The scent of honeysuckle drifted lazily through the cracked window, tangled with the sharper edge of mint leaves steeping somewhere close. A kettle hissed in the other room, high-pitched and insistent like a birdcall at dawn. But Yuga didn't move. The ceiling held his gaze—wooden planks darkened by age and spotted with knots, as if the forest still clung to its bones.
One hand crawled up to his face, fingers brushing over a smooth cheek, tracing the delicate line of his nose and across lips that hadn't spoken yet this morning. No stubble marred his jaw, no shadows of manhood etched into his face—he bore the soft features of someone often mistaken for a young woman, pale white hair resting around his neck like silk laid atop caramel skin.
He exhaled, long and flat, dragging the sound through his teeth. Shifting upright was slow work. Muscles pulled against fresh bruises beneath bandages. Pain bloomed in familiar rhythms—ribs tightening, knees protesting, shoulders whispering complaints like old friends who didn't know when to leave. When he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his cane gave up its delicate balance and toppled with a soft knock. The corners of his mouth twitched at the sound. Humorless. Brief.
He bent with a hiss to retrieve it, the wood cold and smooth in his hand. Standing felt like pressing against water—heavy, resistant—but he managed. Step by step, he moved toward the door, each shift of weight a gentle reminder of the man who had beaten him the day before. Kazutobi Nagata. The name alone pressed into his spine like a thumbprint.
The living room bathed in amber light, filtered through gauzy curtains that swayed in the breeze. And there, seated as if carved from myth, was Salina.
She sat beside the window, the morning sun spilling across her chestnut-brown skin like golden paint. Her white dress clung loosely to her, the fabric sheer in the light, gliding off her body in long flowing lines. Where it split at the thigh, one powerful leg stretched out, bare and poised, every inch of her composed as if the room had been designed to serve her stillness.
She didn't look up at first. A book sat open in her hand, the other delicately holding a cup of steaming tea. Her black hair, usually a flowing cascade, was twisted into a loose bun that exposed the clean lines of her neck and jaw. The curve of her collarbone shimmered faintly with dew-like moisture, a softness that contrasted the sharp, coiled energy that always lingered around her like smoke.
Yuga paused in the doorway, cane tapping lightly against the floor. He could feel her without needing her gaze—an aura that filled the room before her voice ever did. She turned a page slowly, then finally looked up.
Her violet eyes landed on him with pinpoint accuracy. Like she'd been waiting. Not surprised. Never surprised.
"You're staring," she said, voice smooth as lacquer but edged like obsidian. "Should I be flattered… or concerned?"
Yuga's mouth parted, but no sound followed. Her eyes roamed with surgical precision—from the way his posture leaned slightly away from his bruised left side, to the tremble in his knuckles as they clenched the cane. Her smile was soft, almost pitying, but not gentle. She tilted her head.
"Or perhaps… you're just hungry."
His chest tightened, as if his lungs had skipped a step. Yuga looked away quickly, cheeks coloring despite himself. It was impossible not to feel small in front of her—he wasn't short by normal measure, but next to Salina, whose presence could fill a cathedral, he felt like a flickering candle under a storm lamp.
She let out a low laugh, barely above a hum. "I may have to reward such a gaze," she mused, setting the teacup down with a clink. "But I'm still deciding if it's adoration or appetite."
Her book closed with a sound like a whispered promise. She rose in a single movement, no rustle of fabric, just the slow shifting of power from seated to standing. Each step brought her closer, bare feet brushing softly across wood, leaving an odd stillness in their wake.
Yuga didn't back away, but his grip tightened.
She stopped in front of him, a head taller, eyes dropping to the faded bruises under his collar. Her fingers reached out, cool against his stomach, tracing upward like a question. They hovered near his lips—never touching, but close enough that he could feel the intention in them.
His body shuddered before his mind caught up. A flinch. Small, but undeniable.
"cut it out." Yuga spat hesitantly.
Her hand retracted with grace. One brow arched.
"My, you're more skittish than I expected."
Yuga said nothing. The way her eyes lit up told him she didn't need words.
With a quiet click of her tongue, Salina turned on her heel, the spell of her attention breaking like glass touched by wind. She drifted back to her desk, fingers dancing in the air as if pulling thoughts from the morning itself. Her presence still hung like incense in the air, difficult to ignore.
Then the door creaked open.
Tomo entered with the sharp click of boots, already smirking before he even looked up. His garbs were wrinkled like he'd slept in them, but the glint in his eye was wide awake. He paused just past the threshold, scanning the room.
His grin curled wider when he spotted Yuga, still pink-faced and stiff-spined.
"Well, well," he drawled, each word soaked in mockery. "You're lookin' a bit red, freak."
Yuga didn't bother responding right away. He just held Tomo's gaze for a moment too long, then raised one finger.
