The alley's silence was a fragile thing. Kenji's knuckles throbbed. The taste of violence was still in his mouth.
But underneath it, a deeper burn had begun.
It started in his chest, a smoldering ember behind his sternum. He pressed a hand there, feeling a strange, cold heat seeping into his flesh.
Across from him, Rina was a statue of tension. Her golden eyes were fixed on his chest, wide with recognition. "You're one of them," she whispered.
Kenji looked down. In the gloom, he saw the thin, jagged lines of deepest violet-black, glowing faintly beneath his skin. They crawled from his heart outward, like cracks in cooled lava. They pulsed with a light that seemed to drink the air.
He stumbled back. "What is this?"
"The Shadow-Flame," Rina said, her voice hollow. Her hand went to her blade. "I've seen it before. In my nightmares. On the man who stood in the ashes of my home."
His father.
The ember in Kenji's chest flared. The dark veins brightened, and his vision doubled. He wasn't in the alley.
He was somewhere else. Night. Fire. Screams. In his hand ,a larger, scarred hand, was a sword wreathed in the same dark energy. Through the smoke, a pair of golden eyes stared up from a soot-streaked face. A child's face.
Rina's face.
The vision shattered. Kenji gasped. The glowing veins receded.
Rina hadn't moved. "You saw something."
"Your eyes," Kenji rasped. "In a fire. When you were small."
Her expression didn't change, but the blood drained from her face. "So it's true. You *are* his blood." She said it with devastating certainty. "The Butcher of the Sun Tribe."
Kenji looked at the knife. "He spared you," he said, the words feeling alien. "In the vision. He saw you. And he walked away."
Rina's composure cracked. "He left me in the ashes." Her gaze sharpened. "Why do you have his knife? Who are you to him?"
The lie was over.
"He was my father."
The silence was absolute. A shout echoed, closer now. "To the river!"
Reality returned. They were hunted.
Before Kenji could speak again, a new voice cut through the alley, smooth and cold as a drawn blade.
"The blood always tells, doesn't it?"
A man stepped into the far end of the alley, blocking their escape. He was tall and lean, a blade of a man dressed in worn but finely tailored leathers. A military-grade longsword hung at his hip. His face was all sharp angles and calculated poise, his hair black streaked with iron grey, tied neatly back. His eyes were the colour of a winter sky, pale, assessing, and utterly devoid of warmth.
Kenji knew him. General Zed.
A memory sliced through the shock;Two years ago. Dusk. This same man stood in their cottage doorway, his posture rigid, voice a low, insistent hum. Kenji, hiding on the loft stairs, saw his father's back, tense as a drawn bow. "The order is sealed, Arran. This is the last one. Then you're out." His father's reply had been a whisper, but it vibrated with a fury Kenji had never heard: "And if I refuse?" Zed's smile had been a thin, bloodless line. "You know what happens to deserters. And to their… families." Arran had turned, and his face in the firelight was a mask of weary defeat. It was a look that had haunted Kenji. Days later, his father had left for a week and returned smelling of smoke and something sour, like copper and spent lightning.
"General," Rina breathed, the title a venomous curse. She shifted, putting herself slightly between Kenji and the man.
"Little ember of the Sun," Zed said, his voice dripping with false, paternal warmth. "Still flickering. I heard reports of silver hair in the hinterlands. I hoped it was you. The last sample is… degenerating." His pale eyes slid to Kenji, and the false warmth vanished, replaced by clinical interest. "And the son. Kenji, isn't it? You've grown. And you've inherited the family… condition." He gestured vaguely at Kenji's chest, where the last of the dark veins were fading.
"You were his underling," Kenji said, the old anger from that hidden memory surging up. "You gave him the order."
"I was his general," Zed corrected, taking a graceful step forward. The cobblestones seemed to quiet under his boots. "And his handler. I conveyed the King's will. Your father was a tool, Kenji. The finest weapon our kingdom ever forged. But even the finest blade can develop a… conscience. A fatal flaw for an assassin." He tilted his head. "He spared the child, you know. Against orders. A sentimental lapse. I always wondered if he left a spark behind to one day ignite." His gaze flicked to Rina. "And here you both are. The Shadow's son and the Sun's last spark. A matched set."
He moved. Not with a warrior's lunge, but with an executioner's efficiency. His hand, clad in black leather, shot out for Kenji's throat.
