The road to Tsukikage was no road at all.
No marked paths. No stones laid by builders. Just rivers twisting like silver knives through tangled forest, bridges made of vine and root, and ancient trails known only to ghosts and madmen.
Ren led them through it like a man who had walked these shadows all his life.
Kaito followed, every muscle aching. His pack was lighter now, stripped to the barest essentials. His stomach rarely full. But the ember in his chest burned hotter with each passing day.
And slowly, he was learning to listen to it.
They travelled mostly by night, veiled in mist Kaito conjured when Ren allowed.
At first, he'd only managed to release it in wild bursts—boiling fog that steamed too hot, too fast.
Ren had scolded him for days.
"You are not a kettle," he said dryly. "You do not pour steam until your enemies drink it."
Kaito had grit his teeth, hands trembling with the effort of holding back the flood.
But then came the breathwork.
In through the nose. Hold it. Feel the ember—don't push it, let it ripple.
Out through the mouth, slow and steady.
When done right, the mist came soft as silk—thick enough to obscure shapes, thin enough to move through.
He called it the Mist Veil.
It wasn't much. Not yet. But it bought time.
And time was the only currency he had left.
They weren't alone on the road.
Ren sensed them first.
The air shifted. Birds went silent.
Kaito was learning to trust those moments—when the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.
"They've split," Ren murmured one night, crouched beneath a twisted cypress. "Raijin-ke hunts openly. Kagutsuchi-ke sends shadows."
"And the others?" Kaito asked softly.
Ren's jaw tensed.
"The Kagegumi are watching."
Kaito shivered despite the heat under his skin.
The Kagegumi, Japan's most feared assassins. Clanless. Faithless. Bound only to coin and code.
And their leader, Kurotsuki had taken notice of him.
Far to the north, beneath the broken halls of an old monastery, Kurotsuki knelt before an ancient scroll.
A single name had been inked on its surface in crimson strokes.
KAITO.
He stared at the name for a long time, eyes gleaming with cold hunger.
"The boy has bonded with the stone," his second whispered from the shadows.
"A child swallowing a sun." Kurotsuki's voice was low, amused. "Fools. They think they can hunt him with blades alone."
He rose, the folds of his cloak swirling like oil.
"No… this prey must be bled slow."
He gestured.
"Prepare the Web. When they near Tsukikage, I want him wrapped."
Kaito didn't know of the words spoken beneath the monastery.
But he felt them.
Somewhere along the winding road, a new instinct had begun to stir—part animal, part something older.
He felt eyes in the dark. Heard footfalls even when none sounded.
Ren noticed too.
"You're waking up," he said one morning as dawn painted the trees in pale gold.
Kaito wiped sweat from his brow. "Waking?"
Ren nodded. "Your body fights you less now. The stone is rooting itself. But beware."
He leaned close.
"Not all roots bring fruit. Some choke the tree."
Days bled into nights. The forest thickened. The rivers grew colder.
Kaito's mastery of the Mist Veil improved.
Where once it had consumed him, now it danced at his will.
He could summon it in a breath—cloak them in swirling fog that muffled sound and blurred form.
Ren made him practice while moving, while fighting, even while eating.
"You will need it when blood is drawn," he said.
And blood was coming. Kaito knew it.
He could feel the noose tightening.
They came upon the first ambush at twilight.
A narrow ravine. Rocks piled high on either side. A false clearing ahead, baited with fresh supplies.
Ren halted mid-step, eyes narrowing.
"Trap."
Kaito's breath caught. "How?"
Ren pointed subtly.
"No birds here. No insects."
He gestured again.
"Four scents—one near, three above. Raijin-ke."
Kaito swallowed. "We go around?"
"No time. They'll close the circle."
Ren's eyes gleamed. "You'll cloak us."
Kaito blinked. "Now?"
Ren smirked. "No better classroom."
Kaito closed his eyes.
Breathed in.
Found the ember.
Breathed out.
Mist flowed—gentle, controlled.
The ravine filled with a thin, curling veil.
Through it, they moved—two shadows in a sea of white.
Blades flashed in the fog. Angry shouts echoed.
But no steel found them.
Later, as they made camp beneath a ruined bridge, Kaito stared into the fire.
His limbs shook with exhaustion. His breath came ragged.
But he was alive.
"You did well," Ren said.
Kaito met his gaze. "They'll keep coming."
Ren's eyes darkened. "Yes."
"And when we reach Tsukikage?"
Ren sighed.
"Then the real hunt begins."
It was on the tenth night that the forest changed.
The air grew thinner. The trees older, their roots gnarled like grasping hands.
Ren stopped at the edge of a worn stone path half-buried in moss.
"We're close."
Kaito swallowed. "To Tsukikage?"
Ren nodded. "The outer ring."
Kaito exhaled. Relief warred with dread.
But as they stepped onto the path, a faint click sounded beneath Kaito's boot.
Ren cursed.
"Down!"
A shape fell from the trees silent as snowfall.
A single figure clad in midnight silk. Masked. Barefoot.
The assassin moved like liquid shadow, blade already descending.
Kaito barely raised his arms as the strike came.
But instinct roared to life.
Steam burst from his skin—a wild surge.
The assassin hissed, recoiling as the blade sizzled mid-swing.
Ren was there in a blink.
Steel met steel in a blur of motion.
The masked killer fought with inhuman speed—but Ren's blade sang truer.
A final flash—then silence.
The assassin crumpled.
Kaito stared, chest heaving.
Ren wiped his blade clean.
"Kagegumi," he said grimly. "They know we're here."
Kaito shuddered.
"What now?"
Ren glanced ahead—toward faint lights flickering beyond the ancient trees.
"Now… we enter Tsukikage."
His gaze sharpened.
"And pray the city's shadows are kinder than those we've left behind."