"The shinobi below is the one commissioned by the Fire Daimyō to deliver the relic,"The old attendant's voice cracked like an old door hinge—aged in body, but his tone unnervingly young, smooth. It was like hearing a twenty-year-old trapped inside an eighty-year-old shell.
Raizen stepped forward, lowering his head slightly. "Yeah, that's me."
He unfastened the cloth bundle on his back, revealing a wooden box sealed with the Fire Daimyō's crest. A guard received it with both hands and knelt before the witch seated on the dais.
The witch's hand trembled slightly as she opened it. Inside lay a dull, fractured stone, faintly pulsing with dormant chakra.
Her cloudy eyes softened. "As I thought… a fragment of the Guardian Monument. I never imagined it would resurface in the Land of Fire."
"Guardian Monument?" Raizen repeated under his breath, brows furrowed. He wanted to ask more—but the witch merely waved her thin hand.
"You've done well, shinobi. The Land of Ghosts thanks you. Rest now; the night will be long."
The words were kind, but her tone left no room for questions.
Raizen bowed and followed a guard out, his thoughts grinding like old gears.
The guest quarters were small but clean—typical of a border shrine. He dropped his pack, sat cross-legged, and exhaled.
Man, I hand over one glowing rock and suddenly I'm part of someone's apocalypse lore.
After a short rest, he wandered outside. The sun had dipped behind the hills, bleeding red light over the village. A thin mist rolled through the streets, carrying the faint scent of incense and burning talismans.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Then—creak… squeak.
Raizen's ears twitched. The sound came from a small clearing ahead.
There, a little girl with pale beige hair sat on a half-rotten swing, the last light of dusk painting her like a ghost out of a story. Her small hands gripped the ropes, back and forth, back and forth.
He hesitated. Five years old, alone at sunset? Either this kid's cursed or I'm about to trigger a tragic backstory.
Still, his feet carried him closer.
The girl turned her head sharply at the sound. Her eyes—violet, distant—met his.
"Who are you?" she asked, voice calm, almost too calm for her age. "You shouldn't be here."
Raizen blinked. "Uh… I'm a ninja from the Land of Fire. The one escorting that treasure for your Daimyō."
Her gaze flickered. "You're the one who brought it?"
Her tone tightened; anger broke through her practiced calm. "Why did you bring that thing here? If you hadn't, then Mother—"
She bit off the sentence, eyes dimming. The next words came out small. "Forget it. Sorry for yelling. It's not your fault. It's fate. Someone would've brought it eventually."
Raizen studied her silently. The phrasing, the poise—too mature for a child.
Mother… that must be the Miko. Then this kid is—
"You're… Yūge, right?"
The girl looked down, her hair falling over her face. "Yes. I am Yūge."
For a moment, she seemed five again—fragile, quiet, lost in a world she didn't ask for.
Raizen crossed his arms, unsure what to say. A witch barely standing, a daughter too young to bear the burden, and a relic humming with chakra that made his skin crawl. Everything about this mission smelled wrong.
The silence broke when a maid appeared, bowing politely. "Lady Yūge, it's getting late. Please return to your chambers."
The girl stood. As she passed, her eyes met Raizen's one last time—violet irises glowing faintly in the dusk, like trapped lightning.
Then she was gone.
Raizen stood there for a long moment, hands buried in his pockets. The chill in the air deepened.
Behind the village, something growled.Low, distant, yet powerful enough to shake the ground.
He turned toward the direction of the shrine's altar. Four shadows moved through the mist, gliding like predators closing in.
"...Great," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "Because obviously, tonight couldn't just end quietly."