The firelight's lower now. The crowds are tipsy, laughing louder. Music swells—not the refined stringwork of the palace, but a stomping, clapping, out-of-time rhythm that only drunk peasants can pull off. In the square, people are dancing in uneven circles.
I noticed her staring, at the dance.
Not the elegance of it—there wasn't any, it was all stomps and shoulder bumps, wild grins and missteps.
Chaos in rhythm.
"You're staring," I said.
"I'm observing."
"Right. You're observing fun."
She crossed her arms.
"I've danced before."
"Sure. In a ballroom with a dozen rules to follolw."
"I'll have you know I ranked highly in courtly dance."
I gave her the look.
Then I walked out into the crowd, turned back and held out a hand.
She stared at it.
"…You're serious?"
"I'm bleeding internally and this is still a better idea than watching you sulk."
She scowled and took my hand.
I didn't lead, didn't need to, the music did.
One spin. Two stumbles. A bump into a laughing vendor.
She gasped, I laughed.
And then she laughed too.
No pretense. No title, just a girl trying not to step on my feet and failing miserably.
"You're terrible," she huffed.
"You're worse."
"You're not even on the beat!"
"There's a beat?!"
People clapped. Spun around us. Someone threw petals into the air.
It was dumb.
It was loud, but was real.
And for a moment she forgot she was someone the world was hunting and I forgot what I had inside me.
Just two idiots dancing in the dirt.
The drums are softer now. Smoke from grilled skewers drifts lazily across the stalls. Most of the crowd has gone home, giggling into sleeves and sake cups. But one stretch of booths still buzzes—games.
I stopped in front of one, held together by sticks, string, and delusion.The sign read: "Catch a goldfish, win a prize!"
A bored kid sat behind the table, half-asleep.
"You've got to be kidding," Kiyomi said, arms crossed.
"Come on," I said, already reaching for the tiny scoop net. "You've stared down masked corpses and death cults. A fish shouldn't scare you."
"Scared? Please." She stepped up beside me. "I could do this in my sleep."
Two copper coins clinked on the table.
We each got a scoop.
A shallow bowl. One net made of thin rice paper.The rules were simple:
Catch a fish. Keep it alive.
Kiyomi crouched gracefully, dead serious.
The fish darted away the second her net touched the water.
Snap.
"…Unbelievable," she muttered, inspecting the soggy handle.
I grinned.
Crouched beside her.
Waited.
Then slammed the net down and scooped up two at once.
The net ripped instantly.
"…You broke the rules," she said flatly.
"Correction—I beat the game."
"I'm reporting you to the shrinekeeper."
The teen running the stall sighed and held up a prize.
A small woven bracelet, red string and beads.
"Technically he caught them," she mumbled.
I took it. Turned to Kiyomi.
Held it out.
She blinked.
"…What is that?"
"A token of my undying affection," I said with a solemn bow. "Or maybe I'm bribing you."
She stared at it like I'd handed her a live spider.
Then took it, tied it around her wrist.
"…It's tacky," she muttered.
"It matches your attitude."
She tried not to smile.
We turned toward the inn.
The lights of the festival fading behind us.
She glanced down at the bracelet once.
Then again.
Just as we passed the square—
She stopped.
"...Toki."
Her voice was small.
I turned around and saw what she saw.
A bounty board.
Freshly nailed paper.
My name at the top.
And beneath it? One word in bold ink:
"Demon."
The sketch was crude, but good enough.
Scar over my right brow. The perfect jawline. My blade.
All there.
And just below the payout—
Drawn in wax-red ink—
A symbol.
Three jagged strokes.Curved like fangs.
I hadn't seen that mark in years.
And I never wanted to again.
Kiyomi's voice came slow.
"…Who did this?"
I didn't answer.
She turned her eyes to me.
"That mark—do you know it?"
I nodded.
"It's old."
"They used it in the pits. To brand fighters too dangerous to be controlled."
Her breath caught.
"You mean…?"
"Me."
I tore the paper down, folded it once and shoved it into my coat.
"I thought they were all dead," I muttered.
Kiyomi didn't ask who.Didn't ask what pits.
Maybe because she saw something in my face that told her now wasn't the time, or maybe because her fingers were still touching the bracelet I gave her.
