The council chamber was deeper than the training hall, carved into the heart of Lumora's largest crystal formation. Light here was warmer—threads of gold and violet weaving through the stone like living veins. Lord Eldrin sat at the head of the low obsidian table, his presence calm but heavy, the way still water can feel before a storm. Flanking him were the village elders, Master Yoriichi among them, face as unreadable as ever. The three hunters stood before the table, still travel-stained, the scent of smoke and iron clinging to their robes.
Kanashimi and Yōsei entered side by side. He kept his gaze lowered in deference; she nodded to her father with quiet confidence. They took the two empty places at the edge of the circle—no one objected, though a few elders shifted uncomfortably.
Reina, the lead hunter, spoke first. Her voice was rough from days without proper rest.
"On the surface, in the ruins outside the northern exit—old subway tunnels under a city called Sapporo—we found a breach. A lesser demon had clawed its way through a forgotten ward line. Not one of ours. Older. Pre-village compact."
A murmur rippled through the elders.
"It was feeding," Reina continued. "Three surface humans dead. Drained. But that's not the worst." She glanced at Kanashimi, then away. "Tracks leading away from the site. Human boot prints mixed with demonic ichor. Someone from the surface followed the creature back toward the breach—close enough to see the ward shimmer before we arrived and resealed it."
Lord Eldrin leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Did they cross?"
"No, my lord. But they took photographs. Clear ones. And they ran. We pursued, but…" Reina's jaw tightened. "Orders are clear: no kills on the surface unless secrecy is already broken beyond repair. We lost them in the city crowd."
Yoriichi spoke for the first time, voice cool. "The photographs?"
"Devices the surface calls smartphones. Images can spread across their networks in heartbeats. We don't know if they've shared them yet."
Silence fell, thick and cold.
An elder with clouded eyes muttered, "If the world sees proof…"
"Then the compact shatters," Lord Eldrin finished quietly. "Eleven villages exposed. Artifacts hunted. Chaos."
All eyes turned—slowly, inevitably—to Kanashimi.
He felt the weight like chains. The Katana of Death wasn't here, but he could almost hear it humming in approval at the growing fear in the room.
His voice, when it came, was steady. "What would you have me do?"
Lord Eldrin met his gaze, something almost paternal in the look. "Nothing yet. But if those images spread, if surface agencies begin true investigation… we may need the one weapon capable of ending threats silently and completely."
Yōsei's hand, hidden beneath the table, found Kanashimi's wrist and squeezed once—firm, grounding. Not romance. Just the unbreakable reminder: friend.
Reina exhaled. "There's one more thing. The human who took the photographs—a young woman, maybe twenty. She didn't run in blind panic. She… lingered. Watched us fight the demon. Took notes as well as pictures. She's not ordinary."
Lord Eldrin nodded slowly. "Then we watch the surface networks. We wait. And we prepare."
He rose, signaling the end. The council began to disperse in low, worried conversation.
Yōsei leaned close to Kanashimi as they stood, voice low enough for only him. "You're not a weapon to be unsheathed whenever they panic. Remember that."
He gave the smallest nod, but his eyes were distant, fixed on shadows that hadn't been there before.
Outside the chamber doors, as the others filed away, Yoriichi paused beside his student.
"Training resumes at dawn," the master said. "Harder. You will need it."
Kanashimi bowed. "Yes, Master."
But as Yoriichi walked away, Kanashimi's fingers brushed the empty place at his side where the katana would hang if he were ever allowed to carry it freely.
For the first time in years, the blade's distant hum felt less like a warning… and more like anticipation.
Reina's scarred face hardened further, her voice dropping to a near-whisper that still carried to every corner of the chamber.
"But we have to eliminate the woman. Silently. Untraceably. No body, no evidence, no ripple that reaches the surface networks. And for that…" Her gaze settled on Kanashimi like a blade finding its sheath. "He is perfect."
A ripple of unease passed through the elders. Even the crystals seemed to dim.
