Chapter Text

David’s foot pressed on the gas pedal as he sped after the winged monster. He was going as fast as he could under the circumstances, but the Chiropteran he had been chasing was nearing the plane that was about to take off. 

“Shit,” he muttered. “It’s gonna jump onto it. Dammit...”

“Just leave it,” Saya's voice came from the backseat, heavy with pain and fatigue, but confident enough. David crashed the jeep through the boom gate and onto the airfield. Behind him, Saya tied her right hand to the metal frame with her neckerchief, bracing herself between the roll bars, katana gleaming in her free hand. “Get closer!” she cried.

“Don’t make it sound so easy,” David replied gruffly, but he was completely focused, driving at full throttle. Saya stood behind him, her eyes unblinking, facing forward. If this Chiropteran were allowed to latch onto the plane and escape, there was no telling how many lives would be lost.

The jeep was catching up, but soon, the aircraft would be picking up speed. Before that, the Chiropteran would lower its altitude to latch onto one of the engines under the plane’s right wing. Then, if their jeep was underneath it, Saya would just be close enough to reach it - It had to be timed correctly.

The plane began to speed up. The Chiropteran swooped in low, and in that moment, Saya let out a shout, and struck at its wing with all her might.

A gash across the monster’s chest caused it to sputter and flip in the air! It recovered briefly, and might still have escaped, but it was now too low to the ground.It crashed and skidded across the pavement of the runway. The airplane began to take off, and the jeep swerved to a stop. David let out a sigh. They had made it.

He sat there for a moment, the engine still running, before he noticed that Saya had gotten out of the jeep. She staggered on foot, clutching her right shoulder which David now saw clearly; was bleeding badly. “Saya, where are you going? You cannot leave.”

She ignored him, continuing to walk. “Saya!”

Saya approached the monster, and from David’s perspective, she looked completely unguarded. She looked down at it, almost as if she pitied it, and extended her hand, allowing the blood to drip from her wound, into the creature’s mouth, as though allowing it a last meal. He knew very little about the girl he had been working with for so long, and yet, he did know that Saya’s blood was like a strong liquor to these creatures. He had no idea what he was seeing.

A final, faint gurgling could be heard escaping the monster’s chest, and Saya stood there for a moment, before her knees began to wobble. She did not fall, and controlled her descent to the ground with grace, but it was still more exposure than David cared to see in such an irreplaceable asset. He cursed, and tore himself from the seat, but not before grabbing a crowbar that was on the jeep’s floor. 

Saya’s uniform was now soaking up the blood pooled beneath the dying thing where they met on the pavement. She was way too close to its jaws for comfort. David marched over to her, grabbed her arm and hauled her upright, moved her behind him, and brought the crowbar down on the monster’s skull.  “Don’t pull reckless stunts like that in front of me,” he snapped at her .

“It was already dead,” she said impassively.

He turned toward her sharply. “Get in the jeep.” She didn’t argue. As she passed him, he noticed the full extent of her wound. “You need medical attention asap.”

She didn’t answer that either. She got into the passenger seat, tilted her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes. As David got into the driver’s seat, he took it as a small relief that she was too beat to give him any more lip. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have guessed that she was sleeping.

They drove in silence. David  kept one hand on the wheel, the other tapping tension into the steering column. The roads between the airfield and there were mostly deserted at this hour, and it was a short distance between the airfield and it, within the American colony, so it was only a few minutes before they arrived.

The jeep rumbled through the boom gates, past a guard who straightened the moment he saw David behind the wheel. The compound lights cast long, sterile shadows on the concrete. David pulled into the lot beside the admin building and cut the engine. He turned to Saya  and saw her eyes open slightly, as if the cease of the jeep’s motion had woken her from her light sleep. “Medical’s in the back,” he  said gruffly. “Tell them I sent you.” Saya gave  him a tired look, before exiting the car, still clutching her shoulder.

He watched her limp through the rear entrance until she disappeared behind the door. Then he exhaled, scrubbed his hand down his face, and climbed out.

Inside, the fluorescent light hummed too loud. The front desk officer nodded with recognition, already rising. “Mr. Burton-”

David waved her off. “Radio,” he said flatly. “Secure channel three.”

He crossed the room to the comms set, flicked the dials with practiced hands, and keyed the mic. Static hissed, then steadied.

“I hear ya,” Louis’ voice cracked on the other end.

“It’s me.” David began immediately. “Saya and I are at the office.” David turned, glanced at the hallway Saya had disappeared down. “And the witness? The school nurse who was with Saya when it happened?”

“We got her,” Louis said, the helicopter blades in the background still faintly audible over the phone. “There is no need to worry.”

David let out a sigh of relief. 

“Are all things okay on your end?” Louis asked

“Yeah, we’re fine. Saya cleaned up pretty nicely.”

“Yeah, about that,” Louis said, a tinge of contrition in his pause. ”Yesterday, I finally got the chance to verify what happened at the train station.”

“We already know what happened, Louis”

“Yeah, but I just needed to confirm it for myself to be sure… I owe you and Saya an apology. I was wrong about the guy…”

“You’re inexperienced,” David said with a sigh. “It happened to me the first time I saw a dead Chiropteran. You’ll get used to those disgusting little buggers.”

“Yeah, I get that but-”

“Louis, I got my hands full at the moment. Can it wait?”

“Ye-”

David shut off the radio without another word. He moved through the office like a man underwater, ordered the paperwork be brought to him, sighed what he needed to sign, skimmed the reports left on his desk, initialed where required, and made several notes of who to call from the airbase, the home office, and the office of paranormal affairs in the morning.

The smell of smoke, blood, and burning fuel from the long and violent night still clung to his suit. Finally, his pen stilled. He leaned back. Let the chair groan beneath him. Just for a second. Just until the spinning in his head stopped. He closed his eyes.

***

The ring of a desk phone startled David awake.

He blinked, neck stiff, mouth dry. Pale morning light filtered in through the narrow, dust-streaked windows. Somewhere, someone was talking. It took him a moment to realize it was the front desk secretary, a slim woman, early forties, tired eyes and a voice like gravel over ice. “Mr. Burton.”

He grunted and straightened.

“There’s… a woman here,” she said, headset still crooked over one ear. “She came asking for Saya.”

David froze. “Who?”

“She didn’t give a name. Just walked up, asked for her directly. Then walked past.”

“What?” he barked, already on his feet. “You let her in?”

“Thats the job of the guards posted at the front gate, and she moved like she belonged here, so I assumed that she did.”

David didn’t wait for more. “Where is she now?”

“The clinic wing, she-” He was already moving before she finished. It wasn’t a long distance from one end of the building to the other, and It didn’t take long for him to arrive at the entrance of the examination room. The door was open ajar. David entered, and the bright light and white tiles burned the last of the sleep from his retinas.

Saya sat on the edge of the examining table, still wearing the same bloody clothes she had worn the night before (doubtless having refused to remove her clothes for the doctor). Her expression was calm, more at ease than he’d seen in weeks.

Across from her sat another young woman, whom David recognized by her facial structure, as being either Chinese or Korean.

An oriental in a casual western dress, she was very small, even more petite than Saya was. Her black hair was tied back in a single braid, and in the fluorescent light, David couldn’t tell whether her eyes were brown or green. It went without saying, she was remarkably pretty.

The two of them were speaking softly. Mandarin. David had no idea that Saya spoke Mandarin, and he reminded himself that Saya was a lot older than her appearance led one to believe. Although the way she spoke with this girl, who did not appear much older than she was… There was a familiarity that David had never heard Saya speak with before, even though their voices were both too soft to catch more than a word or two.

David stepped forward, eyes hard. “Saya,” he asked calmly. “Who is this woman?”

Slowly, the woman turned to face him, and their eyes met. There was a depth in them, and after having worked with Saya for so long, something that was familiar to David. 

His eyes widened, and his throat went dry as the possibility dawned on him… but that was impossible… Saya was the last of her kind.

Saya slid off the table. Her feet touched the floor like falling leaves. “I need some air,” she said simply, gliding past him without a glance.

David held up a hand as if to stop her, but let it fall, and let her pass.

The other woman was already with her, walking beside her like they’d never been apart.

They left the room together.

The door clicked shut.

David stood frozen, blood buzzing in his ears. The attending physician gave him an apologetic look, as if to say, “I don’t know who she was either.”

The two women left the office, and headed towards the Tama river. 

“We could have spoken in the office, Saya,” Lei said gently. “In your current condition-”

“I don't care,” Saya huffed (though the creeping fatigue in her voice was indeed noticeable) “I wouldn’t  be able to talk to you in front of them. ”

“That's what we need to talk about,” Lei replied with gentle seriousness, “The man called ‘David’ and the people he works with. How much does he know? How much do they know?”

Saya sighed. She did not answer right away as she and Lei came to a bench overlooking the riverbank, and Saya sat down exhausted. 

“I don't know how much they know,” Saya admitted, “but David doesn't seem to know much. He believes that I'm one of the originals- no… he believes I'm the only original.”

A small smile crept onto Lei’s face. “So you've allowed him to think that you are me. ”

“For convenience’s sake,” Saya sighed. “Working with Dave helps me find the Chiropteran, but knowing you, you wouldn't want the hassle of him ordering you around, even though you are the last original.”

“That is true,” Lei said as she sat down next to her. “I would prefer my  independence for the ‘thing’ that I have to do.”

Saya looked up at her mentor with a tired gaze. She didn't press.

“That school uniform does look cute on you though,” Lei said, changing her tune. “You look like you would fit right in as a high school girl.”

Saya rolled her eyes. “It was only so I could blend in while investigating the school area. But is that all you wanted to say, Lei-sensei?”

The autumn wind blew past them, sending ripples across the surface of the river.

“Not really,” Lei said. “Afterall, we’ve known each other for over two decades now. I just wanted to see you again, before I went back to find Zhi Zhen.”

“Have you made any progress in finding her?” Saya asked.

“None, sadly.” There  was a melancholy in Lei’s voice.

A silence passed between them in the chilly morning air. And yet, both of them were too preoccupied with their own thoughts to notice the cold. “Sensei,” Saya began, almost as if confessing. “I broke my sword again last night.”

“But you have a new one now, don’t you?” Lei said, noticing the case that concealed Saya’s new katana. 

“You’ve had Cui Cao all your life,” Saya said with a hint of regret in her tone, “and he’s never broken. If I had a sword like him…”

“Forget even thinking about it. You and I come from a completely different time and place, and yet you still mastered Shénwu's techniques. You have no idea how rare that is for someone like you to accomplish. I’m sorry I couldn’t find one of our swords to give you though.”

Saya looked down at the katana. She had only received it last night. The blade didn’t speak to her the way Cui Cao did for Lei. It didn’t guide her… it didn’t even have a name.

“It's fine… Lei sensei.” Another cool breeze blew past them, and a few leaves were scattered along the water of the Tama river. “Thank you for coming. It was good to see you again.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Lei said.

It was November 1st, 1966, at the American Yokota air base in Japan. 

Chapter Text

The orphanage was still. Moonlight filtered through thin paper windows, catching on dust motes that hung in the stale air. Boys slept in their futons strewn about the tatami mats.

Amidst the peace, Ochikawa Sora woke up from a light sleep. The futon felt emptier than usual, and he turned to his side to confirm that his younger friend was not there beside him. 

Sora sighed deeply. He had a feeling he already knew where Yukio went. He sat up slowly, quietly, his fingers tightening in the thin blanket as he scanned the darkened room. A breath. A sigh. Then bare feet touched cold wood. He tip-toed over the futons of his dozen-or-so sleeping roommates. He was a little on edge. Yukio had had a bad habit of getting out of their futons after lights out when they he came to the orphanage

It was a habit that both the directors, and their fellow boys had made him break harshly. 

Sora crept silently down the steps, and found the door to the basement opened ajar. He squeezed in without opening it anymore, for fear that the creaking against its hinges would alert someone, and it wasn’t hard to do with his small frame. Once inside, he found him, Yukio, kneeling before a half-open wooden cabinet. In his lap lay a cloth bundle. Familiar. Untouched since he'd arrived here. The sword.

Sora’s voice was sharp before he could stop himself.

“What are you doing?”

Yukio flinched but didn’t look up. “I just wanted to see it again.”

Sora’s jaw clenched. He stepped closer, glaring down at the bundle in his brother’s arms. The wrapping was loose at one end, revealing a corner of the scabbard. The sword that once adorned the wall of Yukio’s home before his parents died. Yukio’s grandfather had saved from the wreckage of the bombings that happened before Yukio was born. Beautifully crafted, but meaningless to a poor family. A family heirloom that was more trouble than it was worth. But it meant everything to Yukio, and it hurt Sora’s heart to see it.

 “Put it back,” he told him sharply. “You can’t be here.”

Yukio looked up, his eyes wide. “I know Sora, but… when I look at it, I like to pretend that I’m a Samurai, and saving others.” Yukio’s face betrayed a hint of joyful excitement, followed by an embarrassed suppression of it.

Sora’s fists balled at his sides. ”Samurai?” he echoed. “Helping others? Are you seriously on about that again Yukio? Like we haven’t had this talk a thousand times before!? How can we help others when we can’t even help ourselves!!?” His voice was not loud, but the way he snapped made Yukio flinch. 

His fingers tightened around the sword. “I know things are bad now Sora, but I still don’t understand why you’re like this. Why did you tell me never to talk about this sword? I think the fact that it was in my family was cool, don’t you?”

Sora suppressed the instinct to shout at him again. He had protected Yukio to the best of his ability ever since he arrived at the orphanage, and the two of them became like brothers. Sora knew how sensitive Yukio was, and that snapping at him or raising his voice would cause him to shut down. And yet, it was this optimistic attitude of Yukio’s that made every blow from the bullies hurt both of them even more.

“Nobody cares about that here,” Sora explained as calmly as he could. “No one has any samurai lineage or anything, we're all just stuck here, and the two of us already get singled out.”

Yukio lowered his head, knowing Sora was right. The two of them were cursed with small bodies and soft appearances. Even the younger children bullied them.

 “You wanna tell them you have a sword?” Sora continued. “They’ll steal it. Break it. Just to see you cry, so that they can laugh at you more. Please, just put that away, and come back to bed before someone notices.”

Yukio looked like he might say something, but he shrank back instead. He turned his face away. “I… I just liked remembering home.” he whispered, looking like he was on the verge of tears. “I hate this place, Sora. I hate the nicknames. I hate the fact that I look the way I do.” He looked down. “I just wanna go back home.”

Sora’s throat tightened. “I do too. But we can’t. We both have to live in this reality until we are old enough to leave.” Neither of them ever dared to consider adoption. Yukio nodded, as if to show his older friend that he understood… The two of them had to survive until Sora turned 18. Then he might be able to ‘adopt’ Yukio, and they could leave together forever.

But until then, they were trapped here. Punching bags for the others. Sent to the staff with bruises that they couldn’t explain, and stripped of their pride each morning when they were woken, each night before they laid to rest, and constantly throughout the day. 

Yukio knew that Sora was right, and more than anything, the thought of what the others would do if they found out about this sword now sank in, and it turned his insides to water. “You’re right Sora. I’ll put it back and go upstairs.”

Sora nodded, his heart heavy, but relieved that he had gotten through, when suddenly, the creak of a floorboard snapped both boys to attention.

Footsteps.

Heavy ones. Coming closer.

“Someone’s coming,” Sora hissed. “Put it back!” Yukio fumbled with the cloth, fingers shaking. “Come on!” Sora grabbed his friend’s wrist and yanked him behind a stack of old futons and storage boxes in the corner, just as a shadow spilled down the stairwell.

Then, the figure entered the room. It was Kurata-san, one of the assistant directors. But something was off about him. Something was wrong. He was carrying the limp form of Kazuki, one of the older boys, who had stolen the boys’ dessert and deliberately pushed them into a puddle just earlier that afternoon.

Kazuki wasn’t moving… Sora kept one hand braced against the dusty wall, the other tight across Yukio’s trembling mouth, as Kurata-san, set the older boy’s body down on the floor. Sora felt own heart thudding so loudly he was almost worried Kurata would hear it. Yukio shook under his touch, muscles taut, breath hitching against his palm. Then, Kurata began to change… 

Bones popped like knuckles in reverse as his skin rippled, split, and slid. His back hunched grotesquely, limbs elongating, jaws stretching far beyond anything human… It was almost twice the size as Kurata-san, its skin was rough and greenish brown, its arms long and twisted and fingers replaced by claws, and its head looked like the head of a bat.

Yukio's breath caught.

The creature sniffed the body. Lifted it. Then its face, now more bat than man, latched onto Kazuki’s throat, and a wet slurping sound filled the room. Slow. Greedy.

Blood.

Yukio began to tremble harder, a shudder rippling through him as a whimper escaped his throat before he could stop it.

Too loud.

The monster paused.

Lifted its blood-soaked mouth from its victim's neck, and began to sniff the air.

Silence.

Then it turned its head- slowly, grotesquely- toward the futon stack. Sora’s breath hitched. He gently pulled Yukio back, trying to sink deeper into the shadows.

The creature sniffed again.

And began to move.

Step by step. Silent now. Each clawed toe touching the wood with unnatural care. It was sniffing directly toward them. Then a clawed hand reached forward.into the boys’ hiding place, and grabbed.

Yukio shrieked as he was yanked out into the open, the monster's gnarled fingers grabbing him by his long hair. Yukio was screaming now. He kicked and thrashed, lifted off the ground and dangled like a rabbit in a wolf’s jaws. The monster smiled… the door to this basement was thick. No one upstairs would hear…

A sudden primal scream jolted both of them, and the monster glanced over its shoulder to see Sora charging at him, sword in hand. The old katana blurred in the air as he swung with everything he had, teeth clenched and eyes burning.

Steel struck flesh!

Not deep. Not nearly deep enough. But the blade cut into the monster’s right thigh, drawing dark, thick blood.

The beast howled, dropping Yukio to the floor.

Sora didn’t wait. He threw himself in front of his brother, holding the katana low, body shaking with adrenaline. “Yukio, RUN!!”

But Yukio couldn’t move. His legs were locked, eyes wide, frozen in place as though he were rooted to the ground, like a plant trembling in wind.

The monster stood still for a moment, staring at Sora, as if studying him.

Sora was trembling from the tips of his fingers to the souls of his feet. The sword trembled so much he looked like he would drop it at any moment if he didn’t fall over on his own sooner.

The monster reached towards the boy with his hand, slowly, and in that moment, Sora swung!

He did not tremble as he swung the sword, as though deep muscle memory guided his hands. The blade cut cleanly through the monster’s thumb.

The digit flopped to the ground with a sickening thud.

A moment of silence… The monster stood there, blood dripping from its hand, and gushing from its femoral vein where Sora had slashed its thigh, and then, the demon roared! an inhuman, gut-wrenching scream that rattled the very walls. The force of it struck the boys like a wave. Yukio clapped his hands over his ears, eyes squeezing shut.

He felt the ringing in his ears, and his vision went white…

***

The coppery scent of blood met Saya before she even entered the room. The door to the basement was heavy, a perfect place for a “dining room” for the Yokushu.

She made no sounds as she opened the door. The scent of blood was stronger now. 

“Did I get here too late?”

She crept down the stairs, her hand on her blade’s handle, and her neck craned, ready to strike.

She reached the bottom, and slowly turned her head to see where the scent was coming from the most strongly. A katana lay covered in blood, its blade still stuck in the back of a dead monster… It was not killed in a single strike. It had bled out after a myriad of strikes. Its wings were half opened, as though it had tried to go into flight-mode in its final moments, only to realize it was already too late.

A little bit past him, was a child with long hair. His pajamas soaked in blood, and a bit of vomit… he was kneeling by a body, holding what remained of its hand…

Saya’s eyes widened. It wasn’t because the other child’s body was mutilated by an angry demon, the limbs contorted and broken, organs exposed, and flesh raked away by claws… the body 

Was left intact just enough for Saya to see most of his face… a piece of his jaw was gone on the left side near his neck, and a hole had been made between his right eye and ear. But it was not the mutilated body that affected Saya, but the look in the surviving one’s eyes… 

Those were not merely the eyes of someone who lost something irreplaceable. The way they swam with fear… so deep it was almost a void. This was not the terror of what he had just witnessed. This was the dawning horror of being unprotected.. Eyes that carried the terrible knowledge that the one who had stood between him and the darkness — the one who told him when to run, when to hide, when to hope — would never stand there again. The boy whose savaged remains his eyes took in was one he had leaned on as if he were his last defense against the world. Losing him now meant being utterly exposed. 

“Seki-nee” The image of Sekiko’s body flashed through her mind, and she winced as she put her hand to her head. 

She suppressed the image that had burned into her memory, and forced herself to look up again… one of the boys was still alive… 

***

David Burton sat in his hotel room, not far from the location of Saya’s mission, when the phone rang as predicted.

“I’ll get it,” Louis said, smothering his cigarette in the ashtray and moving to pick up the phone. “Hello? Hold on Saya, David is right here with me.”

“Is it done?” David asked, standing up, and putting a hand in his pocket.

Louis turned to him with an uncertain expression. “You’d better take this.”

David frowned, and took the phone from Louis before putting it to his ear. “Saya, did you get the Chiropteran?”

“I need you to get over here,” Saya’s voice came from the other line, “and bring a doctor. Now.” There was a slight tremble in her voice, as if she was on the verge of shouting. 

“Saya, what exactly happ-”

“Just get over here!”She hung up the phone before David could ask any more questions.

“What was that?” Louis asked.

“I don’t know,” David said gruffly as he prepared to leave. “Call Dr. Sandler and have him meet me at the orphanage, pronto.” He was already out the door. He hurried in his step. Saya sounded angry over the phone, and nothing good ever followed when Saya was angry.

***

Saya returned to the basement quickly, and found that the surviving boy had not moved. His pajamas still dripping with blood, his gaze still unblinking as he held his brother’s hand. However long it would take David to get there with the doctor, it wouldn’t be fast enough.

Out of frustration, she cursed, and that got the surviving boy’s attention. 

He turned to her, and flinched slightly when he saw her, icing closer to his brother’s corps. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said, kneeling down. 

The boy was still trembling. His eyes were wild with fear, and he seemed unable to understand her words, let alone respond to them. Saya understood this. She sat there with him, until David arrived on the scene.

***

The streets were quiet now. Police tape fluttered like weak streamers in the wind, and the building that had once passed for an orphanage stood sealed behind layers of official silence. Clean-up teams had already swept through. The doctor had done what he could. The boy had been taken into care.

“Saya,” David said, as he hastened his approach towards the girl. 

She didn’t move. “Get in the car Saya. I’ll drive you back to the hotel.”

She didn’t answer. The wind tousled her hair slightly, but she walked along the sidewalk without stopping.

David tried again, gentler. “You have blood on your clothes. You’re gonna draw attention.”

Still, she didn’t turn. “I want to walk.”

David exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. He approached until he was just a few paces behind her. “Saya—”

“Leave me alone!” She spat… “Please.”

The word hung there… it wasn’t one he had often heard from her. David stood there a moment longer, the tension draining from his shoulders.

“…Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll be at the hotel if you need anything.” He turned and walked back to the car.

***

The backstreets were secluded at this hour, and at this time of year. The late November chill hung in the air, and what little paper debris there was scattered sluggishly along the pavement with each passing breeze. Saya walked alone, a shadow against the fading light. Her boots hit the ground in near silence. Behind her, footsteps echoed. They were hesitant at first. Light. Barely audible. But they continued. She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“Stop following me,” she said without turning. A few paces behind her, Yukio walked with his sword in his arms, the old blade clutched like a treasure instead of a weapon. He was dressed in clothes that were several sizes too big for him, and he was silent as he stared at her, having only come out into the open after he realized he was discovered.

Saya let out an exasperated sigh. “This is not a game. Go home.”

The boy’s eyes flicked up. “I don’t have one,” he said softly. She stopped. That pause was just long enough. A ripple passed through the air. A man stepped out from the shooting gallery and into their part of the alley. At first glance, he looked like an ordinary drifter, with unkempt hair, a ragged coat and bent shoulders. But Saya knew better. “Tch, I almost got to him unnoticed”

The man’s face broke into a smile as it eyed Yukio, and then that same face split down the middle, like a paper mask being torn in half, revealing the gnarled, snarling snout beneath. The monster let out a deep, wet hiss and lunged- not at her, but at Yukio.

Yukio’s gaze had barely changed direction to the threat when Saya slid between them like the breakwater to a crashing tide, blade singing as it left its scabbard. The monsters outstretched hand was slashed before it could reach the boy! The monster reeled back, slashing at her face with its other hand. She ducked low, twisted, and buried her sword into its abdomen in one fluid motion. It screamed, flailing, but she twisted again and brought the blade up through its neck, severing cartilage and muscle in a shower of gore. Its body hit the wall with a sickening crunch, then crumpled to the ground, hissing and dissolving into putrid smoke.

Silence followed.

Saya stood over the remains, breath shallow, shoulders rising and falling. Then she turned around, expecting the child to be trembling, speechless.

But Yukio just stood there, wide-eyed, expression unreadable. A moment passed. Then:

“…I knew it.”

Saya blinked.

“I knew you were someone who fights them,” he said. “And saves people. I could tell, back at the orphanage.”

Saya narrowed her eyes. “You need to stop following me,” she said sternly. “Just turn around, and forget what you saw.”

“No.” The way he said it— it wasn’t stubborn. It was certain. “I have a sword,” Yukio said, stepping forward. “And I’m not leaving. Not until you teach me how to use it. Like you do.” Saya’s expression didn’t change, but inside, something twisted. She stepped toward him slowly.

“Give me the sword.”

Yukio’s shoulders  seemed to relax when he saw her outstretched hand, and for a moment, the angry child once again reverted back to the boy who felt bad whenever he had something that someone else didn’t. “Yeah, sure,” he said, holding the sword out almost sheepishly. Saya took it. Her hands gripped the hilt, running a thumb along the fuller. The weight. The balance. The faint glimmer of folded steel along the spine.

She froze.

No…

This blade wasn’t forged like a normal blade. It was cast, in a method long buried, known only to a handful of masters centuries ago. The craftsmanship was unmistakable.

Saya’s breath caught.

Only once before had she seen a blade like this.

Cui Cao. Lei’s sword.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered in a low voice. 

Yukio shifted. “It’s… a family heirloom. That’s all I know.” Saya said nothing for a long time. A memory came into her mind’s eye, when she was around the same age as this boy now. It was in a courtyard surrounded by forest, stones and idols covered in moss. Before her, Ruo Lei stood in her flowing white and red robes, her green eyes meeting Saya’s… and Saya remembered seeing the fire in her own reflected in them…. She had been ready to learn… determined. 

“What I am about to teach you,” Lei said gravely, “is a prerequisite to the priestess dance. It will change your body in ways that will allow you to learn the same techniques that I use. It will enhance your physical strength, and even slow the aging process significantly.” Lei offered a melancholy smile. “You may even live to be 200, but… even though I already explained the risks to you, I still have to say, all started younger. You’re already late. And most of them… didn’t survive the training. For you it may be an even harder path.”

Back in the present, Saya’s knuckles whitened around the handle of the sword she was holding. She turned back to Yukio.

“…Are you a boy?” she asked.

The question caught him off-guard. Yukio flinched, shoulders rising defensively. “Y-yes.” His voice was tight. Not from shame, but from anger. His jaw locked. There was an old wound there. Something buried.

Saya understood more than he realized.

She handed the sword back to him, and let her arms return to her side.

“Then I can’t teach you.” She turned away and began walking.

Yukio’s eyes widened. “Wait—!”

“You heard me.”

“But why?!” He stumbled after her, voice rising. “Why can’t a boy learn it?!” Saya ignored him, continuing to walk away. She feared she had said too much already, but Yukio was persistent. “What's wrong with me!? Why can’t you teach me!? You at least owe me an explanation!”

She continued to walk.

Yukio took a step forward, his fingers clenching. “Please! What does it matter if I’m a boy? I’ve seen how you fight- how you move. I want to learn that. I need to.”

Still, she walked.

His feet moved without thinking. “Just tell me why. You owe me that, don’t you?”

Silence.

His chest rose faster now, breath catching. “Please… I just want a reason. That’s all.”

She didn’t give him one, and it hit something raw inside him. “You’re a coward,” he muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He winced at his own voice but didn’t back down. “You won’t even explain it. Like your secret makes you better than everyone! Like you’re so proud! I’m begging you to teach me something. Anything! Why won’t you even talk to me!?

She continued to walk.

“People like you really piss me off!”

“If I piss you off, then stop following me, and leave me alone.”

“Easy for you, The way you walk and talk— It's like you’re completely detached, like this is just a job to you, and you don’t even care. It wasn’t you lying there in your brother’s blood! ”

Saya twitched, but kept walking. “Do you even feel anything?” Yukio continued to accuse. “Or did you already turn into one of those things?”

Saya whirled around and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed against the alley walls. Yukio’s head turned slightly with the blow, strands of hair flaring across his face.

He stared at her. Trembling. Tears began to spill down his cheeks, but not a sound came out. His mouth clamped shut.

A thin trickle of blood dripped from his chin.

He had bitten down, hard, just to keep himself from crying out. Saya froze. The slap had landed harder than she had meant to, and the sound of her own palm striking flesh echoed in her own ears as she realized she was breathing heavily... And no matter how angry the expression on her face, the boy still stared back at her, still burning with rage.

He glared at her with a fire in his eyes, his fists clenched around the sword he refused to drop.

Saya turned away again, but this time her steps were slower. He didn’t follow.

Not at first… She walked ten paces, then stopped, then turned around.

She was still thinking about the sword… It could not have been a coincidence that he had it, and years ago… decades ago… she had been in the exact same position as he was, and she was an outsider to the ways of the Shénwu, and Lei had done more for her than just explain.

With a sigh, Saya turned around, and walked back to the boy. Breathed in slowly through her nose, and took in the sight of him. The slap mark was already starting to bruise. He didn’t flinch. Just stared at her, eyes red-rimmed. Her voice, when it came, was calm again. “…The fighting style you want to learn,” she said, “has a name.”

Yukio’s eyes flicked up.

