A Bond Beyond Chains (Part 1)
The mansion walls gleamed with gold trim, banners of Hanae's family fluttering in the moonlit breeze. On the outside, Yakaziku remained a jewel of power, its nobles walking proudly under lanterns, its poor hidden away like shadows behind stone gates. But inside, in a forgotten room tucked deep beneath the servants' quarters, four children huddled close together, whispering like fugitives.
The candles on the floor burned low, their flames wavering as if sensing the weight of the moment.
Rūpu's voice was the first to break the silence. His tone was steady, but behind it, sorrow thrummed like a taut string. "We can't stay here. Not another day. This city... it's not meant for people like us. It will bleed us dry. We've seen it." His eyes flicked to Hanae, then to Giru, then Isshun. "If we don't leave now, we'll become what they say we are—monsters, criminals, curses. And we're not."
Isshun sat with his knees drawn up, his dagger glinting faintly at his side. He hadn't spoken much since the fight with Giru. His eyes were hard now, but weary, like a kid already carrying more weight than his overall self could bear. He looked at the others, his voice low. "They'll chase us. You know that. Hanae's family won't let her vanish. The guards won't let the thief live. And Rūpu..." he trailed off, staring at those horns. "You've been marked since the day you were born as a freak to others."
Silence again.
Then Hanae exhaled shakily, her voice breaking into the candlelit dark. "I've been running all my life. Running from my mother's eyes. From my servants' fists. From the whispers that follow me down every hall. But..." She swallowed, staring at the three faces around her. "This is the first time I don't want to run alone."
Her words broke, and the tears came uninvited, streaming down her cheeks. She pressed her sleeve against her eyes, ashamed. But before shame could settle, Rūpu placed a hand on hers. Firm, steady. He didn't need to say anything. His silence was enough.
And then, a scoff.
Giru leaned back against the wall, spinning his fox mask lazily in one hand. His sharpened horn caught the candlelight, his smirk faint but not mocking this time. "You're all terrible at this."
Three pairs of eyes snapped toward him.
"You think planning an escape is just about words and tears?" He snorted, but his voice softened after. "I've been breaking out of chains since before you could even hold a sword, Rūpu. You want to leave this gilded prison? You follow me."
He leaned forward then, his eyes glinting with something rawer than mischief. "Not because I'm better. Not because I want to play hero. But because if I let you do this alone, you'll fall apart before you reach the gates."
Rūpu met his gaze. For the first time, he saw no mockery, no armor of smirks—just honesty. Broken, battered honesty.
"Then we do this together," Rūpu said.
Isshun's hand curled tighter around his dagger. He gave a slow nod, as if sealing his burden into stone. "Together."
Hanae wiped her tears, managing the smallest, trembling smile. "Together."
Giru spun his mask one last time before snapping it over his eye. "Together."
The night stretched long as they whispered their plan.
Giru knew the patrols, the blind corners, the cracks in the gilded armor of Yakaziku's Oni guards. He sketched them in the dust with a stolen chopstick. Hanae revealed passages beneath the mansion—the same ones she used to sneak out when she was younger, the ones where she learned the taste of moonlight and freedom before being dragged back. Rūpu and Isshun measured their blades against their limits, knowing they'd have to spill blood if caught.
Every detail felt like gambling with fate. Every move weighed their lives.
But for once, they weren't planning as fragments. They were whole.
Later, when the candles had burned to stubs and the room was wrapped in heavy silence, the four of them lay on the cold stone floor. Not close, not near, but bound all the same by the thread of their choice.
Rūpu's thoughts churned. He remembered his monk father's dying face, the bandits' laughter, the snow burying his grief. He remembered Hanae's tears, Giru's broken mask, Isshun's quiet strength. He clenched his fists.
For the first time, he wasn't walking alone.
Hanae stared at the ceiling, her hands clutched over her heart. The scars still burned, her mother's hatred still echoed, but the warmth of the voices beside her dulled the sharpest edges of despair.
Isshun, silent, stared at the ceiling too. He didn't pray—he hadn't believed in gods for a long time—but he wished. Wished for strength enough to carry not just his scars, but theirs too.
And Giru... Giru stared at the moon through the cracked window, his mask pushed back onto his forehead. His smirk was faint, almost invisible. But his eyes glimmered—not with sorrow, not with mockery. With something he hadn't dared feel in years.
Hope.
That night, four children who should've been enemies, who should've remained strangers scattered by fate, chose instead to be a team. They would never stop being bound by their pasts. But their bond? Their bond would never again break.
Even if Yakaziku itself had to fall to keep it.
Shadows Over Yakaziku (Part 2)
The moon hung low over Yakaziku, its silver glow tracing the golden rooftops of the Oni nobles' mansions. The city seemed asleep, but the silence was deceiving. Patrols swept the streets like hunting wolves, armor clattering softly, horns glinting in torchlight. From the shadows beneath the mansion walls, four figures slipped into the night like fractured pieces of a single soul.
Their escape had begun.
Hanae led the way at first, her trembling hand clutching the key to a servant's passage that wound down into the underbelly of the city. The key had been hidden beneath her bed since childhood—her father's gift, back when he believed one day she would need a way to run. Now, with her father gone, executed in shame, the key burned cold in her palm.