"Parasite," he muttered flatly, flipping him off with lazy precision.
Tomo's laughter bounced off the walls like a drumbeat.
The moment held—bitter, warm, a little painful—just like everything else that morning.
Tomoki chuckled under his breath, shaking his head—but before he could speak, Salina cleared her throat.
Her chair creaked as it swiveled away from them, a slow, deliberate motion. She reached across her desk, fingers brushing over an obsidian-black envelope. Gold wax sealed the flap, still unbroken. The imprint—a skull, detailed and cold—glinted in the light.
"Tomoki, I trust you understand the gravity of this," she said, her voice sharpening like a blade drawn from silk. She didn't pause for his answer. Her gaze shifted to Yuga, who straightened under the sudden attention.
"This is a decree, issued by the Third Hand—the Hand of Dominion. You may not be familiar with these, Yuga, but allow me to explain. Each of the Six Hands is permitted to make three requests per year of another Hand. This particular request involves a missing envoy sent by the Third Hand to oversee trade routes. The latest casualty is Germane Anderson, a squire much like yourself."
Yuga's brow knit. The name didn't ring a bell. But the way Salina spoke it—low, even—made his chest tighten.
"The Hand of Dominion's envoys have been vanishing without a trace," she continued. Her violet eyes shimmered, distant and focused. "Some believe it to be the work of bandits, but I suspect something far more... sinister. None of the wealth has been taken, only the people. I believe we're dealing with a Meowl—a fae creature known for creating labyrinthine forests and manipulating the minds of those who wander into its domain. If I'm correct, this creature is responsible for the disappearances."
He shifted where he stood. The name "Meowl" sounded ridiculous—almost playful—but her tone killed any humor it might have carried. Cold crept along his spine, not from fear, but from the sheer weight in her voice.
"And… you expect us to handle this? Both of us?" he asked, gesturing between himself and Tomoki, disbelief bleeding through his voice.
Salina's lips twitched into a knowing, almost amused smile. "Yes, both of you. It will require more than just muscle to capture a creature like this. You'll need wit, restraint, and a keen sense of danger. Bring the creature back alive, and I will deal with the Hand of Dominion myself. Are we clear?"
Yuga let out a low groan, shoulders sagging like someone had cut the strings holding him upright.
"Yeah… crystal." If souls could leave bodies on a sigh, his might have been halfway to the heavens by now.
Tomoki smirked and nudged him with the toe of his boot, checking if he'd gone limp. "Alright, don't falter just yet," he said, only to get a sharp kick in return. Yuga's boot met his shin with a satisfying thud.
Tomoki hissed out a curse but didn't lose the grin. "Five minutes, be ready by then. No excuses."
As he disappeared through the doorway, Yuga groaned again and dragged himself toward the bedroom. He flung open Salina's closet with a grunt and started sifting through the layers of coats and robes. Dust clung to the sleeves, and half of them looked like they belonged to a century-old librarian with a flair for drama.
Eventually, his fingers closed around something soft and heavy. A fur-lined coat, deep charcoal in color, practically swallowed him whole when he pulled it free. As soon as he slipped it on, the enchantment kicked in—the fabric cinching around his shoulders, sleeves retracting, hem rising just above his boots. It fit like it had always belonged to him.
He tugged the collar up around his neck, welcoming the warmth.
A new shirt. Sturdy boots. He moved fast, brushing past scattered books and folded maps as he yanked open drawers. Papers, stones, feathers—he almost missed them. But there they were: his goggles, tucked in the back, lenses dusty but intact.
He turned them over in his hands. The glass caught the light, the reflection pulling him back to that fight with Kazutobi. The blood. The thunder. The pain. His chest tightened—but just for a moment. Then he stuffed them into his coat and shook the memory loose.
No time for ghosts.
He grabbed the door handle and stepped out. Cold air slapped his cheeks, stung his fingers.
Tomoki waited outside, leaned against the wall like he'd never left. Arms crossed. Jaw set. He didn't say a word, just pushed off the wood and started down the gravel path.
Yuga followed, falling into step beside him. The silence between them had weight. Not tension—but something thicker. Unspoken thoughts, half-swallowed regrets, maybe a little dread.
The trees around Salina's cabin stood tall and dark, their bare branches creaking above. The path ahead twisted like an old scar, leading toward the city. As they walked, the forest began to thin. Gravel gave way to cobblestone. Smoke spiraled lazily from chimneys in the distance. The city was waking.
Yuga smelled bread first. Then iron. Then the thick, greasy scent of roasted meat. The stalls were already rising, tarps pulled back, crates cracked open. Vendors shouted. Coins clinked. People emerged from alleyways like ants from a disturbed nest.
