THE FOREST THAT DIDN'T MOVE
Cold hits Ryo first. Not just on his skin—inside his joints, like the air is trying to settle in his bones.
He stands in a pine forest where snow falls without wind. The flakes drift, pause, and then drop like they remembered gravity late. Bells ring somewhere far, then suddenly close, like sound is traveling through wood instead of air.
Ahead, between the trunks, a torii gate leans slightly. Old cedar. The red paint faded into memory. A bronze bell hangs from the crossbeam. Frost fur coats the rope.
Ryo breathes out and watches his breath choose a direction on its own.
RYO:
"Okay."
He looks around like the trees might answer.
RYO:
"I'm not dreaming."
The bell doesn't move.
It still rings.
Ryo's wrist prickles. The birthmark there feels hot under the cold. At his hip, the crescent guard—only a hilt for now—warms like something inside it is awake.
Ryo swallows.
RYO:
"Cool. Great. Love that."
Ryo steps closer. Snow compresses under his shoes with a soft crunch that feels too loud.
He stops under the torii.
The rope hangs still, but the bell keeps humming low, like it's inside his ribs.
Ryo reaches out and touches the rope.
Cold bites deep. Clean. Simple. No drama. Just pain.
Something listens behind that touch. Not a voice. Not a presence he can see. More like a rule that noticed him.
Ryo pulls his hand back, shaking it once.
RYO:
"Alright. So you're real."
He glances at the torii, then the woods.
RYO:
"I don't know what you are."
A beat.
RYO:
"But if you're going to pull me into some… otherworld thing—"
He stops himself. Breathes.
Four in. Hold. Four out.
The way his mother taught him when fevers made the room tilt.
Ryo looks down at his palm.
RYO (quiet):
"…I said I'd stand."
The bell's note deepens, like it approves.
A shift runs through the forest.
Not a sound. A change in pressure.
The snow above Ryo freezes in place—flakes suspended like the world held its breath.
Ryo's eyes widen. His body stiffens.
Slowly, he turns.
Between the trees, the dark thickens.
Something presses against reality like it's testing thin glass.
Ryo's hand goes to the crescent hilt at his hip.
The hilt doesn't move. It just waits.
Like it's asking him a normal question.
Are you sure?
Ryo swallows again.
RYO:
"…Yeah."
His voice is smaller than he wants.
But it's honest.
The dark shifts closer.
Shadows crawl up tree trunks to get away.
The air gets heavy. Thought gets slow.
Ryo's knees threaten to bend. He forces them straight.
RYO (through his teeth):
"Okay. So that's the bad guy."
A thin seam flashes near the torii.
Like the air got cut open.
Snow flares.
And Yua Aihara spills through, half-falling, sword first.
She hits the ground, rolls, and rises to one knee in one motion like she's done it a thousand times. Her white kimono is worse now—torn deeper, stained darker. Blood steams down her side.
Her blue eye snaps to the forest. Her amethyst eye locks onto the thing in the dark.
She doesn't waste breath.
YUA:
"You came through alone?"
Ryo blinks.
RYO:
"Hi."
Yua glares like "hi" is a bad habit.
YUA:
"You made a vow without a handler."
Ryo's mouth opens.
RYO:
"Is that—"
YUA:
"Stupid. Yes."
She stands fully, even though her shoulder trembles for half a second.
Then she steadies.
YUA:
"Don't do that again."
Ryo stares at her wound.
RYO:
"You're bleeding."
YUA:
"I noticed."
RYO:
Do you want—like—bandages?
Yua's stare sharpens.
YUA:
Do you want to die?
Ryo shuts up.
The dark behind the trees shifts.
Yua's grip tightens.
YUA:
Good. Focus.
Yua steps slightly in front of him without thinking about it. The move is automatic. Protective in a way she would deny if asked.
YUA:
"Listen."
Ryo nods once.
YUA:
"It followed because you're loud."
RYO:
I didn't— I mean I ran—
YUA:
"Not your mouth."
She taps two fingers against his sternum—quick, controlled.
YUA:
"Your Seishu."