Lord Eldrin's expression remained calm, but his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the edge of the obsidian table. "He is sixteen, Reina. Not even eighteen. Our laws are ancient and absolute—no solo missions beyond the wards until full majority. To send a child alone…"
"He is no ordinary child," Reina pressed, voice steady but urgent. "Don't forget the Sneaky Shadow. That thing slipped past every outer ward, lived among us for fifteen days, feeding on sentinel dreams before any of us even sensed it. We hunted in teams of five and found nothing but echoes." She paused, letting the memory settle. "Kanashimi tracked it alone. Cornered it in the lower vents. Ended it with a single cut before it could scream. No alarm raised. No trace left except ash we almost mistook for dust."
Yoriichi, who had been silent since the summons, finally spoke. His tone was neutral, but every word landed like a stone in still water. "The boy's precision is unmatched. The katana answers him faster than it ever answered any previous bearer. If the order is given… he will obey without hesitation."
Kanashimi stood motionless, eyes fixed on the floor. He felt every gaze—some fearful, some calculating, some pitying—like brands on his skin. The distant hum of the sealed blade thrummed in his blood, eager.
Yōsei's grip on his wrist beneath the table tightened, nails pressing half-moons into his skin. She didn't look at him, but he felt the silent protest radiating from her.
Lord Eldrin exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with years of hard choices. "The law exists for a reason. We do not spend our young like arrows. If we break this precedent for one threat, we open the door to breaking it for every threat that follows."
Reina inclined her head, respectful but unyielding. "Then pair him. Let me go with him as overseer. I will remain hidden, intervene only if absolutely necessary. The kill remains his—clean, silent, final. The surface will call it a missing person, nothing more. Secrecy preserved."
Another elder, frail and sharp-eyed, leaned forward. "And if the woman has already shared the images? If agencies are already moving?"
"Then we are too late anyway," Eldrin answered quietly. "But if she has not… one life weighed against the exposure of eleven villages and every forbidden artifact we guard… the math is cruel, but it is clear."
He turned at last to Kanashimi, eyes searching the boy's face for something—cracks, fear, readiness, perhaps all three.
"Kanashimi. You have heard the council. Speak your mind."
The chamber fell deathly silent. Even the crystals seemed to hold their breath.
Kanashimi lifted his gaze for the first time, meeting Lord Eldrin's steadily. His voice, when it came, was quiet but unshaken.
"If the order is given, I will go. Alone or overseen—it does not matter. The blade is ready." A pause, barely noticeable. "I have always been ready."
Yōsei's hand slipped from his wrist. She stared straight ahead, jaw tight, but said nothing. The friendship between them allowed silence where words would only wound.
Lord Eldrin studied him for a long moment, then closed his eyes briefly.
"Tonight," he said finally, "I will consult the old seals. The decision will be made by dawn. Until then… no one speaks of this beyond these walls."
He rose. The council rose with him.
As the elders filed out in hushed clusters, Yōsei lingered just long enough to brush Kanashimi's sleeve with her fingertips—barely contact, but fierce with unspoken things.
Then she too was gone.
Kanashimi remained standing in the emptying chamber, alone beneath the warm violet light.
For the first time in his life, the surface was calling him—not in dreams or stolen stories, but in cold, real orders.
And the katana, far away in its rack, sang a low, sweet note only he could hear.
Reina's voice cut through the fading murmurs of the dispersing council, sharp enough to halt even Lord Eldrin at the chamber doors.
"One more thing, my lord." She turned fully toward Kanashimi, her scarred face unreadable but her tone laced with rare conviction. "If we send him… he should not carry the Katana of Death."
A stunned hush fell. Even the warm crystal veins seemed to flicker in protest.
Reina pressed on, undeterred by the widening eyes around her. "The blade is too hungry. Too loud in its own way. On the surface, among millions of unknowing souls, one surge of its power—one moment where it tastes freedom—could ripple further than any photograph. A sudden unexplained death, a shadow that doesn't belong, a chill that cameras catch in the corner of the frame… we risk exposing far more than we save."
