"Ow—dammit!"
"AH—my back!!"
Ennagiri let out a sharp gasp, half-buried in his own sleeves, ginger hair spilling in wild disarray across his face. His basket had overturned, rose petals cascading like red and white snowfall, catching in their robes and drifting across the marble floor.
One hand instinctively clutched the front of Sozai's robe—the only thing preventing him from smacking headfirst against the polished tiles.
Sozai's ponytail now hung loosely, draped over Ennagiri's chest. For a long heartbeat they both lay sprawled in stunned silence, tangled together in a scene far too ridiculous for the solemn day outside.
The air was thick with the overwhelming perfume of crushed petals.
"…Are cats always that slow?! But I'm not, even while I am a cat! You nearly flattened me into a pancake!" Sozai snapped, groaning as he tried to wriggle free from Ennagiri's grip.
"Who charges through corridors without even braking?!" Ennagiri wheezed back, clutching his temple. "I saw my whole life flash before my eyes!"
Around the corner, a cluster of junior maids peeked their heads in—only to vanish again just as quickly, stifling their laughter behind sleeves and fans. The petals still floated down, framing the two boys in a parody of a wedding scene.
Sozai rolled off with a grunt, dusting petals from his robe and flicking stray ones out of his sleeves. His green eyes glinted with mischief despite the chaos.
Ennagiri, however, remained stunned. His blue eyes stared at the boy who had nearly toppled him, chest rising and falling too fast, throat still tight from the impact. His ginger ears flicked back nervously, cheeks warming under the laughter he knew the maids were hiding.
Sozai winced, rubbing at his forehead where they'd bumped heads. Ennagiri's temple was already red, throbbing faintly from the same blow.
Catching the elder servant's glare, Sozai only smirked wider, lips curling in shameless defiance.
"Ah, what? You're staring like we just got married by accident—or worse." He wagged his brows dramatically, clearly pleased with himself.
Ennagiri's face went crimson. He whipped his head away, ears flattened. "S-Shut up…! You're insufferable!" His voice cracked, flustered.
Sozai chuckled, brushing petals from Ennagiri's shoulder before deliberately bumping him with his own. The ginger let out a hiss of frustration, trying desperately to regain composure.
"I swear, you'll be cleaning—"
But before he could issue the order, Sozai cut him off, voice dropping suddenly into urgency.
"Forget it—I've got to wake up my baby fox, or he's going to die."
Ennagiri blinked. "Wha—?"
But Sozai was already gone. He darted down the corridor with inhuman speed, shouting back without looking:
"IF HE'S STILL ASLEEP I SWEAR I'LL DRAG HIM BY THE EARS—!!"
The echoes of his voice bounced off the marble, vanishing down the endless halls.
Ennagiri remained kneeling amidst the scattered petals, speechless. Finally, he pushed himself upright with a groan, brushing off his robe with trembling hands.
"That boy's going to be the death of me…" he muttered bitterly, ears still burning.
The maids' laughter had long faded. Only petals remained, drifting slowly to the floor like a lingering omen.
Within the Private Quarters of the Young Fox
Kuradome pushed open the carved silver doors. The chamber was dim, curtains drawn against the morning light. His robes whispered against the floor, trailing shadows behind him. He hadn't bothered to knock. He already knew.
The faint, metallic tang of blood clung to the air.
There, lying in the vast bed draped with silver sheets, was Kyoren.
His long hair, pale as moonlight, fanned out across the pillows in tangled disarray. His robe had slipped open at the chest, revealing pale skin marred by a wound still dark and angry. Kuradome had poured energy into healing it the night before, but even now it remained half-closed, ringed with blackened edges as though refusing to knit.
Kyoren's lips were colorless. His breathing shallow, uneven. His stomach looked too hollow for a boy of his years, hip bones pressing starkly beneath the fabric as though starvation had carved him sharp.
Kuradome's crimson eyes softened, worry flickering beneath the steel. He lowered himself to his knees beside the bed, leaning close.
"You fool…" His voice was a whisper, raw and low.
He reached out, long fingers ghosting across the wound, tracing its stubborn outline.
"Was the ritual too much for you to bear? Or…" His tone faltered, bitterness in the pause. "Or have you truly become this fragile?"
Kyoren shifted faintly under his touch, a wince creasing his face even in sleep. The faintest sound escaped his throat, half-breath, half-protest.
Kuradome stilled immediately. His hardened expression melted. Instead of pressing further, he slid his hand upward, threading gentle fingers into the boy's tangled hair. He stroked slowly, carefully, untangling strands with the patience of a father—though his golden-eyed son rarely saw such tenderness when awake.
Kyoren's lashes fluttered. For a moment Kuradome thought he might stir, but his eyes remained shut, lids dull where once they burned with fiery red.
Kuradome exhaled softly. His hand returned to the wound, pressing lightly against the boy's chest. Beneath his palm, he felt the heartbeat—too fast. Too frantic. The rhythm of a bird trapped in a shrinking cage.
"This isn't normal," he muttered. His brows drew tight.
He seized Kyoren's wrist, two fingers pressed firmly against the pulse point. With his other hand, he retrieved a rose-gold timepiece from his sleeve, flicking it open.
One second. Two. Three.
Three pulses in less than two seconds.
His own heart skipped.
"…Poison?" His voice cracked. "Was the blade from last night poisoned?"
A chill swept over him, colder than the stone beneath his knees.
He muttered curses under his breath, fighting to still the panic clawing up his chest. "No… it can't be… you're 王血 (Wáng Xuè)… royal blood. Like me. Stronger than ordinary yokai. One wound shouldn't hollow you out so quickly—not even without food. Not even if your healing fails."
His grip on the boy's wrist trembled. He lowered his forehead to it, crimson eyes shut tight, voice breaking into a whisper.
"What do I do, Kyoren…? You're all I have, and yet even I am torn in half. The queen will arrive in thirty minutes… and I cannot be two men at once."
Silence pressed in around him. The ticking clock in his palm echoed like a war drum.
Kyoren did not stir.
Kuradome's jaw clenched. His whisper hardened into a vow.
"Just hang on. I'll fix this. Even if I must walk through blood itself."