Night took over the Oku-Ishi Valley, drenching it in icy wind plus stillness that felt off. Clouds drifted past the moon, letting flickers of weak light slip through - just enough to show old stones lying around down below. Locals claimed they were burial spots, left by fighters nobody remembers anymore, though some swear their presence lingers.
Tari gripped Okuta's cloak while they stepped farther into the valley.
"Baba Okuta… this place dey somehow," the boy whispered.
Okuta stayed silent, yet his pace dropped while his gaze turned sharp.
He sensed it - like the wind had gone quiet, waiting.
No birds.
No insects.
Besides the grass swaying, nothing shifted - just a gentle breeze nudging it sideways.
Yeah. Something kept an eye on them.
That afternoon, after walking out of the old shrine, Okuta ran his fingers over the scorched marks on the wall - knew right away it came from an outsider's fighting style. Spotting the signs? Easy. Believing what they pointed to? Not so much.
Tari kept pushing the dread aside - yet every step made it worse, like something was watching him, crawling under his flesh without showing itself.
Okuta halted, lifted a hand - Tari stayed still.
"Don't breathe too loud," Okuta murmured.
The kid followed right away.
Everything stayed quiet - for just a second.
Then---
A soft sound moved through the grass. Not words. Not air. Something different… a low hum, almost like people speaking from below ground.
Tari shivered. "Oga… are they ghosts?"
Okuta pulled the blade out a bit.
"Ghosts don't whisper. Men do."
Abruptly, the breeze swung - piercing, harsh, bringing a whiff of metal.
Blood.
Okuta yanked Tari back - right when something dark zipped past, slicing the air so quick it left the ground marked. A cracked column blocked their view seconds before the rush hit. Movement came outta nowhere, sharp like a blade's edge. Dust kicked up where the force landed. They stayed low, breathing hard, eyes locked ahead.
The earth let out a sharp sound under pressure.
A sudden streak came from the other side - aimed right at the kid.
Okuta's sword flashed free from its scabbard - metal shrieking into the open air.
CLANG!
He blocked the strike, flashes popping like little stars at night.
A pair jumped down nearby, their dark coats vanishing into the shadows. One followed close behind, its face marked with odd, twisted signs.
Tari gasped.
"The same people from the shrine…"
Okuta angled his head a bit.
"No. These ones are faster."
The biggest one moved ahead.
"You have something that belongs to us."
Okuta said nothing.
"Our master desires the child. Hand him over, and maybe you will be given a clean death."
Okuta raised a brow. "Clean death, ke? My friend, even your threats dey smell like nonsense."
The masked fighter froze in place.
"You are the wanderer they speak of… the man without a name."
"My name no concern you," Okuta replied.
The biggest fighter paused, breathing deep. "Fine then."
He held up two fingers.
All three attackers vanished.
Not ran.
Not leapt.
Vanished.
Tari heard his heart thumping hard in his chest. His eyelids clenched tight - then Okuta took hold of his face, soft-like.
"Look. Don't close your eyes. Fear grows bigger when you hide from it."
Tari cracked them open right when a knife swung at Okuta's back.
The swordsman spun.
One cut.
One heavy exhale.
One body dropped.
The first killer's hood dropped just as the skull smacked soil - right after, silence broke loose.
Tari gasped.
The other two showed up right away - quicker this time - hitting at once.
Okuta stopped one hit, dodged the next - then sent a rock flying into a guy's knee with a kick, making him wobble off balance.
"Okuta!" Tari yelled when the next killer attacked from the rooftop.
Okuta didn't turn.
He lunged his blade behind him, eyes still forward.
The knife hit skin.
The next killer fell just like a snapped oak.
The third one snarled, then jumped - way too high - spinning mid-air like a shade kicked loose from the ground. The coat flared open, showing skin marked by black dye and old cuts from rites.
He didn't only fight - he lived through it, survived every mess.
He belonged to the Bloodbound - humans changed by secret rituals, picked for their edge. Though not chosen by chance, each had paid a price no normal person could handle.
