The rain had passed, but the storm lingered.
Not in the sky—but in Asaki's chest.
She gripped the wooden blade and slashed downward, again and again, sweat pouring down her brow. Her strikes were clean, sharp—each one driven by something that refused to be named. Her breath came hard. Her knuckles bled.
Still, she moved.
Still, she struck.
Until her arms gave out, and she collapsed on her knees in the moss.
"Again," she whispered, biting back tears. "Again."
Behind her, Sayaka approached quietly, holding a small towel.
"You'll break yourself," she said gently.
"I'm already broken," Asaki replied, not looking at her.
Sayaka knelt beside her. "You're not."
"I'm not like her. I never was. Tomoie walked like thunder. I stumble. She wielded the wind. I cling to sticks. And now Yumi…" her voice broke, "Yumi has fire in her veins. Literal fire. And I—I'm just me."
She wiped her face, furious.
Sayaka reached out to touch her shoulder.
Asaki pulled away. "I'm tired of being second to a ghost. I'm tired of always watching someone else burn brighter."
"You're not second," Sayaka said softly. "You're standing in the dark. But that's where light comes from."
Asaki laughed bitterly. "Nice line."
"I stole it from Tomoie," Sayaka admitted.
That made Asaki pause.
"…Of course you did," she muttered.
They sat in silence for a moment. The air buzzed with cicadas. Distant temple bells rang across the valley.
Then a scream echoed.
---
It came from the lower courtyard.
Ishikawa and Yumi had gone down to pay respects at the shrine, accompanied by a few village priests.
By the time Sayaka and Asaki arrived, a section of the temple was burning.
Priests fled in panic. One clutched his forearm, burned and blistered.
Ishikawa stood at the edge of the flame, eyes wide.
And in the center of the fire—
Yumi.
She knelt in the gravel, shaking, her eyes glowing red-gold.
The air shimmered around her.
The flames curved inward, dancing like they were obeying her.
"Yumi!" Ishikawa called out.
She didn't hear him.
A priest had tried to purify the girl, pressing a talisman to her shoulder and chanting something in an old dialect.
She had screamed—not like a child, but like something ancient.
A woman's voice had burst from her mouth:
"THE SEAL MUST HOLD."
Then the flames exploded outward, licking across the shrine floor, setting old beams ablaze.
Now, the fire pulsed with her breath.
Not chaos.
A rhythm.
Asaki stepped forward, stunned.
Sayaka grabbed her wrist. "Don't—"
"I have to."
"She's not in control—"
"Neither am I."
Asaki walked toward the flame.
Each step felt like walking through a forge.
"Yumi!" she cried. "Can you hear me?!"
The girl's head turned slowly.
But the eyes that met Asaki's weren't hers.
They were older.
Wiser.
And filled with unbearable sorrow.
"You were never meant to carry this," the voice said.
Asaki stopped.
"I don't care," she whispered.
The wind shifted.
The flames calmed.
Yumi collapsed.
Asaki caught her before she hit the ground.
Her body was burning hot, but her breathing had steadied.
"I got you," Asaki whispered. "It's okay."
Behind them, Ishikawa slowly stepped forward. The shrine monks watched in silence, their fear thick in the air.
"She's not just a girl anymore," one whispered.
"No," Ishikawa said. "She's something far older."
---
That night, they watched the embers smolder from a safe distance.
Sayaka wrapped Yumi in damp cloths, pressing cool rags to her forehead.
"She'll wake soon," she said.
Ishikawa sat outside the room, staring at his own hands.
His fingers trembled.
Asaki approached and leaned on the post beside him.
"She called out," she said. "Not as Yumi. As someone else."
Ishikawa nodded. "I know the voice."
"Who was it?"
"…Tomoie's mother. Kaen."
Asaki froze.
"She was the last known Phoenix Blood vessel before Tomoie," he continued. "She died when Tomoie was still young. But her spirit… the seal must've bound her to the line."
He looked at her.
"I think Yumi is carrying all of it. The flame. The memory. The burden."
"Then how do we help her?"
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
---
Far to the west, the Pale Tiger hunted.
Shun Takamura walked the mountain paths in silence, white hair tied neatly, his mask pulled over his jaw. His white robes were unstained by blood—but the blade at his hip had not been sheathed in days.
Smoke rose from a nearby village.
Men lay in the mud. One had his hands severed. Another was pierced clean through the heart—without tearing the back of his robe.
Villagers whispered of a ghost.
Of a man who asked one question:
"Do you know the name Ketsuen-no-Kami?"
If they said yes, they died.
If they said no, he looked into their eyes.
And judged the truth himself.
---
Ishikawa stood on the temple balcony, watching the stars.
Sayaka joined him, arms folded.
"He's close, isn't he?" she said.
Ishikawa nodded.
"He's sending a message. Not to Yumi. Not to the priests."
"To you."
Ishikawa's grip tightened on the railing.
"He doesn't know what she is yet," he said. "But when he finds out…"
Sayaka looked at him.
"Will you protect her?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then:
"With everything I have left."
---
Yumi awoke in the dark.
Her head ached.
She saw Asaki asleep beside her, slumped in a chair. Sayaka dozing against the door.
She stood and walked out into the courtyard.
The moon was full.
And her shadow on the stone flickered… like fire.
She opened her palm.
For a moment, just a flicker—
A single golden flame hovered above her skin.
She smiled, bitter and small.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered.
Then she looked to the east.
Toward Kyoto.
Toward the hunter coming for them.
---