Chapter: Whispered Names Beneath the Lantern Moon
The inn at the edge of Gifu Province was modest, tucked beneath cedar groves and shrouded in mist. Lanterns swung gently outside, painted with fading kanji: Sakura Resthouse. The smell of miso and burning pine wafted through the air as the cold night crept down from the mountains. Inside, a fire crackled quietly.
Ishikawa sat cross-legged by the hearth, sipping sake in slow, contemplative gulps. The bruises along his ribs throbbed, and the bandages itched beneath his haori. Across the room, Asaki knelt beside a futon, gently tucking Yumi beneath the quilt. The child stirred once, then sighed and rolled into warmth.
They had traveled under false names—Ichiro, Ayaka, and little Yu. A married couple with their daughter, fleeing war for the promise of a peaceful Kyoto.
"I can't believe they bought it," Asaki murmured, standing.
Her voice was a whisper, but Ishikawa heard. He turned, raising an eyebrow. "You doubted my acting skills?"
"I doubted your ability to smile without scowling like a ronin-turned-beggar."
Ishikawa grunted and took another sip. "Fair."
Asaki pulled the spare yukata tighter around herself. Her hair had been brushed and tied with a plain ribbon, and in the low light, the faintest pink danced on her cheeks. She stood by the hearth now, across from him, face half-lit by flame.
"We're sharing a room," she said after a long pause.
"We're husband and wife, remember?" he replied, eyes narrowing with amusement.
She flushed deeper, looking away. "I didn't think undercover missions included... shared bedding."
"There's the floor, if you prefer," he offered dryly. "Hard. Cold. Splinters."
She crossed her arms. "You're enjoying this too much."
Ishikawa poured another cup of sake. "I'm in pain. The woman I love tried to freeze a captain of wind to death while I bled into the snow. Allow me a bit of amusement."
Asaki's gaze dropped at the word love. But he hadn't noticed—or pretended not to.
They sat in silence. The crackling fire filled the space between them.
"You never talk about her," Asaki said softly.
"Who?"
"Your wife."
Ishikawa stiffened. The shadows around his face lengthened.
"Because there's nothing left to say," he replied.
Before she could press further, the inn door creaked open.
A figure stepped inside—tall, cloaked, sword at her hip. Her hair was tied back in a crimson cord, and her eyes were sharp like mountain glass. The innkeeper barely looked up; she was no stranger to warriors.
But Ishikawa froze.
The woman removed her hood and scanned the room. Her gaze landed on him—and her eyes softened.
"Ishikawa." Her voice carried the rhythm of old battlefields and remembered blood.
He stood slowly. "...Reika."
Asaki blinked. "You know her?"
Reika stepped forward. "Fought with him in the Onin Rebellion. Taught him how to survive in the snow." Her eyes flicked to Asaki, then to the futon where Yumi slept.
"And now he's settled down, I see."
"He's not my—" Asaki started.
"Wife," Ishikawa cut in. "Ayaka."
Reika smirked. "Mm. Cute."
The swordswoman took a seat beside the fire. "I'm heading to Kyoto too. Black banners spread across the prefectures. Lords are turning tail. Thought you'd be long dead by now."
"Almost was. Twice."
Reika chuckled. "Still drinking cheap sake like it's penance, I see."
"I find no joy in fine things."
Asaki, sensing the shared history, quietly excused herself to pour tea. Reika watched her go.
"She's strong," she said. "And she looks at you like she's trying not to."
Ishikawa didn't respond. He sipped.
"She deserves to know," Reika said at last.
His jaw tightened. "No one deserves to know."
But Asaki returned then, kneeling between them, setting down a tray. "You two must've known each other a long time."
Reika nodded. "Since he still had fire in his hair and no scars on his soul."
Ishikawa shook his head. "Reika."
"No, let her hear."
Asaki frowned. "Hear what?"
Reika leaned in, eyes like whetted steel. "The name Tomoie Nagano mean anything to you?"
Ishikawa's cup slipped. The sake spilled, trailing down his fingers like blood.
Asaki froze. "...Who?"
"My wife," Ishikawa said quietly. "Once."
"And your son," Reika added. "Haruto."
Asaki turned slowly toward him. "You had a son?"
"I did."
She waited.
Ishikawa stood. The fire seemed to dim.
"There was a time I believed in peace," he said. "That a man could leave the sword behind. Build a home. Raise a family."
His hands clenched.
"But peace doesn't forget the blood you've spilled. Nor does it protect the ones you love."
Asaki whispered, "What happened?"
He didn't look at her. "A storm came. Bandits—or so I thought. I fought. Killed. Defended the home."
A long silence.
"Then I saw the truth. The ones I killed weren't strangers. They were shadows—memories. The work of someone... or something."
"What are you saying?" Asaki asked.
Ishikawa's voice cracked.
"I killed her."
The wind outside rose, pressing against the shoji walls.
"I killed my wife. I killed Haruto. With my own hands."
Asaki stared in horror.
Reika closed her eyes. "It was a cursed dream. Someone put it on him. An illusion woven so tightly it fooled his own soul."
"By the time I realized…" Ishikawa's voice dropped to a whisper. "There was nothing left."
Yumi stirred in her sleep.
Asaki whispered, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because that man died too."
Silence gripped the room. The fire crackled. Asaki's hands trembled, but she reached forward and touched his arm.
"I don't care what you did in grief," she said. "Only what you choose now."
He turned to her, for the first time in years with raw eyes. "I'm afraid of who I'll become."
"Then I'll be your mirror."
He leaned in. She didn't pull away.
Their lips met—gently, tentatively, the weight of a thousand wounds between them. But something soft bloomed beneath the pain.
When they parted, Reika looked away with a smile.
But outside, across the hills—
A single crow cried.
In the shadows of Kyoto, someone whispered:
Tomoie Nagano… rises again.
To be continued.