Kiyomi went first.
She touched the edge of the stone path, whispered something under her breath—maybe a prayer, maybe a ward—and stepped forward like she'd never been more certain of anything in her life.
I followed.
Of course I did.
Every instinct screamed at me not to.
The temple wasn't really in ruins, it was preserved.
Like someone, or something, had kept it in place. Waiting.
The archway overhead still held its beams.Lanterns still hung from hooks, unlit but not rotten and beneath our feet, the stones weren't cracked.
They were clean.
Kaida would've hated this place.
That thought hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
Kiyomi's steps slowed.
She reached a tall door—black wood, etched with silver. Not paint, real silver.
Etchings of foxes curled around suns, rivers, inkbrushes, and a lotus, wounded, dripping into a bowl.
She placed her palm to the door.
It didn't open.
Not at first.
Then the symbols glowed.
The silver shimmered—like it was waking up.
And then?
The doors opened.
Inside it was a sanctum. Circular, no windows. Pillars carved with kanji older than I could read.At the center—an altar.
And on that altar?
A single scroll.
Sealed in gold.
Kiyomi stepped forward, nut stopped halfway.
"That's my mother's handwriting."
I drew my blade anyway.
Because things like this don't get left behind unless someone wanted you to open it.
She reached for it—
And the flame in every hanging lantern burst to life.
The whole temple glowed in blue light and a voice echoed from the stone itself.
"Daughter of the hidden blood—You were not meant to return."
The voice echoed once more.
"Daughter of the hidden blood—You were not meant to return."
Kiyomi didn't flinch.
She stepped forward, picked up the scroll.
Her hand trembled slightly, but her grip held firm.
She broke the seal.
Unfurled it.
The kanji was old. Written in a fluid, almost living ink.
It shimmered as she read.
And then the floor beneath her glowed—spirals of foxfire ink swirling into patterns beneath her feet.
Toki moved instinctively—closer, ready.
She raised a hand to stop him.
"It's not a trap."
"It's… memory."
The light swallowed her whole.
She collapsed to her knees and then?
She saw a Vision.
The same temple. Ages ago. The sanctum alive with voices, warriors, ink-callers, shrine maidens. And at the center—her mother. Younger, prouder, holding the same scroll.
"The pact is sacred," Yuzuka says.
"We are not gods. We are guardians."
"The demons come when people forget balance—when they reach too far into blood, fire, and greed."
Foxfire danced around her.
Children played with wooden charms in the corners.
A sense of peace.
Warriors bowed their heads as new scrolls were passed to them, each sealed with a different sigil.
"We serve the land."
"We protect the empire."
"We give our lives so that the unnatural may never rise unchecked."
One voice interrupts—familiar.
Deeper and dressed in royal robes.
A man with sharp eyes and a tired soul.
The Emperor.
"What if your child bears that same fire, Yuzuka?"
"Will she be guardian… or weapon?"
Yuzuka answers without hesitation.
"She will choose."
Kiyomi gasped.
Snapped back into the present.
Scroll still in her hands—now darkened, as if burned from within.
Toki steadied her as she stumbled.
"Talk to me."
She looked up.
And for the first time since this all began…
Her voice didn't shake.
"They weren't priests. They weren't mystics."
"They were soldiers."
"And I was meant to be one of them."
Kiyomi stood straighter now.
Scroll burned to ash behind her.
She touched the second door without hesitation.
It didn't open.
I moved beside her.
"This doesn't look like a path we need to walk."
She looked at me and her voice was calm.
"It's not yours."
"It's mine."
The door flared with foxfire.
Swung inward.
Beyond it—darkness.
Until her foot crossed the threshold and the room lit with ancient lanterns.
A circular chamber. Empty, except for the statue at its center.
A fox with nine tails, curled around a sword made of stone and ink and on the floor beneath it—A ring of symbols.
Each pulsing, waiting.
Kiyomi stepped into the ring.
I didn't follow or better said I couldn't, because the second I tried,the ink on the walls twisted and slammed into a barrier between us.
"Kiyomi—"
"It's a trial. It has to be done alone."
I slammed a fist against the barrier.
I didn't care about legacy. I didn't care about trials.
"You're not a soldier. You're not a weapon."
Her eyes didn't waver.
"Then I'll fail."
She stepped forward.
The fox statue raised its head.
Stone grinding against stone.
The blade lifted and from the shadows behind it?
Faceless figures began to rise, one after the other, each cloaked in the armor of her ancestors.
This isn't a fight to win for her to win but to prove herself.