Saya continued. “It’s called the Priestess’s Dance. But you can’t just start there. To even begin learning it, you have to master a foundation first. It's a secret meditative technique that unlocks certain gates within the user.” Yukio’s brows furrowed.

She looked away, just for a moment. “And that technique… is forbidden to teach to boys.”

Predictably, his voice snapped out like a whip: “Why?”

Saya sighed.

She stood up again, folding her arms tightly over her chest, staring into the distance as if the answer might hurt more if she looked at him while giving it. “When males learn the technique, they progress much faster than females, becoming incredibly powerful, but that power came at a price for them… it is forbidden to teach this technique to males, because everyone who learned it, went mad.”

Yukio’s eyes widened. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean they lost their minds,” Saya said, turning back to him. “They became dangerous, and bloodthirsty, as if something primal within them was awakened by what they learned, and it was impossible to stop them without bloodshed.” 

 She knelt, and her voice dropped to a whisper, soft but cutting. “Are you prepared to risk losing yourself like that?”

Yukio swallowed. His hands tightened around the hilt of the sword, knuckles pale and trembling. His breathing was fast again.

“I—” Saya waited… “I wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t.”

“But they all said that,” she replied. “Before it happened.”

His lips parted. “I just want to stop those monsters.”

“Are you prepared to risk hurting others?”

Yukio’s grip on the sword slackened. His shoulders rose as if he was going to yell, but then something broke in him. The fury melted from his face, and his expression collapsed into something far smaller. His head dipped low. “No,” he whispered. The shame in his voice struck deep, and his bangs fell over his eyes as he looked down.

“But,” he continued, “I don’t understand…Sora and I, we killed that thing together. That monster… and he sacrificed his life to save me.” His voice pitched up, thick with tears and disbelief, anger returning in full force.

Saya’s eyes widened with the realization… she hadn’t thought of it at first, but those two boys really did kill a Yokushu without any training whatsoever… maybe…

“He fought so hard…” Yukio continued. “How can I just do nothing now?” His breathing hitched, and tears streamed down his cheeks again, carving fresh tracks through the already-dried ones.

He clenched his jaw, trying to wipe them away, furious with himself for crying.

Saya felt something tighten in her chest. She recognized the silent plea… not to be abandoned. She looked to the sword again. The distinct temper line of the folded steel. A sword that wouldn't break like the ones she had burned through. Her fingers itched to hold it once more, but she resisted.

“I can’t leave him like this.”

She closed her eyes, and for a brief moment, envisioned her other options… taking the sword from him and using it for herself… abandoning him here and letting the sword waste away alongside its owner…. Neither of those were possible for her at this point.

“Forgive me… Lei-sensei.”

Saya still did not know whether or not she would regret this as the words left her mouth, “I will teach you.” Yukio’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “But only what I can. Only what I dare.”

Yukio nodded in acknowledgement. “You need to say it aloud. I want to hear you say you understand the risk. I want to hear you accept it.”

He stared at her, tears still clinging to his lashes. “And know this; if I ever sense that you’re losing yourself, if I even suspect that you’re becoming a threat to others…” Her hand drifted meaningfully toward her blade. “I’ll cut you down myself. No hesitation.”

Yukio’s throat bobbed. His fists trembled at his sides. A thousand thoughts and emotions churned behind his eyes in that moment, but he didn’t speak too quickly. He stood in stillness… Thinking… Feeling… Then, finally… after just long enough to prove that he was taking it seriously, he gave a small, steady nod.

“I understand,” he said, voice hoarse but resolute. “And I accept.” Saya stared at him a moment longer. Then nodded once. The wind stirred between them. Yukio wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I’m Morino Yukio,” he said. “And you?”

Saya’s gaze lingered on his face for a moment. Then she looked away, her voice quieter now. “Kinoshita Saya.” 

Yukio repeated it softly, “Kinoshita Saya.”

Saya blinked. She hadn’t meant to say that name.

She had used others. Whatever name the mission required. But this time, without thinking, she’d given the boy her real one. Not a cover. Not an alias. Hers.

“Kinoshita… Saya,” Yukio repeated again, quieter this time, as if etching it into memory.

Saya didn’t look at him. She stood very still, as if now feeling the weight of what she’d just given.

She said nothing more.

Chapter Text

“They are called Yokushu,” Saya explained to Yukio. “In China, I knew them as Yaoguai, but the Americans I work with call them Chiropteran, although they used to simply be called ‘Vampires’, ‘Monsters’, or ‘Demons’. I guess they changed the name because they would rather be seen as more professional than ‘vampire hunters’.” She scoffed subtly, and continued- “Their skin is extremely tough, and they have no vital organs. Thats why we can’t use guns to fight them. The only way to kill them is for them to lose enough blood, and a high quality sword is the most efficient way to do that.”

“No internal organs,” Yukio murmured. “So they are demons who exclusively hunt humans.”

“That is what they are in a nutshell.”

“I can’t believe something like that exists… Why would Kami-sama create something like that?”

He was looking down, so he didn’t notice how Saya’s face twitched when he used the word for ‘God’. “However they came into existence, they are here,” Saya said evenly. “And that is why we fight them. Unfortunately, the ancient orders that taught the priestess’ dance are all gone. I was able to learn from one of the last originals.”

A knock came at the hotel door, and Yukio jerked his head towards the sound. “We’re busy!” Saya called, in an annoyed tone. “Go away.”

“I’ve got important news from David,” Louis’ voice came from the other side in English.

Saya groaned, and stormed towards the door, and yanked it open. “What!? Give it to me and go, you’re interrupting.” 

“One of our contacts found a Chiraptoran’s corpse in Vietnam, but it's unusual… Like… really weird. Headquarters wants you to look at it up close. There is a jet ready at the airbase. David is waiting for you there.”

“You could’ve called,” Saya said. “Does David not have the number to this hotel room?”

“Look,” Louis said defensively, “He wanted you to know soon, and I was in the area.”

“I’ll be there,” Saya said neutrally.

Louis’ gaze panned to Yukio who was staring at him curiously across the hall. “Saya, who is that kid?”

“Don’t worry about it, I already cleared it up with David.”

“Okay, but-”

“Goodbye Louis.” Saya closed the door, and turned back to Yukio, who was staring wide-eyed at where Louis stood, perhaps mesmerized by his appearance. “That conversation we just had was in English. Did you understand any of it, Yukio?”

“A little,” he said. “They need you to go somewhere soon?” 

“Yeah, since It's my job to investigate and hunt these monsters, I move around a lot. But if you want to do what I do, it's going to be the least of your problems.” She paused for a moment. “I’m sorry, but there’s been a change of plans. I have to go to Vietnam. It shouldn’t take long, I’ll be back by tomorrow morning, if nothing goes wrong.”

Yukio’s eyes widened. “Vietnam? Why?”

“I don’t know yet, but they wouldn’t dare to ask me to get on a plane if it wasn’t something,” she said, grabbing her coat from the rack. “But I’ll fill you in later. In the meantime, stay here in the room. And keep working on those meditation techniques I showed you. You're progressing fast, just make sure to stop yourself if you find yourself losing consciousness, understand?”

“I do,” Yukio said nodding. 

“Good,” Saya said, pulling on a charcoal-grey jacket over her shirt. She adjusted the fastenings on her belt and tucked something into her inner pocket. “If I’m not back by tomorrow morning, call the number I left by the phone.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding again. Saya grabbed her cylindrical sword case, and prepared to leave-

“Saya,” Yukio called. 

“What is it?” she asked, turning around. 

“Thank you…” He gave her a small smile, and looked down. 

Saya’s expression softened, Not knowing what else to say, she repeated, “I’ll be back soon” before she left. 

***

The car ride to the airfield was silent. Louis showed his ID to the guard at the boom-gate, and drove up to the jet, where David was already waiting, his neatly combed gray hair loosening in the propeller’s wind. Saya exited the car, and marched right up to him.

“Explain to me,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the noise of the jet, “Why I have to drop what I was doing and fly all the way to Saigon to examine a corpse.” David didn’t answer. Instead, he held out a photograph. Saya hesitated for a heartbeat, then snatched it from his hand. Her eyes narrowed. The silence stretched.

Her fingers tensed around the edges of the photo. “David, what is this?”

“I’ll explain on the way there, get on the plane.”

Saya, needing no further convincing, mounted the steps to the plane, turning around to give Louis one final look before boarding.

***

Yukio sat on the floor. His katana in hand, his eyes closed. The rhythmic breathing and the repetition of the words just under his breath, that he still didn’t know whether it was a mantra, or an incantation.. The sounds of the city drifted in faintly from the balcony, but in his mind, there was only stillness.

Stillness... and water.

He found it the way he had found it many times before- the way  Saya had described, the path to opening the inner gate… A vast, dark body of water, unmoving and soundless, wrapped around him like ink, lapping quietly against the edges of his awareness. His body was weightless in it, suspended somewhere between floating and sinking.

Cold. Quiet. Deep.

With every exhale, he slipped further beneath its surface. At times, he felt it rise up over his nose and mouth, and instinct made his chest tighten. He fought the reflex to gasp, remembering her words.

“You will know a gate has been opened when you can sink into the water, but no longer need to breathe, and when you can see in the darkness. These things must happen simultaneously. If you feel one has happened without the other, you must stop immediately… or you may never wake up.”

Yukio’s fingers twitched around the sword… In the blackness, he felt something shift— a pressure behind his eyes. His body relaxed, yet his awareness sharpened. He saw nothing, but for a moment, it was as though he almost could. There was a sensation—dim and vague—of the shapes of currents around him, something stirring beneath.

Then the water crept into his lungs again. His mouth twitched open reflexively.

His heart jumped.

No. Not yet.

He opened his eyes.

The hotel room’s ceiling came back into view— flat, colorless, reassuring in its ordinariness. Yukio’s skin was damp with sweat. His breathing came shallow and quick, and he wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist.

He sat in silence for a few moments more, letting his breath slow down, his body re-anchor itself to the physical world. “I wasn't ready,” he whispered.

But there had been something…

Yukio faintly heard a whisper, but knew that it could have only been his imagination. He closed his eyes slowly, and slowly opened them, looking down at the blade resting across his lap. He stared at the smooth lacquer of the hilt, the faint dark gleam of the exposed steel.

He had held that sword and looked at its blade countless times before, but he felt something thump in his chest. His breath caught. Something stirred within him, the way one might feel when stepping into a temple, or the threshold of a dream.

“…Are you,” he whispered, eyes narrowing faintly as he looked at the sword, “saying something to me?”

The silence pressed closer, but it wasn’t empty. It was the feeling one instinctively feels when they are being watched… the silent sensation. That seemed to ripple from the sword.

“Can you…” his voice was softer, as though not to scare it away. “Can you talk to me?”

Yukio bowed his head slightly, listening.

The stillness returned. Deeper, but not empty. A kind of waiting. The feeling that Yukio was so used to being so sensitive to… of someone trying to reach him… He was getting that from his sword.

“I'm sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile. “I still can't understand you.”

Yukio placed the sword back across his knees, closed his eyes, and began the procedure again… The city sounds faded again. The room dimmed behind his closed eyes. The stillness welcomed him back.

Water rose around him. Familiar now. Cold, but not hostile. He let himself float. Below the surface, time lost shape. The darkness deepened.

But somewhere along the descent, the quiet shifted.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. Not exactly. The water gave way to something else… Something real. And remembered. He was back in the orphanage. The wooden walls. The tatami mats. Even the temperature and the smells… and the stairs down to the basement, even the specific steps which were damaged by water, or where the wood was splintered on each step. At the bottom of the steps, was the basement itself, exactly as he had remembered.

The monster was on top of Sora,and in a vengeful rage.It was hurting him in ways that were deliberate… slow… horrible… Sora had stopped screaming. Tears still flowed from his eyes, but the gurgling sounds that came from his mouth no longer sounded like they should come from a living thing… and yet he was still alive. Still fighting for survival…

Yukio had carried the sword forward, and struck at the monster desperately, frantically, but he was  only managing to make little cuts on its skin. His strikes were too light… And the monster- the demon, continued to desecrate his brother right in front of him…

He was weak… he was helpless… he was so sick he almost wished himself dead… the smell of innards. The sound of Sora’s last cries, and worst of all, seeing what was done to the body… it wasn't the first time he had had this nightmare. It wasn't even the first time he had this vivid recollection in the middle of meditation… that memory… that nightmare, constantly pulled him back to it. 

When Yukio’s eyes fluttered open, and he found himself back in the hotel room, his body was stiff and lethargic, so he found it difficult to move or speak. He tried to focus on the sound of traffic outside of the window, and the sound of the maid's cart rolling down the hallway to calm his nerves, and regrounded his focus. 

It wasn't like waking up from a nightmare when he had had these visions while training. The physical authority was always replaced by a feeling of weightlessness, as though he couldn't put his feet on the ground. 

Saya had told him that this was normal, but that it was important for him to ground himself as quickly as possible. And yet, even while fully lucid, and in the physical world, even though he was sitting, and physically taking up space in the room… there was a strong sense of floating away without control.

But this time, he felt the same vibrations still coming from his sword… he was able to move his eyes so that he was looking down at it, and then his neck… he moved his fingers along the length of the sheath.

He allowed it to calm himself until something made his ears perk up. 

“Are you saying, that I ‘have a right’ to feel this way?... Well… of course I do.”

He set the sword down. “Sora… didn't deserve to die like that. His parents… how can they rest in peace knowing what happened to him?”

He hung his head, and his long hair brushed the sword that now lay on the floor. But then the realization of what his sword meant dawned on him. 

He straightened up, and held it in his lap again. This time, as he began the procedure- he didn't try to block out his anger, sadness, or fear. It was with him with every breath…

***

The fluorescent lights went on with a heavy, low-frequency thunk, illuminating the body on the metal slab. Saya walked forward, and David waited behind her, arms folded, giving her space. Someone from the forensics team handed her a clipboard. She didn’t take it. She had seen enough from the photographs… There were slashes and punctures on the monster’s body, but that was not what had killed it.

Its face had been smashed, and its skull partially caved in. The prints of a man’s boot were clearly indented into it. A Yokushu’s body was tough, so a normal human foot should not have been able to do that. Even she herself was nowhere near that strong. The last time she had tried to fight one without a sword, even though the Chiropteran was wounded before- would have resulted in her death had David not arrived in the nick of time.

There was a note near by the boot prints. “USM Jungle boot-vibram sole”, and by the lacerations around its hamstrings, and the stab wounds through both of its hands, the words “M7 bayonet” had been written. “What does this mean David?” Saya asked. 

“It means that the Chiropteran was killed using a US-military issued knife, by someone wearing the boots issued to our GIs”. The voice had come from a third man, and Saya turned around and gave him a cool stare as he approached. A man who appeared to be at least the same age as David, but whose gray hair was cut shorter, and grew more wildly, and his eyes were wild too. Yet, he walked upright like a young man. His jaw was set, and his suit fit him impeccably. His distinctly Tar Heel accent accompanied the words he spoke. 

“Saya, this is Mr. Paul Finch,” David introduced. “He’s the head of the department.”

“I understand you both had a longer flight than I did,” Finch interjected, “So I’d like to make this quick. Ms. Otonashi, I’m going to need you to tell me what you know about this kill.”

Saya maintained her gaze, neutrally, but didn’t answer right away. Finch now turned to David. “Mr. Burton, does she speak English?”

“Saya, please just answer the man,” David said.

“I don’t know what to say,” Saya answered curtly. “All my work with your department has been limited to Japan. You should know better than me what goes on here in this country.”

David seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that these two made it this far into the conversation without their personalities clashing. “I came here hoping that would be the case, since I don’t understand what else you would want from me by bringing me here.”

 “Ms. Otonashi, if one of our men is field-dressing these things, then I have a problem, and If I have a problem-” he motioned to David, “-then he has a problem, and if he has a problem, then you have a problem. Do you understand me?”

“Saya,” David began more diplomatically. “If a group of U.S. soldiers or marines did this, then its only a matter of time before word of the Chiropteran spreads, and becomes public knowledge. And that could potentially lead to an end to your privacy, and our ability to protect you.”

“And I’ll have to cull it before that happens,” Finch said tiredly. “But that is if it was a group of our boys that did this. If there is another explanation, then that is what we want to hear. Ms. Otonashi, in your experience fighting these things first hand, have you ever seen a kill like this?”

Saya’s face scrunched into a glare, and then she looked down… “No.” she answered. 

“Then do you know what could have done this?”

“No.”  

“Then the most likely theory,” Finch said, “Is that this Chiropteran got the jump on some of our boys, and spooked them pretty good, but instead of eating them, they ended up killing it instead. I know one of these things will easily kill a man, but a dozen soldiers or marines could probably take one together. That's the only explanation I can think of, but there are still holes in the theory. No reports, that would explain the encounter. No survivors reporting, and no unexplained deaths accounted for. There were also no cartridges near the scene, and no gun-powder residue on the corpse, which doesn’t make sense… boys who wear that boot, and carry that type of bayonet, would normally carry a rifle. Wouldn’t you agree Mr. Burton?”

“Yeah,” David said tiredly. 

“So that leaves us with uncertainties,” Finch added. “And I hate having to operate with uncertainties, so I will ask you one more time Ms. Otonashi, in your experience, do you have any Idea what could have done this?”

“No,” Saya answered again. The truth was, she did have an idea, but she dared not say it out loud. Lei’s warnings about how terrifyingly powerful the technique taught to the wrong person could be- now made her chest feel tight. 

“You just got here,” Finch said. “So why don’t you take some time to think about it? Rest up, look at the body again, and give it some more thought.” There wasn’t the same sympathy in his voice that she often recognized in David’s.

“I don’t need to rest,” Saya said. “I will examine the body, and then go back to Japan as soon as I am ready.”

“We will, of course, tell you if we find anything,” David calmly added before Saya’s response had a chance to rub Finch the wrong way. “It's also possible that the reason for the lack of shells in the area where this body was found, is that after the grunts beat it well enough, it still had some strength left to move to a different location. As for the lack of a report, I’m sorry to say, but it's most likely that this will account for some of the disappearances. More optimistically; those who witnessed it and survived, didn’t dare tell anyone else about what they saw. I mean, would you?”

“I suppose it might also be a mix of both,” Finch said, seemingly a bit more assured by the explanation. “Although I can’t believe there are GIs who would have seen such a thing and not said anything, especially if it killed some of their buddies. Besides, I’ve already checked all reports of soldiers gone missing, or even animal attacks in the vicinity of where the body was found. I ain’t satisfied.” 

He and David exchanged a look. “Y’know, Burton, when I was in the Philippines in ‘44, there was this one soldier with me named Jacob Jordan. He wasn’t any more scared of the Japanese than the next man, but at night, in the jungle, he would stay up, terrified of tigers… 

He had heard of tigers attacking allied troops in Indochina, and no matter how many times we told him that there were no tigers in the Philippines, he just wouldn’t be able to relax. Well… we’re in Indochina now, although it ain’t the tigers I’m afraid of.”

With a slight, professional smile to David, he left the room, and David then turned to Saya. “If you’re holding back,” he said, “I’m sure you have your reasons, but you’d better hope this doesn’t cause us problems down the line.”

Saya’s back was to him. She was already looking at the corpse on the slab. “I’m not holding back,” she said softly.

A pause.

“But I’ve lived long enough to know not to speak too soon. You should know that too David….”

Her voice dropped, barely audible. “Sometimes it’s worse than saying nothing.”

David gave her a hard stare. 

“I’ll keep looking,” she added. “And if I remember something… I’ll tell you.”

***

It was late the next night when Saya returned to Japan. She and David had said very little on the plane, and she was thankful that he had dozed off when they landed. 

This allowed her to slip away quietly, making a promise to herself that she would repay him later. 

She found herself nearly dozing off in the taxi from the airfield to the hotel. Thoughts of what she had seen made sleeping on the plane impossible, but now that she was here, it was thoughts of Yukio that kept her awake.

She briskly walked through the lobby without lingering, and the hallway was quiet when she stepped off the elevator. It was a welcomed, silent greeting. The darkness of the hallway was calming as she approached the door, unlocked it, and opened it. 

Yukio lay sleeping on the floor, curled around his sword. Holding it to his chest as though it were a stuffed animal. Saya’s hand loosened on the doorframe. The tension that had held her chest like wire began to slacken. Good, he was safe. She lowered her bag, and walked to her bed, preparing to collapse onto it, and sleep, but as she passed Yukio, a tired voice called out to her. 

“Saya?”

“It's me. I’m back.”

“Did your mission go well?”

“It was just some bureaucratic nonsense. Nothing worth talking about.” She was too tired to ask him about how his training went, but he told her anyway.

It came out in a sleepy voice: 

“My sword has a name.”

Saya sat upright in her bed. “What?”

“Yeah,” Yukio said, rising a bit clumsily, and grabbing a blanket from his own bed. “It's ‘Kasumi’... I know this… sounds weird, but she spoke to me.” Suddenly, he looked embarrassed, as if he realized too late he had said something dumb. His fingers curled into the fabric of the  blanket.  Saya sat there stunned… Lei had that same relationship with her own sword, with Cui Cao, just like her late elder sister did with her sword; Lan Hu.

The original Shénwu all had those special connections to their swords. A spiritual bond that made them complete as warriors. Saya herself, having learned their technique, but not been raised in their culture, had been through a few swords in her lifetime, but she knew that her teacher could never replace Cui Cao. To Lei, Cui Cao was a spiritual guide. He helped her go deeper into her ‘dance’ making her a better fighter, and guiding her in private conversations that she and she alone could hear. 

But while Cui Cao was irreplaceable to Lei, for Saya, every sword she used was just a tool. A valuable tool, but a tool nonetheless. But for this child… this child who had only started to learn a few weeks ago… Had he established such a bond already? Was his sword already meant for that? If the sword was in his family, was he one of the originals? 

Yukio, having interpreted her staring at him as judgement, looked like he wanted to disappear. 

“So your sword spoke to you, and it has a name… Kasumi is a ‘she’ right?”

Yukio blinked. “Um… yeah.”

“I see… Interesting.” Saya’s head was down, and he couldn’t see her face under her bangs. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

With that, she fell sideways, her head landing on her pillow, and she was out like a light.

Yukio sat still for a moment, trying to process what he had just seen. He rubbed his eyes in case he was dreaming. One second, she was standing there with that unreadable expression, and the next, she’d flopped sideways like a felled tree. The rise and fall of her breath was steady now, her arm hanging limply over the edge of the bed, her boots still on.

He blinked again. She really was human.

Quietly, Yukio stood and padded over on bare feet. The carpet muffled his steps as he retrieved the blanket from the foot of her bed. He paused briefly, uncertain if she’d wake or snap at him. But she didn’t stir.

He draped the blanket over her shoulders, then gently pulled it down to cover her fully. Her sword, still at her side, glinted faintly in the dark.

He was falling asleep fast himself. He waddled to his own bed before collapsing onto it, Kasumi still in his hand, and now lying by his side.

Chapter Text

The morning light shone through the gap in the curtains. Saya was already awake. She stood at the sink, splashing cold water on her face. She watched the water drip from her chin, catching in the ends of her hair before falling into the basin. Her reflection in the mirror looked better than it had the night before. The rest had returned to her youthful face, but even still… What she saw in Saigon remained in her mind like a pebble in her shoe.

She closed the tap, grabbed another towel, and returned to the room. She wasn’t worried about waking Yukio, knowing him well enough by now to know he could sleep through anything (except for when he was woken by the occasional nightmare). He was laying on his side, still curled around his sword, when she heard him murmur, “Yeah…. I know…. Thank you…. You’re right…. You’re right Kasumi… I’ll try…”

 Saya couldn’t help but stare in silence… Yukio was talking to his sword in his sleep. She had often felt jealous of Lei’s relationship with Cui Cao. She herself had broken and replaced nearly half a dozen swords in the more-than-20 years since she had begun her apprenticeship, and subsequent journey hunting those demons… She had trained, and mastered everything that the Shénwu taught her, but never had a sword that was truly her own in that sense. 

She pondered quietly, and with stoic observation- that no sword had ever spoken to her the way they had for their Shénwu wielders. And yet, this boy’s sword revealed herself to him just like that…  What was the reason? A priestess ancestor? It would explain it. There were equivalents in Japan— guardians of the old shrines. Their lineages would have been mostly forgotten by now, but if he had an ancestor who wielded a blade like that, it made sense.

As she sat down on her bed and prepared to get ready for the day, her back facing him, she thought about how different her own lineage must have been… Lei had told her that her strength was no coincidence, and she knew that her grandmother whom she resembled so strongly had researched the Chiropteran along with other elements of the occult, but Saya knew that she herself wasn’t special. 

The daughter of a Zaibatsu… 

The life she had chosen was exactly as Lei said… It was long, but it was hard, and it was lonely. It was gradual. Subtle. Years passed, but her face barely changed. The result of opening the inner gate.

But for someone like herself, and someone like Yukio, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Neither of them had family, or friends from school whom they would watch grow old while they barely aged. A long life of hotels instead of homes… 

Saya got up from the bed, and crossed to the small writing desk beside the window. The hotel room phone sat on it, rotary dial gleaming faintly in the soft morning light. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

A moment passed. Then the operator answered.

“Operator. How may I assist you?”

“I need a connection to Fussa, Tokyo. Yokota district. Civilian extension,” she said crisply, already pulling the folded paper with the number from her coat pocket. “Number is 0-4-2, 5-5-2, 7-6-1-4.”

“Connecting now. Please hold.”

She waited as the line clicked and hissed faintly. Outside, the muffled sound of a passing car reminded her that the rest of the city was waking up. She remained standing,her mind already on the day ahead.

A woman answered. “Mr. David Burton’s office.”

“It’s Saya.” She kept her voice low. “Tell David that Morino and I will be at Tama Hills. North trail. Past the second shrine, near the old forestry road. We should be back at the hotel by 19:00.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll let him know.”

Saya hung up without another word. She let her hand linger briefly on the cradle of the phone before turning back to the beds, which were side by side. Yukio already looked younger than he actually was, and sleeping so peacefully now, he looked downright cute… a problem indeed.

“Wake up,” Saya demanded with a kick to the bedframe that shook the bed just enough. “We’ve got ground to cover before the tourists flood the trails.”

Yukio blinked up at her, bleary-eyed but obedient. “Mmh… right… I’m up, but Saya, did you really have to jolt me awake like that?”

“Toughen up,” she said as she put her arms through the sleeves of her coat. “We’re doing physical training today.”

Yukio knew what this meant, and his feelings about these days had always been mixed. He looked down at Kasumi, as though waiting for her to give him some words of guidance. This was not unnoticed by Saya.

***

Yukio’s hands were blistered. His muscles ached, his arms trembled, and his legs wobbled. In addition to meditation, there was just as much grueling physical conditioning. And this was something he threw himself into. Saya often had to prevent him from going overboard. 

The clearing where they trained was nestled just past the old forestry road Saya had mentioned. They were hidden beyond the second shrine, where the trees grew thick and protective. Tall sugi cedars lined the hillside like silent guardians, their trunks rough and moss-stained. Occasional shafts of sunlight pierced through the canopy, catching on the particles of mist that clung to the morning air. It was quiet here, aside from the crows and the rhythmic sound of fists hitting bark-wrapped posts.

Yukio was soaked in sweat, his cotton shirt plastered to his thin frame. He wore navy-blue kendogi pants tucked into white tabi socks and training shoes, while his upper body bore only a white, sleeveless undershirt, now wet and speckled with forest debris. His long black hair was tied in a high ponytail to keep it off his face, but strands still clung to his cheeks. His hands were wrapped in cloth bandages, stained with sap, dirt, and a faint hint of red. Saya stood several meters away, arms crossed, watching him with concern… they were nearing the “overboard”.

“Thats enough!” she called in a firm voice. “It's time for a break.”

Yukio gulped, and turned his head to look at her between pants as he gasped for air. He didn’t notice it at first, but now that he stopped, he felt the fatigue… His knees quaked as he sat on a moss-covered stone bench Saya had cleared earlier. The sun filtered through the canopy above, glinting in broken patterns across his arms and sword.

Saya knelt beside their pack, removing a wrapped cloth bundle and thermos. She brought over a canteen and two onigiri wrapped in bamboo leaves, their scent still fresh from the rice cooker. Yukio had already taken out his own canteen, and was taking in huge amounts of water as Saya handed him a rice ball. The tremble ran up his arm and down through his legs. At first Saya assumed it was fatigue, but as she handed him the second rice ball, she paused. His entire body was taut, quivering, but not from exhaustion alone. His jaw was clenched from restraint. And in his eyes… there was a lack of concern for the physical state his body was in.

Saya recognized this. “Are you angry?” She asked.

Yukio looked at her and blinked, and then down. 

“I'll bet that you're angry all the time,” she said, taking a seat next to him, and unwrapping her own meal. “And when you swing a sword, even if it's a practice sword, it comes out uncontrollably, doesn't it?”

Yukio nodded. “Training is hard, so I make myself remember why I'm doing it… why I want to protect others from going through what I went through… and then I see it… Sora is always on my mind.

Saya turned her head thoughtfully. “You're going to have to learn to control that anger if you want to open the inner gate,” she said.

“I hate them,” Yukio said through his teeth. “The Yokushu… he didn't have to do it like that, he didn't have to tear Sora up like that while he was still alive, I hope that that monster is burning in hell.”

Saya paused, and for a few moments she silently observed… Yukio’s shaking was worse. “Start stretching,” she ordered. “We’ll resume training after you've done it”

Upon being given instruction, Yukio’s demeanor changed. He rose from the bench, breathed deeply, and got onto the ground to begin stretching. “One…. two… three… four…” counting the seconds did not seem to calm his anger, but it did cool his head. Saya remained seated, her meal half-eaten in her lap. She watched him wordlessly, the sun continuing to filter through the canopy. 

The breeze rustled through the pines overhead, carrying with it the resinous scent of bark and the faint coolness of shade. A pair of crows called to one another somewhere off in the distance, and the whisper of leaves swaying above them made the mountain air feel as though it was a living witness to them. Yukio slowly began bringing his knees to his chest one at a time, still counting, and still noticeably tight.

