The forest was alive with shrill cries and snapping branches. A cluster of scaled lizard-things, each no larger than a child but moving in packs, darted between the undergrowth. Their snapping jaws and flickering tongues carried hunger in every sound.
"Run faster!" Akari shouted, her bleached hair streaked with color bouncing as she sprinted. Her outfit—ill-suited for the wild—was muddied and torn, but her fire burned strong. Despite the glitter of bracelets and the cheap makeup smeared across her face, she charged forward with the strength of desperation.
Her younger sister stumbled behind, breath ragged, clutching the hem of her dress that had once been neat and pressed. Her voice carried none of her sister's rough tone, only sharp calculation. "There's a stream up ahead—if we cross, they won't follow!" she shouted, recalling the habits of cold-blooded creatures.
Their mother, plain and practical, held the rear, clutching an iron ladle against her chest while urging them onward. Her hair was tied back simply, her face worn with exhaustion but unyielding. "Just a little further! Don't look back!"
The trees opened suddenly, revealing the roar of water rushing downstream. A wide river stretched before them, frothing and alive. Akari didn't hesitate—she sprinted, leapt, and landed with a wild, stumbling crash on the opposite bank.
The mother followed, threw the ladle at a lizard, and clutched her skirt as she launched herself across. Her feet scraped the earth on the other side, knees nearly buckling, but she stayed upright.
But her youngest daughter faltered. Her shoes slipped on the wet stones. She screamed, arms flailing, as the river caught her like a predator's jaws and dragged her into its depths.
"YUKI!" Akari shrieked from the opposite shore, reaching out in horror.
The water swallowed her cries. Her lungs burned as she was pulled beneath, spinning helplessly in the current. The world turned dark except for the shifting light of the river above.
And then—she saw her.
A woman with long, flowing crimson hair, swaying in the current as if it were alive. Her face was hidden behind a black oni mask, its fangs gleaming with a cruel smile. Her presence was unreal, ancient, and terrifying.
Yuki's chest convulsed as bubbles slipped from her mouth, but the woman's gaze locked onto her. Without warning, numbers—coordinates—burned themselves into her mind, sharp as fire. And then, as if painted across the darkness, came the unmistakable image of her eldest sister's boyfriend. His face lingered, haunting her vision, without context or explanation.
Her body gave out. The water filled her mouth.
And as consciousness slipped away, the mask-woman tilted her head ever so slightly, watching.
Yuki fainted in the river's pull and was carried downstream, away from her family's screams.
—
(While the young Yuki drafted through a ranging stream, alone through the night, a satisfied Oliver drafted to sleep in his newly favored disciple.)
—
The world shifted.
Oliver's breath caught as the grove, the wind, and Sana's warmth all bled away like ink spilling into water. Darkness swallowed him whole—until he opened his eyes again.
He was lying on a futon beneath lacquered beams, the air thick with incense and smoke. His body felt different—thinner, fevered. His lungs rattled faintly as he sat up, pulling at silk sheets that clung to sweat-slick skin.
What? Where is this? Am I continuing my dream after Elder Han defeated me? He thought in a haze, searching the room, while he felt his body would give up on him any moment.
He turned his head to his right, where he found a polished bronze mirror rested nearby, its surface cracked. He leaned forward, catching his reflection.
The face staring back was not Fang Lee's...
Sharp cheekbones, tired eyes rimmed in red, lips pale as parchment. A young man's face—noble, yet worn. A name surfaced in his mind like a bell tolling from the depths: Hayate no Kuro.
The only son of Hayate no Yorimitsu, a noble daimyo whose name carried both prestige and infamy.
This isn't my original dreamscape? Fuck, did I do something wrong in between the ritual?
The paper doors shivered against distant shouts. Outside, the sound of war drums rolled through the night. The air reeked of smoke.
"Kuro…"
The voice was soft and feminine, echoing inside his skull rather than beyond it. A presence stirred, coiling low in his chest. He shuddered.
"Your father bought you time," the voice whispered. "And I… kept you alive."
Memories not his own unfolded behind his eyes: nights of bloodletting, villagers disappearing into the forests, and his father's secret rites. The bargain struck with a mysterious yokai—her essence nestled within him, healing his wasting illness in exchange for shelter until her strength returned.
A woman's laughter rippled through the air as the sliding door creaked open.
She hovered above the floor, her form wreathed in blue mist, long black hair cascading like spilled ink around a face too pale, too flawless to be human. For an instant, Oliver thought he saw her lips curve into a knowing smile—then her body unraveled into smoke and surged forward, sinking into his chest as though it had always belonged there.
The shouts outside drew nearer. Arrows cracked against the wooden beams, sparks scattering across the paper windows as fire licked at the edges of the manor.
The estate was burning.
Smoke bled through the cracks of the sliding doors. The paper blackened and curled as fire gnawed its way inside.
"They're here for you," the voice whispered. "The hunters. They've found the truth. Your father is ash already, his men scattered. Only you remain."
Kuro's hands shook. His breath came shallow, fever mixing with terror. Outside, horns blared, and shadows advanced against the firelight.
"They'll call you cursed. Demon's kin. They won't let you speak before they cut you down."
The voice coiled tighter in his chest, warm, intoxicating, and cruel.
"But you don't have to die tonight."
A low laugh echoed as smoke gathered, thick and suffocating. The room trembled with the weight of her presence.
"Take me in, Kuro. Accept me fully. And I will make them burn before they ever touch you."
The flames surged, arrows cracking against the wood, and war cries shattering the night.
The world closed in until only her words remained.