Ryo exhales.
RYO:
I still don't know what that is.
YUA:
"That's why you're loud."
She points toward the torii.
YUA:
You touched the rope.
RYO:
Yeah.
YUA:
And it listened.
Ryo looks up at the bell.
RYO:
So… that thing is connected to this place?
Yua nods once.
YUA:
This is a boundary shrine. A knot in the path. Gates like knots.
Ryo squints.
RYO:
That almost made sense.
Yua's jaw tightens like she's choosing not to argue.
YUA:
Breathe. Now.
Ryo blinks.
RYO:
What?
YUA:
In for four. Hold. Out for four.
Ryo does it.
Yua watches his shoulders.
YUA:
Lower.
Ryo lowers them.
YUA:
Again.
Ryo breathes again.
The pressure in the air eases a fraction.
Ryo looks at her.
RYO:
That helps.
YUA:
Yes.
RYO:
So you could've told me that earlier.
YUA:
You could've not chased a rip in the sky.
Ryo opens his mouth.
Then close it.
Fair.
A brief silence. Not comfortable. Not hostile either. Just two people standing next to a problem.
Ryo's eyes flick down to her side.
Blood keeps steaming like it's angry.
RYO:
How bad is it?
Yua doesn't look at him.
YUA:
Bad enough.
RYO:
You're still standing.
YUA:
I'm good at standing.
Ryo can't help it.
RYO:
So am I. Apparently.
Yua glances at him. The blue eye is annoyed. The amethyst eye is colder.
YUA:
Don't get proud.
RYO:
I'm not proud. I'm terrified.
A beat.
Yua's lips twitch like she almost respects that honesty.
YUA:
Good. Fear keeps you awake.
Ryo nods slowly.
RYO:
You always talk like this?
YUA:
Like what?
RYO:
Like you're giving orders to a disaster.
Yua looks back toward the trees.
YUA:
Because you are a disaster.
Ryo exhales a laugh that's half panic.
RYO:
Awesome. Love being seen.
The snow begins falling again.
One flake drops.
Then another.
Then the whole forest exhales.
That's worse than the pause.
Because now the thing is moving.
It steps forward between trees—taller than before, joints wrong, limbs shifting like it can't decide on a shape. Its "mouth" isn't a mouth. Its direction. Like an opening that points at you.
Ryo's skin crawls.
Yua lifts her sword.
YUA:
Don't run.
RYO:
Wasn't planning on it.
Yua doesn't look back.
YUA:
Good. If you run, it chases. If you freeze, it eats.
Ryo grips the crescent hilt. His fingers shake once.
He still forces them.
RYO:
So what do I do?
Yua speaks without hesitation.
YUA:
Stay behind me.
Ryo frowns.
RYO:
That's it?
YUA:
That's enough.
Ryo's jaw tightens.
RYO:
I don't like that.
Yua finally turns her head slightly.
YUA:
You don't like being alive either?
Ryo shuts his mouth again.
Another fair hit.
The Kaimon leans.
Yua shifts her stance—blade, shoulder, hip aligned. Her breathing stays steady.
Ryo watches that without meaning to.
She's injured.
She's still controlled.
That scares him more than the monster.
Yua speaks low.
YUA:
When I move, you move.
RYO:
Okay.
YUA:
When I say down, you go down.
RYO:
Got it.
YUA:
When I say close your eyes—
Ryo interrupts.
RYO:
I close them. Yeah. I remember.
Yua's stare flicks back.
YUA:
Don't interrupt.
Ryo raises both hands.
RYO:
Sorry. Sorry.
Yua turns back to the Kaimon.
YUA:
And don't call me by my first name yet.
Ryo blinks.
RYO:
Why?
YUA:
Because we're not friends.
Ryo's mouth opens, then he thinks better of it.
RYO:
Okay… Aihara.
Yua's eye twitches.
YUA:
No.
Ryo pauses.
RYO:
…Hunter?
Yua doesn't answer right away.
The Kaimon shifts closer.
YUA:
Call me Yua.
Ryo looks at her.