It was when he moved onto the next exercise, shifting into a squat, that Saya spoke: “Who are you angry at?”

“The Yokushu,” Yukio answered without hesitation, as though she were asking what two plus two equaled. 

Saya sighed. “The Chiropteran are not the ones you should be angry at. They hunt humans, because they need human blood to survive. We hunt them to protect humans, but they are not innate evil. They are tragic creatures. A kind child like yourself should have pity for them if anything.”

Yukio looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a monkey’s tail.”You're joking with me right Saya?”

The look on Saya’s face told him that she wasn’t joking. 

“You saw what that demon did to my brother!” He cried, anger rising in it.

“I did,” Saya said. Her voice remained level, but softer now. “And I’m not telling you not to hate. Just… don’t let it change you.” 

Yukio’s brows knit together, and he stared at her, as though he was judging her as someone who didn’t understand. Saya was looking at him, but her mind’s eye had gone to an image of a chapel… Those memories from so long ago…

Her fingers dug into her sister’s sleeve, clutching it like a lifeline. Her older twin, Sekiko, sat stiff as a board, knees drawn to her chest, and clutching a crucifix… A distant creak echoed down the nave. Then a slow step… step… step… on old tile, accompanied by the hollow rattle of rosary beads swaying against cloth.

The air inside the church was cold.

Saya leaned closer to her sister, her eyes never leaving the far end of the hallway where shadows pooled like blood beneath the altar. A long shape moved behind one of the broken stained-glass windows. The cross Sekiko held trembled in her grasp.

From the shadow came another cross, dangling from beads. 

Another step…

“Saya, are you okay?”

Yukio’s voice brought her back into the present. “I’m fine,” she answered. “Focus on your training.”

Yukio did not seem to be told twice. He nodded firmly. The fire was still in his eyes, and he got right back into it. Saya’s gaze narrowed as she watched… She and Yukio came from eerily similar circumstances, but at the same time, they were so different… He had had a relatively peaceful life before the demon murdered his brother, while she had nearly been destroyed by the evils of humanity countless times before she had ever laid eyes on a Chiropteran.

And once more… Yukio was male. Saya remembered Lei’s warnings, and wondered now, whether she herself had any idea of what she was getting into. No male had been allowed to open the gate in 2,000 years, as far as she, Lei, or anyone knew. But something still plagued her mind. Saya glared… Nothing else she could think of could explain what she saw in Saigon.

***

Vietnamese-Cambodian border.

The jungle felt heavier than usual. Thick with rot, damp with recent rain, as the wet season was now ending, and the dry season would begin shortly. A Krait slithered through the tall wet grass,its scales glinting in the light of the setting sun as it prepared to begin its nocturnal hunt. Earlier, another predator had claimed a convoy of diplomats.

All dead," the major muttered, standing over the slumped body of a young man in civilian attire. A starched collar soaked through with blood. "No enemy corpses. No shell casings. Not even a goddamn footprint."

Captain Albert Yulee crouched near the edge of the clearing. His helmet cast a deep shadow over his eyes, but there was a curl of amusement on his lips. “Doesn’t smell like Commie work Major,” he said. “These diplomats were comfortable on our base, but weren’t entirely unsympathetic to the red gookers. Ever since the Tet offensive, they’ve been trying to keep the bleeding hearts on their side as much as possible.”

“Then it was probably the work of the Cambodians,” came the voice of  Lieutenant Edward Nyland. “Each one of their factions hates our guts, and none of em’ give a shit about PR.”

“That they do,” Yulee said with a smile. “But it wasn’t the Cambodians either.”

“Then who the hell do you think it was Yulee?” The Major asked gruffly.

“I suppose thats what we’re here to find out,” Yulee said lazily. He gave Nyland a smile, and proceeded with his work.

A few more minutes passed of searching and theorizing before more trucks arrived, this time with more soldiers. “MPs? Why do we need them here? Nyland asked the Major. “We’re SF, we should be able to have this under control.”

“Are you suggesting we camp out here by ourselves Nyland?” the Major asked. 

“Thats exactly what I am suggesting.” Nyland said. “If we have no good leads, then we might as well-”

“That’s a negative Lieutenant. We have more things to worry about than just this one incident, and as embarrassing as it is that it happened under our noses, solving mysteries isn’t our job.”

“Yes, but it is also partially our responsibility all the same,” Yulee cut in cleanly as he trudged towards them. “Nyland, why don’t you and I go for a short walk? The sun is about to set, and I want to make sure there are no bodies or pieces of evidence we’ve overlooked.” Nyland followed without hesitation, boots crunching the undergrowth as they moved deeper into the foliage, when Yulee spoke again. “That wasn’t a bad Idea… camping out with the corpses in the middle of the jungle. Spooky.” 

“Don’t tell me it's your first time, Captain.”

“But you didn’t want the other soldiers with us. Think they can’t handle it just cuz they’re MPs?”

“I don’t think we need babysitters. Besides, what kind of grunt likes MPs?”

“Haha, true,” Yulee chuckled. 

After several yards, they came across a body half-submerged in the muck… an American soldier, face down, eyes glassy and wide. Yulee crouched, poking the corpse with the tip of his knife. “This one didn’t die here. No blood under him. Looks planted.”

Nyland said nothing.

“Think whoever did this is still close by?” Yulee asked as he stood up and backed away from the corpse.

“Could be,” Nyland replied, as we walked forward, and crouched down to get a closer look.

“Then we’d better not waste time, and order a search party,” Yulee said.

Nyland’s reply was too quick. “No. Too risky. Jungle’s thick. Easy to get turned around. Bad idea.”

Yulee smiled faintly. “You sound nervous.”

“If you could see my face Yulee, you’d see that I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.”

Yulee’s hand moved in a blur— his blade flashed low, and with one clean swipe, he slashed both of Nyland’s hamstrings from behind.

Nyland buckled with a grunt, collapsing onto one knee. “AAAGGGHHH! Yulee! What the fuck you son of a—!”

Yulee kicked him forward into the mud, and began circling him like a shark. “‘Yulee’ ain’t my real name anymore than ‘Nyland’ is yours. Now come on. Hurry up and transform. I know what you are.”

Nyland groaned, clutched his leg, and hissed with tears of pain in his eyes, “You’ve lost it! Yulee! I’m one of you—!”

A shout came from behind them.

“Drop it!”

A young soldier stood at the edge of the trees, pistol trembling in both hands. “I saw it!” the soldier barked. “Back away from him! Now!!”

Yulee didn’t flinch. “Don’t get ahead of yourself son. If you’ll be patient, you’ll have an explanation soon, but if you fuck with me-”

The soldier’s hand darted toward his belt radio. “Base, this is—”

He never finished the call.

Yulee moved faster than the eye could follow, a streak of green and shadow. The blade met flesh. The soldier’s head rolled with a gurgle, and his body crumpled silently into the grass.

Yulee stood there, splattered with red, a slightly disappointed expression on his face.

Behind him something changed.

 A low, rumbling snarl echoed from the direction of the fallen lieutenant.

Yulee turned slowly.

Where Nyland had knelt, there was now something far more massive. Black, sinewed limbs stretched and cracked. Fangs curled from a split jaw. A Chiropteran, fully unfurled and glistening in the half-light.

Yulee let out a shaky breath.

Then dropped his knife.

His face was calm. Reverent.

Then a smile broke across his lips… feral. His eyes went wild, and his teeth parted as though he was growling like an animal.

“Finally,” he whispered gleefully, eyes wide with bloodlust. “Come and dance with me then”

Chapter Text

The public bathhouse in the hotel was quiet at this hour. Most guests had finished and returned to their rooms, leaving only the faint splash of water echoing off the tiled walls and wooden panels.

Yukio sat in the shallow corner of the men’s bath, knees hugged to his chest, steam coiling gently around his shoulders. His hair clung to the back of his neck, and his arms bore faint marks from the day’s relentless training. He allowed himself to relax, watching the steam form into wisps above his head, and letting the warmth sink into his limbs. 

Back in their room, Saya sat unmoving in her own bath, her back against a curved stone ledge. The woman’s bath was out of the question. She would never go through this necessary ritual with others around, and even alone, it was more necessity than comfort. She was still running through the day's events in her head, unable to fully settle. Water streamed quietly down her skin, and her half-lidded eyes were heavy with thought. She stared down at the ripples breaking around her submerged hands.

“I’ll have to tell Lei soon…” she murmured under her breath, her voice nearly lost to the hush of water. “I’m in way over my head with this one…”

Earlier that day, Yukio had been running laps around the perimeter of a large public park, when some bullies accosted him, believing based on his appearance- that he would be an easy target.

By the time Saya had arrived on scene, all three bullies were on the ground, and a very angry Yukio stood in the center of the scene. 

She did not care that he had been sufficiently provoked, her fear of the possibility of him losing control and going rogue led her to redress him more harshly than she had meant to, and she had forgotten how sensitive he was, and how much her approval meant to him…

The moment his composure broke… the moment he crumpled into tears in front of her, she had seen it: the rawness beneath all his control, the child beneath the fighter. It shook something loose in her.

She had no experience with this.

Not with this kind of responsibility.

***

Yukio lay sprawled diagonally across the bed with both arms cuddling a pillow, and Kasumi right next to him. The plate beside him bore a seaweed salad and a small wedge of orange. He hadn’t eaten more than a few bites. The rice was barely touched. The day’s exertion had carried him swiftly into rest, the tension in his slender limbs unraveled by fatigue.

The hotel room was quiet, save for the faint hum of traffic in the street five stories below.

Then, the phone rang.

Yukio stirred with a slight jerk, blinking rapidly, eyes bleary with sleep. His head lifted groggily. He sat up slowly, adjusting his yukata where it had slipped loose over his shoulder, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

The phone rang again.

He padded over to it barefoot, rubbing one eye with the heel of his palm before picking up the receiver.

“…Hello?” There was a pause, and then a familiar voice crackled through the line. “Yukio?”

It was David. The flatness of his tone was unmistakable, though there was something else beneath it too. It was an audible note of irritation, just barely restrained.

“Is Saya there?” David asked. “Put her on.”

Yukio looked over his shoulder. The bed was empty but for the crumpled sheets and the untouched meal tray. She wasn’t in the room. He looked toward the bathroom—dark. He felt, more than thought, where she might be. “She not in room,” he said in his best English, gripping the phone with one hand. “But… I sink I know where...”

Another pause. David exhaled, curt. “Tell her to call me back. Immediately.” Yukio nodded, though the line had already gone quiet. He returned the receiver to its cradle.

He stepped into his sandals and slipped out the door. The corridors were hushed and warm, the carpet muffling his steps as he climbed. Past the “roof access” sign. Pushing through the final door, he emerged into the open air.

There she was.

Saya stood at the far end of the rooftop, her back to him, her black hair lifting slightly in the breeze.

She turned around slowly, and their eyes met… There was a moment of silence between them, and the wind passed voicelessly from the direction of the ocean. Saya, perhaps remembering the events of earlier, softened her gaze, and Yukio looked down.

“Davito-san called,” he said softly. “He wants you to call him back… right away.” She didn’t answer. But after a moment, she stepped away from the edge with quiet determination and walked past him toward the stairs. Her eyes met his briefly in passing, unreadable. A silent thank-you, maybe. Or just understanding.

He remained where he was, watching her disappear down the stairwell.

The rooftop was his alone now.

Yukio stepped closer to the edge, his fingers curling around the cool iron of the railing. The traffic below moved like glowing veins, pulsing through the city’s dark body. Above, the sky spread out vast and dark and clear, a few shy stars blinking through the haze of light pollution.

He leaned forward just slightly, breathing in the night air. The sharpness of it sobered him, clearing away the last of sleep.

***

The next hotel was nothing like the last. The carpets were thin and stained with age; the wallpaper bubbled in the corners; the fluorescent light above the front desk flickered every few seconds in an unpredictable rhythm, casting intermittent shadows on the clerk’s gaunt face. The man at the desk was an elderly amputee, wearing a worn out IJA cap, no doubt from the war that had devastated the country.

He looked up as Saya filled out the check-in form, her pen scratching crisply in the silence.

Yukio lingered beside her, his small hands tucked into the sleeves of his borrowed coat. He stood behind Saya wordlessly as she checked in, and followed her wordlessly as she walked down the hall to their room. Saya did not even bother to turn on the lights as they entered and placed their bags down. “We go now,” she said. “Don’t unpack.”

Yukio gave a nod and followed. He hadn’t asked what the mission was. He knew she would explain when it mattered, and never before….

The alleyways were dirty, dank, and downright depressing, but Yukio’s experiences were not as innocent as his heart and soul. He had heard and seen much at the orphanage, and the stench of the shooting gallery was far from the worst thing he had smelled. He was apprehensive, but he wasn’t scared.

Right now, as he passed one junkie in a gutter after another, all he felt was pity. Saya walked ahead in silence, her coat shifting like a dark curtain as she checked every turn before signaling Yukio forward. They passed a broken neon sign, its flickering glow painting Saya’s face in pale flashes, and casted the same across Yukio’s after he stepped where she stepped. 

He touched the blueprint tube case he carried with his hand, as if to once again, verify that it was there, and that he could feel Kasumi’s presence hiding within, and that he would be able to swiftly bring her out if danger presented itself. His gaze drifted upward, toward the thin line of stars barely visible above the rooftops. The street lamp flickered behind him. His breath came steadily. 

Then, from a shadowed alcove, a woman in a black leather dress that was too short, and fishnets on her exposed legs sauntered out. Her lipstick was smudged, her red heels making her walk even more unnatural. Her eyes, once beautiful, were glassy, and her smile, when she saw Yukio, was lopsided and teasing.

“Well now,” she sing-songed, stepping forward. “What’s a sweet little kid like you doing down here with all the grown-ups?” She chuckled and leaned slightly, trying to peer into his eyes. “You lost? I can—”

“Please leave me alone,” Yukio said quietly, but firmly, with the kind of honesty that didn’t seek to wound. He didn’t step back. His hands stayed at his sides.

The woman laughed derisively, and now her finger was dangerously close to Yukio’s cheek. “Don’t be afraid sweet thing, I just-”

Saya cut in before the prostitute even noticed her, standing between him and her, and glaring up at the woman. “You heard him,” Saya said, voice low and flat. “Beat it. You disease-ridden harlot.”

The woman’s smile became sour, and she turned and walked away, muttering about prissy uppity tourists thinking they were better than others…

Saya didn’t look at Yukio. “Stay closer,” she said simply, and began walking again.

They rounded the next corner, and the air grew heavier. A lone streetlamp flickered above a graffiti-covered wall, casting long shadows over the slouched figure standing by a rusted dumpster. The man was lean, twitchy, with sagging eyes and a faded jacket two sizes too large. His customer—an equally wiry youth— passed a crumpled wad of bills into his hand, took a small folded packet, and disappeared into the alley shadows.

Saya didn’t stop walking.

The dealer looked up just in time to see her approaching. His lip curled, suspicion flashing behind his glassy eyes. “You here to buy?” he asked, voice scratchy and uneven. “Or what?”

Saya didn’t answer. She stepped forward without a word. She opened the blueprint tube case she carried, and gripped the handle of the katana that was inside.

“Hey hey, come on, what the hell is this?” the dealer laughed nervously, holding up his hands in front of himself, and backing away.  “You crazy or something?”

Saya continued to advance. 

“Let's just talk!” He cried. “I don’t want- ahhh!” He turned to run, but didn’t make it two steps before Saya’s sword was unsheathed, and sang through the air like a whisper of death.  

With clean precision, her blade cut diagonally from shoulder to hip, severing his spine. He was dead before his body even hit the ground. 

Yukio gasped. His eyes went wide, breath catching in his throat. “S-Saya…! What did you just— he… he was just a person!”

Saya exhaled through her nose, not even winded. She cleaned her blade with a piece of cloth she carried with her, then slipped it back into the case and locked it before turning to her junior.

“That’s the Chiropteran David told us about,” she said calmly, as if merely reporting the weather. “Even after one is learning what I am teaching you, they’re still stronger, and more durable than we are, so it is best to kill them before they have a chance to transform. Once one does transform, the risk increases exponentially, and even I can’t always guarantee-”

“Thats not the point!” Yukio cried. “How could you have even known that that was a Chiropteran!? He didn’t transform! He wasn’t attacking anyone!I” His voice was now on the verge of cracking. “I know he was dealing drugs but he didn’t deserve to die! Did he!?”

“Keep your voice down!” Saya hissed. 

“You… you didn’t even warn him…” Yukio said in a significantly lower voice now. “That was just brutal… What if he turns out to be-”

“They don’t always transform right away,” Saya interrupted. “Some are cowards. They’ll pretend to be human until the last possible moment. They know they can’t win head-on, so they try to manipulate you. Delay you. Trick you into hesitating.” She looked down at the body. “That hesitation kills people.”

She took a step closer to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I am only telling you this, because I want you to learn from me how to stop them. Believe me, when I started out, I was worse than you. There were humans that I wanted to kill, not just monsters… but before I learned the priestess dance, I had to make a vow that I would never kill a human, only the Chiropteran.”

Yukio shook his head slowly, disoriented. “But… It feels like murder. It looked like…”

A sickening sound interrupted him.

From the corpse’s back, something twisted. Flesh warped and bubbled, accompanied by the popping sound of bones growing larger, echoed throughout the alley. The shape on the ground contorted unnaturally as limbs stretched and bent, and nails became claws on gnarled fingers. Its face stretched into a muzzle, and two front fangs protruded from the front of its mouth. The eyes were milky and yellow, and a mop of stringy white hair sprouted from its head as if it was spilled. 

Yukio stumbled back, eyes locked on the thing that had once looked human. A demon’s corpse… with skin like the jikininki in the ghost stories that made him hide under his covers as a child… This was not the ‘tragic creature’ Saya had described to him. This was a disgusting monster in the flesh.

The monster’s body spasmed once more, then fell silent for good….

Yukio couldn’t look away.

For a moment, all he could hear was his own pulse roaring in his ears. The alley vanished around him, replaced by memory… A flash of teeth… The blur of claws tearing flesh… The screams that echoed in his soul when Sora was torn from him. 

Like a light switch, something changed in the boy. His eyes lost their light, and a haze shown in them… A calm, serene rage now emanated from him as his muscles tensed violently, and then relaxed with a furious grace. His voice was small when it came, but steady.

“That… that’s what they really are, isn’t it?”

Saya gave a single nod.

Yukio’s eyes didn’t leave the corpse. “The one that killed my big brother… was like that too.”

Saya looked down with an understanding, as a silence blew past them and the corpse, along with the wind.

Chapter Text

The door opened with a knock that was more a courtesy than a request. Captain Albert Yulee stepped in with the easy confidence of someone who was completely free of worry. “Reporting as ordered, sir.” He said, throwing up a salute. His manner was loose but not lax— somewhere between professional detachment and casual insincerity.

“At ease, Captain. Close the door behind you.”

Yulee did, stepping smartly into the room and letting the door click shut behind him. The Colonel, a barrel-chested, middle-aged man, who still had the virility of a younger man, as most soldiers do. But Yulee had already seen this Colonel’s face many times. However, the man who stood facing the corner behind the Colonel’s desk was new.

“Captain,” the Colonel said, gesturing to the stranger, “This is Brigadier General Finch, from central Command, he is here to ask you a few questions.”

“Formerly a Brigadier,” Finch corrected calmly as he turned around to face them, showing a face that was lined with age, but his stance had not softened. “I’m just a pentagon bureaucrat now, so there is no need for military formalities. I am just here to briefly speak with the Captain, and I won’t intrude on y’all much longer.”

Yulee gave a polished, faintly amused smile. “If this is about the disappearance of Lieutenant Nyland, and the death of that other soldier, I believe I’ve already answered those questions.”

“This is not about that,” the Colonel said with a sigh, as he rose from his desk, and motioned for Yulee to take a seat on the other side. “I’ll leave my office to you for the time being, Mr. Finch.”

“Thank you Colonel,” Finch replied. “I won’t be long.” It was only after the Colonel left the office, and closed the door behind him, that Paul Funch took his seat.

“Albert Yulee,” he said, as though testing how the name tasted. “Born March 17, 1940, in Dalcour, Louisiana. Enlisted out of Fort Polk, before heading to West Point…. Beyond that… not much. You’re practically a ghost before the Army.”

“My files were already submitted to the relevant authorities when I enlisted, and again when I was commissioned, and again when I joined up with SF, and again each time I transferred to a new base, or a new deployment,” Yulee said, smiling despite the exasperation in his tone. “What is all this really about Mr. Finch?”

Finch tucked the notepad away and reached into the interior pocket of his jacket. He withdrew a slim black folder and flipped it open, revealing a weathered black-and-white photograph protected by a plastic sleeve. Without comment, he laid it gently on the desk between them and turned it so Yulee could see.

It was an old photograph, grainy, but clear enough. Ottoman soldiers, their uniforms stiff with ceremony, stood in rows before a fortress wall. The year penciled on the bottom read: 1908. “Recognize anyone?” Finch asked evenly.

Yulee leaned in, eyes sweeping the image with deliberate calm. Then he stopped. Third row. Just right of center.

A man stared back at him. The same cheekbones, same jawline, same unmistakable brow.

“That’s my grandfather,” Yulee said, without hesitation. “Must be.”

“Your grandfather,” Finch repeated.

“Mm-hmm. From Rhodes. Came over after the Young Turks revolution. Changed his name when he married my grandmother. Said ‘Yulee’ sounded enough like ‘Yilmaz’ to blend in down South where a lot of folks had latin origin.”

Finch considered this. “You bear a striking resemblance.”

Yulee gave a proud smile. “Runs strong in the bloodline.”

Without comment, Finch reached back into the folder and pulled out a second photograph. This one was cleaner, newer, the chill of mid-century film stock in every corner. Soviet soldiers in long coats stood in ragged formation. The handwritten Cyrillic had faded, but the year was still legible: 1945.

Finch laid it beside the first. “Did you also have a relative who fought in the Red Army?”

Yulee didn’t flinch. His smile remained, faint and amused. “You don’t really think that’s a relative of mine.”

“No,” Finch said, quiet now. “I think that’s you.”

Yulee laughed, easily and incredulously. “Is this a joke? You accusing me of being a vampire communist or something?”

“Funny you mention that,” Finch said. “We used to believe that your kind were vampires. It didn’t help with that theory that the ‘priestess’ we worked the most closely with in Japan has a fear of crosses. But since her grandmother worked with us, we know a little more about her. We know almost nothing about you. You can come clean with me Mr. Yulee. The name of my department is the ‘Office of Paranormal affairs’ so we know quite a bit about what you are, even if we don’t know anything about who you are.”

Yulee leaned back in his chair. “I don’t believe you have a good grasp of what either of those are Mr. Finch. Tell me, how many priestesses have you met?”

Finch counted aloud. “One still living. I know of two more that we haven’t been able to get a hold of. That makes three.” The reason I am giving you such highly classified information, is because you still know a lot of things that I don’t, and that I want to find out. Quid pro quo.”

Yulee chuckled. “You really don’t know anything about it then. The fact that you are in the same room as me tells that story. Tell me, have you ever met a priest before?”

“Would you describe yourself as a priest?” Finch asked.

 “The priestess’ dance,” Yulee explained, “is called that, because men are not supposed to learn it. That's the way it's been for thousands of years. But an old crone broke that taboo, and taught it to me as well as several others who were with me.”

“So there are others?” Finch asked.

Yulee leaned forward. “All of them are dead… Some killed each other in a frenzy, others died violent deaths later on. It took me a while to recover myself…”

“Recover from what?” Finch asked cautiously.

Yulee leaned back in his chair again. “The girl in Japan you mentioned, whose grandmother worked closely with you. Was that grandmother’s name Hisaka, and her family name Hanabusa?”

“It was before her marriage,” Finch said. “Her granddaughter’s name is now Saya Otonashi.”

“‘Otonashi’?” Yulee repeated with a soft laugh. “Is that what she’s calling herself? That’s not her real name,  it’s a ghost name. If she’s Hisaka’s granddaughter, then she was born a Kinoshita. Hisaka was married off to that family, and had one son before passing away. No daughters. Also…” He looked up at Finch, voice laced with disdain. “...you’ve been in Asia how long, and you still don’t know the surname comes first?”

Finch fought back a smile. He had gotten Yulee to reveal more of what he already knew without trying. “So you know a bit about Madame Hanabusa”

“Everyone who has studied the occult in China has at least heard of her.” Yulee said evenly. I corresponded with her once in 1899, when she was living in Shanghai. I wasn't sure what common languages we shared, so I wrote copies in English, Dutch, and French, and in her replies to me, she corrected my grammar and syntax and every one of those languages, and answered  each of my questions in ways that would have put published professors to shame. I didn’t know till just  now that she had a granddaughter.”

“Yes, I am familiar with her works, and her essays on the priestess dance,” Finch replied. “It's my department now, but nothing I have heard or read has helped me understand why males have been forbidden from learning it.”

 “Do you believe in the Old Testament Mr. Finch?”

“Don’t get cryptic with me Yulee, I’m here to make you an offer.”

“When God created Adam,” Yulee continued, ignoring Finch, “He created his body from the earth. He made a living, thinking, feeling flesh, out of something that had none of those properties, but when he created Eve, he did not create her from the earth, but from one of Adam’s ribs.” 

Yulee broke into a smirk, and made sure his eyes were locked with Finch’s. “Learning the ‘dance’ destroys the minds of men, because it drags the user into an unearthly abyss. Women who are created from something that was already spiritual, can recognize the line between the real world, and that abyss, but men who are created from the earth, cannot… or at least that is just my theory…”

There was a long pause, before Finch finally spoke. “You seem stable enough.”

“You sound like someone trying hard to overlook the risks of whatever deal you’re about to offer,” Yulee replied. “Desperate?”

“No,” Finch answered definitively. “Like I said, we only have one priestess working with us. Since Chiropteran are a worldwide phenomena, this is not enough. I understand that the priestesses have been fighting them wherever they are, but it's not enough. The priestesses are disappearing, and the Chiropteran show no signs of going anywhere. The office of paranormal affairs has the ability to track and locate the Chiropteran easily, but not the ability to take them out without leveling city blocks. The priestesses on the other hand, can take them out surgically, but don’t have the organizational advantages of finding them as effectively as we can. Ideally, we would work together, but we only have one who will work with us, and she is not exactly easy to work with.”

“Do you think I would be easy to work with?” Yulee replied. 

“I think you're someone who is addicted to fighting,” Finch retorted. “That's why you were on the eastern front in 1945, and thats why you’re here in Vietnam now, and however many other conflicts in between, you’re always going where the fighting is fiercest.” He paused. “I am not too happy with what I know about your methods Mr. Yulee, but I believe we can help you find the fights you are looking for. We’ll overlook whatever it is you’ve done in the past. We’ll take you to the Chiropteran, and you’ll take them out.” He extended a hand. “May you and I discuss this accord further? Mr. Yulee?”

“Albert Yulee isn’t my real name,” said the other man as he took Finch’s hand. “Please, call me Kuzalu.”

***

It was mid April of 1967, early in the morning. Yukio drifted between a state of comfortable wakefulness and pleasant sleep, as he pressed his face with a “mmm” into his pillow. His futon was deep and soft, and the heavy blanket over him had the cool scent of baby powder. Kasumi rested softly in her sheath in the fold of his arms. Her presence kept him safe and warded off nightmares, so his sleep had been blissful from start to finish.

Outside the window of the cozy cabin, he could hear birds, sparrows or bush warblers, maybe, twittering cheerfully in the trees. The light that spilled in through the shoji was golden and full of motion. A breeze stirred outside, warm and fresh, carrying the scent of moss and blossoms.

Somewhere in another room, Saya’s voice could be heard in conversation, the cadence clipped in a way that told him she was on the phone. He heard a deeper voice on the other end… It must have been David. Saya didn’t speak often or long with anyone else.

He turned his face deeper into the pillow and stayed still. This cabin had big windows that opened to trees and sky. It smelled like spring water and clean firewood. There was a refrigerator and pantry that was replenished by a food truck on a steady basis, and a fireplace that kept the place warm and cozy during the winter. Outside, was a peaceful trail, where he had enjoyed many calm walks, and sometimes, even Saya would walk with him. He had lived and trained here for so long, he almost managed to forget that the world outside was still dangerous. Almost.

As he lay there, lips brushing the smooth cool pillowcase, legs closing around the thickness of the blanket, and hearing the hum of nature around him, he remembered.

They were leaving today.

Back to the city. Back to where they would be close to the action. Back to moving from hotel to hotel. Back to the stink of asphalt and exhaust, and where the light pollution chased all sane birds away, so that their songs were replaced by sirens and construction tools.

Yokushu would typically feed on humans at rates that did not kill them, so as not to draw attention. However, when they risked exposure, they would kill, and gorging themselves on victims only left short trails before they had consumed enough blood to go into hibernation.

The monsters were now beginning to move again.

So Saya and Yukio had to leave…

He tightened his grip around Kasumi without thinking. A chill flickered across his back, as if the shadows under the futon had teeth. He forced himself to breathe slowly.

Outside, a bamboo chime clinked softly in the wind. The cabin creaked— a friendly sound, like old wood settling. In the kitchen, a kettle began to hiss on the stove.

He sat up slowly, brushing the sleep from his eyes, and got to his feet. He was already walking with Kasumi in hand before doing anything else. 

He grabbed a bokken in his other hand on his way out the door, and stepped into the yard. He laid Kasumi to rest against the trunk of a tree, and threw himself into practice, striking at the practice posts with his wooden sword. Saya stepped out of the cabin shortly after, in white denim pants and a black shirt, a cup of breakfast tea in her hands. She was used to seeing him like this.

“Oi, you packed?” 

“Yeah,” he responded without stopping.

“You know you don’t have to train so hard, You’re making good progress as it is, and you’ll start to get some real-world experience soon enough.”

“Right,” he huffed. “But I’m not finished.”

He pivoted, and let out a shout as he struck again. Saya leaned against the porch railing and took a sip of her tea. The ceramic clicked softly against her teeth. She didn’t say anything for a long while.

“You know,” she said at last, her voice quieter, “there’s a difference between sharpening your edge and grinding yourself down.”

