The forest didn't breathe that morning.
It watched.
Ren felt it in the stillness—an unnatural hush layered between the rustling of leaves and the cries of distant crows. Every step he took along the shrine path sent echoes deeper into the trees, as if the land itself was listening.
Kiyomi walked ahead, her tails flicking behind her, the faint shimmer of foxfire trailing her heels. She didn't speak, but Ren could tell she sensed it too. The woods had changed.
Or maybe… they were just starting to show their true face.
They reached a clearing just past the shrine ruins. A circle of moss-covered stones, half-swallowed by roots and vines. Kiyomi stopped and turned to him.
"This is where the veil is thinnest," she said. "Where the old spirits used to cross over freely."
Ren stared at the stones. "It looks like a grave."
"In a way, it is."
She stepped into the circle, her feet barely making a sound against the damp earth. "This is where my shrine maiden fell. The last one. She tried to seal something she couldn't understand."
Ren hesitated, then followed her into the circle.
The air changed.
Colder. Heavier. Like walking into a memory not your own.
He saw flashes.
A flickering lantern. Blood on white robes. A voice screaming something in a language he didn't know. A girl's hand reaching skyward as the ground split beneath her.
Then—nothing.
Ren staggered back a step, clutching his chest.
"You felt it," Kiyomi said quietly. "The echo."
"What was that?" he whispered.
"Residual pain," she said. "Some places remember. Some wounds never close."
Ren looked at her. "You said she tried to seal something. What was it?"
Kiyomi didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted to the trees.
"They called it the Hollow Gate. A fracture between this world and something far darker. It wasn't meant to open. But the Ashen Court... they forced it."
Ren frowned. "So it's still open?"
"Not fully. But it's bleeding."
She raised her hand, and blue fire lit her palm again.
"And we're standing in the spill."
A rustle behind them.
Ren turned sharply.
Nothing.
Just trees. Mist.
But then he saw it—briefly. A flash of white.
Kiyomi reacted first. "Back!"
She shoved him to the ground as a blur sliced through the air where he'd just been standing.
A figure landed in the clearing with impossible grace.
White robes. No face. Just a mask—porcelain, cracked, painted with a crimson smile.
The air burned around it.
"A Warden," Kiyomi hissed.
Ren scrambled to his feet. "What the hell's a Warden?!"
"One of theirs. Half spirit, half puppet. They enforce the Ashen Court's will."
The Warden raised one arm, and long, dark threads spilled from its sleeves like spider silk.
They writhed. Reached. Snapped toward Ren.
Kiyomi threw her fire—brilliant, searing. The threads hissed and recoiled, but not before one wrapped around Ren's wrist.
It was cold.
So cold it burned.
He screamed.
Kiyomi's tails flared as she slashed the thread with a claw of blue fire, severing it clean. She caught Ren as he fell to one knee.
"Breathe. Don't let it inside."
The Warden tilted its head.
Not curious.
Judging.
Then it vanished—ribbons of shadow dissolving into mist.
Silence returned.
Ren clutched his wrist. The skin was pale, marked with a faint spiral burn.
Kiyomi knelt beside him, checking the mark.
"It didn't take root," she said. "You're lucky."
Ren's voice trembled. "That thing... it wasn't human."
"It never was."
She helped him up.
"They've marked you now," she said. "They know what you are."
Ren met her eyes. "Then I guess I need to stop pretending I'm not."
Kiyomi smiled.
But it didn't reach her eyes.
"We don't have much time left," she said. "The Court is sending feelers. Testing. When they decide you're ready... they'll come in
full."
Ren looked back toward the trees.
And for the first time… they looked back.
---