Ashes Beneath the Stars (Part 1)
The forest beyond Yakaziku was not silent. It pulsed with night cries—the croak of hidden frogs, the rustle of unseen animals, the distant howl of wolves that prowled in the shadow of the city walls. Yet, compared to the suffocating gold of the nobles' towers, the darkness felt like freedom.
The four of them had stumbled into a clearing, collapsing where the grass grew thick and damp. None of them had the strength left to push further into the wilderness. Their bodies screamed for rest. Their hearts, too.
It was Isshun who first broke the silence. With trembling hands, he gathered kindling, sparks flying from his flint. Rūpu sat with his back against a tree, horns still faintly glinting, his stomach rising and falling in steady, heavy breaths. Hanae curled into herself, arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes swollen from tears shed during the escape. Giru sat apart, mask dangling from one hand, his eyes fixed on the flames Isshun coaxed into life.
The fire caught. Its glow painted their faces—worn, cracked, but alive.
For a while, none of them spoke. They just sat there, letting the warmth sink into their bones, the crackle of the fire filling the spaces where words failed.
It was Hanae who whispered first.
"I used to think campfires were... fairy tales."
The others turned their eyes toward her. She didn't look up, still hiding behind her knees.
"My father told me stories when I was small... about travelers who would sit beneath the stars, together, free. I thought it was something that only existed in books. That people like us... like me... would never see it." Her voice broke, her lip trembling. "And now here we are. I don't know if I'm supposed to feel happy or scared."
Rūpu stared at her, jaw tight. His fists clenched against his knees. He wanted to tell her she was safe, but the words tasted like lies.
Instead, it was Isshun who spoke. His tone was soft, but steady. "Maybe both."
That pulled her gaze up, just barely.
"You can be scared and happy at the same time," Isshun continued, poking at the fire with a stick. "That's what this life is. That's what freedom is. It doesn't promise you peace... just the chance to feel things for yourself."
The fire popped, showering sparks into the night sky.
Rūpu leaned forward now, shadows crawling across his sharp features. "I used to dream of nights like this too," he muttered. "But in mine, I wasn't surrounded by anyone. Just me. Alone." He gritted his teeth, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Guess the world had different plans."
His words cut the air heavier than he intended. Hanae flinched, Isshun frowned. But Giru... Giru chuckled.
"Sounds about right," the bandit said, smirking faintly. "The world's got a real twisted sense of humor. Gives us everything we never asked for, then laughs when we choke on it."
Rūpu shot him a glare. "You think this is funny?"
Giru's smirk faltered. His mask dangled lower in his hand. "No," he admitted quietly. "Not funny. Just... familiar."
The campfire crackled again, as though it too had something to say.
Silence returned, but it wasn't the same silence. It was weighted, dense, pressing against them. Each of them staring into the flames, seeing something different reflected there.
Isshun finally broke it again. "We made it out because we were together."
His words were simple, but they made all three of the others look at him.
"I know you all carry things I can't understand. Things I probably never will," he said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "But tonight... you're here. I'm here. That's more than we had yesterday. So... whatever happens next, let's remember that."
The firelight made his eyes glisten. Not just from its glow—but from the weight of tears unshed.
Hanae's voice wavered as she whispered, "Do you really think we can keep going? After everything? After what I am?"
Rūpu sat up straighter, his voice harsh but true. "We'll keep going because we have to. Because we don't get to quit."
Isshun nodded. "Because we promised each other."
Giru leaned back, throwing his mask onto the ground beside him. His smirk faded into something softer, quieter. "And because if we don't... then all the scars we've been carrying... all the running we've done... would've been for nothing."
The four of them sat there, the fire's glow binding them tighter than words.
Above, the stars stretched endless, vast and cold. But beneath them, the clearing was warm with something fragile, something fleeting—something almost like hope.
Rūpu stared at the flames and thought of the family he lost. Hanae clutched her knees tighter, thinking of her father's ghost. Isshun watched them both, already feeling the weight of holding their fractured hearts together. And Giru tilted his head back, staring at the night sky with a look that was half-smirk, half-sorrow.
None of them said it out loud. But they all felt it.
They were bound—not by chains, not by blood, not by curses. But by survival.
And for one night, under the fire's glow, that was enough.
Chains of Cherry Hills (Part 2)
The fire had long since died when Isshun stirred awake in the dirt hut they had built together. His body was sore from the journey, his mind heavy with the unspoken arguments and grief that still clung to them all. Careful not to wake Hanae, Rūpu, or Giru, Isshun slipped out into the night air.
