The forest of Yomi never slept. Even when the fog parted and moonlight touched the ground, it was only to reveal how lifeless everything truly was. The air hung heavy — wet, stale, and too quiet.
I could hear my heartbeat again. It didn't feel like mine anymore.
We had left the shrine behind at dawn — or what passed for dawn in this hollow world. The shrine maiden walked ahead of me, her steps light, her white sleeves untouched by the mud that clung to mine.
"Ren Kagemura," she said softly, her voice carried by the mist. "Do you remember the scent of blood?"
I froze.
How could she know that scent still haunted me — the iron on my hands, the smoke in my lungs, the sound of steel splitting flesh?
"Every warrior remembers," I murmured.
"No," she replied. "Only those who cannot forgive themselves."
She didn't look back. But her words did not fade; they lingered, like the echo of a bell long after it's struck.
We passed through the ruins of what once might have been a village. Roofs caved in, gates half-rotted, paper charms turned to ash. I felt something in the wind — not sound, but weight.
The dead were watching.
And then I saw them.
Shapes shifting between the trees, faces hidden behind broken masks — some human, some not.
Their eyes glowed faintly like dying embers.
"Souls devoured by their regrets," the maiden whispered. "They sense your turmoil. They feed on it."
I gripped the hilt of my blade, though I wasn't sure what use it had against ghosts.
When one of them lunged, the air tore apart.
I moved without thinking — blade flashing, breath held. The strike passed through it like mist, but the creature screamed.
Not in pain — in hunger.
Dozens more answered.
We ran.
Branches clawed at my face; whispers clawed deeper at my mind.
"You failed them, Ren Kagemura…"
"You let them burn…"
"You belong to us now…"
Their voices were my own.
Every step grew heavier.
The world dimmed, and the maiden's white robes blurred before me like moonlight underwater.
Then one of the spirits caught her ankle and dragged her down.
She cried out — the first sound of fear I had heard from her.
I turned, slashing wildly, but the blade met nothing. The spirits swarmed, writhing shadows biting into her skin like black flame.
"Stay back!" she gasped.
"No!" I shouted, lunging forward. "I won't let you—"
My hand closed around her wrist.
Cold shot up my arm like poison.
In that moment, the world shattered.
I saw flashes — my village burning, my brother's face twisted in betrayal, the blade in my own chest.
The smell of blood, smoke, salt tears.
And through it all — a voice.
"You are not done, Ren. Not yet."
My vision turned white.
Then black.
Then flame.
It burst from my arm — a fire without heat, blue and violet like mourning incense. It roared through the shadows, tearing them apart, scattering them into screams and smoke.
The maiden's eyes widened.
The spirits shrieked and recoiled, their bodies unraveling into ash.
And when the last one faded, silence fell again.
The flame lingered on my hand — faint, flickering, beautiful.
I stared at it, trembling.
It felt… alive.
It pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, whispering to me in a voice I didn't understand.
"Ren," the maiden said softly, rising unsteadily to her feet.
"What… is this?" I asked, my voice shaking.
She looked at the light in my palm, her eyes filled with something that wasn't fear — but sorrow.
"That," she whispered, "is Yomi's mark. The proof that the underworld has chosen you."
"Chosen?"
"No one is chosen without cost."
The flame faded, leaving only the smell of burnt air. My body ached, and the cold crept back in.
I looked at her, at the ruin of the village, at the empty sky.
The whispers had gone quiet.
But I knew they weren't gone.
Something inside me had awakened — something that wasn't mine.
And deep down, I could feel it smiling.
That night, as we rested by the broken gate, the maiden spoke again.
"The Yomi Flame binds soul to soul," she said. "You can wield it, but each time you do, it devours a piece of your humanity."
I clenched my fists.
"If it means reclaiming my honor… then so be it."
She turned her gaze to the stars — or perhaps to where stars used to be.
"Vengeance always begins that way," she said quietly. "But it never ends there."