The sound of wooden utensils brushing gently against ceramic filled the room with an almost reverent stillness.
Gorath's soft light filtered through the tall windows of the estate's eastern wing, the sun's rays slicing through the mist still clinging to the distant hills.
The first month had almost passed and morning had barely begun to unfold its breath across the world, the days started to get colder.
And yet here, in this room, five figures had already gathered around a modest oak table carved with old runes long worn smooth with time.
Bread steamed in a shared basket. A pot of thick-root stew sat nestled between plates of honeyed fruit and cuts of dried venison.
To his left, Ruza sat with her chin tucked slightly, twin ribbons framing her face as she gently pulled apart a roll of flatbread.
She hadn't said anything yet, and Tatsuya hadn't asked why. Across from her, Micah was already halfway through his second helping, his usual calm manner intact—elbow perched lazily on the table's edge, spoon dangling with a slight smirk playing on his lips.
But it wasn't them who Tatsuya was focused on.
It was the figure at the far end of the table, sitting with her back impossibly straight, every motion exact, clean, like someone following instructions written in the air.
Sora.
She was eating.
Not standing near the wall. Not silently guarding the hall. Not lingering like a shadow waiting for commands that might never come.
She was seated. With them. At the table. Her fingers, always tense and twitching with suspicion, now held a spoon with a grace that looked practiced but out of place. Her pale lips moved slightly with each bite, chewing without a sound.
And that made Tatsuya feel save, she wasn't looking at him with suspicion anymore but after what happened in Shiloh she looked at him with reluctant trust and recognition.
She made the realization that she was wrong and that maybe, for the first time she's not alone in her brokenness.
But still Tatsuya couldn't stop but wonder, She's here. Why?
He couldn't find the answer, and something about that unease stuck to him more than he wanted to admit.
Tokagame also wasn't here.
That fact twisted in Tatsuya's gut.
The swordsman was always at breakfast. If not early, then precisely on time.
Today, his chair remained empty. Pushed in. Undisturbed. As if no one had ever sat there at all.
Why isn't he here?
Where is he?
Tatsuya's thoughts didn't want to settle. His hand, resting on the table, twitched slightly, and his fingers curled around the spoon like it might somehow anchor him.
He tried to breathe.
But then there was the other absence.
Her absence.
Luna.
That name, even in the confines of his own mind, struck like cold water down the spine.
She wasn't at the table. Her seat, diagonally across from him, was bare, untouched, not even a plate laid down for her. No steaming cup. No folded napkin. Not even the hint of perfume that usually clung to the space she occupied.
It wasn't an absence. It was a void.
I didn't save her. he thought, though the words never left his lips.
Yatsu, seated at the head, took a measured sip of tea, his expression unreadable.
He didn't comment on Sora's presence. Nor did he ask about Tokagame's absence. As always, his silence was a deeper sort of authority.
But even he couldn't hide the flicker of tension in his jaw.
Micah laughed at something, something Ruza said quietly, or maybe something he thought of himself. But no one else joined in. The sound dropped like a stone into a still lake, leaving ripples and nothing else.
But then, the silence was interrupted.
The doors leading into the dining room slammed open with a force that sent a sharp echo bounding off the high ceilings. Utensils clinked against ceramic; Ruza flinched, Sora's eyes narrowed, and Micah froze mid-bite.
All heads turned toward the entrance, toward the figure standing there like a shadow cut against the rising sun.
A man stepped into the room.
A kitsune mask hung on the right side of his face, the white lacquer traced with delicate water patterns that shimmered like a living stream, catching the light with each of his measured steps.
His hair, a deep dark blue, was tied back into a tight ponytail, not a strand out of place. He wore a black kimono patterned with faint white florals, petals so soft they looked like they'd disappear if you blinked too long.
At his waist, one katana rested in a worn sheath, the hilt wrapped in blue cloth, frayed at the edges. It was the kind of weapon that didn't need to be drawn to make its point known.
"Tokagame?" Tatsuya murmured.
It was Tokagame. But something about him wasn't right.
Gone was the easy, humble calm that usually followed him like a soft breeze. The quiet dignity of a mentor, of a man who had seen storms and never once raised his voice to meet them.
That man, the one who trained with care, who always seemed grounded even when the world trembled—he wasn't here now.