The stars were paling now, dawn threatening the horizon. He knelt beside the cold ashes of their fire, coaxing a new spark to life. The orange glow rose timidly, crackling into existence as if afraid of the darkness around it. Isshun exhaled, his breath visible in the chill.
And then—he froze.
Someone was standing just outside the circle of light.
A figure, tall, gaunt, his kimono a dark green echo of Isshun's own—but worn, stained by travel, and heavy with the scent of smoke and liquor. Two short oni horns jutted from his head. His eyes gleamed, sharp and cold. Yet the smirk on his face was disturbingly warm, as though twisted love dripped from the corners of his lips.
"I didn't expect to find you so soon... son," the figure said, his voice low but dripping with control. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Don't think just because you ran from home, you could escape your father's searching eyes."
Isshun's heart tightened. His throat felt like it was closing.
The adult stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Isshun's firelight. "Now, enough of this wandering. You're coming back to Cherry Blossom Tree Mountain City—our Cherry Hills. Back to your home. Back to your labor. After all, that was your mother's last wish... to see the city rise again."
Isshun's jaw trembled, rage boiling up as hot as the fire he had just lit. He bit down on his lips to keep from shouting—but he couldn't. Not this time.
"You don't get to say her name," Isshun spat through gritted teeth, his voice trembling but sharp as steel. "You don't get to speak like you ever loved her."
The figures smirk faltered.
"You used her name, her dying words, just to chain me! To make me a slave! At first, you pretended—fake pats on the back, fake 'fatherly love.' But it was all a lie. You never cared about her. Or me."
His father's smirk returned, crueler than before. "And what of it? Love doesn't put bread on the table. Labor does. You were born for one purpose. To fix the ruins she obsessed over. My wife's foolish dream ruined us both. I let her starve in her madness. And you—"
He stepped closer, sudden fury flashing across his face. "You, my ugly, fat, stubborn child—you will not shame me further."
The blow came like thunder. His father's fist crashed into Isshun's face, sending him staggering into the dirt. Blood filled his mouth, the copper taste thick on his tongue.
Isshun's world rang. But he forced himself to his knees.
"You killed her!" he screamed. "You let her waste away, and then you used her words to chain me down! You destroyed Cherry Hills with your own damn hands—not some legend, not some curse! Your laziness, your drinking, your greed—YOU ruined everything!"
His father's eyes narrowed to burning slits.
"I lived by my own morals," he hissed, gripping Isshun by the arm. His hand was like iron, digging into Isshun's flesh. "And my morals say survival. Even if it means breaking my own son."
"No," Isshun snarled, tears streaming down his face as he struggled. "It means using your son. You never cared about saving the city as the great warrior you were said to be in the legends of are little town. You only cared about yourself."
His father ignored the words, dragging him toward the shadow of a waiting carriage. The driver—a hunched figure cloaked in black—turned as they approached.
"The city is abandoned," the driver muttered in Japanese. "Long since dead. No one remains in Cherry Hills."
His father shoved Isshun into the carriage, his grip unrelenting. "Then let it be dead. It is still mine. Still where I reign. A warrior in legend does not vanish just because fools forget his name." His eyes glinted, rage hidden behind twisted pride. "I remain. And my lovely son will remain at my side."
Isshun tried to tear free, his voice breaking as he shouted. "You're not a warrior! You're a coward! You ruined everything! Mother died because of you, not because of a curse, not because of a legend!"
But his father only slammed the carriage door shut, his words sharp as knives. "Silence. It's time you learn again what it means to be my blood."
The wheels creaked. The horses snorted. And the carriage rolled off into the dying night, carrying Isshun away toward the ruins of Cherry Hills—a place not just long since abandoned, but poisoned by centuries of lies and one persons rot that tore the town apart from his own laziness and a son who knew it all to well from labor.
When dawn broke, the others awoke to the silence of an empty bedroll. Rūpu was the first to notice the absence. His eyes darted to the fire, still faintly smoldering. The embers were not Isshun's warmth. They were his trail.
"Isshun..." he muttered, his stomach tight.
Hanae stirred next, eyes wide with worry before the weight of her despair pressed her back down. Giru only sighed, standing with hands shoved into his sleeves. But even his smirk was gone.
They were three now, staring at the horizon where Isshun had vanished.
And all of them knew.
This wasn't just about chasing after their friend. This was about tearing him free from chains older than their bond—chains bound in blood, legend, and despair.
The burden Isshun carried had just been dragged back into the world.
And if they didn't find him soon, it would devour him whole.
TO BE CONTINUED...