The snow had buried the blood, but not the memory. Yoshinobu's forge still stood, scorched and haunted. The old hunchback had returned to life through sheer spite, his wounds bandaged, his hands trembling but defiant. That night, in the quiet after the fire, Asaki stood outside the hut under a ghost-moon sky, her breath fogging, her fingers curling around the hilt of her new blade.
Kiyoku.
Forged from sky-iron and stormwater. A name that meant Purity. A blade white as frost, silver threads running down its center like veins. It gleamed in the dark like a shard of moonlight.
But it resisted her.
Asaki swung once. The arc was heavy. Awkward. The blade dragged as if waterlogged with memories she didn't own. Her arms ached.
Inside, Ishikawa sat by the hearth, sipping bitter broth with Yumi, who had already fallen into a drowsy sleep wrapped in straw bedding. Yoshinobu stoked the fire silently.
Asaki entered, frustrated. "It's too heavy," she said, dropping the blade across the floor with a dull thud. "It doesn't move. Like it doesn't want me."
Ishikawa didn't look up. "Then learn to move with it."
"I'm asking you to train me."
"I'm not your teacher," he said, sipping again.
"You were once."
He glanced up, eyes shadowed. "I was also once a son. And look how that ended."
Silence cracked between them. The fire popped.
Yoshinobu didn't interrupt.
Asaki stepped forward, voice cold. "You're afraid. Afraid I'll surpass you."
Ishikawa stood slowly. "I've buried too many students to train another corpse."
Asaki flinched. Then, furious, she grabbed the blade and stormed outside.
---
That night, sleep took her like drowning. And in that drowned world, she found snow.
An endless white field.
Above, silver clouds twisted like spirits. A wind blew, but no sound came with it. Only silence.
Then she appeared.
A woman, barefoot, with skin white as ash and hair flowing like silk in a river. Her eyes were pale, silver-blue, endless as the sky above the clouds. Her robes shimmered like frost on glass. She walked without sound, until she stood before Asaki.
"Kiyoku…?" Asaki whispered.
The woman smiled softly.
She opened her mouth.
Words poured — but no sound reached Asaki. Only wind.
The woman reached out and touched Asaki's chest.
The snow exploded in light.
---
Asaki awoke gasping.
Moonlight filled the room. Yumi still slept. The fire was coals.
The door was open.
Ishikawa was gone.
So was Yoshinobu.
---
She followed footprints into the trees.
The forest was ancient — bark like faces, wind like whispers. She moved with the silence of a blade in water. Her grip on Kiyoku tightened.
Then she heard it — the snap of breath halted mid-throat.
She ran.
---
In a clearing veiled with mist, Ishikawa stood opposite a monk in black. His robes swayed unnaturally. A rosary of bones hung from his wrist. His face was hidden beneath a broken kasa hat. But it was the aura — the killing intent — that turned Asaki's blood to frost.
"Kabu," Yoshinobu growled, coughing blood. He'd been struck — a shallow cut across the ribs.
The monk turned his head slightly. "The price on your wolf's pelt is high," he whispered. His voice was calm. Dead. "They said not to take his head yet. But the rest…"
He drew a staff-sword — the naginata etched with sutras, crimson prayer slips drifting from it like dying petals.
Ishikawa drew Kurayami.
Kabu struck.
A blur.
Iron met void.
Ishikawa blocked, sparks howling as the naginata sheared past his face.
Kabu moved like ink in water — without footsteps, without breath.
"You're no monk," Ishikawa hissed.
"No," Kabu said. "I am silence made flesh."
He spun again — this time nearly slicing through Ishikawa's shoulder. Ishikawa ducked and answered with a twin-slash from Kurayami and Kurasa. Kabu dissolved into mist and reformed behind him, slicing his leg.
Asaki moved to step in.
But something froze her.
Not fear.
A voice.
"…I chose you…"
She turned.
The white woman from the dream stood behind her in the forest. But now her form was faint, hovering just above the snow, strands of silver hair drifting like mist.
"You heard me now," she said, her voice soft but echoing like wind chimes.
"You're… Kiyoku."
"I am the blade's soul. And yours."
"I can't swing you."
"Because you swing against me. Let me guide. And I shall cut the silence."
Asaki took a breath.
She drew the blade.
Kiyoku sang.
The weight vanished. The wind seemed to draw around her like a cloak.
She dashed forward, stepping beside Ishikawa. "I'm not watching anymore."
Kabu turned.
A second blur of death. His naginata spun toward her throat.
Asaki pivoted — Shikkiri igniting in her eyes — and parried with grace she never knew she had.
The wind cried.
She cut upward — Kiyoku glowed.
Kabu gasped as silver light slashed his prayer slips to ash.
"You… you awakened it…" he hissed.
Ishikawa smirked.
"Looks like I have a rival now."
Together, they charged — twin wolves beneath the moon — steel howling, silence shattered.
To be continued...