“I already know that,” Yukio panted, “You’ve given me an earful about it before.”

“I gave you an earful because you trained so hard you vomited and collapsed.”

“Well, are you telling me to stop now?” he asked, lowering his bokken, and turning to look at her. His eyes were expressive as always, so they told her all. He was angry, but not defiant. He would have obeyed her without question if she told him to stop, but alas… There was nothing she could do for his anger, and she knew it.

“No, just reminding you that we have a busy day ahead, but if you can think you can handle it, then fine.” 

Saya’s sensitive ears perked up, and then Yukio’s, also heightened by the training, heard the faint rumbling of a car in the distance. Saya noticed his body tense. “Relax, this is just our ride.”

Yukio turned to look at her. She was staring down the length of the mountain road, her expression soft, but unreadable… cold even. He understood that his mentor was kinder to him than she was with anyone else, but even still, what she did was all a matter of business.

His body relaxed, and his soldiers slumped. He put down his bokken, and took Kasumi from where she rested against the tree. “I’m going to go and wash up,” he said in a voice that came out hollow, and raw, from exhausted vocal chords. 

He walked past her, and into the cabin. Only after he was gone did Saya look down… the Chiropteran were waking up, and the spring season would be intense, and once again, she found herself worrying for the boy she had taken responsibility for. He was so much like her younger self, and yet so different… and the risk of him snapping would carry significantly steeper consequences. 

“Stop thinking about that.” She admonished herself. “He isn’t close to opening the gate. By the time he does, he will have gained experience, and he’ll be ready… Or, he will decide he wants to live a normal life…”

The car now came into view, and Saya turned to reenter the cabin, and make sure Yukio didn’t tarry. The next month was going to be a long one…

Chapter Text

The air was thick and hot, unlike outside in Beijing, where the weather this time of year was mild. Inside the massive chamber, flickering lanterns threw red-gold light across carved stone pillars and the fevered faces of supplicants. Soot clung to every corner. Prayer banners, stained with age and blood, hung limp in the stagnant air. The underground temple was alive beneath the city. 

A woman dressed in black robes with long flowing sleeves knelt in the torchlight. A white scarf with red patterns covered the lower half of her face, and behind her, supplicants knelt, chanting in fervor. The woman withdrew a clean knife in one hand, and prepared her left hand to be cut. She held them over a lacquered basin, and with a swift, clean motion of the knife, her warm blood began to trickle into the basin, pooling crimson against the black clay.

One of the supplicants behind her could no longer contain her emotions. “Our priestess bleeds for the Yaoguai!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. 

The cultist next to her was no less moved. “The blood of the priestess which is like the nectar of paradise… her pain must be exquisite.”

A wave of fervent murmurs rippled through the congregation. Dozens of followers bowed low, foreheads pressed to the stone floor, their trembling fingers splayed in reverence. Some whispered prayers through gritted teeth, others wept openly, overcome by the sight of their priestess's offering. “How blessed she is to carry such blood in her veins, and how noble she is to offer it to the Yaoguai.” One whispered. 

Another rocked back and forth, clutching a string of wooden beads carved with crude sigils. “She suffers so we may appease them, oh let me die in Your name, and return as one of them… let me be reborn with fangs and wings, and drink from Her basin.”

Another cultist, her forehead flat against the cold stone, whispered hoarsely, “If I am faithful, if I endure, may I one day bleed as the priestess bleeds. May my blood be as sweet to the Yaoguai as hers.”

The supplicants swayed together like reeds in windless air, as if caught in a trance. They chanted in a growing hum—low, rhythmic, half-sung and half-muttered—building beneath the blood-soaked ritual like thunder beneath the soil.

And through it all, the priestess did not speak. Her hand bled steadily, gracefully, as though even pain obeyed her. Her stillness held the room captive.

The chants continued until the last drop of blood had fallen. Then silence, heavy and reverent, settled like dust. At last, the priestess rose.

Her black sleeves whispered along the floor as she stood, a faint shimmer of sweat at her brow. She made no sound, no acknowledgment of the gathered worshippers. In her hands, she gently lifted the basin, The copper scent hung in the air, thick and vital. Somewhere above, hidden in the cracks of the cavernous ceiling, a single drop of water fell. It struck stone and echoed like a chime through the heavy stillness.

The priestess began to walk forward, the silk of her robe whispering against the marble floor. She approached the curtains on the other end of the dais, and as she disappeared through them with the basin in her hands, the supplements chanted;

Blood begets life. Life begets blood. 

Ferry us to strength. Ferry us to glory.

Sacrifice begets glory. Sacrifice begets strength.

Ferry us to the altar.

Our blood is ready.

On the other side of the curtain, the priestess now entered the cooler room, and placed the basin on the floor before five hooded figures, who waited in a half-circle near the far end of the chamber. They were in their human forms, but they were not human.

You have our gratitude, priestess Zhi Zhen.” the first Chiropteran said, as he observed the blood. “Your Shénwu blood truly is intoxicating.”

“But you do not provide it fast enough,” the second Chiropteran added, in a deeper voice. We warned you Shénwu, that If the rate does not improve, we cannot continue our work.”

“The New Yaoguai we had been hoping to breed, are living lifespans that are a quarter of ours,” came a third Chiropteran, in an androgynous voice. “They are strong, but dumb, and whither before they learn how to live among humans.”

The fourth Chiropteran now spoke. “We cannot afford to wait for you to find Ruo Lei. Your obsession with enslaving your rival and using her as blood bank would have helped us greatly, but it has never come to fruition.” He paused, letting the tension thicken. “For your sake, Zhi Zhen, I trust you have an alternative.” 

Zhi Zhen stood motionless. Her hands, stained red to the wrist, did not tremble. Her eyes beneath the scarf held the same unreadable stillness they always did, as the lantern light danced across her stony face. 

“I do,” she said. Her right arm disappeared into her sleeve, and the robes fell to the ground, revealing the red and white garments of the Shénwu assassin underneath. Her hand now held a manila folder. 

“Ruo Lei hides like a frightened mouse, but there is another who has the same kind of blood that we of the Shénwu have. An outsider, but more than enough to sustain you, and our shared project of creating this new generation of Yaoguai.”

Zhi Zhen narrowed her gaze, and judged the expressions of the hooded Chiropteran. She withdrew a photograph from the envelope, and held it to the Chiropteran. 

It showed the image of a young Japanese girl, taken outside of Yokota airbase. “This is Kinoshita Saya,” Zhi Zhen stated. “She foolishly joined up with the American government’s office of paranormal affairs, and she has been hunting your kind all over Japan.” Zhi Zhen’s brow furrowed with disdain. “Wiang Lei has disgraced the teachings of the Shénwu by teaching this brat, who in turn, has brought even further shame by joining up with those men… But it has also led me right to her, since those idiotic bureaucrats created files on her, which have now fallen into my possession. Kidnapping her will be a simple matter..”

The fifth Chiropteran, who had remained Silent until now, scoffed at this. 

“Do I amuse you?” Zhi Zhen asked with concealed venom. 

“Priestess,” one of the other Chiropteran now began, “Though we do not live as long as you Shénwu, we are not fools. You believe that kidnapping this girl will lure out your rival. You know as well as we do, that that American Order. keeps meticulous intelligence on all Chiropteran within their domain. Even if we will benefit from the blood of these two, you are still asking us to expose ourselves to that organization, and make ourselves vulnerable to their assassins, for your own personal vendetta. This is highly inappropriate.”

Zhi Zhen’s gaze narrowed. “Have we not been acting out of mutual benefit this entire time? And you all forget, that I am the one who has been putting myself out there. I can easily send my underlings to do this, you can all just stay here. Just make sure our project continues, and the New Yaoguai continue to be bred.”

She picked up her black robes, and draped them over her shoulders before turning to leave. “And one more thing, never speak to me as though I am your underling again. This alliance will only go as far as my patience, and you do not want me as an enemy. As strong as you are, the Shénwu were born to kill Yaoguai.” And with that, she passed beyond the curtains once more, leaving the five Chiropteran alone, with the basin that contained her blood.

All five of them removed their hoods.Their faces contorted as fangs broke through lips and muzzles stretched where mouths once were. Their eyes flared like yellow lanterns, and wild with hunger. Their robes fell away, revealing monstrous forms that scraped the stone ceiling, shadows bending beneath their shape. They had eaten so many humans, that this relatively small amount of blood shouldn’t have made a difference, but this was not ordinary blood, and Zhi Zhen’s offer made them tremble even more with ravenous greed…

Two others who knew the dance of the Shénwu… who had the blood of the priestess- unsullied and sweet… the thought of having them here, from whom they could take more than Zhi Zhen would ever be willing to give, made them quiver…

The very thought of those two beautiful things who killed so many of their kind, helpless, and bleeding for their taste, sent tremors through their monstrous forms.

***

The clock ticked noisily in their hotel room. They couldn’t disable it, but it didn’t matter to Yukio, who fell asleep as soon as he was close enough to the bed to fall on it. He didn’t even change out of his clothes. 

Saya did not wake him. He was too exhausted to care how filthy he was, and she herself had been in that state more times than she could count.

He slept fitfully, his scraped hand clutched Kasumi’s scabbard like a lifeline as he muttered in his sleep. Saya didn’t wake him. She knew it would make no difference. Presently, she flipped through a book of Saijo Yaso’s poetry, until she came to Tomino’s Hell.

She remembered first reading it before she had met Yukio. Even though she knew what it was like to lose a sister, she never related to the protagonist of the poem, little Tomino.

…Spring is coming

to the valley, to the wood,

to the spiraling chasms

of the blackest hell.

The bushwarbler in her cage,

the sheep aboard the wagon,

and tears well up in the eyes

of sweet little Tomino…

Saya turned her gaze from her book to Yukio again. He pursed her lips. He wasn’t crying. He didn’t cry often, but he had his moments where he reminded her who he was, and how far ahead of him the journey would be. 

…His wailing desperation

echoes throughout hell—

a fox peony

opens its golden petals.

Down past the seven mountains

and seven rivers of hell—

the solitary journey

of sweet little Tomino…

Saya closed her eyes,The clock continued to tick, and the faint ticking of the air conditioner and the occasional restless twitch from the sleeping Yukio were the only other things in that space… And the darkness that came upon her as she closed her eyes took her to waking dreams, which became memories… Memories that seemed an eternity ago.

It was summer in Changchung. The lotus ponds outside their mansion were in bloom, and acted as a barrier to the industrial stench of the city outside. Saya’s twin, Sekiko had knocked over a stack of plates as she sequestered a bowl of ripe lychees  from the kitchen. “They’ll blame it on the dishwasher again,” Sekiko giggled. “She’ll get whipped!” and Saya had laughed so hard she nearly choked on one of the lychees. 

They had no idea how spoiled they were back then. Their days were full of silk dresses, Japanese, Chinese, French, English, and American. Their mouths always had the aftertaste of sweet things, and afternoons filled with explorations of the nearby grounds, and occasionally terrorizing the maids. Their mother did not live much differently, and their father was always working, but the two girls were never lonely, having had each other.

They had moved here from Japan when both girls had been very young. While most of the Japanese who settled in this new land were poor farmers, who had lost their lands back home, this was not the case for the Kinoshita girls.

Their father was a Zaibatsu baron, one of Japan’s industrial elite, who’d followed the setting sun into Manchukuo to stake his claim in the imperial frontier. He dressed like a westerner, wearing a top hat, and ivory cufflinks. His workers, the Manchurians, Han Chinese, Mongolians, and Koreans, all stood at attention when he entered the factory floor. In that building, he was second only to Emperor Kangde, even though in his home, the Kinoshita mansion, where Emperor Kangde’s portrait occupied a place on his wall, the visage of Emperor Hirohito took the center.  “Asia will be under one roof,” he had often said.

Neither Saya, nor Sekiko ever cared. They were too young for politics or business. “Let’s build a trapdoor in the study room,” Sekiko once declared, “and throw bad people in it!”

“But what if our governess falls in?” Saya asked. 

Sekiko grinned. “Then no more lessons for us!” Saya laughed. She always laughed when her Seki-nee said things like that.

She didn’t remember when the first radio broadcasts began about the army’s defeats, about guerrilla fighters, about the Kanto-gun Army’s retreat. She only remembered that, one night, their father had burst into their room, with a serious, and flustered look on his face. He slapped the doll out of Sekiko’s hand, and said in a barely controlled shout; “pack your things! Quickly!”

Saya remembered her mother’s panicked cries. How she had none of her usual makeup, as she rushed them, and snapped at them, to only take what they could carry. She remembered how when they were rushed downstairs, the mansion was empty. She remembered the eeriness, and the feeling she felt as soon as her home was out of sight, that she would never see it again.

She remembered the long and uncomfortable drive that lasted all night, and how bumpy it became when her father had driven from the paved road to the dirt roads… She remembered falling asleep with her head on Sekiko’s shoulder, and waking up feeling so car-sick that she wanted to cry. But the anxiousness in the air told her to stay as quiet as she possibly could.

“Papa?” she had asked when she could no longer wait, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “Can we stop somewhere? I need to pee…”

Her mother twisted to face her and silenced her with a glare, and Saya shrank back into her seat, crossing her legs and doing her best to hold it in. Her father didn’t say a word. His eyes were fixed on the road, but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The radio crackled and whined with static, interrupted now and then by a grim voice speaking fast Japanese. Whenever the voice came through, and brought bits and pieces of news, she saw how his hands gripped the steering wheel even tighter.

Sekiko whispered to her, “It’s going to be okay.” But her voice quivered. Saya could tell she didn’t believe it. Eventually, the car slowed. Their father muttered something — a curse, maybe — and Saya peered out the window. She saw figures in uniform blocking the road ahead. Chinese soldiers. At least, she thought they were soldiers. One wore a star-shaped cap like in her schoolbook; another had a red armband. One had a rifle slung across his chest. They barked something in Mandarin.

Her father rolled the window down halfway and spoke in broken Chinese. Saya didn’t understand the words. Only the fear in her father's voice.

Sekiko gripped her hand tighter.

The soldiers walked around the car. 

She didn’t remember if they were Communist or Nationalist. At nine years old, those words meant nothing. But she remembered how one had smiled at them through the window… She remembered the man’s face… He was a young man, perhaps in his late teens. His cheekbones were sunken, and she felt hungry just looking at how thin and sunken his features were. A jaw that had once been broken, and healed badly so that it was slightly crooked, twisted his smile even more…

She heard pleas from her father, and then men begin to shout at him in a language she didn’t understand. She heard a sob escape her mother. Then, all four doors flew open at once.

Rough hands grabbed her. Sekiko screamed. Saya was yanked out into the dust, the daylight blinding her. She stumbled and fell on the gravel, scraping her palms. She looked up and saw her mother pulled from the passenger side, struggling, her hair coming undone in handfuls as a soldier tore at her sleeves. Her father was being shoved toward the ditch, blood already blooming at the corner of his mouth.

Her mother, who spoke no Mandarin, tried to plead with the soldiers in Japanese, and so Saya understood… “Not in front of my daughters. Please… not in front of my girls.”

Her face, and Sekiko’s remained frozen in shock, as men took their vengeance. The young soldier standing behind her and Saya, laughed. His crooked teeth, his uneven jawline, the sun glistening off his rifle… She tried to focus on those things… she had burnt his appearance into her mind, and yet, it did nothing to erase what she saw. How could it?

She and her sister knew nothing of those kinds of things, of the ways men would hurt women… of her mother’s strangled cries as the men infected her. 

A roar came as her father moved suddenly, slamming his way past the soldiers who stood between him and his daughters. He slammed into the young soldier, knocking him to the ground.

He cried to them at the top of his lungs:

“RUN!” 

Saya’s mother grabbed her and Sekiko by the wrists, and spun them forward. “Don’t look back!” she hissed. “Just run! Run!”

“RUN!” Her father roared again, as more soldiers began to pile on top of him, kicking and beating him before prying him off of their comrade.

They ran. Saya tripped, but her mother hauled her upright, and the three of them crashed through the underbrush at the side of the road. Sekiko was sobbing beside her. Saya couldn’t feel her legs— they just moved.

Behind them, they heard a cracking like firecrackers… Gunfire. First being fired into the father, and then aimed his wife and two children.

Bullets buzzed past them, and Saya heard all three of them scream as they impacted around them. Tree bark splintering, and soil flying into the air as the terror seized her. She did not realize that the adrenaline rush from being fired upon was overtaking her, the forest spun, and she knew not up from down. Something inside her had broken loose, and her mind stayed behind. She just ran where she was carried.

She no longer heard her own screams. She no longer felt the cuts and scrapes along her body as she fled. Each bullet’s impact sent her heart crashing against her ribs— but beyond that, she felt nothing. Only the tightness in her throat. The dryness in her mouth.… She didn’t even realize when her mother had let go of her hand…

She didn’t know whether she had been running for minutes, or hours, until the ground dropped beneath her, and she tumbled down a dirt slope, and into the icy waters of a shallow stream down below. She didn’t remember whether Sekiko grabbed onto her, or if she had grabbed onto Sekiko. But when they finally had some time to breathe, when they sat there shivering and weeping on the riverbank, they were alone… it was only the two of them. They did not remember when or how they were separated from their mother…

Their parents were gone…

“Saya.”

A voice… soft, urgent.

“Saya, wake up.”

Her eyes snapped open. She was in her hotel bed, covered in a cold sweat. Yukio hovered over her, his face tight with worry, his hands pressed lightly to her shoulders. “It’s okay Saya, it was just a dream.”

“Since when was it your job to worry about me,” she said breathlessly, sounding meaner than she had meant to”

“You were thrashing in your sleep,” Yukio whispered, without taking offense. “I thought you’d want me to wake you.”

Saya closed her eyes, and waved her hand. “Just… bring me a glass of water,” she said. Her throat was killing her.

Yukio nodded, and backed away to get the drink. Saya sat up slowly, the blanket clinging to her sweat-soaked skin.

In a room across the street, one of Zhi Zhen’s henchmen who was staring into her window with binoculars, spoke into his walkie-talkie. 

“Team A. this is the crow’s nest. The target has woken up unexpectedly. Abort the mission.”

“What!?” hissed one of the women, who was waiting with her team in the hallway outside of Saya’s hotel room. “She’s just an acolyte, just like us. Why can’t we take her now!?”

“Shut up and obey my orders,” came the voice from the crow’s nest through the static. “We’ll take her tomorrow. We’re not risking a fight.”

Without another word, Team A. pulled away from the room, but determined to try again when the time was right.

Chapter Text

Saya stood before the mirror, braced against the edge of the sink, her arms trembling slightly from the cold splash of water still clinging to her face. Droplets traced down her jaw and chin, dripping into the collar of her shirt. She hadn’t yet tied her hair into its usual twin braids. It hung damp and loose over her shoulders, longer than she remembered it being… With the memories of losing her home and family now fresh again in her mind, she couldn’t help but think how much she took after her father. 

She remembered being told as a child, how despite his pretty appearance, his assertive disposition made everyone else know to take him seriously. Though he had always been gentle with her and Sekiko, but in his final moments, she had seen it. A wrath, and a strength, that she herself had never attained.

Saya blinked away some of the droplets from her eye-lashes in the mirror. 

Her father was 42 when he died. Her mother, from whom she had inherited her ash brown eyes, was around 30. And yet, Saya could not forget that her own appearance was that of someone maybe half that age. 

Slowed aging was one of the side effects of learning the priestess’ dance, and it was also a reason why neither she, nor Lei had families. Tian-xi had one, though Saya had never cared to think too deeply about it. But as she squeezed her eyes shut, and heard the droplets of water fall from her chin and into the sink, she had no regrets. After what she saw, it was preposterous to think someone like her could have had a family in the first place.

She heard the soft shuffle of socks outside the door. A gentle knock followed. “I'm heading to the park to train,” came Yukio’s voice through the wood, careful and quiet. “Come when you’re ready.”

She didn’t answer. Just watched the beads of water slide from her chin to the porcelain below.

Yukio paused a moment longer, as if waiting for more. When none came, his footsteps retreated.

Saya lingered another few minutes. When she finally straightened up, she tied her hair back. Tight and even, as always.

***

Yukio never took up much space, but no matter how often they moved, they had found a place where he could train to his heart’s content. Saya often reminded him that what he was learning was not about raw aggression, and yet he still pushed himself day after day. 

Saya had long ago ceased to worry about being too harsh on him, because this boy would have accepted a teacher who broke his bones on a daily basis, he would have accepted it if it meant he would get stronger. He trained with an anger, which burned just as hot as hers did. 

Even though he was years away from opening his inner gate, he had only been training with her for less than ten months, and already reached a prowess that had taken her years to achieve under Lei.

Yukio had yet to achieve his first kill of a demon, but, he was close…Presently, Saya watched him. She sat on a low bench, arms loosely crossed, and eyes trained on him.

Footsteps approached in the grass behind her. She didn’t turn. David sat down beside her with a soft sigh, glancing toward Yukio before shifting his attention back to her.

“The park’s quieter than usual,” he remarked, lightly.

She nodded, then spoke, voice low. “Too quiet.” David waited. He knew better than to interrupt when Saya had something to say.

“The Chiropteran,” she said, her eyes still fixed ahead. “There was the predicted spike in activity since early spring, but for the past three days … nothing.” A pause. “I don’t like it.”

“And yet the number of disappearances still matches with Chiropteran activity, but not enough to track or triangulate where any of them are.” David added. “Chiropteran activity is still pretty much normal outside of Tokyo, but the bureau isn’t concerned with that, since those attacks are still on a steady decline as most of the country migrates to Tokyo. What do you think is going on Saya?”

“I don’t know for sure,” she admitted, “but I just don’t like it.” She shifted slightly on the bench. “You just keep listening for them.”

“Understood,” David said with a sigh. “How is your sword by the way? I still have a new one ready for you in case you need it replaced.”

“It's fine,” Saya said. This one is much sharper, and more durable than my last one. It should last me long enough that you needn’t worry about it.”

A brief silence passed again before he tilted his head toward Yukio, who was now catching his breath between sequences.

“And what about him?”

Saya’s expression didn’t change. Her eyes narrowed slightly in the direction of the boy. “A new sword for Morino will not be necessary.”

David didn’t press her, though his gaze lingered on her face for a second longer, curious. She didn’t offer an explanation, and he didn’t expect one. “Its still too early to call Saigon,” He finally said as he got up from the bench with a grunt, “but in a few hours, Finch should be awake. I’ll give him a call then, and see what I can find.”

Saya didn’t say anything as he left. Her eyes remained trained on Yukio. David gave her one last curious look, before his eyes too followed to the boy. He thought he might say something, but then decided that it was none of his business, and went back the way he had come.

***

Kuzalu sat in a noodle shop in Beijing. He was disguised well enough to pass for a Kazakh, or maybe even a Daur, and when most people heard his broken Mandarin, assumed he was a worker from those far away regions. His papers would have also confirmed this, if anyone with authority had thought to stop and ask him.

As he ate his meal, his eyes remained trained on a small family eating nearby. A mother and father, and a child staring blankly at his bowl, eyes vacant. His mother spooned broth into his mouth, and his father dabbed the dribble with a napkin… A mongoloid… Kuzalu smirked.

He left the restaurant around the same time that this “family” did. He followed them down the street, the boy lumbering between his parents, his mouth opened slightly ajar. He followed them down a street which was quieter, and crept ever closer…Once he was a few paces away, he ran forward, and kicked the child in the back, sending him flying forward onto the pavement! “Hey there retard. Did we have a little fall?”He sneered.

The woman screamed, and the man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “Are you insane!?” he bellowed. “I’m calling the police!”

“If that really was your retarded son,” Kuzalu said coolly, “you’d have decked me for that. Happened to me when I got it wrong by accident. The dad was a lot more irate than you are.”

“You monster!” the woman cried as she held onto the child comfortingly. “How can you be so cruel!?” But Kuzalu just smirked. The twitch in the man’s eyes when he called him out told him that he was right on the money.

“I’m curious, were you two husband and wife before you joined the cult? Or did your priestess think you looked cute together?”

“Shut up!” the man roared. “You're going to prison, you lowlife!”

The child's cries were getting louder, until they began to get deeper, and louder… at times, inhumanly loud, like a roar. 

“Excuse me,” Kuzalu said, shoving the man to the ground. 

“You stay away from him!” The man cried. But the roars were now coming through, and he just needed one more push before it transformed. These New Yaoguai were sooo much fun for him to fight…

***

In the stillness of their hotel room, Yukio lay curled under the blanket, still and peaceful, his breathing soft. Beside him, on a cushion beside the bed, lay his sword, Kasumi. The blade never left his reach. In his dream, he stood in the little forest outside his old family home, the one he lived in before his parents died…

It felt weird. The sky felt as though it were bleeding its colors. He heard someone crying nearby, muffled and frightened. He turned toward the sound, but the forest was empty. The trees bent inwards, looming. Shadows moved between them.

A voice began to call to him, only, it was without a voice… a voiceless word… Kasumi…

WAKE!

Yukio’s eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He stared at the ceiling, heart already beginning to beat faster for reasons he couldn’t name. The darkness was heavy, still. He thought he might have imagined it… Just another bad dream. One that he managed to wake up from before it got ugly… He sat up quietly, thinking to himself that he would get a drink of water, use the bathroom, and then go back to bed. He turned, preparing to lower his feet to the floor, when he saw them…

Three of them, standing by Saya’s bed. He opened his mouth to scream her name, when a hand came from behind and clamped over his mouth. Whoever it was, had a vice-like grip, and he couldn’t make a sound. He thrashed, and his breath came hot and panicked through his nose.

His screams came out silenced….he watched one of the intruders, with the broadest shoulders, who was holding Saya’s sword in one hand, lower a cloth onto Saya’s mouth with the other. He did so with such a stealth that even she didn’t notice. Yukio continued to scream against the hand that covered his mouth, and struggled against the arm that gripped his body, and in one desperate, violent jerk, he managed to open his mouth, and bite down hard on the exposed skin of the palm that had been pressed against his face.

The woman who held him shrieked in pain, instinctively tearing her hand back. The sound was sharp and real enough to shatter the silence.

And Saya opened her eyes.

Her legs instantly kicked outward as she twisted off the bed, yanking herself away from the cloth.

Saya flipped into the air, and landed low, one hand braced against the carpet. Her eyes searched for her sword, but it was gone. They’d taken it.

Yukio still struggled in the grip of his captor. His arms were pinned, but Kasumi was exactly where he had left her. Lifting his legs, he hooked Kasumi under his foot and flung it to Saya, who caught it one-handed, mid-spin, and unsheathed it in the same motion, slicing up and across in a beautiful, gleaming arc.

But her swing clanged hard against another blade… A Chinese jian.

The other woman smiled coldly, pushing back with power. “Did you think you were the only one who learned the dance?” she said in a heavy mandarin accent, as she brandished her jian with pride…

Saya’s mind drifted to a warning Lei had once given her… about another practitioner of the priestess dance, who came from the same Shénwu as she did… and she now noticed that of the four intruders, three of them were female, and all had swords, including the one who held Yukio… 

Saya swayed slightly. Her vision was unfocused, and her body felt heavier than it should… there was chloroform on that piece of cloth… Had Yukio not woken up just a few seconds later… she would have been out…

Moreover, Kasumi wasn’t her sword… Whether it was the chloroform or not, it felt heavy in Saya’s hands… But despite her disadvantages, she had experience. She slowed her breathing, and went deeper into her dance, just enough to refocus herself, before in a single blinding motion, spinning around and striking with a downward slash that just reached the arm of the one holding Yukio.

The woman let out a cry of pain as she was hit, and Yukio flew free.

“Run!” Saya shouted, her voice ragged but sharp. Yukio was already a step ahead of her, dropping low and sliding across the floor beneath the slash of one of their attackers. In that instant, where one of the three jian-wielders was focused on Yukio, and the other was recovering, Saya leapt onto her bed, and flipped into the air, over the head of the man who took her katana, and sliced through his shoulder in an elegant arch, forcing him to drop her sword.

She caught it before it hit the ground, and threw Kasumi towards the door. “Catch!” she cried. And Yukio did so flawlessly. 

The two of them had broken free from the trap, out of their room and into the hallway, only to find themselves in yet another trap… Two more women stood at each end, faces calm, swords drawn, bodies coiled in perfect posture. They had been waiting. And now, the three women from the room burst out to join them, forming a half-circle around the fleeing pair.

Five enemies. All trained in the priestess’ dance.

Saya and Yukio stood back-to-back, their swords at the ready, both of them still in their nightwear. The walls and doors around them vibrated with the sounds of other guests now fully awake, and calls of “What’s going on?” and “Call the police!” added to the confusion.

“Just ignore them,” Saya told Yukio. The boy nodded. Saya’s stance was sharp, but shaky. Sweat rolled down her cheek, not from fear, but the lingering drug dragging at her limbs.

Yukio nodded, sword shaking slightly in his hand.

Saya knew they were at a disadvantage. Could she take each of these attackers individually? Probably. But she was outnumbered, she was drugged, and Yukio was not fully trained… One of their assailants seemed to realize this too, since she targeted him immediately.

Saya lunged, her blade sweeping up in a tight arc to intercept a strike aimed at Yukio. Sparks flew. The impact rattled through her arm. Behind her, Yukio turned low, parrying a strike meant for her back, his blade sliding clumsily along the enemy’s jian. The dance was all around them— too fast, too close, too many.

The corridor felt narrower with every breath. Doors flung open on either side. An elderly man stepped out in a robe, wide-eyed. “What the hell—”

“GET BACK INSIDE!” Saya barked, but no sooner had she done that, had a blade pierced her back!

“Careful!” one of the attackers snapped at her comrade, “we need her alive”

“Relax, I made sure to make it shallow. This won’t kill her, just deflate her a bi-” A slash across the woman’s face from Saya sent her falling back.

“DON’T MOCK ME!” Saya roared! “-ACK!”

It did not matter how much tougher she was, she was flanked on all sides. As she faced two opponents in front of her, another kicked her from behind, foot right against her wound. Out of her periphery, Yukio was barely holding on against the remaining two. Another guest poked her head out of her room, phone in hand, only to scream as a blade missed her by inches. “Where are the police!?” Cried another guest.

