The morning after Ren's dream felt wrong from the moment he opened his eyes.
The fog over Yumihara Valley usually thinned with daylight—but today it stayed thick and heavy, clinging to the ground as though trying to hide something. The air hummed faintly with a low vibration Ren felt more than heard.
The Ninth Seal pulsed once beneath his ribs, slow and hungry.
Ayaka stood outside the tent, arms crossed tightly as she scanned the valley. She hadn't slept. Ren could tell from the faint shadows beneath her eyes—and from the way she flinched whenever the mist shifted.
"Morning," Ren said quietly.
She didn't turn. "Did you dream again?"
"No."
Ayaka finally faced him, relief flickering in her eyes. "Good."
He hesitated. "But… I still feel her."
Ayaka's jaw tightened. "Of course you do. She marked you in your dream. She's going to keep trying to reach you."
Ren exhaled shakily. "I hate this."
"I know." Ayaka rested a hand on his arm. "But you're not facing it alone."
The tent flap rustled as Hiro stumbled out of his own tent, looking like he'd slept inside a washing machine set on spin cycle.
"Morn—" Hiro froze mid-yawn. "Uh. Why's it foggier today? Did someone leave the valley's mist machine running?"
Ayaka pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hiro. There is no—"
"—mist machine, I know," he muttered. "But still."
Kurogane emerged next, cane tapping nervously against the ground. His expression was tight, drawn, and far more troubled than usual.
He pointed toward the ridge. "Look."
Ren, Ayaka, and Hiro followed his gaze.
A faint glow shimmered through the fog—silver, ethereal, growing stronger every second. Not sunlight.
Moonlight.
Ren's heart lurched. "She's here."
Ayaka immediately stepped in front of him. "Let her try."
Kurogane gripped his cane with white knuckles. "This early? In daylight? Impossible…"
"No," Ren whispered. "Not impossible. She's stronger than we thought."
The seal throbbed in agreement.
—She draws near.
A silhouette materialized in the mist at the ridge's edge—slowly, elegantly, like a figure stepping out from a dream into waking world. Silver hair drifted behind her as though caught in water, and her moonlit robe flowed despite the still air.
Yurei Kisaragi.
She was breathtaking in a way that felt dangerous, like a cliffside flower blooming over a drop that could kill.
Hiro let out a quiet, unhelpful, "Oh no."
Ayaka didn't say anything. She was too tense, too ready to rip the moonlight out of the sky with her bare hands.
Yurei smiled—soft, serene, heartbreakingly tender.
"Ren."
The single word crossed the valley like a caress.
Ren fought the instinctive pull forward. "Don't… don't come closer."
Ayaka stepped in front of him entirely, shoulders squared like a shield. "He said stop."
Yurei blinked slowly, her expression touched with confusion and faint disappointment. "I was not speaking to you."
"Too bad," Ayaka snapped. "I'm speaking to you."
Yurei's gaze shifted to Ayaka.
The air shifted.
Two women.Opposite light.Opposite energy.Opposite claims.
One moonlight.One iron will.
"You are the anchor," Yurei murmured. "I sensed you. You cling to him fiercely."
Ayaka gritted her teeth. "Someone has to."
Yurei tilted her head, as if studying a curious insect. "Your presence steadies his soul. Admirable… but ultimately futile."
"It won't be," Ayaka said.
"Your belief is strong." Yurei stepped forward. Each movement made the fog ripple. "But the Ninth Seal stirs. It remembers me. It calls me."
Ren's pulse surged painfully.
Ayaka heard the hitch in his breath. "Ren?"
"I'm fine," he lied.
—She is ours.—She is familiar.
Yurei reached the base of the ridge and descended calmly, bare feet touching the soil with reverence. "Ren, I told you. Come to me. I can guide you. I can stop the suffering."
"You're causing it," Ayaka snapped.
Yurei's smile dimmed. "No. The seal causes it. I soothe it."
Ayaka stepped forward, blade drawn. "Try soothing from over there."
"Ayaka—" Ren warned.
She didn't care. She would fight moonlight itself if she had to.
Yurei regarded the blade with weary amusement. "You would draw metal against moonlight?"
"Gladly."
Hiro whispered to Ren, "She's terrifying. Please never break up with her."
Ren elbowed him.
Yurei's gaze drifted back to Ren, softening again. "Beloved…"
Ren flinched at the word. "Don't call me that."
"But you are." Her voice lowered to a whisper of waves against shore. "You were mine long before you knew this life. Your soul remembers, even if your mind does not."
Ayaka's anger sharpened. "He's not yours."
"He is," Yurei murmured. "And he will remember in time."
"You're manipulating him," Ayaka hissed.
Yurei blinked, genuine confusion flickering in her eyes. "Why would I need to manipulate what already belongs to me?"
Ren stepped between them at last, unable to breathe between their clashing energies.
"Yurei," he said. "Stop. Just—stop."
Her expression melted into relief. "I knew you would speak to me."
"I'm asking you to leave."
Her smile froze.
"What?"
"Leave," he repeated, voice trembling but firm. "You're making everything worse."
A crack of emotion—hurt, sharp and raw—passed through Yurei's face.
Then something darker replaced it.
"So your anchor has turned you against me."
Ayaka snapped, "He decided that himself."
Yurei's gaze turned cold for the first time. "You are a mortal girl grasping at a divine flame. You will burn."
Ayaka lifted her blade. "Try me."
The fog rippled outward as if shocked by the threat.
Ren moved between them fully now, raising both hands. "Enough!"
His chest burned—Seal IX reacting to the confrontation. Shadows flickered at the edges of his vision. A faint shape moved behind him in the mist.
Kuro-Obake.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hungry.
Yurei's expression softened instantly when she saw Ren's pain.
"Ren… let me ease that."
"No," he said shakily. "You're the reason it's worse."
Her eyes widened—the hurt returning, deeper this time, as though she'd been stabbed.
"I only want to help you. I only want to protect what remains of the god you carry."
"I'm not him!" Ren snapped.
Silence fell over the valley.
Yurei looked at him as if he had struck her. "Not… him?"
"I'm Ren. Just Ren."
Her voice trembled. "But the seal—"
"The seal isn't me."
Yurei's moonlit aura dimmed. Her lips parted in soft disbelief. "You reject me… again."
The word again chilled Ren's blood.
Ayaka heard it too. But before she could ask—
Yurei stepped back, sorrow pooling in her eyes like a drowning moon.
"I see," she whispered. "You need time. I will give it… for now."
Ayaka tensed. "You're leaving?"
"For now," Yurei repeated. "But the seal will bring you to me soon enough. It always does."
Ren didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Yurei lifted a hand toward him—just shy of touching his cheek, her fingers trembling in longing.
"Do not break, beloved. Do not let your anchor shatter what connects us."
Then she dissolved into silver mist, vanishing softly as moonlight swallowed in daylight.
The wind fell still.
Ren sank to his knees, shaking.
Ayaka dropped beside him instantly, arms wrapping around his shoulders.
"Ren. Hey. Breathe. I've got you."
But even her warmth couldn't quiet the seal this time.
Yurei's voice lingered like moonlight behind his eyes.
—You will remember.You always do.
Ren gripped Ayaka's arms.
"I'm scared," he whispered.
Ayaka held him tighter. "Then I'll stay right here."
And for the first time, Ren wasn't sure whether even she could keep the seal from pulling him apart.