Yoriichi's silver brows drew together, the closest he ever came to visible surprise. "The katana is his strength. Without it, his reach is limited."
"With it," Reina countered quietly, "his control is limited. We all felt the resonance when the Sneaky Shadow died—every warden in Lumora woke that night with ice in their veins. Imagine that echo in a city of steel and glass, where surface devices record everything."
Lord Eldrin returned to the table, motions deliberate. "You propose sending our most precise blade… bladeless?"
"I propose sending a ghost," Reina replied. "Steel wire, poisoned needles, bare hands if needed—tools that leave no signature, no aura. He has mastered them all in training. The katana stays sealed here, under triple ward. If the woman's death must be silent, let it be truly silent. No hunger trailing him. No risk of the blade deciding it wants more than one life."
Kanashimi stood perfectly still, but inside something twisted. The distant hum of the sealed katana faltered for the first time in years—like a predator suddenly caged tighter than it liked. He felt its confusion, its faint anger brushing against his mind.
Yōsei, who had lingered near the doorway, stepped forward half a pace. Her voice was soft but carried. "Reina speaks sense, Father. The blade has never left Lumora's wards in his lifetime. We don't know what sunlight would wake in it."
Lord Eldrin studied his daughter, then Reina, then finally Kanashimi—searching the boy's face for any flicker of relief or protest. There was neither. Only calm acceptance.
"And you, Kanashimi?" the lord asked. "Would you walk the surface without the weapon that has defined you since birth?"
Kanashimi inclined his head, voice steady. "If the village commands it, I will go with whatever tools you grant me. The mission is all that matters."
Reina's hard expression eased a fraction—respect, perhaps even regret. "I do not doubt your skill, boy. I doubt the thing you carry."
Lord Eldrin exhaled slowly, the weight of centuries in the sound. "Then the decision widens. By dawn, I will choose: mission or no mission, paired or alone… and whether the Katana of Death tastes surface air for the first time in sixteen years, or remains starving in its cage."
He dismissed them with a quiet gesture. The chamber emptied until only echoes remained.
Kanashimi walked the winding crystal corridors alone, hands empty at his sides. For the first time, he noticed how light they felt without the constant promise of the sealed blade waiting at the end of every day.
Somewhere behind the wards, the katana's hum had gone perfectly, dangerously silent.
The chamber doors sealed with a final, resonant thud, leaving only Lord Eldrin, Yoriichi, Reina, Yōsei, and Kanashimi beneath the pulsing crystal light. The other elders had been dismissed—decisions like this were not made by committee.
Lord Eldrin stood, his voice carrying the quiet authority of finality.
"The mission is approved. Dawn tomorrow. Reina will shadow from a distance, but the act is Kanashimi's alone. No paired strike. No oversight in the moment of killing." He paused, eyes heavy on the boy. "And Reina is right—the Katana of Death remains here. Sealed. You go with ordinary tools: wire, needle, empty hands. Nothing that hungers."
Reina bowed, relief flickering across her scarred features.
Yōsei opened her mouth as if to protest, but her father's gentle shake of the head silenced her. She lowered her gaze, fists clenched at her sides.
Then Yoriichi stepped forward, placing himself directly in front of his student. His silver hair caught the violet glow, turning it to frost. When he spoke, it was only for Kanashimi—low, precise, the voice that had shaped every day of the boy's life.
"Listen carefully. Any order, no trace, finish silently in one shot." His winter-steel eyes bored into Kanashimi's. "You will not wound. You will not hesitate. You will not allow her to see your face long enough to scream. One breath in, one motion, one breath out—gone. The surface must never know death visited."
Kanashimi met that gaze without flinching. "Understood, Master."
Yoriichi studied him a moment longer, searching for the smallest tremor. Finding none, he gave the faintest nod—approval, or perhaps resignation.