A kick slammed into Saya’s ribs before she could turn— she stumbled, nearly fell. Yukio moved to cover her, barely deflecting two rapid strikes, one of which scraped across his sleeve, tearing cloth and skin.

The tempo surged. Swords clashed in rhythms too fast for the eye to follow. Saya turned, elbowed an opponent’s jaw, but was struck from behind by the flat of another woman’s blade. She gasped, knees buckling.

An assailant moved in more boldly now, and swung her jian. Saya’s katana was knocked from her hand, and it clattered along the hallway carpet. She backed up, winded, bruised, blood from a cut on her shoulder now staining her nightshirt. She dropped to a wariza position against the wall, legs half-curled, too exhausted to get up again.

The five attackers loomed over her. Faces shadowed, weapons gleaming.

Yukio rushed in, putting himself in between Saya’s nearest attacker and her, Kasumi steady in his hands.

“Back off you fuckers,” he warned. “Don’t come near her!”

From his right, the woman whose hand he had bitten jumped into his side with a flying kick! Yukio flew outside the perimeter of their formation, and hit the ground. 

He sputtered, and tried to get up, but he had taken such a hard hit to the stomach that he found it difficult to breathe. Some of the attackers laughed at him, as he tried to use the breathing techniques he had learned, but coughed up blood instead. He turned and glared daggers at them, his eyes hot with fire. A few of them even looked surprised.

Yukio’s eyes bore a rage hot enough to melt steel, and he didn’t seem to care at all about the blood that was running down his chin. His legs wobbled, but he was still getting up.

The woman closest to him hit him with a high kick right into his jaw. That sent him flying back, sprawled out with his legs folded over him, but not before he landed a vital strike against her.

“他妈的!” she cried, “That little shit got me good! AHHHHH!!!!!” She collapsed. Yukio’s strike was clean, and blood spurted from the wound he had made on the leg she used to kick him. She was losing blood, and fast.

“Bare it sister,” one of the other assassins said. “Blood begets life, and sacrifice begets glory.” 

Saya’s voice cracked with a small chuckle at their cultish mantra, as she raised her head, blood on her lip.

“Were you sent by Zhi Zhen?”

The attackers paused. Glanced at each other.

One turned to her. “High Priestess Zhi Zhen ordered us to take you alive,” she said coolly. “But your little friend here… He’s heard the name.”

Her eyes gleamed. “He must now die.”

Saya’s eyes widened in horror. A few of the others smirked as the woman who declared Yukio’s sentence turned and began walking towards him, and stepped past her bleeding comrade, her feet stepping into the puddle of blood that soaked into the carpet. Saya forced back her own words, knowing that It would be futile, and yet, still feeling the panic, as the assassin raised her blade over Yukio’s unconscious form…

-BANG!

The sharp crack of a pistol echoed down the hall.

The attacker’s chest jerked as a bullet tore into her. Blood bloomed like a flower against her white clothes, and her body jerked before collapsing next to Yukio’s

Saya felt her heart catch in her throat as the adrenaline now began to crash, sapping her energy as the relief came. She slowly turned her head to her right, and saw David, flanked by Louis on the other ends of the hall, pistols raised.  

“David…” she managed to say, barely above a whisper…

She watched as the three assassins still standing sprinted towards the two gunmen… the fools. 

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Two attackers went down immediately. A third tried to leap at them, but Louis fired once, center mass. The woman slammed into the wall with a grunt, sliding down in silence. The one who had been wounded by Yukio let out a guttural scream as she rose to her feet and tried to raise her sword, lunging for Saya, but David’s bullet hit her right between the eyes, and she went down like a sack of bricks.

Silence fell, pierced only by the hum of the emergency lights and the murmurs of frightened hotel guests behind their doors.

Saya raised a hand, holding up one finger, then pointed toward her hotel room, indicating that one enemy still remained. David nodded, signaling Louis.

The two men lined their backs against the wall, ready to clear corners like they did in their old army days. They burst in. But the room was empty.

The curtain fluttered in the breeze. The sliding glass balcony door stood wide open, and outside, the sound of screeching tires, and a woman’s scream reached up to the hotel floor through the night air.

Louis moved swiftly to the edge, peering over the railing. He looked down, and his eyes narrowed.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “David. Our guy jumped.”

David joined him, squinting toward the street far below.

“Damnit…” he muttered. Lowering his weapon.

Chapter Text

The clinic was silent. Its fluorescent lights and the smells of antiseptics were nauseating to Yukio, who sat on the edge of the examining table. His arms and legs still trembled, as a cotton ball was stuck to his lip with dried blood. He looked up when the door opened, and Saya entered.

She was still woozy, but carried the same ferocity that her presence always did. She didn’t even wince as she stepped, despite the gaping wound still in her side. Yukio looked down when he saw her.

“What?” Saya asked. “Don’t look at me like I’m here to scold you.”

“I know,“ Yukio said. “I knew that bad people exist, and we defended ourselves without killing any of them but…” 

Saya’s brow furrowed. It now occurred to that he didn’t know the fate of those six who attacked them- “Even still…” Yukio continued. “I was ready to kill them when I saw they were going to hurt you. I tried my best, but I was too weak to stop them.”

Saya tightened her lips. She was silent for a moment before responding. “You weren’t meant to. You’re a novice, but If you hadn’t alerted me when you did, I’d be locked in a wooden krait on a ship to Tianjin by now.”

Yukio looked up at her. Saya’s throat tightened when she saw his eyes… “What did they even want with you?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered simply.

Just then, David walked in through the open door. “Saya, are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said flatly. He didn’t look convinced, but nodded.

“How did you know?” she asked, without turning around. “How did you know when to show up when you did?”

David exhaled. “One of Finch’s men flagged something strange. A cult operating out of China. Chiropteran worshippers.”

Saya’s mouth became severe as she blinked at that information.

“They’re breeding them,” David continued. “Creating something new. Bigger. Meaner. They call them ‘New Yaoguai’, and border control flagged a few arrivals with connections to that cult. I put two and two together, and came running as soon as I could.”

“It’s a damn good thing we did.” Louis said, as he walked into the room. Saya shot him a glare.

“You know what? Maybe I should come back later,” Louis said with a sigh. But Saya’s mind was already elsewhere… they wanted her alive… and there was only one reason she could think of for that. 

“That piece of shit,” she muttered.

“Who are you talking about?” David asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I need a jet to Beijing,” she said instead of answering. 

“You're not going anywhere,” David said with as much authority as he dared. “Saya, you’re in no condition.”

Saya narrowed her gaze. “Then I’ll book a flight myself.” She started for the door, but David moved in to block her. 

Her eyes darkened. “Move, David.”

“No, you're hurt, and you’ve been drugged, and moreover, I have no idea what’s gotten you so worked up in the first place, and I can’t allow you to do anything until you explain.”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

His jaw clenched. “Saya…”

“I said– move.”

Louis grimaced. Yukio sat there watching in a cold sweat. David sighed, before turning his body just enough to allow Saya to exit through the door. 

She walked briskly out of the clinic, out of the building, and into the night air… The sun was beginning to rise, and the city beginning to wake up, and the solitude was coming to an end. She took a step forward, and her side flared with pain.

She didn’t wince, but her breath caught. Blood was seeping again through the bandages, and her limbs still felt heavy, since the effects of the drug still lingered in her system. She clenched her teeth together. “How dare they take me so fucking lightly.” 

A memory flashed in her mind… She was a little girl then, standing in a grassy field on a calm, chilly day, at the end of winter…. Watching her elder sister laid peacefully in the coffin. Sekiko was feeling no more pain… only rest… only peace… and the only soul standing besides her as she said her final goodbye, was Ruo Lei…

Saya’s fingers curled slightly, the pain still biting.

“Lei-san…” she muttered, voice hoarse. “Whatever they’re planning, I won’t let them.”

“Saya!” She stopped, and turned around, to see Yukio had followed her outside of the clinic. She frowned. Her senses really had been dulled, otherwise she would have scented him, but here he was, not even trying to hide, and standing a respectful distance from her, but even still, at such a distance, their heights seemed about even. “I want to know what's going on.”

“It doesn’t concern you.” She grunted.

“You told David the same thing,” Yukio said. “And maybe it is none of his business either, but you can still tell him can’t you? I can tell he cares about you."

Saya’s eyes twitched. “David’s jurisdiction is between Yokota and Kadena. That's the area where we work together, and that's all there is to our relationship. Ask him, and he’ll tell you the same thing. He doesn’t need to concern himself with what's going on two thousand kilometers away.”

“Fine then,” Yukio said, crossing his arms. “You and David are all cool and business-like, but I still want to know,”

 Saya was becoming annoyed. "This is a matter to do with my teacher, and the Shénwu organization. The original, Shénwu. These people are not as kind as I am. If you get involved you'll only get hurt"

Yukio raised an eyebrow. "I didn't even know about these people and they almost killed me tonight, so I guess I'm already involved"

The birds were now beginning to sing as the sky was rapidly becoming a lighter shade of blue. Saya’s jaw clenched, and her fingers curled slightly against her bandaged side. “Time after time after time after time…” she said through clenched teeth, “You talk me into doing something that I know I shouldn’t do, because the alternative of doing nothing would be just as bad. Why did you come into my life?…”

Yukio didn’t look hurt, he simply waited for Saya to finish.

“When we go, you’re going to do everything I tell you, got it?”

Yukio nodded. “Yeah.”

“Even if I tell you to go back home?”

Yukio hesitated, and then nodded. “Yes.”

“And do you understand, that if they take you as a hostage, and try to use you as leverage against me, I will let them kill you before I dance to their tune.”

“I understand.” Yukio replied.

Once again, Saya saw herself in that child. He was still only twelve years old, but his eyes shined with so much that no child would have known how to feel… He was angry… He was already set on his mission. There was nothing that would persuade him against it. And then there was Kasumi, strapped across his shoulder. “This is probably going to be a long mission,” Saya said. “I would still advise you to stay away. It might be worse than anything you’ve ever experienced before.”

“I’m going where you’re going,” Yukio said. “I’m not leaving your side until I am confident that I can fight them the way you do.”

There was no point in continuing to talk. Saya turned, and headed for the hotel. “Pack quickly. We’re leaving on the first available flight.”

***

Yukio shifted from foot to foot. He hated how massive and crowded the airport was. The fluorescent lights bit at his eyes, and the scent of strong cleaning chemicals reminded him too much of hospitals. Not to mention he had been on his feet for what felt like an eternity. He hadn’t had time to rest since leaving the clinic… His stomach still hadn’t settled, and the noise gnawed at him like static.

Nearby, Saya stood at the ticket desk, jaw clenched tight. The ticket agent’s fake smile and pearly white teeth didn’t seem to assuage Saya’s mood either. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There are no direct flights to Beijing, or anywhere in China. Please understand, that even if there were, your companion—” she motioned politely to Yukio “—does not appear to have a valid passport on file.”

“Nowhere in China? Are you kidding?”

“We could route you to Hong Kong instead,” the agent tried, “but again, without a passport—”

“I heard you the first time.” Saya’s tone was low and calm, but could’ve cut marble. “I’m not interested in Hong Kong.”

“Of course, ma’am. But I—”

“I’m not interested,” she repeated. “Unless they changed the rules about entering China from Hong Kong.”

“No ma’am,” the agent said, her tone dropping. “They have not. May I ask, why do you need to enter China so badly?”

“It’s a long story,” came a man’s voice, in broken Japanese..

The voice came from behind her. Saya and the ticket agent both turned, startled. David had cut through the line and come to the counter, in the same boring suit as usual.  

“You forgot the kid’s passport,” David said, holding a manilla envelope, and handing it to her, “and your flight itinerary.”

Saya did not pause to question what was happening. She accepted the envelope, and retrieved a Japanese passport from inside. “I didn’t even know Yukio had a passport,” she said as she opened it to Yukio’s mugshot, and saw that it had been issued… that very morning.

“He didn’t,” David said. 

Saya now saw that they had used a photo taken of him from the previous year, at the orphanage. Yukio looked almost militaristic in this mugshot, but there were more pressing matters on her mind. “But why are you helping me?” she asked. 

“Because I didn’t want you making a scene at the airport,” David said with a hint of annoyance. “Technically, I’m not even allowed to let you leave the country.”

Saya scanned the itinerary, and her eyes widened. “David, what the hell is this?”

“That, is the best I could do for getting you to Beijing. I know you’re probably not used to flying as a civilian, so I’ll explain it succinctly. Japan barely has any aerospace enterprise whatsoever, and getting into the People’s Republic of China is going to be even more of a pain…”

“From Tokyo to Bangkok, from Bangkok to Frankfurt…”

“And then from Frankfurt to Moscow,” David finished. “And from Moscow to Beijing. The USSR is currently the only country with direct flights to China, and they’ll probably grill you pretty hard when you get there. I hope you two are prepared for some long layovers.”

Yukio did not understand any of the English being spoken, but he could tell from David’s tone that he was annoyed, and still trying to help them. Saya briefly turned to meet his eyes, and then back to David.

“We’ll be back as soon as I’m finished with this business,” Saya said. “Hopefully before the next Chi-”

“We’ll do our best to contain them without your help,” David said. “And as I’m sure you can understand, that puts me in an awkward position, which is why I’m going to help you do whatever it is you need to do as quickly as possible. Which reminds me, you two need to hand me your swords. I’ll arrange for a place for you two to pick them up in Beijing.”  

Saya looked down at her sword case. She didn’t like being separated from it. “...Unless you trust the airline staff to hold onto it for you,” David continued.

Saya handed her swordcase to David, and pried the one containing Kasumi from Yukio’s hands. He didn’t protest, but his fingers were still stiff as she took it.

As Saya handed it to David, she noticed the stress emanating from him. She knew she was causing him trouble, but it was still better than him getting involved directly.

“I’ll call you as soon as we make it,” Saya said. 

David nodded, and then turned to Yukio. “You be careful, son.” It was the first thing David had ever said to him. Saya almost didn’t have the heart to remind David that Yukio didn’t speak English, when the boy bowed to him. 

“Sank you, Davito”

David nodded, then turned to Saya. For a moment they were silent, and Saya seemed to want to apologize, but what came out of her mouth instead was; “When this is over, I’ll explain everything.” 

David remained silent. Then, he turned and walked away, sword cases in hand, as he disappeared into the crowd.

***

The hiss of hydraulics and the low roar of jet engines loomed as the boarding tunnel emptied into the yawning mouth of the aircraft. A  stewardess at the hatch greeted each passenger with a cheerful, rehearsed, “welcome”.

Yukio hesitated at the threshold, one foot still on the boarding step. Looking down at the ground between the gap, his throat tightened, and his foot lingered in the air. Saya however, didn’t stop walking. “Come on,” she said as she brushed past him into the body of the aircraft. Yukio summoned his courage, and took that momentous step. His body balanced itself. He was still grounded. 

The cabin ceiling was lower than the jets Saya was used to, or perhaps it was just because this plane was so much more full. It was claustrophobic to say the least.  Ashtrays were built into every armrest, though a few bore “No Smoking” stickers hastily slapped over the metal.

“You take the window seat,” she said to Yukio, ushering him into their row ahead of her. Yukio gave her a grateful smile, before scooting into his seat. But he couldn’t hide his trembling as he sat down, and began fidgeting with the straps of his seatbelt. 

He turned, and gave Saya a sheepish look. “I’ve never flown before.”

“You’ll be fine,” She said, seating herself in the aisle seat. The truth was, it felt like the first time for her as well. The last time she flew as a civilian was 30 years ago. She had been too young to remember, when her family emigrated to Manchukuo… She would not return to Japan until she was in her teens.

Since then, all flights had been arranged for her, all of them were either to or from Yokota airbase, and she had always had her sword with her. She could only imagine how Yukio felt without Kasumi, who had become a piece of his soul in the short time he had been trained to use her.

In the seat behind her, a man lit a pungent cigarette. Another man with a stained shirt folded a newspaper three seats up, and across from him, the shrill cries of a small child could be heard. The uninvited thought entered her mind, and now refused to leave— A Yokushu on board… it would be the perfect opportunity for one to attack. She was unarmed, and shoulder-to shoulder with civilians. A monster could easily wreck havoc on this plane, and then use its own wings to fly to safety. Or even Zhi Zhen’s minions having come on board. They would surely have ways of doing it… 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a clipped voice crackled over the overhead speaker in Japanese, “this is your pilot speaking. Welcome aboard Japan Airlines Flight 803 with service to Bangkok. Please ensure…”

“I’ll be back,” Saya said to Yukio, before getting up. She moved quickly toward the narrow corridor at the back of the aircraft. A stewardess glanced at her and started to say something, but Saya pushed past her, into the tiny airplane lavatory.

The door to the lavatory clicked shut behind her before the woman could finish. The chemical sting of bleach and fuel did nothing to calm the nausea climbing her throat. The room was even smaller than the cabin; she had to stand at an angle to avoid knocking her elbows against the walls.

Her hand slapped the lock into place. Then both palms braced against the cold aluminum sink. For a moment, she tried to breathe— slow, shallow breaths, steady like training drills.

It didn’t help. Her stomach heaved. She barely turned to face the toilet in time.

Her shoulder braced the wall as her body convulsed again, and she clutched the sink to keep from collapsing. Another wave, another retching. 

Her wound flared. A sharp, tearing pain radiated from her side, the same place she’d been stabbed just last night. “Tch, damn it!” she gasped through clenched teeth.

She felt warmth under the bandages. Not much, but enough to make her freeze.

For a moment she didn’t move. The engine’s low whine pulsed beneath her boots. The plane hadn’t even taken off yet. Her reflection in the mirror looked pale. Sweat clung to her jawline, her mouth drawn in a tight line. This wasn’t fear. It was calculation. She had no room left for fear.

“Steady as stone,” she breathed.

A knock came from the other side of the door, followed by the stewardess’ voice. “Ma’am? We’re preparing for takeoff. Are you all right?”

Saya took one more breath. Cold water splashed against her cheeks. She rinsed her mouth, wiped her face. “Yes,” she called. She unlocked the door and stepped past the attendant without meeting her eyes.

When she reached her seat, Yukio glanced at her, with quiet concern written all over his face. Saya said nothing. She sat, exhaled slowly, and leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. 

Yukio began to open his mouth to ask if she was alright, but Saya spoke first, cutting him off. “Wake me when we land,” she instructed him.

“‘Kay” Yukio said quietly, nodding. 

He turned back to the oval window, looking out at the men working on the asphalt outside, and other planes taxiing. Beyond the barbed wire fence, more buildings, and in the distance beyond that, was the waters of Tokyo bay. 

He didn’t seem to notice when his own plane was moving, until he felt the tingling sensation in his gut. He squeezed the armrest of his seat. The plane turned— now it angled toward a longer stretch of runway, and he felt something tighten deep in his chest. The engine’s pitch climbed. A warning bell dinged.

Then—

A lurch. A roar.

His breath caught.

The acceleration pinned him to the back of his seat. The wings shuddered as the wheels left the ground. For a split second, his stomach floated. The next time he looked out the window, he could see the ground zooming out.

The roads, the cars, the people… all of it was shrinking, folding into neat lines and colored specks as the airplane climbed higher into the sky. Yukio leaned toward the window, eyes wide, breath shallow. For a moment, it felt like falling upward.

Then came the sudden jolt as the plane crossed the wide mouth of the Tama River below. The aircraft banked gently, circling back over land. His stomach dropped.

Panic struck. His ears popped—hard. The pressure stabbed deep into his skull. Yukio gasped and clapped both hands over his ears, eyes squeezed shut as the pain made his head throb.

For several seconds, he didn’t move. Then… cautiously… he cracked one eye open.

The world was still there.

He turned to his right. Saya hadn’t stirred. She was leaned back in her seat, arms folded, her face turned away from him, resting. She looked tired, but calm.

He slowly turned back to the window.

The clouds had thinned, revealing a horizon that shimmered like glass. Far below, the earth stretched out in folds of green and silver. For the first time since they’d left the ground, Yukio exhaled, long and quiet.

The view was… breathtaking.

Somewhere deep in his chest, the fear began to loosen.

They were in the sky.

And somehow, impossibly—

He was safe. “Sora… are you seeing this? I’m actually flying.”

Below, on the streets of Kawasaki, David Burton looked up into the air, and watched their plane disappear into the clouds.

Chapter Text

The interview had lasted over an hour by this point. The white room in the Beijing Capital Airport was sterile and stifling, with no clock on the wall, no ventilation save a slow ceiling fan, and two guards posted in silence like statues. The woman asking questions did not raise her voice, and spoke with measured authority. She attacked as she had done to countless other travelers before.

Saya did not flinch at these accusatory, circuitous questions. She showed neither fear, nor anger, and answered back in perfect Mandarin. “Why do you speak such good Chinese?” The interrogator demanded. “Are you a spy?”

“I am not.” Saya answered calmly.

“Were you here during the Japanese occupation?” She demanded, a bite on the edge of her tone.

“Before I was born?” Saya asked, raising an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t think that could be possible.” The interrogator gave her a long and hard stare. Indeed, no one in their right minds would have accused Saya of being old enough to have been there.

After another 30 minutes of questioning, the authorities finally seemed satisfied. The interrogating officer finally snapped her notebook closed. “You may go. Welcome to the People’s Republic of China.”

They were handed back their documents. No stamp. Just a nod from one of the guards, and the hiss of the door unlocking.

The arrival hall was dimmer than the other airports they’d passed through, lit by large windows and dust-filtered sunlight. Romantic murals of the Communist revolution shared the wall with red banners hanging in long silk drapes, covered in bright white characters which were written in the new “simplified” script. Outside the glass, a long parade of bicycles passed along the main road, most riders in dull gray or blue uniforms, and the sounds of heavy machinery reverberated through the building as new adjacent terminals were built.

Both Saya, and Yukio had packed lightly, but even their clothes felt heavy. This interrogation was even worse than the one they had gone through in Moscow, after the agonizingly long layover in Frankfurt, and the incredibly uncomfortable flight there from Bangkok, with such poor ventilation. Yukio had been irritable ever since they got here, and Saya wanted to praise him for taking her advice, and not snapping at the officials who had been hassling them. But his anger as they walked away was palpable.

“This country is in the middle of a paranoid revolution,” She reminded him, “and we are Japanese nationals. Do you understand Yukio?”

“Sorry,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “I know you explained it to me, but I’m too tired to remember.”

“Just keep your head down,” Saya said calmly. “And if anyone tries to talk to you, it's better that you keep quiet and act dumb.” 

Yukio nodded in affirmation that he understood as he yawned, but Saya sensed his anger underneath.

“We will get to the P.O. box that David described soon,” she told him. “And then you’ll have Kasumi at your side again.” She sensed his unease dissipate when she said this. As soon as they left the airport, they both began to feel the chill in their bones. Beijing’s air was significantly colder than Tokyo, even in the spring, and their clothes still caked with sweat, combined with the smog of the city made it even worse.

They stepped onto the bus they needed as it pulled up by the terminal. Its seats were dusty and stained as they climbed on. As the engine coughed to life, they watched turbulent life roll past: farmers herding bicycles with woven baskets, state banners flying above gates proclaiming “Long Live the People”, uniformed cadres climbing staircases into administrative buildings.

Muchiro sat in the aisle seat, his small body trembling as he tried to sleep. Saya meanwhile, leaned her head against the window, and watched as the streets passed her by. The country had changed so drastically, and yet, still felt familiar to her. She never once blamed the people of this land for what had happened. She knew that her parents, were among many victims in a disaster that her father himself had been a part of, and blaming the individuals who did it would be as pointless as blaming the wind for a typhoon… No… there was something else… what had happened after she and Sekiko had escaped… that was a level of horror that still triggered her fight or flight response whenever she recalled it….

Shortly after their parents' deaths, in the late summer of 1945… She and Sekiko were lost in the forest. The soldiers had stopped pursuing them long ago, but they were barely clinging to life. Saya remembered how desperately tired, hungry, and thirsty she was, but Sekiko would not allow them to stop moving. It ended up saving both of their lives, because eventually, the two Kinoshita orphans were found by him.

They knew him only as “Padre” and he was one of the last priests still in the region. The rest of the men from his mission had left years ago, and yet he stayed, alone, in that building… The church’s once-white walls were mottled with smoke stains and mold. Its windows which had once been beautifully colored were now boarded up. The metal cross had already been looted from its steeple. Saya remembered the way she had gripped her Seki-nee’s free hand, as their other hands clung to the Padre’s clothes, as he carried them into the building.

The two of them combined barely weighed a thing, and ravenously drank the broth and ate the bread that was served to them once they were inside. The scent of wax and mildew which permeated throughout the inside of the building was completely unnoticed to the girls who had once been used to luxury, and were now crying with gratitude just to have something to eat and a place to sleep. 

Most of all, they finally had a quiet place to mourn for their parents. Padre explained to them all that had likely happened. When Saya had asked him about returning to their old home, he told them the truth, which was that it no longer existed. The homes of the rich, especially those of the Japanese settlers and those who had collaborated with them; had all been looted ages ago, and what was left was seized by the state. “You two are the victims of the sins of so many others,” he told them softly. “But what happened was not your fault niñas”.

Those simple words from the Padre made the sisters love and trust him fully, and they had become committed to learning from him. He spoke fluent Japanese as well, and told them of the martyrdom of many of his predecessors in their country, and what he had learned from them. He also told them stories of the saints, and his Lord, but the way he spoke of Japan in particular, and the sins committed by their nation, would make Sekiko and Saya hang their heads in shame. And then the Padre would praise them for their guilt, and bless them. 

Neither of the two girls had thought to ask him why his church still stood, when everything else was confiscated. They never questioned him, or why he sometimes spoke ill of his colleagues for having abandoned him. They didn’t notice that his smile had never quite reached his eyes. At night, Saya and Sekiko curled under thin blankets, whispering.

“I don’t like the way he talks to the cross,” Sekiko had said. “It’s like… he thinks it talks back.”

Saya frowned. “But thats what he’s supposed to do, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think so,” Sekiko replied. “I heard him outside earlier. There were other men out there, and they sounded scary…I think they wanted him to give them money.”

“I heard the same thing,” Saya admitted. “But just because those bad people were telling Padre what to do, I don’t think it means he’s a bad person himself. Padre is doing what he has to to survive, and we’re better off with him, aren’t we?”

Sekiko nodded, but had nothing else to add.

Night after night, the men continued to come, and as Sekiko and Saya listened more attentively, it became clear that they were demanding payment. The girls agreed that they should do their best to make things easier for the Padre, doing chores and cooking meals without being asked, and being as well behaved during their lessons as they could, but it did not stop the cracks from appearing in his behavior. 

Until one night, as they lay in their cot, the sisters heard the men again. “I’ve already given you men everything!” The Padre protested. “I have nothing left to offer but bread and old vestments.”

“If you’ve got nothing more to offer us,” came the stranger’s gruff voice, “Then we’ve got no more protection to offer you, or your precious church.”

“Besides,” came the drunken voice of another stranger. “What are you protecting this place for anyway? I heard you’ve already been excommunicated from your church.”

“Thats a lie!” The Padre shouted.

Upstairs, Sekiko spoke to her little sister. “Just try to go to sleep Saya. Whatever they are talking about, is for the adults to worry about, not us.”

Saya nodded, and shut her tired eyes. 

She wasn’t sure whether she had fallen asleep or not, or how much time had passed, but a shivering hand shook her and her sister awake all the same. “Wake up, niñas,” the Padre said, softly, urgently. His breath smelled of sweat and incense. “Quickly. Come.”

Saya blinked blearily. Beside her, Sekiko stirred, sitting up as the priest reached into the folds of his robe. His face looked different— tighter, older somehow. The deep lines at the corners of his mouth looked as though they’d been carved by pain.

“Take these,” he said, and pressed something small and wooden into Saya’s palm. A small cross. He handed another to Sekiko. “Hold onto it. Whatever happens, keep it close. Do you understand?”

Neither girl answered. Sekiko stared at him, clutching the cross like it might bite her. Saya looked from the trembling cross in her hand, back to the Padre.

“What’s happening?” she asked. Her voice came out as a croak. “Padre?”

The Padre said nothing, but led them downstairs, and then opened the door. The chill of the night air bursts fourth, and the silent chaos of the night now screamed a deafening warning.

Two jeeps idled in the courtyard, spitting up dust and exhaust. Standing directly in front of the steps, half-lit by the headlamps, was a man Saya had never seen before. He was tall, and thin, with hair that was lank, black, and hanging over his collar like wet string. His beard and mustache were the same, long and thin. His small eyes gleamed with malevolent amusement, and he grinned down at the two, terrified, shivering girls. 

There were other men who were with this one, and he didn’t move. He stood in the center, smiling, as the other men converged on the two girls… Saya was too terrified to move. The crosses in her and Sekiko’s hands seemed to burn, cold and splintering, against their palms… Saya remembered trying to speak, but no words coming out… 

The memory of that night, blurred together with the other nights that followed… the Padre had become more erratic during the day. When he apologized to the girls, he did so with pain in his words and tears in his eyes. “I am sorry… I am sorry that you must endure this.”

When he wasn’t apologizing, he was almost manic. His temper was shorter, his sermons feverish and slurred.  “They are watching,” he would say, staring into the boarded windows, his eyes glassy and glinting. “They know what I’ve done…” 

The girls listened in silence. “He should be suffering for what he is making us do,” Sekiko muttered. 

He would come into the room with that same twisted look of guilt and desperation, press the rough wooden crosses into their hands, and whisper the same phrase: “Hold on to it. Hold on to it and pray.”

And the girls did. Saya clutched hers so tightly each night that the wood left tiny splinters in her palm. Sekiko did the same. They would go downstairs, bearing their crosses, as the thin, oily-haired Jakdan, and his henchmen, came to collect their payment from the padre. And each night, and each morning, the padre apologized, and tried to explain to them why it was necessary, and how their suffering would be rewarded when they made it to paradise.

He reminded them that they were able to eat, only because of it, and yet, Saya remembered the constant feeling that she would have rather they starved. She tried to look forward to “paradise”, but the more she did, the more she began to resent the padre.

If suffering and sacrifice led to paradise, then why had he not starved alone? 