RYO:
You just said—
YUA:
I said not yet. It's now.
Ryo nods once.
RYO:
Alright. Yua.
Yua's grip tightens. Like hearing her name out loud did something she doesn't want to admit.
The Kaimon lunges.
Fast. Silent. Too close too quickly.
Yua moves like a clean sentence. One step through. One cut.
Her blade slices the space so sharply the monster "forgets" part of its body for a beat.
But it reknits.
It always reknits.
Ryo's breath catches.
Yua snaps.
YUA:
Breathe.
Ryo forces air in. Holds. Out.
The pressure in his chest steadies.
The Kaimon swings a limb—like a hook made of shadow—toward Yua's injured side.
Yua twists away, but not fast enough.
Ryo moves without thinking. He grabs her sleeve and yanks her back.
The shadow-hook cuts air where she was.
Yua lands hard in the snow, then rolls to her feet instantly.
Her gold eye whips to Ryo.
For one second, Ryo expects anger.
Instead—
YUA:
…Good.
Ryo blinks.
RYO:
Good?
YUA:
You saw it.
Ryo exhales.
RYO:
Yeah, well, I like you not dying. So.
Yua's jaw tightens.
She looks away quickly like she refuses to take that in.
YUA:
Don't talk. Move.
Yua glances toward the torii.
The seam in the air flickers—thin and unstable, like it's tired.
Yua clicks her tongue.
YUA:
We can't hold this here.
Ryo looks around.
RYO:
Where do we go?
Yua points past the torii—down a slope between trees.
Lanterns hang there, dim and steady, like a trail left for people who know what they're doing.
YUA:
Follow the lanterns.
Ryo hesitates.
RYO:
What about you?
Yua's voice is immediate.
YUA:
I'm coming.
Ryo nods.
The Kaimon shifts again, blocking their path.
Yua lowers her center.
YUA:
When I cut, you run.
Ryo swallows.
RYO:
And if you fall?
Yua's tone turns sharp.
YUA:
Don't look back.
Ryo's eyes narrow.
RYO:
That's not happening.
Yua glares.
YUA:
Yes, it is.
Ryo stares back.
RYO:
No.
For a beat, they lock.
Then the Kaimon lunges again and the argument dies.
Yua slices upward—clean, brutal. A vertical cut that makes the monster recoil.
YUA:
Now.
Ryo runs.
Ryo follows the lanterns down the slope.
Snow kicks up under his feet. His lungs burn. The bell sound fades behind him.
He hears a steel ring once—Yua's blade.
He hears the Kaimon's hollow pressure respond.
Ryo forces himself not to turn.
He hates that.
He hates it like it's a test he didn't agree to.
He keeps running anyway.
Because he promised.
The lanterns lead him through trees that feel like they're watching. The forest is quiet in a way that feels trained.
Ryo's wrist burns.
He breathes in for four.
Holds.
Out for four.
The pressure in the air stays behind him for a moment—
Then surges forward again.
Yua appears beside him, moving fast despite her injury. She doesn't look at him. She just matches his pace.
Ryo glances sideways.
RYO:
You okay?
YUA:
No.
Ryo almost laughs.
RYO:
Cool. Same.
Yua's lips twitch again, and she looks angry about it.
The trees are thin.
The air changes flavor—rice steam, resin, river water, iron.
Ryo stumbles out onto a cliffside path.
Below them is a terraced city carved into rock and pine. Warm lights. Courtyards. Banners shifting in the evening. People moving with purpose.
It isn't Serenia.
But it feels like a place that understands gates.
Ryo stands there, breathing hard.
RYO:
…Where are we?
Yua doesn't slow down.
YUA:
Ōkari-no-Mori's outer slope.
Ryo stares.
RYO:
That sounds like something I shouldn't be allowed to say yet.
YUA:
You're here. You can say it.
Ryo jogs after her.
RYO:
So it's real. Hunters are real. Gates are real. Monsters are real.
Yua speaks like she's reciting basic weather.
YUA:
Yes.
RYO:
And you just… live like this?
Yua glances at him.
