The moon hung low over the treeline, a pale eye half-veiled in drifting clouds. The village lay quiet behind him, every lantern doused, every door locked. From the roofs, Hikaru could see the shapes of houses like crouched animals, huddled in the dark.
He crouched on the ridgepole of the old granary, one knee bent, steady as stone. His breath slowed until even the night wind seemed louder. From here, he could watch the dirt road that wound toward the government camp.
The soldiers were punctual.
Three figures emerged, their boots sinking into the dust, rifles strapped across their backs. They marched in perfect rhythm, lanterns swaying at their sides, faces hidden under steel-gray helmets. Their voices carried low but clear.
"…rotation ends at midnight."
"…eastern perimeter is weaker. They want more eyes there."
"…Shiga's orders. No one gets close."
Hikaru's hand closed around the charcoal stub in his pocket. He flipped open a folded sheet of rough paper, already marked with faint lines and notes. With swift strokes, he mapped the soldiers' path, the lantern sweeps, the timing of their turns.
A crow croaked from the forest's edge. One soldier stiffened, sweeping his rifle toward the sound. Hikaru didn't move. Shadows wrapped around him, a natural shroud.
He exhaled slowly. If I breathe too loud, they'll hear.
The soldiers muttered, dismissing the noise, and continued down the road. Hikaru's eyes narrowed, watching how their lanterns cut arcs through the night. Every gap was a door, every pause a window.
He slid down the roof silently, landing on the packed dirt with barely a sound. The night embraced him, cool and weightless. He moved along the side of a house, hugging the wall, then slipped into the tree line.
Branches creaked overhead, a rhythm of their own. Hikaru crouched among the roots, eyes fixed on the camp in the distance. It loomed like a metal scar against the land—fences glinting, towers spearing the sky, machines humming with unnatural light.
The camp felt wrong. Too still, too cold. Like a beast waiting for prey to stumble close.
Hikaru marked another set of notes: guard towers, patrol circles, the faint glow of resonance machines near the center. The lines on his page spread like spiderwebs.
If they tighten this net, no one in the village will breathe without permission.
A branch cracked.
Hikaru's heart clenched. He froze, every muscle taut. Footsteps approached—heavy, deliberate. A lantern bobbed between the trees.
"Eastern perimeter check," a soldier muttered, his voice flat with routine.
Hikaru pressed against the trunk, still as bark. The soldier's light washed across the roots, brushed his boots, passed within arm's reach.
For a heartbeat, Hikaru swore the man's eyes flicked toward him. His pulse thundered.
But the soldier only yawned and moved on, the lantern glow fading.
Hikaru exhaled slowly, sweat prickling down his back. He touched his chest, where his heartbeat still hammered like a drum.
Too close.
He finished his notes in silence, then folded the map carefully. When he stood, the moonlight caught his face, half-shadowed, half-lit. A strange sensation lingered in his body—his outline felt blurred, as if the night itself had held him hidden.
Hikaru shook it off. No time to dwell. Yoshiki needs this map. Yuzuriha needs proof. The village needs… someone watching when no one else can.
He glanced back once at the glowing camp, its towers bristling against the stars. A chill swept through him, but his jaw tightened.
"…I'll protect them," he whispered to the trees.
Then he slipped into the dark, his footsteps vanishing into silence.