"You leave before first light. Return before the sun clears the mountains. If you are seen, if you are followed, if even a single thread of evidence remains…" He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Kanashimi bowed deeply, forehead nearly brushing the floor. "I will not fail Lumora."
Lord Eldrin's voice softened, almost paternal. "Return to us, Kanashimi. That is also an order."
The council ended.
Yōsei walked beside him in silence through the winding corridors, neither speaking until they reached the branching path to the training hall. There she stopped, catching his sleeve.
"You don't have to be perfect tomorrow," she said quietly. "Just come back."
Kanashimi looked at her hand on his sleeve, then at her face—midnight eyes bright with things she refused to say aloud.
"I've never had a choice about being perfect," he answered. "But I will try to come back."
She released him, stepping away before her composure cracked.
Alone again, Kanashimi entered the training hall one last time before dawn. The sealed katana waited on its rack, perfectly still. No hum. No whisper. For the first time in sixteen years, it felt truly distant—like a chain finally slipped.
He knelt, selected his tools from the hidden drawer: a length of shadow-wire, three hollow needles tipped with nightshade essence, a plain black hood. Simple. Silent. Hungry in their own quiet way.
He packed them carefully, then sat in the center of the hall and waited for the crystals to dim—the signal that false dawn approached.
In the stillness, little Yuta's laughter echoed in his memory. Yōsei's steady hand. Even Reina's reluctant respect.
Tomorrow he would kill a stranger who had only been curious.
Tonight, he was still just a boy with empty hands and a heart too practiced at locking itself away.
Outside the heavy doors of the council chamber, the corridor was empty save for the soft glow of crystals and the distant trickle of water. Kanashimi lingered in the shadows, hands clasped behind his back, until Yoriichi emerged last, robes settling around him like falling night.
Kanashimi stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Master."
Yoriichi paused, one brow arching slightly. "What is it?"
Kanashimi's throat worked. The words stuck, unusual for a boy who had learned to speak only when precision was absolute. "Ma… mas… Master…"
Yoriichi's gaze sharpened, patient but unrelenting. "Speak clearly."
Kanashimi drew a slow breath, steadying the tremor he hated in himself. "Can… can I finish her with the secret art you taught me? The Elemental Severance."
For a moment, Yoriichi said nothing. Then he exhaled through his nose, the sound almost weary.
"That technique requires a natural element as medium—water, grass, vine, earth, anything alive and unbound. You know the surface world the humans have built: concrete rivers, steel forests, glass towers. They have pushed true nature to the edges. In the heart of their cities, elemental resonance is thin, brittle. To gather enough tochi, shape it, and release a flying crescent sharp enough to sever life without a trace…" He shook his head once. "It would drain you near to collapse. One mistake in drawing from a tainted or distant source, and the cut dissipates—or worse, it recoils."
Kanashimi's eyes remained lowered, but his voice stayed steady. "I have practiced it in the gardens. I can hold the form for three breaths."
"Three breaths in Lumora's living caverns," Yoriichi corrected gently. "Up there, you may not have even one. And if you force it—if you pull too deeply—you will leave a signature. A sudden wilt of nearby plants, a frost on glass, a ripple in puddles that cameras might catch. We cannot risk that."
He stepped closer, placing two fingers under Kanashimi's chin and lifting until their eyes met.
"Use the tools you were given. Wire. Needle. Hands. They are silent because they ask nothing of the world. The Elemental Severance is beautiful, yes—but beauty has no place in assassination."
Kanashimi's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Yes, Master."
Yoriichi studied him a second longer, something almost soft passing behind the steel. "You seek a clean death for her. Mercy, perhaps?"
Kanashimi hesitated, then answered honestly. "I seek… certainty. That it ends in one moment. No pain. No fear."
Yoriichi's hand dropped. "Then make your hands certain. The art will wait for a worthier battlefield."
He turned to leave, paused, and added without looking back, "Return before the sun clears the mountains. I will be waiting."
Kanashimi bowed to his master's retreating back, deeper this time.