Instead, what stood in the doorway was someone taut with urgency. Eyes like sharpened glass. Breathing quiet but rapid. A man who walked like someone being chased—not physically, but by time.
"Micah. Tatsuya," Tokagame said.
His voice wasn't loud. But it cut through the tension like a drawn blade. The kitsune mask shimmered faintly as he stepped forward, each footfall a warning.
"You need to get ready. Both of you."
There was no preamble. No softening of words. Just a command veiled in urgency.
"The scouts reported movement. Burned patterns near the elder trees in the western forest."
Micah straightened, already placing his spoon down with a soft clink. "That's… that's near Shiloh, isn't it?"
Tokagame's jaw tightened. "Yes."
The room chilled instantly.
Even the morning sun felt distant.
Sora's eyes narrowed, and Tatsuya could sense the sudden shift in her posture. Ruza drew in a sharp breath, hands curling under the tablecloth. Yatsu, still silent, closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them with a subtle nod.
Micah rose without hesitation. "What do you need us to do?"
Tokagame's eyes flicked toward him. "Equip yourselves. You leave in thirty minutes. The eastern perimeter is unstable and the village elders are refusing to evacuate. We can't afford to delay."
Tatsuya hesitated, pulse climbing then stood up. "Who else is going?"
Tokagame finally met his eyes and for the first time since Tatsuya had known him, the man hesitated.
"That's the problem," he said.
"We don't have time to assemble the corps. The others are spread too thin across the north."
Tatsuya looked at the others, they all looked at the table.
Why aren't they doing anything?
"Yatsu, Ruza why can't they tack along? I've seen Ruza's magic and Yatsu is the strongest mage in the Western country."
"I am sorry, Tatsuya." The voice hit him like a bullet shot in his chest. "This is a matter that the swordsman corps only can handle. I as the manor of this mansion decide to not interfere with their work."
Tatsuya couldn't believe what he was hearing, his face was filled with misbelief.
"How could you…" Tatsuya wanted to scream at him, force him to come with them but was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder.
He glanced over, Ruza had risen from her seat. "You'll be okey, we'll be okey, because we know that you're the one protecting us."
Tatsuya wasn't afraid of them dying, he knew that they can take care of themselves. He was afraid that he couldn't protect himself. It was selfish and he knew that but he couldn't lie to himself.
All this time when something happened he was together with them and it became his anchor.
It freighted him knowing he was going to be alone this time.
Tatsuya clenched his fists under the table. His mana still wasn't what it should be—he could feel the hollowness in his veins even now. But there was no room for complaint. Not when the air felt like it was already burning at the edges.
Tokagame turned to leave, pausing briefly at the door.
"We move swift. Stay sharp. And don't underestimate them."
And the unmistakable taste of a quiet morning ripped away.
He looked toward the untouched seat across from him—Luna's seat. And then toward the mask that had just vanished into the corridor.
A river had begun to stir.
But for a moment—no one moved.
Not Micah. Not Ruza. Not even Yatsu.
The room didn't follow Tokagame's urgency. It resisted it. Like the world itself wanted to pretend nothing had been said.
Tatsuya stayed seated. His spoon lay abandoned on the table, cold now, reflecting a thin sliver of morning light.
If I go like this… he thought, the idea forming with a weight that made his chest tighten. If I keep stepping forward the same way—dragging everyone behind me—then this will just keep happening.
People worrying. People bleeding. People standing in doorways, begging to follow him into places they didn't belong.
His fingers curled slowly. Not in fear. In resolve.
This time, he wouldn't let that happen again.
He didn't know how yet—but he knew what he would not do.
He would not lean on them.
He would not let them follow him into danger meant for his hands alone.
Even if it meant walking without his anchor.
The air felt thinner after that thought settled.
And then—
"Wait!"
The voice came out sharper than any blade, cutting through the lingering silence like a scream in a church. Everyone turned, and all eyes fell on her.
Sora stood up so suddenly that her chair scraped harshly against the wooden floor, the legs screeching like a beast being dragged by force.
Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, knuckles pale, shoulders trembling, not from fear, but from restraint.
The bangs of her pale blonde hair hung low over her eyes, veiling her expression in shadow. Only the tightness of her mouth betrayed her rising desperation.