Kenji's chest exploded. The dark veins erupted across his skin, glowing with fierce, smoky light. Time seemed to warp. He saw the move, twisted, and swung a fist fueled by ancestral rage.
Zed caught it effortlessly, his grip like iron. The General's pale eyes showed not strain, but fascination. "Remarkable. The manifestation is early. Strong. The King's alchemists will peel you apart to learn how it works." He squeezed. Bones creaked in Kenji's hand.
Agony shot up his arm. The dark aura flickered, choked by Zed's overwhelming, practiced pressure.
"Let him go!"
Rina didn't draw her blade. Instead, she clapped her hands together .
A silent, concussive wave of golden light burst from her palms. The air rippled like a heat haze. Dust lifted from the stones. Zed's eyes widened a fraction, the first crack in his composure, as the force hit him. It didn't throw him back, but it forced him to release Kenji and stagger two precise steps, his boots scraping for purchase.
Kenji stumbled, cradling his hand. Rina's hands were glowing, tiny, fierce suns shimmering around her clenched fingers.
"A spark indeed," Zed said, regaining his perfect posture. A trickle of blood appeared at his temple where a stone had grazed him. He looked… intrigued. "The reports were understated. You will both be exceedingly useful."
He didn't roar. He simply raised a finger. From the rooftops, three figures clad in grey, featureless leathers dropped silently into the alley behind them, cutting off their retreat. King's Shadows. Professional hunters. They moved with a synchronized, predatory grace, drawing short, cruel-looking blades.
"The King wants them both intact," Zed said, his voice returning to that cold, smooth tone. "Subdue the girl. Break the boy's legs if you must. He'll regenerate."
The Shadows advanced. Kenji's dark veins pulsed weakly, the pain in his hand a sharp counterpoint to the fading power. They were trapped.
Rina's eyes met his. In them, he saw no plea, only a grim calculation. "The wall," she mouthed, flicking her gaze to the side of the pawnshop, a lattice of old, rotted wood.
As the first Shadow lunged, Rina acted. She didn't attack the man. She slammed her palm against the wooden lattice. A focused pulse of golden light detonatedthe rotten wood, splintering it into a cloud of debris. "Now!" she screamed.
Kenji moved on instinct. He grabbed her arm and charged through the jagged hole, shielding her with his body as splinters tore at his bare back. They burst into the pawnshop's cluttered back storage room, knocking over shelves of rusted tools.
"Out the front!" Rina yelled, already running.
They stumbled through the curtain into the empty shop. The old woman was gone. The front door stood open to the deserted street.
Behind them, Zed's voice, still calm, carried through the shattered wall. "Flush them."
They exploded onto the street and sprinted for the tree line at the village edge. Kenji's lungs burned, but the cold ember in his chest gave his legs a desperate, shadow-fueled strength. Rina kept pace, her breath sharp and rhythmic.
A whistle cut the air. Something thudded into the post beside Kenji's head, a crossbow bolt.
They crashed into the forest, the shadows swallowing them whole. The sounds of pursuit grew fainter, but they didn't stop. They ran until the village was far behind, until the only sounds were their own ragged breaths and the ancient creaking of the deep woods.
Finally, Kenji collapsed against a thick pine, sliding to the mossy ground. His hand was swollen, already bruising in dark, ugly colors. The veins of ash had faded completely, leaving only a deep, cold ache in his bones.
Rina stood a few feet away, leaning against a tree, watching the path they'd come. Her hands had stopped glowing, but they trembled slightly.
"General Zed," Kenji panted, the name tasting like poison. "He works for the King."
"He is the King's will," Rina corrected, her voice thin with exhaustion. "He doesn't just take orders. He designs them." She finally looked at him, her golden eyes reflecting the dappled forest light. "He called us a matched set. He doesn't want to kill us. He wants to… use us."
Kenji looked down at his swollen hand, then at Rina. The daughter of the tribe his father destroyed. The girl with the power of sunlight. His enemy. His only ally.
The ember in his chest was dormant, but the forest felt darker, heavier. They were pawns in a game that had started before they were born. And the only player who knew the rules was a witch in the Mosswood.
"We keep moving," he said, pushing himself up. "East."
Rina nodded, a silent agreement passing between them. The truce, forged in fear and sealed in blood, held. For now.