When the corridor was empty again, he straightened, fingers brushing the small pouch at his belt—wire, needles, nothing more.
For the first time, the absence of the katana's weight felt less like freedom and more like nakedness.
Dawn was only hours away.
Reina glanced over her shoulder as they left the council chamber, her scarred face set in that familiar no-nonsense line. "Come with me."
Kanashimi fell into step behind her without question, footsteps silent on the crystal floors. They wound deeper into Lumora's restricted veins—past wards that prickled against his skin, through corridors lit only by faint emergency moss. No one spoke. The air grew cooler, older, carrying the faint metallic tang of preserved power.
At last they reached the Sacred Armory: a small, circular chamber sealed by blood-crystal doors. Reina pressed her palm to the lock; veins of red light spider-webbed across the surface before the doors sighed open.
Inside, the walls were lined with velvet niches, each holding a single weapon or tool crafted over centuries—relics too dangerous for common use, too precious to be forgotten. A whip of living shadow coiled in one recess. A set of mirrors that could trap a soul's reflection in another. Needles forged from fallen stars. Blades that drank sound.
Reina stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter fully. "The council said ordinary tools. But ordinary doesn't have to mean crude. Choose one thing—only one—that will make this clean and certain. Something that leaves no trace."
Kanashimi moved slowly between the displays, eyes scanning without greed, only calculation. His fingers hovered over a garrote of spider-silk, over a vial of mist that could erase memory from witnesses. Then he stopped in front of a small, unassuming pedestal.
Resting there was a single pale bone—long, slender, carved from the femur of an ancient aura beast said to have been tamed before the villages were founded. Runes no wider than hairs spiraled along its length, glowing faintly with stored tochi.
Reina's brow arched. "The Aura Fang. Old even by our standards."
Kanashimi lifted it carefully. The bone was warm, almost alive, thrumming against his palm like a second heartbeat. He closed his fist around it, focused a thread of tochi, and the air around his hand shimmered. In a blink the bone vanished from his grip—only to reappear three paces away, embedded point-first in the practice dummy's throat with a soft, wet thunk. No flash, no sound beyond the impact, no lingering energy trail. Just instantaneous, brutal relocation.
He recalled the bone with a subtle twist of will; it slipped free of the dummy and returned to his hand as silently as it had left.
Reina gave a low, approving hum. "Like the old stories of the blue jackal's bone rush—appears behind the enemy, strikes, gone before the body knows it's dead. Perfect for one silent breath."
Kanashimi tested the weight again, nodding once. "Distance?"
"Up to thirty paces, line of sight preferred but not required if you know her exact position. It will phase through obstacles thinner than stone. Returns to you unless you will it to stay embedded. No blood spatter if you angle it right—straight through the medulla. She'll drop before her heart finishes its beat."
He slid the Aura Fang into a concealed sheath along his forearm, where it settled like it had always belonged there.
Reina sealed the chamber behind them as they left. "Use it wisely. One shot, as Master Yoriichi commanded. Then come home."
Kanashimi inclined his head. "Yes."
But as they walked back toward the exit tunnels, the bone pulsed once against his skin—eager, almost playful. It felt nothing like the katana's cold hunger. This was something sharper. Cleaner.
For the first time, the mission felt less like execution and more like precision.
And the surface waited, unaware.
Kanashimi slipped the Aura Fang into the hidden sheath along his forearm, feeling its warm pulse settle against his skin like a secret heartbeat. He bowed slightly to Reina as they stepped out of the Sacred Armory.
She pressed her palm to the blood-crystal doors; they sealed with a low, resonant hum, wards flickering back to full strength. Turning to him, her scarred face held a rare trace of something almost gentle.
"Very well. You have two hours. Practice with it—learn its rhythm, its limits. Make it an extension of your breath. I'll come for you in the practice temple when it's time. We leave immediately after."
Kanashimi nodded. "Understood."
Reina gave a short, approving grunt and strode off down a side corridor, her boots echoing until the crystals swallowed the sound.