"I'm going with Tatsuya," she said, her voice low—devoid of ceremony or excuse.
The silence that followed was thick and jagged.
Tatsuya stared at her, momentarily stunned. Not by the words, but by the weight behind them.
Tokagame had paused in the doorway. He didn't turn around.
Micah was the first to shift uncomfortably, brow furrowed. Ruza sat frozen, her fingers still clutching a corner of her bread. Yatsu exhaled slowly, his face unreadable as always.
Then—
"No," Tokagame said.
Cold. Flat. Final.
But Sora stepped forward.
"I said I'm going," she repeated, louder this time. Her boots struck the floor with sharp, uneven rhythm, the sound of someone not used to stepping forward like this.
"You don't have field experience," Tokagame replied without looking at her. "You've never fought them. You don't understand what this is."
"I don't care."
The words dropped like iron. Sharp and stubborn.
Tokagame turned then, just slightly and his one visible eye narrowed.
"You should. This isn't patrol duty. This isn't guard rotation. This is war, Sora."
Sora's fists trembled.
"I know."
"Then why?" Tokagame pressed, voice firmer now. "Why do you want to go?"
And that, that was the moment her resolve flickered. Just for a second.
Like a wind pressed against the flame of something she hadn't meant to say aloud. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Then she clenched her jaw.
Then she looked at Tatsuya.
"I'm going because he's going," she said, quiet now—each word dragged from somewhere deeper than pride.
The room stilled.
Her bangs shadowed her face, but Tatsuya could feel her gaze on him. Direct or Intense, certainly not soft nor sweet but raw.
"I know I'm not strong," she continued. "I know I'm not ready. I'm not asking to lead. I'm not asking to fight. I'm asking to go. I need to be there because if something happens to him and I stayed behind…"
Her voice cracked not with tears, but with the violence of everything she refused to let surface.
"If I stay here while he goes there, I'll break."
Micah's eyes widened slightly.
Even Tokagame blinked once, caught off guard.
"I want to protect him," she went on, and now there was nothing left to shield her honesty. "Even if I'm useless out there. Even if I only get in the way. Even if all I can do is stand behind him and scream when things go wrong. I still want to go."
She took another step forward, and then another, until she stood just behind Tokagame, not yet past the threshold of the doorway. Her hands reached out slightly, stopped—then fell back down.
"I've seen him bleed," she whispered. "I've made him bleed."
A sharp breath caught in Tatsuya's throat.
"I won't… I can't just watch him go again. Not without me."
The silence afterward felt bottomless.
Even the wind outside had gone still.
Tokagame exhaled slowly, then turned to face her fully.
His gaze, so often tired and serene, now carried something sterner. It wasn't anger nor frustration.
Just conviction.
"I understand how you feel," he said softly.
"But that's not enough."
Sora flinched.
Tokagame placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
"That pain you're feeling, keep it. Let it shape you. Let it hurt, until you're strong enough to carry it into the field. But right now, if I let you come, you won't protect Tatsuya. He'll be forced to protect you."
His grip remained firm, but his eyes held sorrow.
"And if something happens to him because of that… will you ever forgive yourself?"
The words landed like a knife to the chest.
Sora's mouth opened but no words came out.
She closed it again.
"I'm sorry," Tokagame said, and this time, he truly meant it. "But you're staying here."
He turned again, disappearing into the hall with the rustle of his kimono and the fading echo of footsteps.
Sora didn't move.
Not for a long time.
Not even as Micah quietly left the table, or as Tatsuya rose slowly, heart pounding.
She stood alone in the middle of the room.
No tears.
No collapse.
Just silence.
A quiet scream, held inside her chest where no one could hear it but her.
part 2
The door clicked shut behind him.
Not with force. Not with finality. Just the soft sound of wood meeting wood, like even the house knew this moment needed quiet.
Tatsuya stood there for a moment, his hand still on the doorframe, his thoughts a step behind his body.
A half-finished cup of tea sat on the table.
He walked past it.
He didn't move for a while. Just sat, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. His sword rested against the wall nearby..
Tatsuya reached up and dragged a hand across his face. He wasn't sure when his heart had started racing again. It felt like it never really stopped.
He didn't know what to make of her.
Didn't know how to respond to someone who once treated him like a curse… and now wanted to shield him.