YUA:
We survive like this.
Ryo looks down at her blood-stained sleeve.
RYO:
You're still bleeding.
YUA:
I noticed.
RYO:
Can I help with that?
Yua pauses for the first time.
She looks at him like she's measuring a risk.
YUA:
Don't touch me.
Ryo freezes.
RYO:
Okay.
A beat.
Yua adds, quieter:
YUA:
Not yet.
Ryo nods slowly.
RYO:
…Okay.
Yua leads him down a narrow path behind a waterfall curtain.
They enter a small hall of wood and incense. Tatami mats worn smooth by feet and old patience.
An old woman kneels by a brazier, grinding leaves with a stone.
One eye is milky. The other is sharp enough to cut.
She doesn't turn.
OLD WOMAN:
Close the door.
Ryo slides the panel shut.
The room exhales.
The old woman's hand keeps grinding.
OLD WOMAN:
Yua Aihara?
Yua steps forward, steady even when she shouldn't be.
YUA:
Present.
The old woman sighs like she just got extra work.
OLD WOMAN:
Again?
YUA:
Again.
The old woman finally turns her head slightly.
Her good eye flicks to Ryo.
OLD WOMAN:
And you brought a boy.
Ryo lifts his hand awkwardly.
RYO:
Hi.
Yua sits down on the mat like she's forcing her body to listen.
The old woman stands with a groan that sounds practiced.
OLD WOMAN:
Take off the outer layer.
Yua starts to do it one-handed.
Ryo moves to help without thinking—
Yua's blue eye snaps to him.
Ryo stops instantly.
RYO:
Right. Sorry.
The old woman watches that exchange and hums.
OLD WOMAN:
He learns fast.
Yua mutters.
YUA:
He's scared.
Ryo nods.
RYO:
Very.
The old woman snorts.
OLD WOMAN:
Good. Fear makes boys polite.
The old woman peels fabric from Yua's side. The wound is ugly—dark-veined like something tried to teach her flesh a language it didn't want.
Ryo looks away, stomach tight.
The old woman clicks her tongue.
OLD WOMAN:
You always bring your battles to my floor.
YUA:
Saving people is messy.
OLD WOMAN:
You're messy.
Yua doesn't argue.
The old woman packs herbs into the wound. The smell is sharp. Bitter. Real.
Yua's breathing stays steady. Her jaw doesn't.
Ryo watches that.
She's in pain.
She refuses to show it.
The old woman glances at Ryo again.
OLD WOMAN:
Name?
Ryo blinks.
RYO:
Ryo.
Yua's head tilts a fraction.
The old woman repeats it slowly, like tasting.
OLD WOMAN:
Ryo.
She nods once, satisfied, then looks at Yua.
OLD WOMAN:
He smells like a door.
Yua's voice goes flat.
YUA:
Yes.
Ryo frowns.
RYO:
Can we stop saying I smell?
The old woman smiles, not kind.
OLD WOMAN:
No.
Ryo sits near the door, hands on his knees, trying to look useful without moving wrong.
He glances at Yua's belt.
Two medals.
One stamped with characters he can't fully read. Another a numbered disk.
He points carefully, not touching.
RYO:
Those mean something?
Yua's eyes flick down.
YUA:
Special unit.
Ryo leans forward.
RYO:
Like… secret mission stuff?
Yua's stare cuts him.
YUA:
Like "don't ask."
Ryo nods.
RYO:
Okay. Don't ask.
A beat.
RYO:
So… why did you even come to Serenia?
Yua doesn't answer right away.
The old woman speaks first.
OLD WOMAN:
Because your city is bleeding into the Gate's shadow.
Ryo turns.
RYO:
My city?
Yua's voice is quiet, but heavy.
YUA:
The rip opened near you.
Ryo's throat tightens.
RYO:
So it's my fault.
Yua looks at him like she's deciding how blunt to be.
YUA:
No.
Ryo blinks.
Yua continues.
YUA:
It's your problem.
That lands worse.
Ryo exhales.
RYO:
Great.
The old woman chuckles.
