Dawn arrived fractured.
The Swordsmith Village woke beneath a sky veiled in thin cloud, the light pale and diffused, as though reality itself hesitated to fully settle after the night's intrusion. Patrols doubled without announcement. Swordsmiths worked with heads down and jaws set. No one spoke of Gyokko aloud, yet his presence lingered everywhere—in the warped resonance of metal, in the way shadows bent just slightly wrong at the edges.
Karina had not slept.
She stood in the narrow interior courtyard assigned to her quarters, barefoot on cold stone, blade resting across her palms. Arcane Breathing moved through her in disciplined cycles, slower now, deeper. She was not recovering. She was restructuring.
The illusions from the tunnels replayed unbidden—not the false intimacy itself, but the precision of Gyokko's attack. He had not tried to overwhelm. He had tried to define. To name the bond as weakness, to force a narrative onto it.
That was unacceptable.
A faint shift in air announced Mitsuri's presence before she spoke.
"You always do this when you're thinking too hard," Mitsuri said gently.
Karina did not break her breathing pattern. "You should be resting."
"So should you," Mitsuri replied, stepping into the courtyard. She wore a simple training wrap rather than her full uniform, hair tied back loosely. There was no performative brightness in her expression this morning—only calm resolve.
Karina opened her eyes. "Your emotional state was targeted last night. Rest would aid recovery."
Mitsuri smiled softly. "And leaving you alone with your thoughts wouldn't?"
Karina did not answer immediately. She lowered her blade, finally turning fully toward Mitsuri. "I am reassessing threat prioritization."
"About Gyokko?"
"About Muzan," Karina corrected. "Gyokko is a vector. Muzan is the architect."
Mitsuri nodded. "Then we're on the same page."
She stepped closer, stopping just within Karina's personal boundary—not intruding, but present. "Shinobu wants to run additional compatibility drills later. She thinks our synchronization is accelerating."
Karina's gaze sharpened. "Accelerating beyond expected parameters?"
"Yes," Mitsuri said. "She didn't say it like that, but… yes."
That aligned with Karina's own conclusions. The bond was no longer passive. It was dynamic—responsive, adaptive. Dangerous, if misunderstood.
"Acceleration increases exposure," Karina said. "Muzan will attempt forced separation."
Mitsuri's eyes flickered. "Then we don't let him."
A messenger interrupted them before Karina could respond—a young slayer bowing quickly, breath tight with urgency.
"Kanroji-sama. Karina-san. The Hashira council has convened early. Shinobu-sama requests your immediate presence."
Karina sheathed her blade without comment. Mitsuri straightened, slipping seamlessly back into Hashira composure.
The council chamber was tense when they arrived.
Stone pillars rose around the circular hall, sunlight filtering through high apertures. Several Hashira were already present—Muichiro Tokito standing near the far wall, expression distant; Sanemi Shinazugawa seated with arms crossed, eyes sharp and hostile; Obanai Iguro positioned slightly behind Mitsuri's usual place, his gaze flicking to her the moment she entered.
Shinobu stood at the center, ledger in hand.
Karina felt the shift instantly—the collective assessment, the recalibration of perception. She was no longer a foreign anomaly operating at the edge of awareness.
She was central.
"Good," Shinobu said. "We can begin."
She gestured for Karina and Mitsuri to step forward together. The subtle emphasis did not go unnoticed.
"We've confirmed Gyokko's corruption of unfinished blades," Shinobu continued. "More importantly, we've analyzed the Arcane interference patterns from last night."
Sanemi scoffed. "Let me guess. The demon got inside their heads."
Shinobu's smile did not reach her eyes. "Incorrect. He attempted to."
She turned to Karina. "Explain."
Karina did not hesitate. "Gyokko attempted to exploit emotional resonance between myself and Kanroji Mitsuri to induce destabilization. Instead, the resonance stabilized Arcane output and increased precision."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Muichiro's eyes sharpened slightly. Obanai stiffened.