She began to resent having been rescued by him, but realistically, she knew that two small girls who spoke only broken mandarin at best— had no chance of surviving.

It was Sekiko who changed more visibly. She became quieter, more withdrawn. She still braided Saya’s hair in the morning, still forced a smile when they cooked, but there was a dullness behind her eyes. Like her soul had been boxed away for safekeeping, and she didn’t know where she had put the key.

The nights that followed were almost always the same… the men would come again and again… Sometimes it was only two men. Sometimes four. Sometimes more. But always them, and always him, the one with the long black hair and the thin, wiry beard who never touched them himself. He would stand off to the side, leaning against the church steps, or against one of their cars or trucks. He would watch… and listen… and smile…

Until one night… he showed up alone.

Sekiko and Saya watched from where they hid in the corner, as the man walked into the church, and brushed snow from his shoulders. His long coat hung baggily from his wiry frame, and he sat down in a pew, across from the Padre. 

“What do you want this time Jakdan?” The Padre asked. “You’re men have already taken more than money. I still hate myself for agreeing to give it to you.”

“No you don’t Padre,” Jakdan laughed in his oily voice, through yellow teeth. “You’re just as much of a coward and a snake as any man. You didn’t stay here in this land because you were brave either. You stayed because your compatriots who went back to Europe, wouldn’t have wanted you for company, and you were at least decent enough to not want to trouble them.”

The Padre’s shoulders shook, and he bowed his head with a tearless sob.

“Relax Padre,” Jakdan said, widening his grin. “You’ll notice, I am not here with my men. I am not here for the girls either. Let's be civil for once. You’ve given me so much already.

The Padre was silent for a time, before speaking again. “You’re wrong Jakdan. I didn’t stay because I was excommunicated, I stayed because even though they said I was unbecoming of a priest, I still thought I could do good here. I still thought I could save souls… I still have faith.”

He sounded as though he had practiced that speech in front of a mirror, and Jakdan’s smile twitched in mockery. “And how’s that ‘faith’ working out for you Padre? You gave two innocent little girls to the biggest scumbags in all of China to save your own skin. It seems to me you haven’t done that much more good than harm here, eh Padre?”

He used the title with ironic mockery, and the Padre’s face crumbled when he said this. “How many souls were saved because you sacrificed those two?” Jakdan pressed. The Padre looked down and whimpered. “I believe Padre, that while it has been fun for me, you have nothing more to offer me.”

From where she watched, Saya felt her heart pounding against her chest. She would have screamed had fear not paralyzed her throat. Jakdan stood, and the change happened so fast, Saya thought she had blinked and imagined it. One moment he was a man, and then he wasn’t. His face warped, teeth lengthening, skin tightening. His eyes bloated into black, lidless sockets. Bone jutted where it shouldn’t. A wet tearing noise filled the space as his limbs elongated and his spine cracked back. Long claws extended from what had once been fingers.

Sekiko gasped. Saya threw a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

The thing turned toward the priest.

“No,” the Padre said, scooting back in his chair. “No no no!”

It pounced.

There was no struggle. No prayer. The creature dug its claws into the Padre’s shoulders and held him in place as it bit down. The noise was wet. The sound of meat and bone separating. Of muffled screams gurgling through a throat full of blood. It was not quick… the creature took his time, tearing the Padre apart, slowly… boldly… 

“Saya, come on!” Sekiko screamed as she dragged her by her arm, and led her into a cabinet.

Saya was now protected from the sight of what was happening, but not the sounds… and they went on for so long… she could still hear the Padre’s voice… he was still alive… Saya was frozen from fear, and from the icy air that penetrated the building. Sekiko, who crouched beside her, was clutching the wooden cross so tightly her knuckles had gone white. “Jesus,” she whispered. “Jesus, please, protect us, please don’t let it find us… please…”

Saya did not remember when the Padre’s cries of anguish had stopped, but the monster had opened the door to the cabinet where they hid. It stared down at them with malicious glee… and took Sekiko first. 

 Saya remembered screaming her sister's name, and Sekiko screaming hers… She was unable to forget that night, no matter how she tried to force it from her memory.

Whenever it entered her mind, she tried to focus on other things. She tried to focus on what happened afterwards… How Lei came and killed the monster. How her eyes shown with genuine anger for what the monster had done, and the sincerity in her voice when she said without feigned emotions or ceremony; “I am sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

Saya remembered being too numb to feel the cold that nearly claimed her, but as Lei had carried her away from that scene…. Even if it was too small to even feel it at that time, she was certain that that spark of warmth had saved her life.

“Saya?” Yukio said, nudging her awake, and back to reality, “Saya, did we miss our stop?” Her eyes opened, unfocused. The dim interior of the Beijing city bus came into view through a haze of breath and exhaustion. She blinked, then bolted upright. 

The sun had sunk noticeably lower in the sky. The street outside the window was lined with squat, crumbling buildings half-swallowed by evening smog. A knot of bicycles surged past like a school of fish, bells clanging. The air inside the bus was stifling, thick with the stale stink of coal and drunkenness. A young soldier near the front stared at them suspiciously.

Saya’s mouth tightened as she realized they had passed their stop long ago. “…Get off,” she said.

They disembarked at the next stop, boots hitting the wet pavement with a weary slap. Cold bit through the soles of their shoes almost immediately. The temperature had dropped with the setting sun, but the smog choked out any real relief. The streets were slick with grime and speckled with soot. Somewhere, a woman shouted vulgarities in Mandarin. A bicycle’s wheel hit a loose stone and clattered. Loudspeakers sounded off every so often, shrieking slogans from their metal throats, too loud to ignore.

“I’m sorry,” Yukio muttered. He looked at his feet. “I… I didn’t want to wake you, but I didn’t know where to get off, and I—”

“It’s fine,” Saya said curtly. It wasn’t, of course. She was furious. But not with him. “We’re both tired.”

They were beyond tired. Their clothes were damp from layers of sweat, and seemed  to soak up the foul stench of the city. Their backs ached from carrying their meager luggage for so many hours upon hours upon hours of travel, and their eyes stung from the pollution. They marched forth , trying to make it to their destination on foot now. The greasy wind slapped against their thin clothes, their ears rang from honking horns and shouted orders and the constant movement of people who didn’t care who they shoved past.

Young revolutionaries bullied their ways through the street, mostly arrogant teenagers.One spat on the ground right in front of Saya’s boot as she stepped. She nearly choked on her pride as she forced herself to swallow it, navigating her way past them hurriedly in perfect Mandarin, and preventing Yukio from neck-chopping a child in uniform, who pulled at his hair and, claiming that it was too long, and threatening to cut it off with a pair of scissors. 

“Calm yourself Morino,” Saya ordered, as she guided him away. He kept his head down, and continued to walk, but he pushed her hand off of his shoulder. Under normal circumstances, she couldn’t have even imagined him reacting this way, and she reminded herself that snapping back at him would do absolutely no good. “Recite one of the mantras I taught you,” she ordered. “Do it quietly.”

Yukio muttered in a voice that was soft enough not to be understood, but she could hear the anger. Yet, as the words came out cracked, but steady, she loosened her hand on his shoulder. They squeezed past narrow sidewalks, through the city that seemed to be trying to strip them bare, until they finally arrived at the address. By this point, the sun had already set. A flickering bulb lit the doorway of the Inn, casting the characters on the wood placard in pale yellow strokes, Fortune Swallow Inn.

Inside, the air was warmer, but just as thick. The woman behind the desk didn’t ask questions, and they trudged upstairs to their room like they were finishing a death march. The room  smelled of old tobacco and damp sheets, but it had two beds, a small desk, a working sink and a shower stall, barely large enough to turn around in. On the desk, was a folded newspaper, just as David had described there would be. 

Saya took it wordlessly, and out from the folds of the newspaper fell a small brass key, along with a torn scrap of paper bearing a number. Saya gave it to Yukio. “The P.O. box,” she said. “Two blocks north. Just past the square. Get whatever he left for us. And here-” she took out a piece of paper, and scribbled something on it, before handing it to Yukio as well. He looked at it, and couldn’t make out the characters written on it, but Saya told him;

“The sun has gone down. Those thugs won’t really be patrolling the streets, but if anyone stops you or tries to talk to you, just show them this piece of paper. If they still keep bothering you, then you run. Run and get me, do you understand?”

Yukio nodded, straightening despite the deep bags under his eyes. He took the paper, turned, and left Saya alone in that room.

Now, against her better judgement, she decided to wash up before Yukio had returned. In the small bathroom, she peeled those disgusting clothes away from her body. Her skin was marked with red lines where seams had rubbed against her for hours. She stepped under the faucet, turned the dial, and heard the groan of ancient pipes. 

A thin stream of water sputtered to life— surprisingly hot at first. Steam rose, coiling around her face like a ghost’s breath.

It didn’t last.

By the time she had finished scrubbing her arms raw and rinsing the caked dust from her hair, the warmth had fled. Cold water ran over her like a punishment. She didn’t move. Just stood there, shivering slightly, until her muscles stopped burning and her mind stopped spinning.

It would have to be enough.

When she emerged into the dimly lit room, She saw her old katana on the desk, with some more luggage from the P.O. Box on the chair next to it. Yukio was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, cradling his own sword… Kasumi…

He hadn’t noticed her yet. His back was to her, and the way he held the sword…It wasn’t just a weapon. It was reverent. His fingers moved slowly across the sheath, tracing the lines he knew by heart. His posture, so often tense or guarded, had softened… and Saya now realized with a pang in her heart, that as stressful as being separated from her own sword had been, it was nothing compared to what Yukio felt about being separated from Kasumi.

“Yukio,” she said softly, so as not to startle him. He turned around. “Did anyone give you any trouble?”

He shook his head. 

“Then you’d better go and get clean. The water isn’t hot, but you smell like shit.” It came out meaner than she had meant. It dawned on her that she was still not back to normal, and she was still angry at the entire shitty day, but Yukio gave her a small smile.

“Okay Saya, and… I’m sorry if I was a brat on the way here.”

“I can see that you’re better now,” she said as if merely making an observation.

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at Kasumi. “I am.”

As he walked past her, Saya couldn’t help but once again, feel the melancholy that this novice had the same kind of relationship with his sword that Lei, and the original Shénwu did, while she had no such thing herself. Her chest tightened with longing.

But there was something sweet to the bitterness. The fact that that sword was in his family, again reminded her of her theories. It again reminded her that she had no regrets about teaching him.

Chapter Text

In addition to their swords, David had also sent fake documents, instructions for emergencies, cash, and several changes of clothes. The bad news was, these clothes were selected to help them blend in. Yukio felt that his light blue Mao suit choked him at the collar, and his oversized cap fell over his eyes. He didn’t mind the loose cotton jacket, although the sleeves often fell past his fingers.  

Saya carried herself in a tighter-fitting cotton jacket, black leggings, and a gray shin-length skirt– typical for a Chinese schoolgirl. Her alias also fit her like a glove, and if any of the soldiers, or militant red guard-students stopped her, she would have been ready to answer flawlessly. She and her “brother” came from a provincial town (which would have hopefully explained her slight accent), and if anyone questioned Yukio, he would not respond. Saya had already decided that he was to pretend to be simple, and mute, and in the care of his big sister (herself). 

She was Zhang Yazhu, from a bygone village in the panhandle of Anhui province, and taking care of her younger brother Lan, after her parents, along with the rest of her family had perished. Among the many sacrifices of the Great Leap Forward. Their story was neither unusual, nor worth remembering.

They walked side by side through the dim, early morning haze, their breath becoming mist in the air. Yukio held onto Saya’s hand with his left, his right still pressed on the cylindrical case that housed Kasumi. The workers who weren’t already at their stations were walking hastily to get to their factories before the clock at this time. Others were more leisurely, pushcarts creaked, bicycles rattled by, and voices floated up from alleys.

The sudden sound of a chant echoed by, “Revolution is innocent, rebellion is justified! Revolution is innocent, rebellion is justified!” A dozen or so girls in red armbands marched past them from a side street. They wore identical militaristic uniforms, and canvas satchels at their sides, each clutching a copy of the Little Red Book in gloved hands. Their boots struck the pavement in unison like war drums. Faces blank. Eyes forward. They were flanked by a handful of boys who were larger, and appeared to be the muscle of the group. A younger boy followed behind, with an accordion that he had not yet begun to play.

Saya slowed just slightly to let them pass, her head tilted just enough to catch their direction, but her expression unreadable. She said nothing. Only when the last bootstep faded into the mist did she move again, with a quiet sharpness that Yukio recognized as tension coiled around control. Then, Yukio smirked, nudging closer to her side.

You know, I think David missed a real opportunity with your uniform.” 

Saya continued to lead him down the sidewalk by the hand. “He should’ve given you that one.” Yukio gestured loosely with his chin toward the Red Guard girls. “It would have been perfect. Such a wasted opportunity.”

“If you knew what those girls would do to us if they discovered who we are,” Saya said calmly, still facing forward as she walked, “you wouldn’t be making jokes.”

The smile faded from Yukio’s face, as he adjusted the strap on his sword case, and continued forward with Saya.

“The name of the woman we are looking for again,” Saya repeated, if only to keep his mind focused on their task instead of the scenes that would inevitably unfold when the demonstrations began, “is Ruo Tian-xi. She is from the same clan as my teacher, Lei, and I knew her when I was training. Unlike my teacher, who could be anywhere at the moment, Ruo Tian-xi had a shop here in Beijing, and if we find her, we’ll find Lei.”

“So it's that simple?” Yukio asked. “We just go to her shop?”

“It is not that simple,” Saya corrected. “I haven’t been in this country since 1955, and it's changed...”

“Thats the year after I was born,” Yukio said, raising an eyebrow. “How old are you again, grandma?”

“Tch-” The annoyance in Saya’s voice made Yukio second guess the appropriateness of his question. “I’m 31, and you already know that opening the inner gate slows the aging process. You may think your cheekiness is easing the tension, but If you give me one more reason to think you’re not taking this seriously, I’m putting you on the next flight out of China, and you can make your own way home after that. Believe it or not Yukio, I have other priorities beyond babysitting you.”

Now, Yukio’s face dropped fully. He said nothing as he hung his head. His hand still rested in Saya’s, but now it hung there like dead weight. They walked the next few blocks in silence. The sharp chorus of chanting picked up again in the distance, now growing louder as the Red Guards prepared their midday demonstrations. Loudspeakers blared slogans about enemies of the revolution. Vendors shuttered their stalls. Any civilian still not indoors kept their heads down and moved quickly.

The sidewalk ahead bottlenecked near a construction site where a group of students were haphazardly painting banners. One of them, a girl no older than thirteen, sat perched on a stack of bricks. She had close-cropped hair and sharp eyes that flicked toward them as they passed.

“Hey!” she barked, jumping down. Saya stopped. Her hand subtly tightened around Yukio’s. The girl approached them boldly, hands behind her back. “Name and work unit?”

Saya gave a polite nod. “Zhang Yazhu, this is my little brother Lan. We are new in Beijing. Students.”

The girl leaned past Saya’s shoulder, and peered at Yukio, scrutinizing him. “Whats wrong with him?” she demanded. “Can’t he talk?”

“He’s simple-minded,” Saya said calmly. “Our family died in the famine. I take care of him.”

The girl tilted her head, squinting. “Haha! That's soooo sad.” The derision in her voice made Yukio bury his face into Saya’s side. He wasn’t sure if it was part of the act, or if he was genuinely hurt, and terrified. This girl exuded malicious authority, and the fact that Saya hadn’t given her a smack by now, told him that it was real. “...Why don’t you just, let us take him off your hands for you?” the girl sneered. “I’m sure that my friends and I can find a way for him to serve the revolution.”

She reached for Yukio, but Saya moved him out of the way, and behind her back. And took a quiet half-step forward, positioning herself between the girl and Yukio with subtle intent. But her face didn’t harden. It stayed soft… Deliberately so. She met the girl’s gaze with the demure poise of an older student. “He doesn’t understand what’s happening most days,” she said quietly, “but he claps when he hears Chairman Mao’s name. He’s always quiet during the broadcast. Our family was lost in the famine, but I’ve been teaching him how to listen properly. He’s learning.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Are you making fun of me? I have the authority to report you,” she said, her voice rising with the confidence of someone intoxicated by power.

Saya’s expression didn’t flicker. She bowed again, this time lower. “Never,” she said, with quiet conviction. “Comrade, we’ve just arrived from Anhui. I’ve never been fortunate enough to meet the revolutionaries closest to-

“Don’t try to fool me,” the girl interrupted. “Traitors hide behind kind faces.”

“We have nothing to hide,” Saya said, standing her ground. Then a third voice came from behind.

“What is going on here?” came the voice of a young man, who marched over in a similar red guard’s uniform. His boots were dusted white from the pavement. His Little Red Book was tucked neatly under one arm, and his gaze was clear but sharp. The young Red Guard girl stepped back half a pace instinctively.

“This girl and her brother,” she began, “they…”

“They are new to the city,” the man interrupted, glancing once at the girl from the countryside, then at her mute brother, whose face was half-hidden behind his sister’s arm. “And they are showing proper respect.” He turned to the girl. “Your  comrades are getting the street ready for the parade we will have later today,” he said calmly. “Why don’t you go and help?”

The girl hesitated, clearly not used to being overruled. But the older youth was too composed, too sure of himself to challenge. She scoffed, shot a final sneer at Yukio, and turned on her heel.

The man watched her go, then turned back to Saya and Yukio. “Be careful where you walk. Many eyes are watching…”

Saya nodded, and then led Yukio quickly away. They walked in silence for several blocks, and only when Saya was sure they were far enough away, did she exhale. “Damnit!” She muttered in a suppressed shout as she hit the wall next to her with her fist. Her face was tight, and pale, as if playing the part she had just had to play was so damaging to her pride that it physically hurt. Yukio watched from the side. He let the brim of his cap fall over his eyes, as if he was glad that it hid his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I got you into trouble again, didn’t I… That girl saw something weird about me… It’s always me….”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Saya said calmly, and without looking down. “That girl was looking for someone to hurt. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else.”

Yukio blinked, and looked up at her. “Who was that Saya?”

“The red guard,” Saya answered. “The child-soldiers of Mao Zedong. That girl was not born evil, but she was brainwashed by evil people, and then given power to terrorize those she was taught to view as enemies, and given the instructions to tear down everything that came before her. Parents, teachers, books, temples, names. You saw her. That’s what power looks like when it’s put in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand it…” She paused. “...There are millions more just like her across this country.” She closed her eyes for a second, steadying her breath.

“If you want to go back to Japan, Yukio, I won’t stop you,” she said. “I won’t think less of you. No one will.”

Yukio stood there silently for a moment, before leaning against the wall, and slumping down into a squat. He hugged his knees to his chest, and tried to think as hard as he could about this… “I only chose to follow you…” he said, “...because I saw what those monsters did to people… the Yokushu… when they… when they took Sora from me.”

“That’s right.” Saya said, nodding understandingly. “I’m sorry you got dragged into something else Yukio.” She squatted down next to him, so that they were at eye-level. “Come. Let's go back to the Inn. I’ll call David, and have him arrange your trip back to Japan. I can go and find Ruo Tian-xi tomorrow, or even tonight if the trip is arranged quickly enough.”

Yukio just shook his head. “And what If I told you that I wanted to stay here? And that I wanted to help you? Saya, I promise that I’ll do anything you tell me to, just don’t ask me to run away and leave you behind.”

“You might suffer a lot if you stay here,” Saya said. “I can’t guarantee that you’ll be safe.”

“I know that,” Yukio declared as if it were obvious. “I knew that from the beginning.” He stood back up to his feet, and this way, he now towered over her. “I want to help you see this through to the end.”

Now, Saya rose back to her feet, and gave Yukio a long hard stare. She didn’t smile, but something softened in her eyes. “Alright,” she said.

Unbeknownst to them, the same red guard who had intervened on their behalf was watching, and listening, and he understood their Japanese.

The name ‘Ruo Tian-xi’, which Saya had uttered, rang in his ears like a memory pulled from a deeper place.

He smiled, and turned before disappearing down a narrow alleyway. He still marched like a soldier, hands held behind his back, as he stepped onto the next street. The day was becoming warmer now, as he made his way to a tea shop, and sat down next to an old woman in a plain dress.

“They’re here,” the man said.

The woman did not look up. “The foreign priestess?”

“Yes, and the boy . The one our crow’s nest mentioned in his report.”

“Ahhhh,” replied the woman. “The one who woke up, and caused the mission to fail.”

“They are posing as a brother and sister from the countryside,” the young man continued. “And I distinctly heard her mention the name, ‘Ruo Tian-xi’.”

The older woman brought a cup of tea to her lips, sipped, and brought it down gently. “The high priestess, Zhi Zhen, foresaw this coming to be. You did well to bring it to my attention, young lad.” She pushed out her chair, and slowly rose to her feet. “Now I will take care of this matter.”

***

The marching of two pairs of heavy footsteps in dress-boots slapped against the marble floor as two large men in black suits marched down the hallway. “I gotta hand it to you David,” Louis said. “I reeallly gotta hand it to you. No matter how hard my job gets, you always find a way to make it worse.”

“Save it Louis,” David said as he adjusted his collar. 

“No, not this time David,” Louis said, leaning in. “No matter how many times that woman disobeys you, you’ll still take the heat for her. Whats it gonna take for you to realize she is more trouble than she’s worth, and cut her loose?” 

David sighed, as the two of them came to a gradual stop at the end of the hall. “Even though I outrank you Louis, I’ve always treated you right, haven’t I? Haven’t I given you chances that nobody else would? And freedom to speak your mind that no other offer would put up with?”

“You’re damn right,” Louis retorted, “Which is why I’m speaking my mind now. The other guys in the bureau, they don’t see things the way you do. They don’t see those swordsmen as assets, and they think they can take care of the Chiropteran their own way. And if you go into that meeting room with the same attitude that you’ve always got, you’re just gonna prove their point.”

“What other attitude would you rather me have?” David asked. “What's  done is done.”

“Yes,” Louis agreed, “but I know you. You’ll still try to convince them that you know what you’re doing the same way you just did with me, when we both know that thats a lie. And they’re gonna know that that’s  a lie too. You can’t dig your way out of this hole that Saya just put you in, so don’t make them think that it's a normal thing that happens all the time.”

The two men turned, and continued towards the meeting room. “Tell them that you fucked up, and that Saya fucked up, and that you’ll accept the consequences for you, and for her. David, I’m telling you this as your friend.”

David sighed. “If you were in my position Louis, would you have been able to stop her?”

“If I’m being completely honest, If I were in your position, I’d retire. Look man, this situation is already fucked up. When you go in there and meet with the higher ups, please don’t say anything that will make it more complicated than it already has to be.”

“It's just SNAFU Louis. It’s not FUBAR yet.” David opened the double doors to the meeting room, and went into the lion’s den.

***

Saya and Yukio arrived at the abandoned foundry at dusk as promised. So many had stolen metal and wooden birds from the fence that once surrounded it, that it was almost completely gone, and yet, Yukio still felt boxed in as he followed Saya’s lead. But with no more prying eyes, he dropped the act of the harmless mute, and walked with constant vigilance. His eyes scanned his surroundings observantly as he walked, glancing from side to side. “Do you really think that old woman will take us to Ruo Tian-xi?” He asked.

“You’re right to be skeptical,” Saya replied, “Even though she did sound convincing, it's not unlikely that this is a trap?”

“Then why in the heck did you agree to meet her!?” Yukio hissed in a whisper.

“Because she knew details that only someone who knows Ruo Tian-xi would know, and if it’s an ambush afterall—” Her hand unconsciously tightened around her sword handle. “I’ll be ready this time.” Shafts of purple light slanted through the hollowed windows and between iron beams that stretched like the ribs of a dead beast, and decades-old shattered glass glowed like crystals in the pavement. Then they saw her. 

The old woman was waiting, seated neatly on a stack of wooden pallets, and beside her, sat a boy. He was massive, larger than any child Yukio or Saya had ever seen, but his eyes were dull, and reflected no light. Saya’s eyes sharpened. “You said you’d show us the way to Ruo Tian-xi.”

The woman smiled faintly, rising to her feet. “I did.”

“Then what is this?” Saya demanded. “Who is he?”

“Saya, I think this is a trap!” Yukio cried, shifting into a low stance. The fat boy then opened his mouth, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Sharp fangs sat where teeth should have been.

“It’s a Yokushu!” Saya cried. “Yukio, stop the woman from getting away!” Saya then took a low stance, and charged at the Chiropteran, hoping to kill it before it could transform. Before Saya could strike, the thing’s hand snapped forward with uncanny speed. Thick and sausage-like fingers curled around both of Saya’s slender wrist, and her sword fell to the ground with a clang as the shock and force of the monster’s hand broke her grip, and lifted her effortlessly into the air.

It hadn’t completed its transformation, and his face still held the shape of a boy’s, but the eyes were now yellow, with slitted pupils, its skin was dark green, and turning brown, and its mouth with jagged teeth, drool dripping from it and down its chin like a thick gooey waterfall. Saya twisted, and both heels of her school-shoes slammed into the monster’s eye!

The creature didn’t even react. It gave a low gurgle, and Saya felt her stomach drop as he swung her high above its head, and then down– slamming her into the stack of pallets that exploded into splinters, and then swung her into a stack of rusted metal pipes that fell and rolled across the ground with loud clangs. The sickening sounds echoed through the bones of the abandoned foundry. The old woman, now opened her mouth into a twisted smile, and licked her lips savagely.

Yukio gritted his teeth, forgetting all about watching the old crone, he dashed forward, Kasumi gleamed as he skidded low and slashed across the beast’s knee, fast and clean, and skin and muscles were severed, but the slash was not strong enough to sever the leg. The monster shrieked, and threw Saya to the ground. 

Yukio never saw the backhand coming. It caught him across the ribs— lifted him— and sent him spinning into the nearby wall. His cap flew from his head, and his hair flowed freely as he crashed. The air exploded from his lungs. For a moment, the world tilted sideways. The boy-thing hunched forward, spine arching, limbs elongating grotesquely as fingers became claws, and it roared a deafening roar as its transformation was complete. The old woman was practically screaming with delight.

“It's too much for the likes of you two! Behold! The New Yaoguai! Our next step in the true potential of the divine Yaoguai whom you call ‘demons’! Cower and tremble before it, you pathetic worms! This is the precursor to the new race of gods that will make the earth tremble under the beating of its wings!”

The Chiropteran lumbered forward, dragging its injured foot as it did. Yukio slumped against the wall, eyes wide but limbs slow to respond. The monster’s wounded leg, gashed from Kasumi’s blade, was already beginning to close. Yukio struggled to rise. He’d slumped against the wall, his lungs wheezing, his sword hand trembling. His ribs ached with every breath. The creature loomed over him now, drool pattering onto the cracked cement floor.

Saya tried to push herself up, but collapsed with a grunt. Her wrists throbbed with unbearable pain, deep bruises blooming like ink across her pale skin. Her right fibula was splintered; she could feel it. The left femur cried out in agony… maybe cracked, maybe worse. Her right shoulder hung at an impossible angle… Her eyes were wide as she assessed the damage. It looked completely out of socket... 

With a breathless grunt, she forced it back into place with a sickening -pop- Her mouth opened in a silent scream. She could barely move, but she could still breathe.

And so, she did.

Saya drew deep, sharp, breath after breath, feeding her pain into the rhythm of the priestess’ dance. She breathed again… Deep into her abdomen. Her ribs flared outward as she forced herself into the flow of the Shénwu priestess’ breath, drawing power from her core, chasing the pain inward, making it serve her. Her heart pounded, her ears rang, but the world began to steady around her. Her body screamed, but her mind went quiet.

She grabbed her sword.

And charged.

Her battle-cry rang out.

The Monster turned just in time to see her coming. Its ruined hand rose to meet her, but she was faster. Her blade sliced cleanly through its wrist, and its hand flew through the air as blood spurted fourth. 

Saya pressed forward, striking again and again.

She was a blur, slipping between its blows. She evaded a slash with its claws, and got in close to slash at its flank, but was forced back by a swipe from its leg that nearly got her. She charged again!

She was holding her own in this moment, but her vision was beginning to grow dim. Her movements were becoming more instinctive than deliberate, as her sense of touch began to fade. Her ears took longer to register sounds… She could no longer feel her feet on the ground; the vibrations of her own heartbeat drowned out the world. Even the pain began to feel distant— as if her nerves were somewhere else entirely.. She knew the signs…

She was going too deep.

She knew the risks of going this far into the priestess dance, and she knew that without a special sword, she was far more limited than the originals would have been, but the situation was desperate, and she could not stop…

“OOOOORAHHHHHHH!!” She slashed downward in a powerful arch, striking the beast cleanly across its torso.

That was when it grabbed her.  The Chiropteran's left hand plunged into her back, tearing through the fabric of her jacket and into her skin. She gasped, and then felt her legs leave the ground. The demon swung her over its head and hurled her through the air. 

Saya crashed into a laminated glass panel with a metallic bang that echoed through the foundry. The glass cracked, bent, and held, then dropped her with a brutal thud.

She coughed violently on the ground. Her mouth was full of blood.

The demon turned to finish her, its torso already healing, and the wound on its wrist having already closed. Behind it, the old woman turned away, satisfied. Her steps were slow, serene, as if the outcome were already written. She did not look back. 

Saya’s head was spinning. She had gone too deep… she couldn’t use the dance again now… she could no longer fight. She couldn’t even move… She was helpless now.

“Damn it… not yet,” Saya hissed, trying to rise. But her arms gave out.

The Yaoguai took one heavy step toward her… then from behind it, Yukio’s form floated into the air. Kasumi swung over his shoulder, his dark eyes shining with fury!

The monster turned just in time, to catch Yukio’s blade in its mouth, but Yukio put his feet against its chest, and pulled Kasumi free before flipping backwards into the air and landing on his feet. The monster’s jaw hung momentarily, its cheeks sliced

Yukio cried out as he struck again– His movements were quick and fierce, guided by anger and desperation. 

He hit it with eight slashes in quick succession before retreating from a claw-swipe, and then rushing in again. His face was pale with fury. He leapt, twirled, rolled beneath the monster’s limbs, cutting deep gouges across its legs and flank.