OLD WOMAN:
Welcome to the Hunting Realm, boy.
Yua's wound gets wrapped. The old woman ties it tight.
Yua tests her shoulder. Winces once. Hides it fast.
Ryo notices anyway.
He doesn't comment.
Instead:
RYO:
You said "handler." What does that mean?
Yua looks at him.
YUA:
A guide. Someone who stops you from getting yourself killed.
Ryo points at her.
RYO:
So you're mine now?
Yua's expression hardens.
YUA:
No.
Ryo raises a brow.
RYO:
Then why are you still here?
Yua holds his gaze.
For a second, Ryo thinks she won't answer.
Then she does, simple.
YUA:
Because you said yes.
Ryo's mouth closes.
That's it.
That's the whole reason.
Ryo looks down at his hands.
RYO:
So what now?
Yua stands.
YUA:
Now you learn to breathe right.
Ryo looks up.
RYO:
That's training?
Yua nods once.
YUA:
That's surviving.
Ryo hesitates.
RYO:
And… you're going to teach me?
Yua's eyes narrow.
YUA:
Don't make it weird.
Ryo laughs once.
RYO:
I'm not— I just—
Yua cuts him off.
YUA:
Stand.
Ryo stands.
Yua steps closer and fixes his posture with a quick tap to his shoulder.
YUA:
Relax.
Ryo tries.
RYO:
I'm in another world.
Yua stares.
YUA:
Relax anyway.
Ryo exhales.
RYO:
Yes, ma'am.
Yua's gaze sharpens.
YUA:
Don't call me that.
Ryo grins a little.
RYO:
Yes, Yua.
She doesn't correct it this time.
They move outside into the snow.
The lanterns glow along the path like quiet witnesses.
Yua stands across from him. Sword lowered, but ready.
YUA:
In. Hold. Out.
Ryo does it.
YUA:
Again.
Ryo does it again.
He feels something in his chest settle—like pressure becoming weight, weight becoming control.
Ryo's eyes widened slightly.
RYO:
That's… real.
Yua nods.
YUA:
Seishu rides breath. If your breath scatters, you scatter.
Ryo swallows.
RYO:
So that's why you kept yelling at me.
Yua doesn't deny it.
YUA:
You're loud. You'd attract everything.
Ryo frowns.
RYO:
How do I make it… not loud?
Yua's expression stays serious.
YUA:
You don't.
Ryo stares.
RYO:
That's a terrible answer.
Yua continues, calm.
YUA:
You learn to carry it. You learn to stand inside it.
Ryo looks at her wound again.
RYO:
And you did.
Yua's eyes flick away.
YUA:
I had to.
Ryo nods slowly.
RYO:
…Okay.
A beat.
Ryo speaks softer.
RYO:
Thanks. For coming back.
Yua's jaw tightens. She doesn't look at him.
YUA:
Don't thank me.
Ryo waits.
Yua finally adds:
YUA:
Just don't waste it.
Ryo nods.
RYO:
I won't.
The bells change their note.
Not louder. Wrong.
Yua's head snaps toward the torii on the slope.
Ryo feels it too—pressure rolling in like a tide.
His wrist burns.
RYO:
It's here.
Yua's voice is immediate.
YUA:
Yes.
Ryo's stomach drops.
RYO:
Already?
Yua draws her sword.
YUA:
It doesn't care about timing.
The old woman's door slides open behind them.
OLD WOMAN:
Yua.
Yua doesn't turn.
YUA:
Stay inside.
OLD WOMAN:
Don't die on my steps.
YUA:
I'll try.
Ryo looks at Yua.
RYO:
You're injured.
Yua glances at him like he's slow.
YUA:
Yes.
RYO:
So what's the plan?
Yua steps forward.
YUA:
Same plan as before.
Ryo blinks.
RYO:
That's not a—
YUA:
You breathe. You move. You stay behind me.
Ryo grips his hilt.
RYO:
And if it goes for you again?
Yua pauses.
Looks at him.
This time her voice is quieter.
YUA:
Then you do what you did before.