The capital never shrank. No matter how many times he came here, it always felt like it was breathing—alive in a way he wasn't sure he liked. The buildings loomed, crooked and proud, casting shadows that shifted with the wind. Some of the alleys narrowed like they wanted to trap you. Others curved like they were laughing at your sense of direction.
Then came the Colosseum. Stone arches clawed at the sky, casting long fingers across the district.
Yuga's throat tightened.
He didn't want to look—but he did. His eyes found the top tier. He could almost hear it again—the crowd, the jeers, the heavy thud of his body hitting the sand. He could feel the sting of losing, not just the fight, but something deeper. His pride hadn't just cracked that day. It shattered.
He turned his eyes away and kept walking.
Tomoki said nothing as they passed the Colosseum, though Yuga could feel the older man's silence tighten like a noose. The towering, pockmarked stone structure loomed in his periphery, its jagged shadows curling around his thoughts like smoke. Even without looking, he could see it—he could still feel the coarse grit of sand beneath his knees, taste blood in the back of his throat. That ring of screaming spectators, the iron scent of death still clinging to his skin.
Tomoki didn't look at him, didn't have to. Yuga knew he was aware. The man had a way of hearing thoughts without them being spoken. And yet, he said nothing. Kept walking.
Good. Yuga didn't want pity. He didn't deserve it. Still…
He knew. Bastard knew. Probably knows exactly what happened in there, down to the last cracked bone. But I guess I'd rather silence than a damned lecture. He spiraled in thought.
They pressed through the capital's crowded arteries, shoulder to shoulder with the desperate and distracted. The city was its usual mess of contradictions—markets bursting with color and sound, crumbling arches smothered by new steel scaffolding, a beggar holding out an empty hand beside a merchant hawking golden rings. Children dashed past them barefoot, laughing, while a corpse was carted off in a wheelbarrow no one seemed to notice.
Yuga's eyes drifted toward the rooftops. So much life, and yet… he felt like a ghost passing through it.
I've walked these streets a hundred times. Feels like I'm seeing them from the bottom of a well. he pondered.
Finally, they reached the inn. Tucked away where the city center began to dissolve into side streets, the Drunken Serpent looked just the same—wooden beams aged like old bones, lanterns flickering above the doorway, and that damn sign still swaying above, the snake still curled around its tankard like it was waiting for the next sorry soul to stumble in.
Tomoki opened the door without a word.
Warmth spilled out instantly—thick with the scent of ale and roasted meat, a blur of noise and firelight. Familiar. Safe. It hit Yuga harder than expected.
But before he could take another step—
"Yuga!"
Arms wrapped around him like a vice. The voice cracked with relief, pain, and something else—something gentler.
Linda.
She slammed into him with surprising force for someone so small, burying her face in his chest, her fingers curling into his coat like she needed to make sure he was real. Her fists thudded against him once, twice, then simply stayed there.
Tears soaked through the fabric.
"Where have you been?" she choked out. "It's been a week, Yuga. A gods-damned week! I thought— I thought you were dead—!"
She looked up at him, her face blotched red with crying, her voice breaking apart with every word. Yuga stared at her, stunned into silence. The rawness in her expression, the cracks in her voice—it shook something loose inside him.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, awkward and small beneath her grief. "I didn't mean to worry you."
Linda's lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. "You can't just vanish," she whispered, quieter this time. "Not without saying anything. You idiot."
She hit him again, half-heartedly. And then, just as quickly, she was hugging him again—tighter, like she'd drown if she let go.
She smells like herbs and bread and sweat. Like home. I forgot what home felt like. Yuga thought.
Her breath was warm against his collarbone. "Don't scare me like that ever again," she whispered.
"I won't," he said, though the words tasted like a lie.
She pulled back, looked at him—really looked. Her eyes studied his face, searching it like she was memorizing every bruise, every line. Then, on impulse, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Yuga froze. His mind blanked like a snuffed flame. Her lips barely lingered, but his heart jumped like he'd been struck.
Linda stepped back. "Promise me," she said softly, her fingers brushing his arm. "Come back. Next time. Just come back."
"I'll… do my best."
Tomoki cleared his throat from the doorway, not saying a word, but making his meaning obvious with a single pointed look.
Yuga gave Linda one last glance, nodded, and followed Tomoki into the street.
They left the noise of the city behind. Northward, the capital's silhouette shrank behind them, swallowed by the dark teeth of the forest. The road narrowed. Moss crept over the stones, tree roots cracked through old paving. The air shifted—cooler, damper, laced with pine.
Yuga adjusted the strap across his shoulder, silent. His legs ached. His back burned. His thoughts bit harder.
Why did her kiss feel like a goodbye? The question hadn't stopped echoing since the moment it happened. It clung to his ribs like rot. He wanted to forget it. Wanted to bury it under something heavy—like a fight. Or sleep. Or food.