"She doesn't have to say she's sorry. That was her apology."
He whispered it to the empty room, the sound of his own voice startling him.
And it had been. He knew that.
She wasn't good at saying what she meant. She wasn't the type to cry, or fall to her knees, or ask forgiveness with trembling hands. But in that moment, when she said she'd go into a demon-infested forest without knowing how to fight, just to be near him.
That was something else entirely.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floorboards.
A part of him wanted to push it away. To call it foolish. Dangerous. To convince himself that her emotions weren't real, that they were the result of guilt, of fear, of something broken and misplaced. But deep down, in a part of him he rarely dared to touch…
He knew better.
Sora wasn't the kind of person who said things she didn't mean.
And the fact that he was the one she'd said it for.
That scared him more than the cultists. More than the mission. More than the creeping rot swallowing the edges of the world.
Because…
"How many people will I drag into pain just by existing?"
That was the truth of it, wasn't it?
Luna.
Misuki.
Everyone at the estate.
Now Sora.
It didn't matter what he wanted. The closer people came, the more they got hurt. The more he saw his own hands stained again and again with the fallout of bonds he hadn't asked for.
He gritted his teeth.
"I didn't ask her to care about me."
But she did.
And a small, traitorous part of him was glad.
"She was serious. She would've gone with me. Even if she couldn't fight."
Tatsuya stood slowly.
The boot thudded as he slid it onto his foot. The sound echoed louder than it should have, sharp and final.
He picked up his sword.
"I don't know if I deserve that kind of devotion," he thought. "But I'll carry it anyway."
Even if he couldn't return it.
Even if it hurt to hold.
Because someone had reached for him and for once, he didn't want to pull away.
He stepped out into the hall, heart a mess of guilt and fire.
It was time to go.
But he didn't move immediately.
The weight in his chest hadn't lifted—it had changed shape.
This time, the guilt didn't ask him what he'd done wrong.
It asked him what he would do differently.
No more letting people follow him just because they cared.
No more mistaking devotion for strength.
No more leaning on others when the path ahead was meant to be walked alone.
If bonds hurt people… then he would be the one to bear that pain.
If someone had to bleed, it would be him.
That was the decision he carried with him as he stepped into the courtyard.
The courtyard smelled of iron and morning dew.
The wheels of the supply cart creaked faintly in the distance as Micah checked the straps on their gear, murmuring to the stablehand under his breath.
Birds were beginning to sing, their voices high and clear above the low mist that clung to the cobblestones like a blanket not yet ready to be shaken off.
Tatsuya stood just outside the manor's entrance, sword strapped to his back, coat drawn tight around his chest. The silence in his lungs wasn't from fear.
It was from weight.
He wasn't good at goodbyes. He never had been. But he also knew better than to disappear without them.
And so, one by one, he faced them.
First, Yatsu.
He stood beneath the overhang, arms folded, Pale hair brushed his collarbone, catching light in threads of silver-gold. He wasn't smiling.
Tatsuya stopped a few feet away.
"I'm surprised you're not coming," he muttered.
Yatsu shrugged one shoulder, slow and unreadable. "I have other responsibilities. Ones Tokagame trusts you to handle."
The words weren't praise. But they weren't nothing either.
Tatsuya's lips twitched. "That your way of saying you believe in me?"
"I didn't say that."
"Didn't not say it either."
A beat passed. Then another.
Finally, Yatsu nodded once. "If you die, I'll be annoyed."
Tatsuya blinked, then huffed something that almost resembled a laugh. "Right. I'll keep that in mind."
They didn't shake hands. They didn't embrace.
But when Tatsuya turned away, his shoulders were a little straighter.
Then, Misuki.
She leaned against the pillar just outside the kitchen entrance, arms crossed, ankle hooked behind the other like she was trying very hard to look like she wasn't waiting for him.
Her lips were pursed, and her eyes narrowed, but her posture betrayed her.
Tatsuya exhaled as he approached.
"You gonna call me a moron for going?" he asked.
"No," she muttered, eyes flicking away. "I figured Tokagame's probably more stubborn than you are."
"That's saying a lot."
Silence stretched.
Then.
"Just don't get cocky," she snapped suddenly, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You're not invincible, idiot. You've got this… look in your eyes. Like you think you have to die to prove something."
Tatsuya blinked.