Ryo's eyes widen slightly.
RYO:
Pull you back?
Yua's gaze hardens again, like she hates needing it.
YUA:
Yes.
Ryo nods once.
RYO:
Okay.
Yua turns toward the torii.
YUA:
Let's go.
They reach the boundary shrine.
Snow thickens. The lantern light dims like it's scared.
The torii bell hums again.
The air splits—thin seam flickering like a wound trying to open.
The Kaimon presses through.
Bigger than before.
More certain.
It steps into the snow like it owns the ground.
Ryo's knees threaten to bend again.
He breathes.
In for four.
Hold.
Out.
The pressure steadies. His head clears just enough to function.
Yua steps forward.
YUA:
Eyes on me.
Ryo nods.
RYO:
I'm watching.
Yua's blade lifts.
The Kaimon lunges.
Yua cuts.
It reknits.
It swings.
Yua blocks—steel meets shadow with a shriek that feels like it scratches the inside of Ryo's skull.
Ryo flinches.
Yua snaps without looking back.
YUA:
Breathe.
Ryo obeys.
The Kaimon shifts toward Ryo suddenly—like it noticed him again.
Ryo's heart spikes.
Yua moves to intercept, but her injured side slows her a fraction.
The Kaimon's shadow-limb lashes out.
Ryo doesn't think.
He yanks the bell rope.
The bell rings—deep, heavy, sharp.
The air tightens.
The Kaimon flinches like the sound hurts.
Yua's blue eye flicks to Ryo—surprised.
Ryo's hands shake on the rope.
RYO:
That worked.
Yua's voice is quick.
YUA:
Do it again.
Ryo yanks again.
The bell rings again.
The Kaimon recoils again, limbs shifting wrong, like it's trying to avoid a rule.
Yua steps in and slices through the opening.
A clean cut.
The Kaimon stumbles—actually stumbles.
Ryo's eyes widened.
RYO:
We can use the shrine.
Yua doesn't praise him, but her tone changes.
YUA:
Yes.
That single "yes" hits harder than any compliment.
Ryo swallows.
RYO:
Okay. Then— tell me what to do.
Yua points fast.
YUA:
Ring it when it commits. Not early. Not late.
Ryo nods.
RYO:
Got it.
The Kaimon lunges again.
Yua meets it.
Ryo watches its movement like his life depends on it.
Because it does.
The monster commits—weight shifts forward—
RYO:
Now.
He yanks the rope.
The bell rings.
The Kaimon flinches.
Yua cuts.
Again.
Again.
They start to find a rhythm.
Not perfect.
But real.
Ryo breathes in time with the bell.
Yua moves in time with his ring.
For a few seconds, it feels like teamwork instead of panic.
Then the Kaimon adapted.
It doesn't commit.
It fakes.
It twitches forward, then stops, like it learned the rule.
Ryo hesitates.
Yua's blade pauses for half a beat.
The Kaimon strikes—fast—toward Yua's wounded side.
Ryo's stomach drops.
He yanks the bell too late—
The bell rings.
The air tightens.
But the shadow-limb still clips Yua's side.
Yua grunts—low, controlled.
She doesn't fall.
But she staggers.
Ryo's eyes widened.
RYO:
Yua—
YUA:
Don't.
Ryo freezes.
Yua stands straight again through sheer refusal.
YUA:
Keep ringing.
Ryo swallows hard.
RYO:
Okay.
The Kaimon leans forward like it can taste victory.
Yua's voice goes cold.
YUA:
My turn.
Yua steps in and breathes once—clean, deep, controlled.
The air around her tightens.
Her Seishu pressure pushes outward like a wall.
Ryo feels it hit his skin like wind.
The Kaimon recoils.
Yua's blade moves in a straight line—no flourish.
A cut so clean it looks unfair.
The Kaimon's front half splits.
It reknits—but slower.
Like it's struggling.
Yua doesn't let it.
She follows with another cut, and another, driving it back toward the torii.
Ryo watches, stunned.
RYO (under his breath):
You're insane.
Yua hears him anyway.
YUA:
Ring it.