And Kiyomi?
She reached into her pouch.
Pulled two charms.
Lit them with fire and whispered:
"Let them try to take it from me."
The first phantom charged, a flash of silver steel and ancient armor.
Kiyomi flicked her wrist— Ink sliced across the phantom's path.
It froze. Just for a heartbeat and that was enough.
She turned, rolled, lit another seal with fire—
BAM.
A force burst outward, slamming the specter back.
I pressed my hand to the barrier
It wasn't made of stone or energy—it was made of her legacy.
And I couldn't touch it.
Not without—
Another phantom came, then another.
Kiyomi was graceful, precise, but each movement cost her.
Sweat. Breath. Pain.
One blade caught her arm.
Blood ran down her sleeve.
And that's when I snapped.
I drew my weapon.
Didn't think.
Didn't plan.
Just swung—
My blade howled against the barrier, sparks flying.
The barrier didn't crack.
I swung again.
And again.
"You want to test her?!" I roared. "TEST ME!"
Inside, Kiyomi faltered.
Looked back.
Eyes wide—not with fear, but with something worse.
Guilt.
She turned back too late.
A phantom lunged—
I felt it before it struck.
And my blade bit into the barrier—
This time it cracked.
The fox statue lifted its head fully.
Eyes glowing.
"The guardian's oath is protection.But the guardian must also let go."
"Then I never was one," I growled.
And I kept swinging.
Inside the ring, Kiyomi stood.
Blood on her hand.
Three charms left.
She didn't cry.
Didn't call for me.
She faced them.
Outside, I tore into the barrier.
CRACK.
Then—it shattered.
The air splits.
The barrier collapses.
Kiyomi stumbles backward, eyes wide as the world opens.
And through the smoke—
Toki steps in.
Blade drawn.
The a phantom turns.
It recognizes him.
Or maybe it just fears him.
Either way, it charges.
And Toki meets it with everything.
He drives the blade through the phantom's core.
Twists.
Yanks.
And when it reaches for Kiyomi—he rips its arm off and hurls it across the chamber.
The fox statue shudders.
Its voice finally speaks—clear, sharp, and filled with something that might've once been sorrow:
"He is not one of us."
"He breaks the pact."
"He defies the blood."
Toki growls.
"I don't give a damn about your blood."
He wipes his blade against the phantom's robes.
"And I'm not here for your pact."
He looks at Kiyomi.
Only her.
"I'm here for her."
The light dies.
The ring fades.
And the statue crumbles.
Not in punishment.
In acceptance.
The trial is over.
"Well," I muttered, "guess you're not getting your ancestral merit badge."
Kiyomi looked at me.Eyes still shaking with leftover adrenaline, ink smeared on her cheek.
But she smiled, just a twitch.
"You weren't supposed to come in."
"You weren't supposed to bleed," I shot back. "Funny how plans fall apart when ghosts try to gut you."
She didn't argue, just sat down on the cold floor, legs folded beneath her.
Like this was a normal day.
Like her mother's legacy hadn't just tried to drown her in fire.
I leaned against a scorched column and exhaled.
Kiyomi spoke again. Voice softer now.
"…You broke the rules."
"Good," I said. "They sucked."
She didn't laugh.
She just looked down at her hand.
The one that still glowed faintly with foxfire.
"I was supposed to become something today," she said.
"You did."
She looked up.
"…What?"
I nodded at her.
"You survived."
She blinked.
Then smiled again.
A little wider.
Then promptly coughed blood onto the floor and passed out.
"Yep," I muttered, scooping her up.
"Just a normal girl with perfectly reasonable ancestors."
The Morning fog rolls off the trees. Kiyomi is in my arms—out cold but alive.
She didn't stir.
Didn't mumble some clever line or tell me to put her down.
She just breathed, shallow but steady.
I'd take that over a thousand foxfire trials and prophetic riddles any day.
The hillside opened to a streambed. Smooth stones. Cold water.
I laid her down. Propped her head on my pack.
Let her sleep.
And while she did?
I kept watch.
Hours passed.
She woke just before noon.
Blinking like the sun owed her an apology.
"…Did we win?" she croaked.
"Define 'win,'" I said, handing her a waterskin. "You didn't die. The statue's mulch. I'm still pretty."
She took a long drink.
Coughed.
Then said, deadpan:
"That's a generous definition."
I leaned back and watched the clouds crawl by.
Then she said something I didn't expect.
"They're going to come for me, aren't they?"
I looked at her and said: "They already are."