But it was still there.
Tomoki walked a few paces ahead, shoulders straight, every step precise. Like a man on a path he's walked before, even if the ground beneath him changed.
Yuga stared at the back of his head. Never slouches. Never breathes hard. Never fuckin' talks unless he has to. Does he even blink?
They said little as they moved, saving breath, conserving warmth. The forest grew thicker. Light thinned into narrow bands that barely reached the ground. By afternoon, their boots were heavy with mud, and birdsong had given way to silence.
When they finally stopped, Yuga veered toward a stream, hands plunging into the water. It bit at his skin like cold teeth. He tried to snare something beneath the surface—fish, maybe, just for something to do—but they slid through his fingers again and again. His stomach grumbled, ignored.
Tomoki settled beside a moss-covered stone, already carving wood with surgical precision. Two cups, cut cleanly, polished by habit. His face didn't change. His breath didn't fog. Just the steady scrape of blade on bark.
Yuga glanced at him through the trees. Machine. He's a goddamn machine. Then, softer, more uncertain—Or maybe that's what being strong looks like. Just… keep going. Carve your stupid cups, even if your fingers are freezing off.
That night, the fire burned low and mean.
The forest had changed again. The darkness here wasn't just the absence of light—it felt aware. Heavy. The trees leaned in. The wind whispered like it carried secrets. The fire cast long shadows, and every now and then, they moved in ways they shouldn't.
Tomoki's coin flipped through his fingers. Always the same, always moving. Click. Flash. Click.
Yuga sat close, carving a sphere from soft wood. The firelight danced over the curve of it, but his eyes weren't really on the shape. He was somewhere else entirely. What am I doing? Fucking whittling balls now? Like that's going to fix anything.
Finally, his voice broke the quiet.
"Do you have family? Lovers?"
A question tossed like a stone into still water. No warning. No preamble.
Tomoki didn't even blink. "No."
The coin kept spinning.
Yuga swallowed. The heat of the fire was suddenly too much—prickling at his neck, sweating under his collar. He gripped the wooden sphere too tightly, pressing a shallow groove into its surface.
That's it? No. Just—no. Like I asked him if he wanted tea or something. His jaw tightened. Cold bastard. Doesn't even think about it. What the hell happened to him to make him like that? A darker thought slithered in. Is that what I'm headed for? Some empty-eyed coin-flipping ghost with calloused hands and nothing left to say?
The silence after that answer wasn't empty. It was full—with every possibility that had just been shut down. No, and nothing more. As if it wasn't a topic worth speaking of. As if the question didn't matter.
The fire crackled. Somewhere in the woods, an owl hooted. Everything else was still.
Yuga leaned forward slightly, the flicker of flames reflected in his eyes. Then, voice low and flat:
"I wanted to cry yesterday."
Tomoki looked at him. Just slightly. His face remained unreadable, but his fingers paused. The coin stilled.
"I tried to remember my mother's face… and I couldn't." Yuga's hand stopped carving. "Not even her eyes. Her voice, maybe, just a wisp of it. But her face? Gone. Like someone took a match to my memory."
The sphere in his hand cracked under his grip.
He didn't look at Tomoki.
"I kept trying to hold on to it, like maybe if I thought hard enough, I'd see her again. But I couldn't. Just this… blur. And I realized if I died yesterday, she wouldn't even be real anymore. Not to anyone."
The fire hissed.
"I don't know what scares me more," Yuga whispered. "Forgetting her… or realizing I may already have."
The flames crackled, casting long shadows over Yuga's face, highlighting the deep lines of weariness that ran through him. His fingers dug into the sphere of wood, his knuckles white. "I don't even know who I am anymore," he admitted, the confession slipping out like a secret he had long tried to keep.
"And I'm not sure I even want to know. I don't know if there's anything left to know." He exhaled sharply, his gaze distant, as if looking far beyond the fire into a place no one could reach. "And here I am… so far away from it all."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Tomoki watched the fire. He didn't answer. Not with words. Just a slow, subtle exhale through the nose. His face gave nothing—no pity, no comfort, not even discomfort. But his coin wasn't flipping anymore.
I honestly don't care. he thought, even if his mouth said nothing.
But the silence was safer.
For both of them.
And in that silence, Yuga sat with his thoughts burning hotter than the flames. I should've cried. Should've screamed. Something. But all he did was sit there, wooden splinter in his thumb, stomach empty, hands shaking.
What kind of son forgets his own mother's goddamn face?
He didn't expect an answer. Not from Tomoki. Not from the trees. Not from the cold, creeping dark that waited just beyond the reach of firelight.
And maybe that was the worst part.
No answer was coming. Not for this.
Soon after night fell.