Ryo yanks the rope.
The bell rings.
The Kaimon flinches.
Yua's next strike lands deep.
The monster's shape collapses inward for a moment like it's folding.
The snow around it darkens—shadow leaking.
Yua keeps her blade up.
She doesn't celebrate.
Because she doesn't trust it.
Good instinct.
The Kaimon shudders.
Then pulls itself together again—smaller, but still alive.
Still hungry.
Ryo's shoulders sag.
RYO:
It won't die.
Yua's answer is simple.
YUA:
Not here.
Ryo blinks.
RYO:
Then why are we—
Yua steps back toward him.
YUA:
Because we're not killing it.
Ryo stares.
YUA:
We're moving it.
Ryo's eyes widened.
RYO:
Into the city?
Yua shakes her head.
YUA:
Away from people.
She grabs his sleeve.
YUA:
Run. Lantern path. Now.
Ryo looks at the Kaimon.
It's already recovering.
He nods.
RYO:
Okay.
They turn and sprint.
They run down the lantern path again.
Ryo's breath is rough now, but he forces the rhythm.
In for four.
Hold.
Out.
His wrist burns like a brand.
Behind them, the Kaimon follows—not fast at first, like it's cautious.
Then faster, like it remembered hunger.
Yua runs beside him, one hand pressed lightly to her bandaged side.
Ryo glances at her.
RYO:
You're hurt again.
YUA:
Run.
RYO:
I am running.
Yua glares.
YUA:
Then run quieter.
Ryo almost laughs.
RYO:
How do you run quieter?
Yua's answer is blunt.
YUA:
Breathe.
Ryo breathes.
The pressure behind them shifts.
The Kaimon hesitates for half a second, like it lost the scent.
Ryo's eyes widened.
RYO:
That worked.
Yua doesn't look at him.
YUA:
Yes.
Ryo nods.
They keep running.
Lanterns pass like steady heartbeats.
The city lights grow closer.
Ryo's chest tightens.
RYO:
Where are we taking it?
Yua's voice goes flat.
YUA:
Somewhere it can't eat anyone.
Ryo swallows.
RYO:
And if it eats us?
Yua doesn't hesitate.
YUA:
Then it doesn't learn.
Ryo blinks.
RYO:
That's… grim.
Yua's eyes stay forward.
YUA:
That's the job.
A beat.
Then, quieter, almost unwilling:
YUA:
Stay close.
Ryo's throat tightens.
He nods.
RYO:
Yeah.
They reach a wider clearing at the edge of the slope—open ground, fewer trees, the lanterns spaced farther apart.
Yua slows, turning, and with her blade up.
Ryo stops beside her, grabbing the hilt at his hip.
The Kaimon emerges.
It looks smaller than before.
But it feels smarter.
It tilts its head.
The air tightens again.
Then—without a mouth—it speaks.
Not loud. Not in words he fully understands.
But he hears it anyway.
KAIMON:
"…Bearer."
Ryo's wrist flares hot.
His birthmark burns like it just got named.
Ryo's vision swims for a split second.
A woman's voice flashes in his memory—soft, precise, teaching him breath.
His mother.
Ryo clenches his teeth.
RYO:
…What did it call me?
Yua's eyes narrow.
Her gold eye sharpens.
Her amethyst eye goes colder.
YUA:
It recognizes you.
Ryo's stomach drops.
RYO:
That's not good.
Yua's blade rises a fraction.
YUA:
No.
The Kaimon leans forward again.
Snow stops mid-fall for a heartbeat.
And the bells in the distance shift to a note that sounds like a warning.
Yua speaks without looking at Ryo.
YUA:
Breathe.
Ryo breathes.
YUA:
Don't freeze.
Ryo's grip tightens.
RYO:
I'm not freezing.
Yua's voice turns sharp.
YUA:
Then stand.
Ryo nods once.
RYO:
I'm standing.
The Kaimon moves.
Yua moves to meet it.
And the clearing fills with pressure like the world is about to ask them both what they're worth.
🌀 END OF CHAPTER TWO