The monster roared, blindly swinging its stump of a right hand, and struck Yukio mid-turn. He flew backward, slammed into the concrete wall, and slid down… But before he fell, he caught his balance, and jumped back onto his feet. Chest heaving, blood on his lips, he staggered in between the monster and Saya.

“You ugly piece of shit…” he coughed. “You’re gonna get beheaded right here.”

Even though its eyes remained dull, and unintelligent, the monster’s mouth now broke into an amused smile. Bile dripped from its muzzle. It inched forward to advance, when it grunted, and stopped. It was then that Yukio saw it too… Standing straight as a pillar, on one toe, her white and wisteria dress flowing in the wind. 

Yukio lowered his sword… he could sense… that this presence here… was no small deal.

Kasumi felt different in his hands… he could hear her calling to him… to watch and listen.

The demon roared like a dragon at the stranger, and Yukio winced as he fought not to cover his ears.

And then she disappeared… In a blur of motion, the stranger shot forward, and when she got close enough to the monster, it looked as though she was floating.

Om… Ta….

The monster’s left arm was severed! Its body was cut in half at its waist, and its head was separated from its neck… all before any body-part had hit the ground. 

Yukio could hardly believe his eyes. The monster was dead, just like that… its body was in pieces before him. He lowered Kasumi, staggered backwards, and then his rear hit the cold cement,right in front of where Saya lay.

He looked up.

The woman who had saved them stood with the poise of a statue, her robes fluttering in the faint night breeze that seeped through the broken glass and steel. Her sword hung elegantly at her side, the pristine metal still dripping with the monster’s crimson blood…. And for the first time, Yukio truly saw her…

She was even smaller than Saya… but there was something ethereal about her presence.  Her skin was pale, smooth as porcelain, her lips soft and pink. And her eyes… —Yukio blinked— …they were the most beautiful shade of green he had ever seen. Like gentle emeralds. 

He found himself staring. Not only because she was beautiful, and not only because she had just defeated that monster so easily and saved their lives… But because He felt as though he should have known her… 

Kasumi hummed in his hands… “Kasumi…” he asked under his breath. “Are you…?” it was as though Kasumi recognized both the woman, and the blade she held in her hand…

The woman continued to look down at him in silence. Her expression, unreadable. Then, Saya’s  voice came from behind him. Weak. Strained. Barely a whisper. “...Lei…”

Yukio’s heart jumped, and his eyes widened as he gazed up at her… This was the Shénwu… Ruo Lei…

Chapter Text

Yukio didn’t remember when he had first woken up in the house. The memories blurred together: flashes of candlelight, the low crackle of a wood stove, the dull ache that pulsed in his ribs and shoulder. Ruo Tian-xi came in to check on him periodically. He didn’t remember the name of her son-in-law, who had carried him here, only that he was big and strong. But he remembered her name, because he and Saya had spent the day searching for her.

He had slept through the entire night, and now, as he lay on the warm kang bed, the afternoon sun cast bright rectangles across the wooden floor. It was quiet here, and peaceful. The metallic taste of blood had been washed from his mouth, and someone had poured chilled medicinal tea gently down his throat. 

“You’re finally awake.”

Yukio recognized her voice. He had overheard her talking to her son-in-law in Mandarin, but now she spoke in perfect Japanese, addressing him. She entered the room. Her hair was short and tied tightly behind her head, and her expression had a tired sternness about it. He also noticed a small, thin scar below her left ear. She knelt beside the kang bed and placed the tray down. It carried a porcelain cup of warm water, and a shallow bowl containing bright purple candies. Yukio blinked at the bowl.

“I… I can eat these?” he asked, his voice still faint from the fight.

“If you’re asking whether they’re poisoned, they’re not.” Ruo Tian-xi didn’t smile. “They’re to help your appetite come back.

Yukio gulped. Saya had often reminded him of his bad habits of ignoring his body’s signals, but even he could tell that he was hungry, and yet, the thought of actual food made him nauseous at the same time. He gingerly reached for one of the candies, and placed it on his tongue. It tasted like sugar-plum… and then it hit him. “Saya!” he cried, almost bolting up.

“Oh no you don’t,” Tian-xi said, pressing him gently back down onto the bed. “You’re not going anywhere yet, but neither is she. You’ll be able to see her soon enough.”

“Then she’s alright?”

“She’s recovering in another room. Her injuries were far more severe than yours, but she’ll live.”

Yukio couldn’t help but stare at her… there was gratitude in his face, but she left the room as quickly as she had entered it. 

Yukio spent the next stretch of time in the same place as before, but he could still look around the room… there were black and white photographs of that woman with a man… There was a photo of them on their wedding day, and they both looked young. But in other photos, he saw how he had aged so much faster than she did. He saw more than a few of their grandchildren…

His intuition told him that Tian-xi, despite appearing to be in her early 30s,  was probably in her mid-late 60s. He turned to his sword who rested by his bedside. “Do you think so, Kasumi?” he whispered. “That if I finish my training… I’ll be lonely?”

…

“But I’ll be strong… strong enough to beat those monsters. I’m going to keep fighting.”

It was at that moment that the door opened again, and Tian-xi re-entered, with another tray, this one carrying a bowl of thick soup. She set it down by Yukio’s bed, and checked his signs before helping him sit up, and taking a spoonful in her hand. “I can feed myself,” he said, sounding a little more desperate than he’d hoped. 

“If that were true,” Tian-xi replied, “then you’d already have the bowl in your hands.” He watched as she sat beside him, balancing the bowl with one hand, and stirring the soup with the other. Yukio tried not to squirm. The sight of her calmly dipping the spoon and bringing it to his mouth made his face flush with embarrassment. But the warmth of the rice porridge, with the tastes of chicken stock and ginger, hit his stomach like a soft ember, and he instinctively leaned in for the next bite. Tian-xi said nothing more. She simply continued, steady and precise, pausing only when she saw him wince with a sharp breath.

“You’re doing fine,” she said. “Eat what you can. Don’t push yourself.” He nodded faintly, and allowed her to continue feeding him, until the bowl was empty. Tian-xi wiped the corner of his mouth with a folded cloth and helped him lie back down. “I’ll be back to check on you in half an hour,” she said. 

She gathered the tray and left without another word, her footsteps fading softly across the wooden floor. Yukio stared up at the ceiling beams for a while, lulled by the low creak of the house and the muted hum of the wind outside. Then something made him glance toward the doorway.

Ruo Lei stood there. Just for a second.

Her green eyes were piercing and unreadable in the narrow slice of shadow, he could only see that he was being watched… observed… and then she was gone, as suddenly as she had arrived.

Yukio sank back into his pillow. As promised, Tian-xi came back in another 30 minutes. The sun had hardly set, and she was already getting him ready for bed. Yukio tried in vain to do most of the work himself, but Tian-xi didn’t give him an inch. “I can—” he began, only to be cut off.

“Lie still. You’re going to be sore tomorrow.”

“I’m sore now,” Yukio protested….

“Don’t look so embarrassed,” Tian-xi said a few minutes later when she noticed his red face. “You’re a child. I’ve raised four, and I’ve done this a thousand times for other girls in the Ruo family when they got beaten by Yaoguai as badly as you, or worse.” Yukio turned his gaze away, but could only do so for so long.

Tian-xi was not warm, at least it didn’t seem like she was making an effort to be, but something about the way she took care of him put Yukio at ease. She was like a nurse, efficient and impersonal. In his mind, Yukio imagined that this was what it must feel like for a wounded soldier… like he was being treated with respect.

Tian-xi, who was now squeezing out a washcloth over a bowl of warm water, turned to see the boy staring at her. Sleepiness was written all over his face, but his eyes brimmed with gratitude. For a moment, she was expressionless as their eyes met, and then her mouth broke into a gentle smile, and it reached her eyes.

Yukio smiled back. Complete trust had been established between them.

***

Saya sat up, looking at Tian-xi as she knelt beside her, steady hands unwrapping the old dressing soaked with blood. “Breathe in,” Tian-xi murmured.

Saya obeyed. The tightness of her ribs resisted the motion. She exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Tian-xi applied a thick paste of medicinal salve to the stab wound she received during the failed attempt to abduct her back in Tokyo. “You had this wound for days before the attack,” Tian-xi said softly, as she prepared to bind it with clean linen. “Now that it’s opened up again, it might form a scar.”

“I don’t care,” Saya replied calmly. “Once I learned they were after Lei, I couldn’t just sit by and wait.”

“You’ve never needed an excuse to rush into things Saya,” Tian-xi said, exhaling through her nose. “On one hand, I envy your courage, but on the other hand…” She didn’t finish that thought. “At least we know now that you’re going to recover.”

“How is Yukio?” Saya asked. 

“He’s a very sweet and polite child,” Tian-xi answered without missing a beat. “The total opposite of you. I’m honestly surprised that the two of you were together.”

Saya’s eyes narrowed. “I was asking about his condition,” 

“He’s perfectly fine,” Tian-xi replied with the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “You needn’t worry.” She rose, and turned to exit. “Knowing you, you won’t be going to sleep anytime soon, but I’m still waking you for breakfast at the usual time. Get some rest Saya.”

Saya nodded, but no sooner had Tian-xi exited the room, than Lei entered.

The lamplight caught the edge of her profile, and the shadows flickered gently in soft yellow light across her form. Saya sank a little deeper into her pillow, maintaining eye contact. Her lips parted slightly, but only silence came out.

Then, Lei’s lips parted too. Inaudible at first, before the words came out, barely above a whisper. “How could you Saya?... How could you betray my trust like that? Teaching the dance to a boy… after all my warnings” There was hurt in her words.

Saya turned her head slightly on the pillow, the oil lamp’s warm light casting long shadows beneath her eyes. “There is something more important going on right now,” she began. We came to warn you Zhi Zhen is-”

“Do you even realize what you’ve done!?”

Saya’s gaze now shot forward. Her mouth hung open… She had thought for certain that the mention of Zhi Zhen’s name would capture Lei’s attention, but it didn’t. Saya could not remember a single time Lei had snapped at her, and the expression on her face matched her voice… anger, betrayal, and fear…

“Lei-sensei, I… I didn't have a choice. Yukio would have died if I didn't teach him, he was just like I was when you found me!” Saya winced, as the pain in her rips prevented her from rising any higher in her bed… and the pain in her heart that was now surging up as she said these words… To make her teacher understand… was now something she needed to do. “...And yet he's still so different from me… he's a kind and gentle child, who was thrown into this bloodbath against his will. If I didn't teach him, he would have…” Saya found herself unable to finish the thought… 

She knew now, in her heart, that Yukio would have lived the rest of his short life with a fury, and no purpose for channeling or directing it. It would have destroyed him, just as she too would have been destroyed had Lei not found her. And yet, she felt that Lei understood this, without her having to say it.

The silence that followed, and passed between them, was broken with a voice that was even softer than a whisper. “You have no idea how dangerous a male who opens the inner gate can be.” Lei trembled. 

Saya looked up. She had never seen Lei fearful before. Now, she looked like she was on the verge of trembling… “What happened?” Saya asked softly. “What did you witness? Lei-sensei?”

Ruo Lei hung her head. “None of that matters right now. What you did to this boy was cruelty to him as well. You shouldn't have needed to witness how terrifying they are first hand, when I told you that every single one of them went rogue, that should have been enough!” Lei did not shout, but her voice jumped when she said that, and her hands were balled into fists. “Every one of them lost their minds Saya… every last one.”

“Lei, I… I didn’t think,”

“No, you didn’t,” Lei said sharply.  “And how would Yukio feel knowing this?” Now, Saya noticed that Lei’s fists were beginning to shake. “You should have done anything for him other than this. To see a boy with a beautiful soul destroyed by the predestination of a priest… is too cruel for words” Lei’s shoulders trembled. “You’ve condemned him to a terrible fate Saya. I don’t know how you or I can fix this.”

A lump rose in Saya’s throat. “He’s inherited a sword forged by the originals!” she blurted out, desperate for Lei to see what she saw. “It’s like Cui Cao. It has a name. It speaks to him.”

Lei stilled. “He was meant to learn Lei-sensei. I had to teach him…”

The silence between them was heavy now. Once again, Lei was the first to break it. 

“I’m sorry…”

It didn’t sound like an apology for her words or her anger.

It sounded like grief. Like she was giving her condolences for a loss that was inevitable.

***

The table was simple, but the food that was set so neatly upon it looked and smelled delicious. Yukio’s mouth watered. After eating nothing but thin broth, mashed vegetables, yucky medicine, and plum candy for so long, the Bowls of egg drop soup with rice, sautéed greens with tofu, pan-fried bao buns, and sliced fruit, looked and smelled like a feast.

Even though a chair was pulled out for him, he still sat in it in the seiza position partly from habit, partly because his feet didn’t quite reach the floor. The oversized nightgown he wore pooled around him like a dress, its sleeves dangling awkwardly past his wrists. He tugged at the hem once, self-consciously. 

Tian-xi's son-in-law, whose name he had learned was Gou Haoran, was sitting next to him. He was a massive man with wide shoulders. The scar across the bridge of his nose, between his eyes, gave his face a roughness, but his smile was gentle and even doting as he watched Yukio settle in. 

When Yukio tried to bite into a bao bun, and nearly choked, Haoran’s large hand was surprisingly gentle, as he patted his back, and passed him a plate of lighter foods. 

“Say, xièxiè,” Ruo Tian-xi said in Japanese, tilting her head at Yukio.

The boy hesitated, then bowed slightly toward the man. “Shay… shay?”

Haoran gave a warm, approving laugh and responded in Mandarin. “He says you’re clever,” Tian-xi translated…

Ruo Lei sat in silence. She would bring her small plate to her mouth whenever taking bites of food, so that none saw her chewing, and observed. 

“Can you please teach me some more?” Yukio asked. 

“You really want to learn?” Tian-xi asked in Japanese.

“Yes,” Yukio said more confidently than he had seemed lately. “I can’t keep depending on you and Saya to translate for me.”

Tian-xi chuckled. “I remember when we first began to teach Saya. She spoke very little Mandarin, despite growing up here, but she had a great musical ear, and picked it up rather quickly.”

Lei closed her eyes, and exhaled softly.

“Let’s start with: ‘Good morning.” Tian-xi began. “Say, zǎo ān”

Yukio furrowed his brow. “Zaa… zahn?”

Tian-xi shook her head gently. “Zǎo. Third tone—falling then rising. Try again.”

“Zǎo ān,” he said carefully, exaggerating the tone with his whole body, as if the tilt of his head might help.

Tian-xi smiled. “That was better.” Haoran gave an approving smile and nod.

“What about ‘thank you again?’” Yukio asked.

Tian-xi raised a brow, pleased at his interest. “Zài cì xièxiè.”

Yukio blinked. “Zài… chih… shay-shay?”

Tian-xi covered her mouth to hide her smile. “Zài cì,” she corrected gently. “It means ‘once again.’”

Yukio tried again, more carefully: “Zài… cì… xièxiè.”

Tian-xi nodded. “Very good. You have a good ear. Now try bú kè qì — ‘you’re welcome.’”

Yukio paused. “Boo… kuh-chee?”

“Not quite. Kè qì—fourth tone then neutral.”

“Bú kè qì,” he tried again, this time copying the musical tilt in her voice.

Haoran raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Tā xué de hěn kuài,” he said.

Tian-xi grinned. “He says you’re learning very fast.”

Yukio’s cheeks turned faintly pink. “I want to keep going. What else?”

Tian-xi tapped her chin thoughtfully. “All right. Let’s try something useful. ‘I don’t understand.’ Say: wǒ tīng bù dǒng.”

“Wǒ… ting boo dong?”

“Bù dǒng,” Tian-xi corrected. “The ‘dong’ should fall sharply. Fourth tone.”

“Wǒ tīng bù dǒng,” Yukio repeated, this time fluid and clear.

Tian-xi nodded. “Perfect. You’ll be using that one a lot.”

Yukio smirked a little. “Maybe not as much as you think.” It wasn’t long before Yukio was practically showing off, and by mid-meal, he was a lot more conversational.

As it came to a close, he set his chopsticks down and looked up at Ruo Tian-xi. “Tian-xi-san… can I ask something?” he said in Japanese, voice hesitant but curious. “How… how come you’re not old?”

Tian-xi didn’t flinch or laugh. She wiped her hands on a cloth and folded them neatly on the table.“I am old,” she said. “I turned sixty-four this year.”

“I see,” Yukio said, casting his gaze down. “It's because you opened the inner gate, right?”

Tian-xi gave a small nod, then looked down at her teacup. “The body changes when you open the gate. Time slows down for you. But not for everyone else.” Her voice had a calm gravity to it. “My late husband aged without me. My daughters will one day look older than I am. My grandchildren will have children of their own before I even look like a grandmother.”

Yukio’s eyes lowered to the table. His hands closed gently around the warm ceramic of his cup. “I’m grateful for the life I have,” she continued, softly. “But I am the exception, and it was only possible due to my past cowardice. I ran away from the Shénwu… opening the gate does many things to the body. It enhances strength, senses… some it affects differently. For example, Saya, your teacher, has a sense of smell that is stronger than a bloodhound. Even though all of us have heightened senses, some of us are affected differently in some areas than others.

Yukio was not surprised. He had seen Saya smell blood at a crime scene that had been bleached days before they arrived.

“However,” Tian-xi continued. “No matter what, it always slows your aging, without fail.” She glanced at Lei, who was still silent. “You have a good heart, Yukio. But if you keep walking this path, you should understand: you’ll never get to live the same life as others. If you find a girl to love, and if she loves you back… you’ll still watch her grow old before you do. And your children too, if you ever have them.” There was no accusation in her voice. Only the truth.

Yukio nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth turned down. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his shoulders told them he had understood. He took another quiet sip of tea, and looked down at his plate…

In Saya’s room, across the hall, she lay still in bed, listening to the entire conversation through the house’s aging walls. Her eyes closed slowly, and her breath came in slow, shallow rises, each one catching slightly at the top of her lungs before slipping out. Beneath the bandages, her ribs ached with the memory of motion. 

The oil lamp on her bedside table had burned low, its golden light guttering softly against the wall, and when she opened her eyes again, and her eyes caught a floating bit of dust above her head, which caught the light near the edge of the lamp’s glow, drifting just above her line of sight. She followed it until it passed beyond view, her pupils adjusting slowly in the dimness.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the old paper windows, golden and pale. The air was still and cool, edged with the scent of wood burning on the kitchen stove, and white radish being prepared.

The pain in Saya’s leg, and in her ribs, had woken her up early as usual, but it was no longer as severe as it had been before. She knew she was a quick healer, but it still felt like a slow, crawling process.

She groaned, with the unpleasantness of being stuck in one place for so long, and began to wonder when Tian-xi would come back. But with that thought, came the realization that someone else was already in the room.

Saya turned her gaze to the right, carefully. Ruo Lei’s small body sat on the floor, next to her bed, legs curled to her chest, and back against the wall. Saya wondered how long she had been sitting there.  “...Good morning.”

Lei didn’t turn her head, but her voice was gentle. “Good morning.” A quiet beat passed between them. The light warmed the wall as the day crept further in. “You slept longer than usual,” Lei murmured.

Saya closed her eyes again for a moment, breathing in through her nose. “I suppose I needed it…. Have you been sitting there all morning?”

“Since just before sunrise,” Lei answered. “I didn’t want to wake you.” Another pause. “But I knew we should talk.”

Saya opened her eyes again, watching the lines of shadow pass gently across the ceiling. The house had gone quiet. Even the kitchen sounds had faded. She turned her head again, just slightly. “About Yukio?”

Lei lowered her head. Her hands tensed for a moment in her lap. “No,” she said finally. “About them.”

The weight of the words shifted something in the air.

She turned to face Saya, ever so slightly though. Lei was still looking down, and her expression was hidden by the angle and by her headband, but Saya could practically feel the guilt emanating from her. She wanted to get out of bed, and hug Lei, who had been her friend and mentor in her lowest moments, but she remained helplessly stuck in place. Her arms twitched beneath her blanket, but she couldn’t move.

“You already know Saya,” she began in a soft voice, “that my elder sister was taken from me when I was 13, and I embarked on a hunt for the traitor who murdered her…” 

“Zhi Zhen” Saya said, nodding.

“I know you and Yukio both lost older siblings, so I’m sure you can understand,” Lei said, her voice etched with pain… and there was something else, something that Saya was not used to… “Lian-Jie was everything to me, and I felt so helpless without her…You must understand how desperate I was at the time.”

“Stop it Lei!” Both women turned to see Ruo Tian-xi enter with a tray of Saya’s breakfast on top of a neatly folded pile of clean clothes and sheets. “You know how much I hate seeing you flagellate yourself over that, you do not have to keep reliving it.”

Lei lowered her head without a word. Her hands slipped quietly to her sides, and she rose from the floor in a single smooth movement. She didn’t look back at Saya, nor at Ruo Tian-xi, as she stepped toward the doorway. Her gait was slow, and Cui Cao who rested on her back, silently exited the room soon after she did.

Saya blinked in astonishment. “What the hell was that about Tian-xi?” 

Tian-xi did not answer. She was already gliding towards Saya’s bed. She squatted down, and set the tray to the side, before gently peeling away the old bedding. Saya shifted, her face flushing faintly with discomfort. “Tian-xi, please, I can do some of this myself. I’m not—”

“You’re not well enough to do anything yet,” Tian-xi said matter-of-factly, and leaving no room for protest.

Saya’s mouth closed again. She tried to focus on the smell of the food coming from the tray: delicate miso, a faint citrus tang, and the warm, gentle sweetness of stewed root. The porcelain spoon clinked softly as Tian-xi lifted it and tested its weight. She sat down beside Saya, smoothed her hands across her lap, and only then turned her calm, lined gaze toward the girl she had known for more than two decades.

"Open," she said.

Saya hesitated, eyes flicking to the spoon. “Is that…?”

“Okayu. Yukio requested it. I don’t believe I made it quite the way it is prepared in Japan, but the boy seemed to like it.”

Saya blinked. She leaned forward slightly and took the bite, letting the warm, tender porridge rest on her tongue. It melted easily, sweet and earthy and balancing mild and rich flavors perfectly… but she did not feel anything special about it, not the way Yukio had. She, who had lived half her life outside of her native country, and spent the fondest memories of her childhood at tables that would never serve such a simple paupper’s dish… the taste was enjoyable, but nothing more…

“Tian-xi, I…” But the spoon was already there, guiding her second bite. She ate it, chewing quietly, the food grounding her against the ache in her chest.

“Tian-xi,” she tried again, this time more gently. “What happened? Why did Lei leave like that? What did she mean?”

But Tian-xi didn’t answer right away. She continued to feed her, unhurried. The spoon scraped softly against the dish again, and another perfect bite was offered. When Saya didn’t open her mouth immediately, Tian-xi gave her a firm, expectant look.

Saya sighed and ate it.

Only when the bowl was nearly empty and the tea mostly gone did Tian-xi finally set the spoon down. She folded the cloth over the tray, leaned back, and looked at Saya, not with pity, but with the quiet authority of someone who had lived a long life, and watched so many come into the world, grow, and then die before they could finish growing…

“She’s always been like this,” she said, finally. “Ever since Lian died, Lei has been more harsh with herself than anyone.” Saya’s face froze for a moment, as she realized that finally, Tian-xi was giving her the explanation she had been agonizing to hear. 

“You deserve to hear what really happened. And Lei… Lei deserves someone to tell it for her… Someone who doesn’t see her as a criminal.”

Saya inhaled sharply, and her fingers gripped the fabric of her sheets.  “It is true that the Shénwu learn the priestess dance in order to fight the demons,” Ruo Tian-xi began, “and that is what your grandmother researched, before you had even heard about us. However, that was not always our purpose. The dance was practiced by the Shénwu, and many other groups who went by different names from around the globe, but what made the Shénwu more prominent than any of them, was what they monetized the tradition for the purpose of war…” Tian-xi looked up, turning her gaze to the ray of sunlight that penetrated through the window.

“It was during the wars of unification, two thousand and two hundred years ago, that the Shénwu gained the reputation as a clan of assassins.” Saya’s eyes widened, and her lips parted, but no sound came out. “There was some distance between the legend and the truth,” Tian-xi stated. “But that was who we were, so even though we had been protecting others from the demons, when a new era of warlords began in 1912, the Shénwu began to do a bit of both.” She turned and saw the stunned look on Saya’s face. “It was this decision that destroyed us. The Chinese Nationalists, the Communists, and even the Japanese Army; all worked to stamp us out. By the time you began training under Lei, she, and Zhi Zhen were the only two left. All others were either students of Zhi Zhen, or Lei’s sole student. Yourself”

“But what about you Tian-xi? You're not a Shénwu?”

Tian-xi gave her a melancholy smile. “That is correct child. I'm not, or… at least not in the traditional sense. I was indeed a member of the Shénwu tribe, and the Ruo clan. In fact, I knew Lei’s parents better than she did. Most of the men in the Shénwu tribe are ruthless. They are arrogant in the knowledge that they are selected for their strength, and since it's already a given that the women will outlive them all, all pretenses of fatherhood are just that. I remember feeling disgusted by it as a child, how these men willingly allow themselves to be used as studs, often going in between clans, and disappearing as soon as they had had their fun. Not him though…” 

She paused, smiling with bittersweet nostalgia. “The name he was given was ‘Ox’ corresponding to his birth year, since we never called the men by their real names. We weren't expected to get close to them, but he was different. He stayed with the mother of Lian and Lei, even though he was so strong that he could have had anyone he wanted. He wanted to be only with her.”

She turned to Saya with a smirk of admiration. “He was strong too. Even without training, no one could beat him in anything.” She then turned away and leaned back into her original position. “The elders ordered his assassination shortly after Lei was born. They believed that he was a bad influence on their mother. They could see that she had fallen in love with him, and feared it had made her weak… that was the day I left the village. However, the Shénwu do not take kindly to defectors…”

The words hung in the air like smoke from a smoldering pyre. Saya opened her mouth to ask more, but she didn’t. Tian-xi’s eyes were no longer on her. They were far away, cast not on the present, but on some memory that surged too fast to hold back….

The memory took her…

***

The Shénwu robes clung to Ruo Tian-xi’s skin as she rushed through the forest in the scorching heat. Her breath tore through her throat in ragged bursts as she staggered between trees, left hand pressed to the wound above her eye, where the vision had already gone dark. The sharp tang of blood poured down her cheek, blurred with water. Her other hand clenched the handle of Yin Que.

A sudden hiss— then a shadow flared to her right. She spun, reflex more than thought, and stabbed Yin Que into the throat of the assassin who leapt from the bush… she couldn’t have been older than sixteen. She gurgled, but Tian-xi had turned and continued to flee. She didn’t stick around to watch her fall. 

Branches whipped at her arms. Her legs screamed. Her head pulsed with a thick, swelling ache that made the forest bend and sway, the trees too close together, then too far apart. In the clearing, another group of pursuers jumped out! She swung Yin Que wildly like a blind animal!

She felt metal slash at her back. She felt fingers desperately claw into her flesh as they were cut down…. She felt the sickening sensation of her blade cleaving flesh and bone, and the horrible sounds that they made….

She did it over and over again. She ran, killed whichever pursuer had caught up with her, and ran more. Too heartbroken, and in too much pain to even think.

“Whyyyy!?”She cried loudly, and repeatedly as she staggered through the forest, no longer caring if her words alerted the assassins to her presence. “Why did you kill him?” she cried, gripping her side. “Why are you trying to kill me? Why!?” Ox was dead, and she was hurt… she couldn’t even hear Yin Que’s voice anymore.

She collapsed to her knees, hoping that someone would come and end it all, when footsteps approached… a Shénwu woman appeared in front of her. Her white and red robes and headband signifying that she was not from the Ruo clan, but a Shénwu nonetheless, and she spoke; “The Ruo clan has decided to let you live, because it already considers you dead. Tian-xi stared, one eye blind, the other swimming with disbelief.

“Do not show your face again,” the woman warned with venom in her voice. “Do you understand? You disgrace to the Shénwu.”...

***

Saya blinked. Her body had grown cold, despite the warmth of the room. She could hear her own pulse between her ears, and feel her heartbeat throbbing dully against her aching ribs.

Tian-xi still hadn’t looked at her. She sat with her hands resting on her knees, eyes on the grain of the floorboards. But her fingers were trembling.

A quiet breath left the older woman’s lips, half a sigh, half a chuckle. “I take it the Shénwu aren’t what you expected?”

Saya shifted, but didn’t sit up. Her fingers curled slightly against the sheets. “…No.”

A silence passed between them, as Tian-xi parted the window curtain to let some light in, and looked outside. She smiled, but it seemed as though that smile was from allowing the comfort of the outside view and the days began to grow warmer.

“What happened after that?” Saya asked,

Tian-xi's expression turned hollow. “After the messenger gave me her warning and left,” she said slowly, “I looked down…”

Her voice didn’t waver, but her gaze darkened.

“And I saw why I could no longer hear Yin Que’s voice.”

***

Ruo Tian-xi’s mouth remained open in a broken scream as she looked down at what was left of him. The blade was broken. Split clean through near the center. What little of him remained, was still soaked in the blood of her pursuers, but the rest of him was gone. “Y… Y… Yin Que, say something… Please…”

There was no voice. Not even a whisper… “No…” she mouthed.

Her knees buckled, and she crumpled beside the shattered steel. She reached forward, trembling fingers brushing the edge of the fragment nearest her. It cut her palm. She didn’t flinch.

Her lips parted. No sound came out. Her shoulders shook once, and then again, as if her lungs couldn’t decide whether to scream or stop breathing entirely.

She curled inward.

Her eyes shut.

You’re dead anyway, she thought. “Kill me,” she whispered to no one.

“Just kill me…”

But the forest said nothing.

And no one came…

Chapter Text

1933

Thirteen years had passed since Ruo Tian-xi had buried the name of her clan. She had been married for seven years, and her son was six years old. Her daughter was still toddling around, and exploring her world. She had an optimistic feeling that more beautiful children would follow. 

