. But know this: the jade is mine, and its burden is not yours to carry."
Mika stared, torn between distrust and desperation. Taro released her, stepping back. "You try that again," he said, "and no temple will save you."
The bamboo grove seemed to exhale as the tension broke. Mika retrieved her dagger, wary but subdued, and after a moment's hesitation, she fell in step behind them. The rain began to fall, soft at first, then heavier, cloaking the path in a silver veil. Taro's thoughts drifted to Hana, her fragile smile, and the wish that burned in his chest. But as he glanced at Sora, her amulet pulsing faintly through the rain, he felt the road's pull tighten—a siren's call leading not just to salvation, but to truths he wasn't sure he was ready to face.
Ahead, the lights of a post town flickered through the mist, promising rest but also eyes that watched and whispers that followed. The lantern road was alive, and it was only beginning to reveal its secrets