The waves whispered against the shore, soft and endless, the same sound that had greeted Rin when he crawled from the river, half dead, blood in his throat and mud in his lungs.
Days had passed since then. The bruises had faded, the wounds had begun to knit, but the silence between him and Kaito still hadn't healed.
They stayed on that stretch of coast because there was nowhere else left to go. A desolate cliff line, surrounded by forest on one side and a gray, endless sea on the other. To anyone else it was lifeless, to them, it was the only thing that hadn't burned.
Kaito worked from dawn until nightfall, scavenging, building, forcing his mind to focus on structure instead of grief. He drove sharpened stakes into the earth, shaping a wall from driftwood, stone, and anything the sea surrendered. His motions were steady, deliberate. Each swing of his hammer echoed across the cliffs like a heartbeat that refused to stop.
Rin was different.
He trained.
From sunrise to moonrise, he moved like a man possessed. Every strike of his blade split the air, every breath came ragged and sharp. His palms had split open again and again, the bandages long soaked through, but he didn't care. Pain was easier to face than thought.
When his arms began to shake, he trained harder.
He remembered their faces, Shun's easy grin before battle, Yori's quiet loyalty, Ayame's fierce glare that could have cut steel. The way each of them fell, quick, brutal, and final. The general's blade cutting through everything they were, everything they'd built.
Rin's blade crashed against a tree trunk. Bark flew. Again. Again.
He didn't stop until the trunk split and fell sideways with a dull crack. His breath came in gasps, his body trembling.
And for a brief second, in the sound of falling wood, he could still hear the screams of the river.
"Rin."
He turned. Kaito stood there, dirt-streaked, a plank of wood slung over one shoulder, his expression unreadable.
"You're bleeding again."
Rin said nothing.
Kaito tossed the plank aside, wiped his hands on his trousers, and crossed his arms. "You keep this up, you'll tear your hands to bone before you can even hold that sword."
Rin stared past him, the distant waves reflected in his eyes. "They died because of me."
Kaito's jaw clenched. "No. They died because war doesn't care who deserves to live."
Rin's voice rose. "They followed me into that fight, Kaito. Into hell itself. And I couldn't stop it. I just, stood there."
His grip tightened on the sword hilt until blood trickled between his fingers.
"The same way I did when my clan burned."
The silence that followed was heavy, almost physical.
The wind carried the smell of salt and ash, like ghosts still lingering in the air.
Kaito finally exhaled, slow and steady. "Then stop standing still."
Rin looked up.
"Stop letting the world drag you back to that fire. If the Red Serpent wants to finish what they started then let them come. Let them find us here."
"Here?" Rin's tone was bitter. "In this ruin?"
Kaito gestured around them, at the scattered walls, the half-built watchtower, the circle of tents clinging to the earth. "Every fortress starts as a ruin. The difference is whether the people inside choose to die in it or turn it into something worth bleeding for."
Rin didn't respond. His breath came slow now, more controlled, but his eyes were burning again, not with grief this time, but something harder.
Kaito walked closer. "We can keep running until the map runs out, or we can plant something that stays. The Serpent took your clan. Took our friends. So let's make this place theirs to choke on."
Rin's jaw tightened. "You think a few wooden walls will stop them?"
"No," Kaito said, smirking faintly. "But it'll slow them down long enough for you to cut their commander's head off."
That earned a small, grim laugh, the first sound of something living from Rin in days.
Kaito picked up his hammer again. "I'm not saying build a home. I'm saying build a reminder."
Rin's eyes lifted to the sea. The tide crashed against the rocks, endless, indifferent.
He sheathed his sword with a soft click. "Then we build."
By afternoon, the air was thick with the sound of work.
Rin hauled heavy logs with Kaito, reinforcing the walls that circled the clearing. Smoke rose from a new forge pit Kaito had dug near the shore, its fire spitting sparks into the wind.
The two worked in near silence, a wordless rhythm forming between them, sweat, motion, rebuilding.
As the sun fell, Rin found himself staring at the rough perimeter they'd made. For the first time in weeks, the emptiness didn't feel unbearable. There was a strange peace in the sound of hammering wood, in the wind through the trees.
But peace didn't erase the ache.
Later that night, Rin sat by the fire, staring at the flame until it blurred. The faces of the dead flickered in and out of the smoke, Ayame's determined scowl, Shun's last cry, Yori's eyes just before the sword fell.
He barely noticed Kaito approach until a cup of sake appeared in his line of sight.
"For them," Kaito said.
Rin hesitated, then took it. The sake burned his throat, a small, sharp mercy against the cold.
"They died for me."
Kaito sat down across from him. "They died with you. That's not the same thing."
Rin's knuckles whitened. "Does it matter?"
"Yeah," Kaito said quietly. "Because it means they didn't die for nothing. You're still here. That's the part that hurts, but it's also the part that means something."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The waves filled the space between their words.
Kaito finally broke the silence. "You ever wonder what it would've been like if your clan had survived?"
Rin's eyes flicked up. "Every day."
"Then build something that makes the wondering stop."
Rin's head tilted.
Kaito gestured at the rough camp. "We've got water, land, and time. You want vengeance, you'll get it, but you're not the only one left to protect anymore. We make this place a fortress. A home for anyone who's lost theirs."
The idea sank in slow. Rin didn't speak at first, only stared into the fire as it cracked and spat, shadows twisting across his face.
"Home," Rin repeated, almost bitterly. "You think we can still have that?"
"I think we can build one," Kaito said. "Even if it's just to remind the world we existed."
Rin was silent. Then he nodded once, a small, sharp motion. "Then we'll build it right. Stone, steel, blood if we have to."
Kaito grinned faintly. "That's the Rin I know."
The night deepened. The fire died low, and Rin rose, looking out over the dark horizon. The ocean stretched endless before them, silver under the moonlight.
"Do you ever think," Rin said softly, "that the dead can hear us?"
Kaito followed his gaze. "If they can, they're probably laughing at how stubborn we are."
Rin smiled faintly, just barely. "Then let them watch."
The next morning broke cold and gray. Mist hung over the trees as Rin woke before dawn, stepping out into the chill air. Kaito was already up, crouched beside a new foundation of stones, marking lines into the dirt.
"What are you doing?" Rin asked, his voice low from sleep.
Kaito didn't look up. "Starting the framework for a forge. We'll need one if we plan to stay."
Rin stood there for a moment, watching him work. "You really think this place can become something?"
Kaito gave a quiet laugh. "Doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what we decide it's going to be."
Rin turned toward the sea again, the waves breaking against the cliffs below. His hands flexed at his sides. The pain had dulled, not gone, but focused.
"This is where it starts, then," he said quietly. "Not running. Not chasing. Let the Serpent come."
Kaito straightened, slinging his hammer over his shoulder. "And when they do?"
Rin's eyes hardened. "We bury them."
The two men stood there as the sun broke through the mist, its first light striking the half-built walls. The wind carried the scent of salt and ash, but beneath it, faintly, there was something else. The smell of iron and new earth.
For the first time since the battle, Rin felt the air move through his lungs without weight. He didn't know what this place would become, or how long it would last, but he knew this much, the Red Serpent would bleed here.
Kaito wiped his hands on his trousers. "We'll need a name for it."
Rin looked up, eyes narrowing against the sunlight. "A name?"
"Every fortress deserves one."
The sound of the ocean rose between them, steady and endless. Rin thought of the river, the fire, the blood all the things that brought them here. He thought of what it meant to rebuild from nothing.
He finally spoke, voice low and certain.
"Then we'll give it a name they'll learn to fear."