He turned—and nearly walked into Yoriichi, who had been waiting in the shadows without a whisper of presence.
The master's silver hair gleamed faintly in the low light, arms folded, expression as impenetrable as ever.
"Come with me," Yoriichi said simply. Not a request.
Kanashimi bowed at once. "Yes, Master."
They walked in silence through the winding passages to the deepest practice temple—a vast cavern where the crystals grew jagged and wild, perfect for testing edges and echoes. No soft gardens here; only stone, shadow, and the faint drip of mineral water.
Yoriichi stopped in the center, gesturing to the row of reinforced training dummies—some carved from ancient petrified wood, others wrapped in layered wards to simulate living resistance.
"Two hours," he echoed Reina's words. "Show me what you chose."
Kanashimi drew the Aura Fang. The bone caught the violet light, runes flickering awake. He took a slow breath, focused, and in the space between heartbeats the fang vanished from his hand—reappearing buried to the hilt in the farthest dummy's throat. A soft thud, no flash, no sound of travel. He willed it back; it returned clean, warm, ready.
Yoriichi's eyes narrowed, appraising. "Distance?"
"Twenty-eight paces so far. Thirty claimed in the records."
"Again. Vary angles. Through obstacles. From blind positions. Make it return mid-flight if you choose. Exhaust every possibility."
Kanashimi obeyed.
For the next two hours the temple filled with near-silent violence: the bone blinking in and out of existence, striking hearts, spines, temples; phasing through stone pillars, reappearing behind shields, sometimes reversing direction before impact. Sweat traced down Kanashimi's temples, but his breathing stayed even, his movements precise. Each throw was cleaner, faster, more instinctive than the last.
Yoriichi corrected only when necessary—tiny adjustments of wrist, of tochi flow, of intent. "Do not force it. Guide it. The fang wants to hunt; let it think the choice is its own."
Near the end of the second hour, Kanashimi sent the bone forward, recalled it halfway, redirected it behind his own back, and caught it without looking. Perfect silence. Perfect return.
Yoriichi finally held up a hand. "Enough."
Kanashimi lowered his arm, chest rising and falling steadily. The Aura Fang rested against his palm, thrumming with quiet satisfaction.
Yoriichi stepped close, voice low. "Remember: one shot. One breath. No hesitation, no mercy, no trace. You are not taking a life. You are preventing a catastrophe."
Kanashimi met his master's gaze. "I understand."
A pause. Then, almost too soft to hear: "Return safely."
Before Kanashimi could respond, the temple doors opened. Reina stood silhouetted against the corridor glow, hood already up.
"Time," she said.
Yoriichi stepped back, folding his arms once more. His eyes never left his student.
Kanashimi sheathed the Aura Fang, bowed deeply to his master, and walked toward Reina without looking back.
The path to the northern exit tunnel waited—long, upward, cold.
The surface was calling.
Kanashimi bowed his head slightly, the Aura Fang still warm in his grip as the last echo of practice faded in the temple. He hesitated only a breath before speaking, voice low but steady.
"Master… I have a plan. If you would hear it."
Yoriichi's silver eyes narrowed a fraction, curiosity sharpening the ever-present steel. "Tell me."
Kanashimi straightened, fingers tracing the runes on the bone almost unconsciously. "I will climb above her—rooftop, fire escape, whatever the city offers. From there, I throw the fang straight down, a simple drop to draw her attention or force her to move into open position. The moment it nears her altitude, I recall it mid-fall and use its return pull—the instant translocation the relic allows. I'll appear directly beside it, beside her, in the space of a heartbeat."
He paused, visualizing the sequence with the precision Yoriichi had beaten into him since childhood.
"Then, before she can react, I drive the fang in once—medulla, silent collapse. Recall it again, translocate a second time for a confirming strike if needed, or simply to reposition. Two, maybe three blinks of movement, all within one second. After the final strike, I let the pull carry me upward along the same path—back to the rooftop, back into shadow. The whole thing over before her body hits the ground. No footprints leading in, no footprints leading out. The city cameras will catch only a falling object that never lands and a woman who drops for no visible reason."