"We should leave," she said quietly.
I looked at her, something bitter caught in my throat.
"You sure you want to travel with a 'demon'?"
She met my gaze, unshaken.
"I've danced with one. I'll take my chances."
Morning mist hugs the earth. The woods beyond the town seem darker than before. Kiyomi and I walk side by side, no words spoken.
The path felt too straight, too smooth.
"You think they're following us?" she asked.
I shrugged.
"Wouldn't be the first time."
She frowned.
"That mark... they want you dead."
"You think they'll try to separate us?"
My voice was low, flat.
"They won't get the chance."
We reached a fork in the road.
One path wound through a ravine, the other veered off toward a ruined temple.
A shrine to something forgotten.
I stared at it.
"We take the shrine path."
Kiyomi raised a brow.
"Why?"
"Because they expect us to run."
She nodded and followed.
Behind them, high in the trees—
A figure crouched in silence, scroll in hand, mask pulled low.
Watching and Waiting.
Kiyomi was unusually silent.
Not the brooding kind of silent. Not the "I'm mad at you and pretending not to be" kind either.
This was worse.
"This is where they trained them," I muttered, brushing a branch aside. "The old sects."
Kiyomi looked up.
Her hood was down now. Ears exposed. Eyes sharp.
Eventually, we reached it.
The shrine.
Or what was left of it.
The torii gate stood half-swallowed by vines. The altar was cracked down the middle. Wind chimes hung in tatters from the eaves.
But the worst part?
The offering bowls were full.
"Someone's been here recently," Kiyomi said, crouching to examine a lit incense stick.
I crouched beside her.
Took a whiff.
"Smells like regret and cheap sandalwood."
She stood quickly.
Eyes scanning the treeline.
That twitch in her left hand told me everything.
"We're not alone."
"Figured."
I turned slowly.
Let my hand settle on my hilt.
I wasn't smiling, not anymore, because someone stepped from behind the shrine.
Not a bandit.
Not a priest.
Not even a bounty hunter.
A man in torn robes. Barefoot. Blindfolded.
Old.
"I felt you coming," he said. "I smelled the ink in your blood, girl. And the rot in yours, beast."
I took one step forward.
"You've got one chance to say something useful, old man. Otherwise I make this shrine more ruined than it already is."
The man just grinned.
Split lip. No teeth.
But a grin.
"Then come, demon. Let me see what your blood remembers."
"Name?" I asked.
He tilted his head, like he was listening for something beneath my voice.
"Was given one once. I burned it. Like they burned everything else."
"Great. Another poet."
He didn't respond.
He moved first, faster than he had any right to.
His palm struck my rib.
"What the hell—" I started, stepping back, swinging wide—
He ducked under it. Touched my shoulder.
Backpedaled.
"You walk heavy," he muttered. "Like a man trying to convince himself he still weighs something."
I gritted my teeth.
Came in hard this time.
Fist to his gut—he didn't dodge. Took it. Absorbed it.
But he twisted at the last second and I felt my elbow wrench sideways.
He moved slippery, unreadable.
"Show me the monster," he said. "I want to meet the thing that made the pits tremble."
I didn't want to.
But the pain in my arm was waking it.
The fire under my ribs was stirring again.
The beast heard him.
And it liked being remembered.
Another hit. Open palm to my throat.
I staggered.
He circled.
"You're not the demon anymore, are you?" he said softly.
I roared.
Something inside cracked loose.
Eyes burned.
Breath fogged.
And this time—he felt it.
The old man froze, just for a second.
And in that second?
I was behind him.
He turned—too slow.
I grabbed his wrist.
Pulled it and snapped it clean.
He didn't scream, didn't curse.
He smiled.
"There he is."
I released him and staggered back.
Blood running from my nose. My ear. Maybe my soul.
He fell to one knee.
Laughed and coughed blood.
"You're not done burning yet, boy."
He pointed at Kiyomi.
Didn't even face her, just pointed.
"Protect her, and you'll destroy everything."
"Lose her, and you'll destroy yourself."
Then he passed out.
I stood there, panting, fists trembling.
Kiyomi walked up beside me.
Didn't say a word, just looked down at the old bastard.
"...What was that?"
I looked at her.
Then looked away.