Okuta's grip tightened. "This one no go tire easily."
The Bloodbound's sword flashed under the pale light, yet when he dropped down, his cry ripped across the hills - raw, jagged, nothing close to a man.
Okuta ran into him while jumping up.
Their blades clashed.
The noise was that harsh - it split the air like a knife.
The hit knocked both guys back, dirt bursting up near their shoes.
The Bloodbound braced up, smirking.
"You are strong… but the child is ours. The map he carries is ours. The future he holds will drown this land in blood."
Okuta popped his neck loose.
"All this grammar because of small boy? You people dey craze."
The Bloodbound rushed forward once more.
This time, Okuta stood his ground instead. He moved ahead - right into the strike - a move you'd expect from someone reckless or dangerously good.
He cut downward.
A simple strike.
Clean.
Precise.
Final.
The Bloodbound dropped to his knees, the sword sliding out as if on its own. Though he tried to grip it tighter, his hands just wouldn't hold.
"Impossible…" he wheezed.
"Dude, anything can happen," Okuta said, keeping cool.
The last killer fell down, dead.
The wind returned.
The whispers stopped.
Silence took back the valley.
Tari ran toward Okuta. "Hey Baba - your arm's dripping!"
A thin scratch ran along Okuta's forearm. For a second he looked, then just sort of let it go.
"Nothing wey small water no fit wash."
Still, Tari didn't buy it. He ripped off a bit of his sleeve, wrapping it round Okuta's cut. The knot came out sloppy - tight here, slack there.
Okuta kept his eyes on the man without a sound.
"You know say I no dey like people touching me."
Tari looked up.
"But I don't want anything to happen to you."
The man sighed. "You tie am like goat rope sha."
The boy laughed weakly. "At least it will hold."
Okuta stayed quiet. Instead, he put his big hand on Tari's shoulder - a move that said more than speech ever could.
Then he nudged the boy. "Stand well. You need to rest small."
Tari gave a quick nod - then her face dropped without warning.
"Okuta… look there."
Down at the edge of the valley, someone was standing there - just hanging out beside a pair of old rock columns from way back.
Still.
Tall.
Silent.
A long cloak trailed behind him. From far away, Tari still sensed how heavy and icy the man felt.
Okuta's posture stiffened.
Shiba.
The foreign warrior.
The guy who took down two dozen troops without even panting.
Shiba stayed put, just looking - no blade out, yet no danger said.
Just watching.
His pale hair shimmered soft under the moon, yet that one red eye flared - like a spark about to fade.
Tari's voice trembled.
"Is he… enemy?"
Okuta stayed silent. Then he stepped a bit ahead of the kid.
Shiba tilted his head a little, like he noticed what was happening.
He lifted his hand bit by bit - like a greeting, sorta like a signal to stop.
He slipped back into the shadows, vanishing quiet-like.
Tari swallowed. "Okuta… why didn't he attack?"
"Because," Okuta murmured, "he wants to see how we fight. He dey measure us."
"But why?"
Okuta slid the blade into its cover.
"Because the real battle never start."
The breeze grew stronger - sharper this time - bringing whispers of a threat worse than the killers they'd barely escaped.
Okuta brushed the charm on Tari's neck. Right then, it lit up a little - first time that ever happened.
The swordsman frowned. "This thing… e dey wake up."
Tari snatched it close, like she was keeping it safe.
"What does that mean?"
Okuta stared down the trail, the one Shiba had disappeared along.
"It means we have very little time."
He spun around, pressing his palm against the kid's shoulder.
"Come. We move before morning reach."
Tari gave a quick nod, yet his eyes darted behind him now and then, like something - or someone - might show up any second.
They moved off just as the moon ducked behind heavy cloud cover, blanketing the valley in shadow.
The rocks... those old rocks... started murmuring once more. Yet now, the murmur wasn't a caution.
They were calling.
Calling someone
---or something---
awake.