Yoriichi was silent for a long moment, arms folded, gaze fixed on his student as though dissecting every angle of the plan.
Finally, he spoke, voice calm but edged with rare approval. "Elegant. Vertical entry and exit minimizes exposure. The translocation chain hides your presence entirely. Even if a witness glances up, they'll see nothing but empty night." He stepped closer, placing a corrective hand on Kanashimi's wrist, adjusting the angle of his grip on the fang by a hair. "But the pull is strongest when the fang is in motion. Time your recalls precisely—too early and you lose momentum, too late and you overshoot. Practice the chain once more, full height of the temple."
Kanashimi bowed. "Yes, Master."
He moved to the highest crystal ledge the cavern allowed—nearly twenty paces up—and began.
Throw. Drop. Recall. Blink into existence mid-air beside the falling fang. Strike the dummy below. Recall again. Blink upward. Catch the rooftop edge. Roll into shadow.
Again.
And again.
Each cycle faster, cleaner, until the motion felt like breathing.
Yoriichi watched without comment until the final landing, when Kanashimi knelt, barely winded.
"Acceptable," the master said. The word was sparse, but from Yoriichi it was praise carved in diamond. "Use it if the terrain allows. If not, fall back to simplicity. Remember—one shot is still the ideal."
Reina's voice echoed from the doorway. "Time's up. Northern exit is prepped. We move now."
Kanashimi rose, sheathing the Aura Fang. He bowed deeply to Yoriichi, forehead nearly touching crystal.
Yoriichi returned a shallow nod. "Return before the sun clears the mountains."
Kanashimi turned and followed Reina into the dark upward tunnel, the faint glow of Lumora fading behind him step by step.
For the first time in sixteen years, he was walking toward the sky.
The hour slipped away like water through fingers—Kanashimi running the translocation chain again and again until the Aura Fang felt like a thought rather than a tool. When the temple doors finally opened, Reina stepped through, hood already drawn up, her dark traveling cloak clasped at the throat.
"Kanashimi. Time to move."
He caught the fang mid-return, sheathed it smoothly along his forearm, and bowed to her. Sweat still cooled on his skin, but his breathing was steady, his eyes clear.
Yoriichi unfolded his arms and moved to stand between his student and the exit. For a moment the master simply looked at him—long enough that the silence grew weight.
Then he spoke, voice low and absolute.
"Stay with Reina. On the surface you will need special permissions to pass the outer wards and return. Those seals are bound to her blood and her authority alone tonight. Stray from her, even for a heartbeat, and you will not find the way back."
He paused, letting the next words settle like frost.
"The perimeter guardians—our silent enforcers—have standing orders. Any warden or villager who reaches the surface without clearance is to be ended without question, without hesitation. They will not know your face. They will not care about your mission. One step beyond Reina's shadow, and they will treat you as a deserter."
Reina gave a short nod of confirmation. "He speaks true. I'll guide you out, mark the return path, and wait at the extraction point once the task is done. Stay in my sight until we reach the city proper. After that… you hunt alone. But the way home runs through me."
Kanashimi inclined his head to both of them, deeper to Yoriichi. "I understand. I will not stray."
Yoriichi's hand rose—slow, deliberate—and settled briefly on Kanashimi's shoulder. The touch was light, almost weightless, but it carried sixteen years of training, restraint, and something unspoken.
"Complete the mission. Return before the sun clears the mountains." A final, quieter note: "Come back alive."
Then the hand fell away, and the master stepped aside.
Reina turned toward the northern passage, boots already moving. "Keep close."
Kanashimi followed, the glow of Lumora dimming behind them as the tunnel sloped upward—cold, narrow, ancient. The air grew thinner, sharper, carrying faint scents he had no names for yet.
Snow. Diesel. Open sky.
His heart beat once, hard, against his ribs.
The surface was waiting.