Her steps faltered at the entrance to the passage. She froze, staring at the rusted door and the darkness beyond it.
Rūpu noticed. He placed his hand gently against her shoulder. "We'll walk it together," he whispered.
She nodded, though her breath shook.
Isshun's eyes scanned behind them, the hilt of his dagger gleaming. He spoke little, but his gaze was sharp as steel. He was the anchor, the one steady thread holding them together. And even as he followed, he thought: If this breaks apart, I'll be the one to keep it from falling to pieces.
Giru lingered at the back, mask tilted over one eye, sharpened horn catching the light. He muttered something about the smell of rust and damp stone. But inside, he was quiet—quieter than usual. His eyes darted often to Rūpu, Hanae, Isshun. A bandit could always tell when his crew was about to collapse. But this time, this crew wasn't just for a robbery. They were his last chance at something beyond the life he'd stolen.
The passage reeked of mold and oil. Water dripped in uneven echoes as they crept along, their footsteps muffled against the dirt. At every corner, Rūpu pressed his ear against the stone, listening for patrols above. Hanae whispered the path, recalling where the tunnels split, where they ended in the basements of other nobles' mansions, where they rose into the city streets.
For a moment, it seemed smooth. For a moment, hope felt real.
Then the trap was sprung.
The sound came first—boots, synchronized and sharp. Then the flare of torches ahead, lighting the darkness. Oni guards stepped forward, spears leveled. Behind them, more torches flared from the back.
They were surrounded.
Isshun swore under his breath, drawing his blade. Rūpu stepped in front of Hanae instinctively, his horns lowering like a shield. Hanae's heart raced, pounding loud enough she thought the guards would hear it.
And then Giru laughed.
He tilted his mask, stepping into the faint torchlight with that sly, familiar grin. "Guess the fun's started sooner than expected."
The guards growled. One of them, his armor gilded with Yakaziku's crest, barked, "You're the thief we've been searching for. The cursed princess, the traitor Oni, and the human vermin. All of you—your little game ends here."
The air grew tight, every breath heavy with dread. Hanae shook her head violently, tears stinging her eyes. "No. No, not here. I can't—"
Rūpu growled low. "We fight."
Isshun's knuckles whitened around his blade. "No choice."
And Giru? He just smirked wider, twirling his short blade lazily. "Let's make some noise, then."
The fight exploded.
Steel clashed in the narrow passage. Sparks flew as Rūpu's heavy strikes forced guards back, his horns scraping stone. Isshun ducked and weaved, slashing at ankles, moving with desperate precision. Hanae, though untrained, used the darkness itself—kicking dust into eyes, shoving torches down, forcing shadows to swallow them again.
And Giru—Giru moved like smoke. His mask gleamed faintly in the torchlight as he slashed and slipped, never staying in one place long enough to be caught. But his blade, for all its show, cut less than it should have. His strikes slowed. He was holding back.
Rūpu noticed, fury burning in his heart. "Why aren't you fighting!?" he roared mid-swing.
For a heartbeat, Giru's grin cracked. His eyes flicked to the guards—not with anger, but pity. "Because some cages... some cages are harder to break."
Then he twisted, tripping a guard into Rūpu's path.
The Oni kids horn smashed into the soldier's armor plate, the crack echoing like thunder.
But there was no time to argue.
The passage shook with reinforcements. More guards thundered down, their spears glinting, voices shouting. Hanae screamed as one nearly grabbed her arm—Isshun's blade cut the guard down just in time, his stomach heaving.
The four pressed forward, every step drenched in desperation. They weren't fighting to win. They were fighting to live.
Their breaths turned ragged, clothes torn, blades slick with sweat and blood. The city walls felt endless, every torch another trap, every echo another death knell.
And yet, somehow, they held together.
Rūpu shielding Hanae. Isshun cutting the path. Hanae pushing herself past fear. Giru twisting fate with every sly step.
It wasn't enough to erase their fractures. But it was enough to keep them moving.
At last, the night air hit them.
They burst out of the tunnel, stumbling onto the open ground beyond the city walls. The golden towers of Yakaziku loomed behind them, glowing like a cruel god watching them run. The forest stretched ahead—dark, endless, uncertain.
The guards' shouts still echoed in the distance.
But for now—for one fragile, trembling heartbeat—they were free.
The four collapsed onto the grass, their stomachs heaving, faces streaked with dirt and sweat and blood. Hanae clutched the grass in her fists, sobbing openly. Rūpu lay flat on his back, staring at the sky as if daring it to fall. Isshun held his dagger in a shaking hand, as though the world might still demand another strike.
And Giru?
He sat up slowly, pulling off his mask, staring at it in silence. His grin was gone. His horn, sharpened and scarred, glinted faintly in the moonlight. His eyes were wet, though no tears fell.
For the first time since they'd met, he looked less like a thief, less like a trickster. And more like a kid who had been running for far too long.
Together, broken but breathing, they stared into the night sky.
Yakaziku's walls behind them. The unknown ahead.
And somewhere, in the silence between heartbeats, their bond—fragile, haunted, imperfect—held.
TO BE COTNINUED...