Misuki turned away quickly. "I'm just saying. If you die, I'll…I'll be pissed. I mean we still have to go on a date."
"I won't," he said quietly.
"You better not."
He didn't push it further. She wouldn't want him to.
But as he walked past her, he let their shoulders brush.
She didn't pull away.
Then, Itsuki and Nisuki.
They were near the gatehouse, standing side by side. Itsuki was calm, composed as always, hands folded neatly in front of her. Nisuki stood half a step behind her sister, gaze lowered, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
Tatsuya approached slowly, smiling.
"You two came to see me off?"
Itsuki nodded. "Of course. You've made quite the mess of things around here. It only seems right to witness the trail of chaos continuing outward."
He gave a weak laugh.
Then turned slightly to Nisuki.
Her hands tightened together, voice a near whisper. "Um… I packed some extra tea leaves… in the side pouch of your bag."
Tatsuya blinked, startled by the quiet sound of her voice.
"They help with nightmares," she added quickly, eyes not quite meeting his. "Or… um… they're supposed to."
He looked at her for a moment. Then smiled, softer this time.
"That means a lot. Thank you."
She blushed, face warming, but smiled back shyly before ducking behind her sister again.
Itsuki raised a brow. "She was up late last night organizing your satchel. Don't die. That'd be rude."
"I'll be careful," he promised.
They both nodded.
Then, Sora.
She stood near the garden archway, arms behind her back, face unreadable. Her usual stiffness was gone. She looked like someone who'd already lost the fight.
Tatsuya stopped before her, words catching in his throat.
She didn't speak first.
"I heard what you said earlier," he murmured. "All of it."
She didn't look away.
"I meant it," she said. "Every word."
"I know."
They stood in silence. The wind picked up, lifting a strand of her hair, brushing it across her cheek. Tatsuya didn't reach out—but he wanted to. Which startled him more than anything.
"…You scared me," he admitted. "Not the way you think. Just… I've never heard you sound like that."
Her lips parted, then closed.
"I don't want you to die," she said, quietly. "That's all."
Tatsuya nodded slowly. "I'm not used to people saying that either."
She gave a faint breath of a laugh. Bitter but soft. Then she took something from her pocket, a folded piece of cloth and offered it to him.
A handkerchief. Embroidered faintly with a sigil of protection.
"Keep it," she said. "Don't make me regret this."
He took it.
And didn't say thank you.
But she knew.
And last Ruza
She stood quietly at the front gate, the soft morning light weaving golden threads through her hair, the faint pink hues catching the light like delicate petals stirred by a breeze.
Her hands were folded calmly before her, fingers entwined with quiet steadiness. When their eyes met, there was no need for words—just a depth of understanding, of worry mingled with hope.
Tatsuya's chest tightened as she stepped closer, her gaze unwavering and gentle.
"You don't have to carry this burden alone," Ruza said softly, voice like a warm current flowing through the chill of the morning. "Whatever waits for you out there, remember… you're not fighting by yourself."
Her hand rose slowly, resting lightly against his chest, right over his heart.
"Strength doesn't mean never faltering. It means having someone to come back to when you do."
He swallowed hard, the quiet weight of her words settling deep inside him.
Ruza smiled sincerely like sunlight breaking through cloud.
"I believe in you, Tatsuya. More than you know."
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against hers.
"I'll see you when I'm home."
And for the first time in a long while, that promise didn't feel like a fragile hope. It felt like a light.
part 3
Beneath the hush of morning gray,
Where echoes sleep and shadows stay,
A folded note on quiet floor—
Unopened still, before her door.
No hand to knock, no voice to call,
Just silence pressed against the wall.
A name scrawled down in fragile ink,
As if the writer feared to think.
No wax to seal, no ribbon tied,
No flourish meant to swell with pride.
Just trembling words and softened weight,
A breath held tight—too late, too late.
Did he write with hope, or with regret?
With wounds not healed, with tears not wept?
The lines may speak or nothing say—
But still, the paper chose to stay.
For doors stay closed when hearts must part,
And words fall short where lives once start.
But some things—grief or love or pain—
Are best left whispered in the rain.
So there it lies, in still refrain,
A note unclaimed, but not in vain.
A letter left—not bold, but brave—
To mark the space he couldn't save.