"That's not how emotional bonds work in combat," Sanemi snapped. "They get you killed."
"Typically," Karina replied calmly. "This instance deviates."
Obanai stepped forward, voice tight. "You're saying Mitsuri is a conduit for your power?"
Mitsuri bristled. "I'm not a tool."
Karina turned her head just enough to address Obanai directly. "Nor is she a weakness."
The room went still.
Shinobu cleared her throat. "This isn't about labels. It's about risk management. Muzan has noticed the deviation. That alone elevates threat levels."
Sanemi leaned forward. "So what, we separate them? Break the pattern before it gets worse?"
"No," Shinobu said immediately.
Several heads turned.
"No?" Sanemi echoed incredulously.
"No," Shinobu repeated. "Because separation under pressure would be exactly what Muzan wants. Forced isolation would destabilize both parties."
Obanai's jaw tightened. "Then what do you propose?"
Shinobu closed her ledger. "We formalize the synchronization."
Silence.
Karina's eyes narrowed—not in disagreement, but calculation. Mitsuri inhaled slowly, steadying herself.
"Controlled exposure," Shinobu continued. "Joint deployments. Joint training. No secrecy. If this bond is a factor, we treat it like any other combat variable—understood, monitored, refined."
Muichiro spoke for the first time. "If it works," he said neutrally, "it could change engagement doctrine."
Sanemi scowled. "Or get them both killed."
Karina met his gaze without flinching. "Your concern is noted. Your conclusion is unsupported."
Sanemi snarled, half-rising from his seat, but Shinobu raised a hand sharply.
"This isn't a debate about comfort," she said. "It's about survival."
She turned to Mitsuri. "Are you willing to proceed under these conditions?"
Mitsuri did not hesitate. "Yes."
Shinobu looked to Karina. "And you?"
Karina paused—just long enough for the weight of the decision to register.
"Yes," she said.
The decision was made.
After the council adjourned, the village felt different.
Whispers followed them—not hostile, not reverent, but uncertain. The Love Hashira and the foreign slayer moved together through narrow paths and open courtyards, their proximity no longer accidental.
Obanai watched them from a distance, expression unreadable.
Karina sensed it all—the shifting perceptions, the subtle realignment of alliances. This was escalation without blades drawn.
Mitsuri broke the silence as they reached the upper ridge overlooking the valley.
"Do you regret it?" she asked quietly.
"No," Karina replied. "This was inevitable."
Mitsuri smiled faintly. "You say that like fate is a math problem."
"Fate is a system," Karina said. "It responds to pressure."
They stopped at the ridge's edge. Wind tugged at Mitsuri's hair, carrying the scent of pine and smoke.
"Muzan will act soon," Karina continued. "He will attempt a decisive maneuver. Likely through Gyokko."
Mitsuri nodded. "Then we'll be ready."
Karina hesitated, then added, "There is another consideration."
Mitsuri turned. "What is it?"
"The illusions last night," Karina said carefully. "They were not entirely fabricated. They were extrapolations—possible outcomes if this bond continues to deepen."
Mitsuri's expression softened. "Did they frighten you?"
Karina searched for the correct answer. "They challenged my assumptions."
Mitsuri stepped closer, close enough that Karina could feel her presence without touching. "You don't have to decide anything now. Or label it. Or control it."
She smiled gently. "Just don't deny it exists."
Karina met her gaze. For a long moment, neither spoke.
"I will not deny observable reality," Karina said finally.
Mitsuri laughed softly. "I'll take that."
Below them, unseen, movement stirred deep beneath the village. Porcelain cracked. Corrupted steel sang.
Gyokko was preparing something elaborate.
And far away, in the shifting corridors of the Infinity Castle, Muzan Kibutsuji stood before a fractured reflection of the Swordsmith Village.
His eyes lingered not on the forges.
Not on the blades.
But on two figures standing together at the ridge.
"Convergence," he murmured, voice cold with displeasure.
The next move would not be subtle.
And neither would the consequences.