The sun glinted across the wheat fields behind their home, gold layered over gold. Her husband’s broad back bent and rose in a rhythm as steady as the wind. His brothers flanked him, hauling the bundles into orderly sheaves. It was work that would feed them all through winter, like it always had. 

Tian-xi stepped outside the house with a gourd of barley tea in hand. The moment he saw her approaching, her husband straightened and wiped his hands on his pants, and then took off his straw hat, letting the sun shine on his grateful face. “You’ll spoil me,” he said, reaching for the drink.

“You’re the one doing the hard part,” she replied, pressing it into his hands. “You’ll all finish faster if you stay standing.”

His brothers chuckled, and Tian-xi nodded to them as well. “The others are preparing lunch, it will be ready soon.”

She returned to the house still smiling, but stopped in the doorway.

The room had gone quiet.

Her husband’s mother was seated with a dish still in her hands, untouched. The wives of her brothers-in-law stood or sat frozen in place. Some were pale, others had beads of sweat trickling down their brows. Tian-xi blinked. “What happened?” she asked. “Why are you all—?”

“There was someone in our house,” her mother-in-law whispered. “Dressed in white and red robes…”

“Nobody saw him enter,” her father-in-law said, “and no one saw him exit, but he told us to give you this.” He held out a small paper note. Tian-xi just hung her head.

“It was a ‘she’,” She corrected.

“What?” he father-in-law asked, clearly confused.

“It was a ‘she’,” Tian-xi answered again. “Those of the Shénwu order are always women.” She reached out, and accepted the note. All that was written was a time, and a place. She did not need to see a signature. She recognized the handwriting… it was the elder of the Ruo clan…

When Ruo Tian-xi had gone to that meeting place, the sun was gone. The rain now fell in steady, drumming sheets across the tiled roof and the stone courtyard outside. Elder Ruo was waiting for her. Her expression grim under her hood, and her fingers held her cane more tightly than she would have when she was completely relaxed.

She was the only person in that village whom Tian-xi still respected. The only one she did not hold responsible for Ox’s death. In her heart, she even suspected it was Elder Ruo’s quiet intervention that had stayed the order for Tian-xi’s own execution.

And yet the old woman’s eyes looked heavier than ever before.

Elder Ruo cut right to the chase, and spoke directly, but the words came as slowly as the falling rain.

“Lian was murdered,” she said. “By Zheng of the Zhi clan.”

A sound cracked through Tian-xi’s chest, sharp and small. Her breath stopped.

The elder continued, her expression unreadable. “Lei has left the village in pursuit. Alone.”

Tian-xi swallowed hard.

A thousand questions rose behind her eyes…. Why? How? When? But none escaped her mouth. Her mind was already rushing ahead, faster than her body could follow.

The rain fell harder…

***

Days later, on the road, Tian-xi clutched her cloak tightly to her shoulders as the wind tore across the road. Her husband, Hengrui, walked beside her, having refused to let her go on this search alone, even though she had insisted that she could.

His brow furrowed with concern as he watched her back. Hengrui was not used to seeing this side of her for so long. The Elder had given them a lead,  but the girl could have been long gone by now.

“She's not your responsibility,” he finally reminded her.

Tian-xi said nothing in response.

 “You left for a reason,” he reminded her. “You are not obligated to walk back into that darkness.”

But she was already there.

Her boots splashed through a shallow puddle. The wind blew strands of wet hair across her face.

“She was four the last time I saw her,” Tian-xi said quietly, eyes fixed ahead. “Lian.” Hengrui knew his wife well enough by now to know, that he should listen quietly now, until his turn to speak came again… Tian-xi’s voice seemed fragile now. 

“She was so much like her father,” Tian-xi went on, “in both appearance and in personality, but with such a gracefully softened feminine twist. She was pretty, friendly, energetic, outgoing, mischievous, and affectionate. She used to crawl into my lap, and ask me the silliest of questions, just so that she could giggle at my answers.”

Tian-xi managed a breath that might have been a laugh, or a sob… and then she stopped walking, as though the weight in her heart had suddenly anchored her to the earth.

“My love,” Hengrui said, putting a hand gently on her back, “please don’t cry.”

“I can’t help but think,” Tian-xi said in a cracking voice, “what a wonderful big sister she must have been, and how devastated poor Lei must be… to have held her severed head in her hands, it's too horrible…” 

Hengrui looked down. “Then we’ll keep going until you find her again,” he said with compassion.

By the time they made it to the village, the rain had stopped, and the sun was out. Modern farming equipment rested by rice paddies and wheat-plots that surrounded the homes, shops, and school, with a temple in the center. There were signs of a recent upheaval. 

Old militia markings painted over in black ink, uniforms being burned in a pit near the edge of town…

Hengrui’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to stay long,” he said in a hushed tone, eyes scanning the narrow road ahead. “This region surrendered two weeks ago. Soldiers from the Lu Shen faction  have been moving through. A census team’s due here tomorrow morning.”

Tian-xi gave a distracted nod, already surveying the foot traffic between homes and shops. Her heart was still back on the road, but her eyes were sharp. “They won’t notice us.”

“They will if we are still here tomorrow.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said.  She asked around, quietly but firmly. A girl of about thirteen years. Jade-green eyes. Probably wearing a red and white scarf and/or headband… few could help her. However, she was adamant that she stay for longer, and her husband reluctantly agreed to let her, on the condition that he stayed by her side, until they left at first light– the next morning, without delay.

Tian-xi rose the next morning, before the sun. By the time the village was stirring, she was already walking the perimeter, eyes sweeping the market, the shrine, the schoolhouse. Nothing. Not a trace of her.

The soldiers arrived earlier than expected. Two in uniform, two in plain clothes. A census desk was set beneath the shade of a gnarled tree at the edge of the square, and already a line had begun to form.

Tian-xi stood watching from across the road, arms folded beneath her shawl.

Then she saw her.

She didn’t know how. She hadn’t seen that child since she was only a few months old, but she knew…

There, halfway down the line, was an exceptionally small girl. Her posture was rigid, but she knew… she knew that the thing wrapped in fabric on her back, was a Shénwu’s sword. Tian-xi took the first steps towards her, and as she got closer, she began to feel the girl’s aura.  A strange stillness surrounded her, like the silence just before a blade is drawn. “...Lei?” Tian-xi called her name without meaning to, and the girl turned to face her.

Tian-xi's heart skipped. A pain shot through her ribs as if she’d fallen onto stone. It was like looking into the face of a ghost… the girl looked so much like her late mother… like Ruo Ling… 

***

“I forgot to mention,” Tian-xi told Saya, “that after the elder told me what happened to Lian, I also learned that Ling died, shortly after they killed Ox. The elder said that she died of a broken heart, and never forgave them for that. At the time, I was… a bit blinded by sentimentality. I realized that Lei would have had no one but Lian growing up, and I was too fixated on how sad and lonely the poor girl must have been to comprehend just how full of anger she was for having her sister betrayed and murdered so brutally. 

I had considered what a coward I was by comparison, having ran away instead of fighting, but when I saw Ling’s face in hers I wasn't able to think logically or rationally at all.”

Tian-xi leaned back, and another look of nostalgia washed over her face. Saya knew that another off-topic reminiscence was coming, but didn't interrupt.

“Ling was a truly special person. She was older than me, and I looked up to her like a big sister. But at the same time, she was so innocent and unassuming that I also adored her as though she were a little sister. Even though she was trained in the art of the priestess dance, she was no fighter. She was just a gentle, and beautiful person, inside and out. She was brilliant, but also extremely humble. She was aware of everything going on around her, except for how truly special she was…”

“But what happened next?” Saya asked. “How did Lei-sensei react?”

Tian-xi's lips tightened, as she recalled the bitter day. “She looked like Ling, but…she was scowling, and her eyes were red at the edges, burning with anger…”

***

Once again, the warmth of the room became the dank street on which Tian-xi stood across from Lei, looking at her with pity and worry. Lei stared unblinkingly back at the stranger. Her shoulders were squared, as if preparing to pounce, or as if daring anyone to take anything else away from her.

Tian-xi crossed the square, and Lei did not flinch or react as she approached. “Lei… your Lei aren't you? Ruo Lei?... I am Ruo Tian-xi. I was friends with your parents, and I knew your sister.”

Tian-xi reached out to her, but Lei’s face changed into a grimace. Tian-xi flinched as Lei’s eyes widened, her teeth clenched, and in a flash of movement, she stepped backward, muscles tensing like a cornered animal. Her fingers flexed at her sides as if resisting the urge to draw a blade.

Tian-xi's throat tightened. “Please, I—”

But Lei had already turned.

She bolted from the line without a word, her small frame darting between villagers like a streak of bloodied silk. Tian-xi shouted after her, but her voice caught in her chest.

She was gone.

The soldiers called out, some half-lifting their rifles in confusion. One of the census men stood, startled. But Tian-xi didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her legs had locked, her heart thudding against her ribs in painful, stuttering pulses.

She’d found her. And she’d lost her again.

***

Saya listened on, unsure of what to say. Outside her room, the voices of Yukio and Haoran could be heard, as the boy practiced his Mandarin. But Saya’s focus was solely on Ruo Tian-xi. “I was sick with worry,” she said. “The war was escalating. That region was changing hands every few months. Warlords, then bandits, then the Nationalists, then the Red Army. and then the Japanese invaded on top of all of that. During those years, I gave birth to two more children, and my family had to relocate more times than I could count. We were separated from Haoran’s family for  the third or fourth time…

But, I thought of Lei constantly. Worried about her.” She gave a hollow smile. “I wondered if she hated me…

It was almost six years later,” Tian-xi said quietly, “when I saw her again. Purely by chance.”

***

1839, Shaanxi province.

The wind was dry and cold that year. The hills were bone-colored and scattered with the twisted shapes of leafless trees. Winter was creeping early.

The little house stood alone on a bluff overlooking the fields. The clay stove was hot, the rice was nearly ready, and the two youngest children played quietly, while the oldest two were outside gathering firewood, but never straying far from the house.

Tian-xi stood at the hearth, rolling dough between her hands, her sleeves pushed back. A thin layer of flour dusted her wrists.

She didn’t hear the gate.

She only looked up when the door banged open.

Her husband entered, face drawn tight, cloak soaked in patches of blood and melting frost. His arms cradled a small body, her fingers still wrapped around a sword, even though she was limp and covered in blood.

Tian-xi froze.

He crossed the threshold quickly, one shoulder bumping the doorframe, and lay the girl down on the bench beside the wall. 

Tian-xi's hands flew to the girl’s shoulders the moment her husband laid the girl down. “Shihua, boil water. Now!” she barked to her eldest daughter, voice hoarse.

The girl sprang into motion, startled by her mother’s tone. Tian-xi already had the sash of her apron between her teeth, ripping it in half to use as cloth. Her palms hovered over the girl’s wounds. Her jaw clenched as she looked down at the girl… Even with her face bruised, her nose broken, and covered in blood, there was no mistaking who she was.

It was Lei.

Chapter Text

Ruo Lei was still unconscious. Tian-xi had cleaned her wounds, but refused to leave her side. Her children, Chengong, Shihua, Yao, and Yin, had all disobeyed her orders to go to bed, and stayed waiting for news of the girl’s improved condition. “You kids will be hungry if you stay up,” their father said as he walked in, his hands having just been washed of Lei’s blood. 

The children hesitated. 

“Go on,” he said, giving Chengong a light shove of the shoulders. “To bed, now.”

“Will that girl die daddy?” Shihua asked, as she stood up, holding Yin in her arms.

“Of course not,” Tian-xi said resolutely. “Now all of you, to bed.” The stern bite in her voice was the final push, and all four of them filed out of the room.

Hengrui squatted down beside his wife, to get a better look at Lei. “I found her in the forest. About two li northeast.” Tian-xi didn’t look at him, but her hand stilled briefly on Lei’s cheek.

“I was following a buck’s trail,” he continued. “But I heard voices, first the girl’s. Crying out. In pain. Then… laughter. Cruel. A woman’s, and the sounds of flesh being struck.”

Tian-xi's expression darkened at these words.

“I followed the sound to a clearing, where I saw this girl— Lei, she was on her knees, and the woman was holding her body upright by her hair. This woman wore robes, similar to Lei’s, but the lower half of her face was covered by a white scarf with red tribal patterns. And in her other  hand, she held a Jian sword, similar to the one Lei carries.”

Tian-xi's hand had gone rigid against Lei’s arm, but she listened as Hengrui continued. “She was laughing with pure derision. She said to the girl; ‘You came so far to avenge your sister, and now you’re going to lose your head, just like she did…And you're even making the same cute expression she did when I killed her… scared, full of regret, precious.’ Then she added… ‘I think I'll send it to Granny Ruo.’ I had never heard such cruelty in my life. Such evil, so I did not hesitate to do what I did next…” Hengrui spoke firmly.

“I raised my rifle, and I took aim at the woman. However,  just before I pulled the trigger… she saw me.” He shook his head slowly. “She moved like no person should be able to. She raised her sword with lightning-fast reflexes, and blocked the shot. Had you never told me of the legends of the Shénwu Tian-xi, I would not have realized what I saw.”

His words hung in the air, even though he did not pause for more than a second. “The metal of her sword was strong enough to block the rifle round, but it still knocked her off her feet. I think it struck her in the chest after it glanced. It was enough to stop her.”

He looked down at Lei, unconscious but clinging to breath. “She dropped her. And then she vanished into the trees.”

That night, Hengrui did not sleep. The woman he had seen, terrified him. He kept watch, in case the Shénwu had tracked him to his home, to threaten his family. He was already ready to move again. Tian-xi would have stayed up too, before her emotional exhaustion gave way to physical sleep. She sat by Lei’s bed, her eyes closed, when she heard a frightened voice cry out— “Where am I?”

Tian-xi bolted up, and moved into Lei’s field of vision so that she could see a friendly face. “It's okay Lei, you're safe.”

Lei’s jade eyes were wide, and startled. “Who are you?” She asked, “how do you know my name?”

“I’m Ruo Tian-xi. You may not remember me, but I…” Tian-xi’s voice caught in her throat. How could she possibly finish the sentence? What could she possibly be to this girl? In her 19 years, she had only met her once, and fled without saying a word. 

“I failed,” Lei  whispered, voice broken. She tried to correct her emotions, and recompose herself, but as the weight of her defeat pressed down on her chest, it was becoming increasingly difficult. “Why am I alive?” she asked, as her lips quivered.

“It’s alright,” Tian-xi said, “my husband saw what was happening, and fired at the woman who was hurting you. She’s wounded, and she fled.”

“So I’m alive because someone else saved me, and not because Zhi Zhen spared me,” Lei said with an ironic chuckle as tears flowed from her eyes, which she immediately wiped away with her sleeves. “Thats a relief”

“So…” Tian-xi said, with a controlled anger in her voice as the realization dawned on her. “That was the demon who took Lian’s life.”

“Yes,” Lei said, nodding… “I spent six years looking for her… I finally found her, but I was so overconfident… I couldn’t beat her… ” Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched, as if seeking some strength that had fled.

When her gaze finally met Tian-xi’s, it was not a plea for comfort, but a challenge—an unspoken question about what meaning there could be in survival after such loss.

Gradually, Lei’s layers of armor were pulled away.

“Why am I still alive?” Lei asked, looking into Tian-xi’s eyes. “I failed to avenge Lian-jie. Zhi Zhen just made a fool out of me. So why…. Why is a disgrace like me still alive?”

“Don’t ever say that,” Tian-xi admonished her, as firmly as one could sound without showing anger. “It isn’t over yet!”

Layer by layer, the guards were peeled away, until finally, the dam broke. She buried her face into Tian-xi’s chest, clutching at the rough fabric of the robe as though it were a lifeline. Her body shook with the force of sobs she had long denied.

Tian-xi's arms wrapped around her instinctively, holding her close. Her own breath hitched, a fierce protectiveness rising up like a shield. “You’re safe now,” Tian-xi whispered, voice steady despite the flood of emotion. “I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Lei’s sobs softened, but did not cease. Her shoulders trembled against Tian-xi’s as she tried desperately to gather herself.

Tian-xi stayed with her through the long silence, a calm harbor in a sea of grief, until Lei’s cries became quieter, and her breathing evened once more….

Lei did not speak much during the following day. When she wasn’t sleeping, she sat curled near the window, with Cui Cao by her side. Her sword was never out of reach. Tian-xi often sat with her, though they spoke little if at all. 

It was at night when the silence was broken by Lei’s nightmares. In the small, simple house, no sound went unheard, and Tian-xi’s children kept their distance, knowing only that this young woman was in the care of their mother… perhaps a niece. One who needed help, and who was to be regarded with pity.

But that evening, after Tian-xi had put her children to bed, she quietly slid to the corner by the window where Lei sat curled, and pensive, gazing at the moonlight, and not saying a word. Cui Cao was tucked in the folds of her arms as she hugged her knees to her chest. Her face was pure and white in the moonlight, and her green eyes shifted slightly to Tian-xi as she crouched down beside her, but she averted her gaze as the older woman brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“When I met you,” she murmured, “I told you that I knew your parents, but I also knew Lian… I didn't get to see her before I left.”

Lei looked back up at Tian-xi, and her voice came out as a whisper when she opened her lips ever so slightly. “Lian-Jie mentioned you before. You were among the friends of Mom's that she would tell me stories about.” Lei’s face then began to wrinkle with shame as she turned her head away yet again, “I'm sorry that I failed.”

Tian-xi grabbed her gently by the shoulders and immediately put a stop to what was about to occur. “Don't you dare blame yourself for that,” Lian would have never have wanted to hear you speak like that” Lei nodded as she let out a whimper and rested her head against Tian-xi’s shoulder as she cried softly.

“I know you don't need me to tell you what Lian was like,” Tian-xi said kindly, “but in those early years before you were born, she was the most delightful child in the entire village. She was born with her eyes wide open, as though she couldn't wait to see her world. She would try to run before she knew how to walk.” Tian-xi exhaled with a smile. “She was also exceptionally kind to the other children. She was always the first one to drop what she was doing and try to help when anyone was sad, and never hesitated to share her things. No matter what gifts we got her, she never thought of anything as her own, until you were born Lei. And then, Lian suddenly became fiercely possessive over you. She wouldn't let any of her friends ever hold you.”

Lei smiled, as more tears flowed down her cheeks, and then, a small laugh escaped her. It was the first sound of joy Tian-xi had heard from her since she arrived. Small, hesitant, like the call of a bird who hadn’t sung in a long time. Tian-xi said nothing. She just wrapped her arms more firmly around the girl’s trembling shoulders and let the silence stretch.

***

The following day, Lei seemed less like a ghost, even though she was still quiet. She never spoke unless spoken to, and Chengong kept her within his sight, protectively. Shihua sat close by her side, and later, as Lei sat contemplatively outside, little Yin gave her a flower. “It’s pink,” she said seriously. “Like your cheeks when you cry.”

Lei flushed and gave a soft snort. “Thanks.” 

Later that night, Yao tip-toed to Lei’s bedside, with a cricket in his hands. “They help keep nightmares away,” he said without an iota of irony. “I caught the loudest one.” He gently nudged the little creature into a wooden cup and set it beside her pillow, and scampered off to his own bed. Lei stared at the cup for a long time after he left, listening to the soft, erratic chirp.

The first confession came the next day, when Hengrui was out hunting again, after having been convinced that it was safe to leave his family, but Chengong still carried a stick and a knife, as he took his siblings down the path to buy rice. Lei was alone with Tian-xi as she helped her in the kitchen. “I trained to kill monsters,” Lei began without warning, “not men. But when I left the village—” Tian-xi thought to interrupt her, and tell her not to dwell on this, but she decided against it.

“I joined the war. At first, I lied about my age, and my sex, knowing that warlords needed soldiers too much to care about who they were, but by the time my secret was out, I had already killed so many men as a Shénwu, that it became an asset to them… I killed so many men, Tian-xi, that I couldn’t count… I don’t even remember the first one.” Lei looked down at the cutting board, and was silent for a few moments. “Have you ever killed anyone? Tian-xi?”

“I have,” she answered simply. Only silence followed.

But later that day, Lei made a second confession to Tian-xi. “I fought in the Lijun Chi faction, headed by Xu Lijun.”

“The monarchist?” Tian-xi asked.

Lei nodded. “Lijun lost his brother when the Kuomintang forces rampaged throughout China to loot the citizenry, under the pretense of stamping out the Emperor’s loyalists. That's why Lijun doesn’t allow his men to loot, plunder, or harm civilians in any way. He says, tells them, ‘think about the China you want to build’ before they act.” 

Lei did not have to tell Tian-xi that she loved him. She saw it in the dreamy look in her eyes that betrayed her when she said those words.

Lei and Tian-xi would have many more conversations just like that one during the months she spent recovering. By the time it was time for Lei to leave, Tian-xi’s children were sad to see her go. Yin wrapped her arms around Lei’s thigh, and buried her little face, not wanting to let her go. Lei chuckled, as she patted the young girl’s head.”I’ll come back someday, I promise.”

“That's right,” said Shihua as she gently pried her sister away. “Lei will come to visit again soon, so let her be.”

Lei couldn’t help but smile. “You be good for your big sister, and don’t make too much trouble while I’m gone. Okay Yin?”

“Okay,” Yin began, her small voice beginning to crack. Lei pulled both girls in for a final hug, before walking over to Tian-xi’s husband, and his sons. 

“Thank you so much for everything,” she said bowing low to Hengrui. “I don’t know how I can repay your kindness.”

“Teach Yao some swordplay when you visit again,” Chengong chuckled. “He’s been hoping you would.”

“Brother is lying,” Yao said, blushing. “I already know how to fight.”

“Your mother is also quite skilled with a sword,” Lei said kindly.

“Yeah, but you’re way better than her at it,” Yao grumbled. “She said so herself.”

“Thats enough boys,” Hengrui said, as he handed Lei a pack. “Take care of yourself on your journey, Lei. I pray that you find peace soon.” 

Lei accepted the pack with both hands and bowed again, more deeply this time. “Thank you. For all of it.” She turned to Chengong and offered him a quiet nod. “Keep looking after your siblings. You’ve done a fine job.”

Chengong looked like he wanted to respond, but only nodded back, blinking a little faster than usual.

Yao stepped forward again, fidgeting with the strap across his chest. “And next time, you better let me spar with you for real.”

Lei smiled. “Next time, I won’t hold back.”

He grinned at that. “You’d better not.”

Tian-xi smiled as she watched them, arms folded lightly. She waited until the children had gone back inside before turning to Lei. “Walk with me,” she said.

They walked to the edge of the clearing, where the trees began again. The sunlight fell softer here.

“I’ve delayed this for too long,” Lei said. “But I know what it is I must now do.”

Tian-xi nodded. “Back to Xu Lijun…”

Lei gave a small smile. “Yes. He’s trying to bring order to the chaos, and restore justice to this nation. I want to help him do that… I believe in what he’s building.” She hesitated, looking down at the hem of her sleeve… “I haven’t told him how I feel. I might never. And I’m not going back for that reason anyway. If he doesn’t feel the same, it doesn’t change what I believe in. He is the only good man among a horde of warlords, and I want to help him no matter what. Also… Tian-xi…” She looked up again, and there was a calcified sincerity in her eyes. “Before I leave, I need you to know that I’ve made a vow. I will never take another human life again. I’ll still fight the Yaoguai, like I was originally supposed to do, but I will not be a hypocrite who kills others anymore.”

Tian-xi suppressed a smile. She had seen this coming, but out of an understanding of the situation, she felt it necessary to ask; “What if Lijun wants you to keep fighting as his assassin? I’m sure he understands as well as you, how fearsome a Shénwu can be when her skills are used for that, and how many of his own men’s lives are spared with each rival general you kill.”

Lei looked down. Tian-xi knew immediately after saying it, that she had asked a question that Lei had already asked of herself many times every day. “Lijun would understand,” she said. “He would never order me to do something like that if I didn’t want to. He views me as a comrade, not a weapon.” She drew in a breath. “But I will make one exception.”

Tian-xi's face remained still. “The woman who killed Lian-Jie,” Lei said resolutely. “Zhi Zhen is still out there. She’s the only one who deserves to die by my blade.”

Her hand hovered for a moment at the hilt of Cui Cao. “I won’t kill again… until I find her.”

Tian-xi said nothing for a moment. Then, she reached forward and gently took Lei’s hand.

“Your heart is pure Ruo Lei. I know that you will follow this path the right way, and when you take Zhi Zhen the traitor’s head, I will rest easy, knowing that Lian, Ling, and Ox, will all be able to rest in peace. I may have lost my sword but—” she gripped Cui Cao’s hilt, and unsheathed him just enough so that she was sure he could hear her voice. “Cui Cao, watch over Lei, and protect her. See to it that at the end of her journey, she can make her way back to my hearth.” 

***

Saya sat motionless, her arms slack on her knees, eyes locked on Tian-xi’s face as she finished the tale. The dim light of the room cast a long shadow across the older woman’s brow, where grief and pride Tian-xiled in the furrow of her skin. Tian-xi gave a long breath, eyes tracing the distant ceiling as if watching the past fade upward into dust. “My family and I didn’t stay put for long,” she said. “The war was still raging. We kept moving as the lines changed, but Lei always found a way to get in touch with us, and we let each other know that we were safe. Xu Lijun actually began to make a name for himself, and had it not been for that Incident, he might have succeeded in fulfilling the dream Lei talked about, and we wouldn't be under this horrid tyranny we are today."

Tian-xi then looked pensive, and the distant look in her eyes became almost ghostly for a second. "If only... but then again, that's just speculation. It was a chaotic time. It's impossible to know how different things might have been."  

Saya’s expression became more serious. “What incident?” she asked. She sensed a tragedy behind those words.

Tian-xi sighed deeply, before turning to Saya, with her arms still crossed. “It was years later, during the early winter of 1945. We were in Gu’angxi province, when Lei came to us, with Xu Lijun, however…”

An ear-piercing scream sounded from the fields in front of the house. It was a woman’s voice, shrill and broken with terror, Then came the sound that made the blood freeze in Saya’s veins: the guttural, bone-rattling roar of a Chiropteran… only deeper, and more broken than a normal one. The New Yaoguai were outside of their house, and seconds after the first roar began three more joined in.

Four of those monsters outside of their house meant one thing only. 

Zhi Zhen had found them.

Chapter Text

The peace had been shattered like tempered glass. Lei was already in motion! Cui Cao in hand, she flew towards the sound! Yukio was right behind her, Kasumi drawn, his pale face set in a silent, furious snarl. Tian-xi had leapt from Saya’s bed where she sat, followed by Saya, who shoved herself out of bed, but the moment she did, a jolt of pain went through her.

She suppressed a scream as she fell flat. Tian-xi spun. Her expression, already stern, collapsed into fury. “What are you doing!?” She was at Saya’s side in an instant, lifting her by her armpits, and  half-guiding, half-pinning her back to the bedding. “Don’t be a fool!  You’re no good to anyone in your current state!” She marched to the wall, took down the guan dao from its place on her way out, and left the house with the grim stillness of someone who had long ago made peace with bloodshed.

Outside, the wind had picked up. The tall stalks of grain bent low under its breath, and the air carried with it the coppery stink of blood. The woman who had screamed now lay on her face in the grass, lifeless and broken. Four Chiropteran– Massive New Yaoguai, stood around the corpse, their enlarged bodies deformed, hunched and crooked. Yukio stood next to Lei, but his eyes were not on the monsters. They were on the woman who had been killed, and they were wide with livid righteous fury… He was trembling… from it.

Tian-xi turned to her son-in-law, who had moved protectively to her side. “Hàorán, qǐng nǐ bǎ zhè háizǐ dài lí zhèlǐ ba.”

Haoran turned, and showed that he understood with a nod. He then immediately grabbed Yukio under the arms before the child could blink. “Huh? Haoran! Stop it! Let go of me!” Yukio cried, thrashing like a wildcat. “Haoran! Put me down!!” Haoran met Tian-xi’s eyes once, gave a solemn nod, and turned to run. “NOOO! Haoran stop! Go back! Go back! Saya is still in there!”

“Thank you, Haoran,” Tian-xi whispered, as she held out her weapon, and took a few steps behind until she and Lei were standing back to back. “Can we take them?”

Lei blinked slowly. “If it were one or two of them, it’s a guarantee…” The wind stirred her hair. “…but against four? I guess we’ll have to see.”

Lei held out Cui Cao, and breathed in through her nose… the priestess dance had begun. Om… ta… ta…om… ta… ta…

She practically floated into the air, and then twirled with Cui Cao at high speeds towards the first monster. Cui Cao clashed against its claws, but she had maneuvered into the air behind its neck before it could even counter.

Omm…. haa… haa…

She was hyper-focused now. The battle came in slow motion. Cui Cao struck true against the monster’s neck. It gave a dying roar as blood spurted from the wound, but as it began to fall, the second monster rushed Lei.

Her reaction-time was impeccable, even as she defended while mid-air, but the monster’s body was sturdy. Lei was thrown through the air with a grunt, and managed somehow to land on the thatched roof of Tian-xi’s house. One Chiropteran was down, and the other who just attacked her was examining the gash along its forearm. 

“Tch, not deep enough. It's like their hides are getting even tougher.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tian-xi entrenched in a defensive posture, the guan dao was steady in her arms, and had cleaved the face of one of the attacking beasts, but it did not kill it, and they were more cautious now, and they were circling her.

Lei wasted no time. She crouched down, and sprung back into action, towards the beasts who were fighting Tian-xi. It was a feint, she landed as though she were weightless, and then retreated. In that moment where the one to Tian-xi’s left was distracted by her, Tian-xi leapt into the air, twirling with the guan dao, and slicing the monster’s side, bringing it down! While Lei had turned back to the one she had already wounded, ducking low, and sliding under its kick, but looking over her shoulder, she saw that as the crescent blade of Tian-xi’s guan dao cut down one of the monsters, another had slashed her shoulder with its claws.

Tian-xi was skilled, but she was older and slower than Lei was, and Lei muttered a silent prayer that her friend and mentor hang in there for just a little while longer.

***

“Damnit Haoran! Let me go!!!” Yukio cried for the umpteenth time. His limbs flailed as Haoran ran, iron-armed and grim, heedless of the boy's protests. Yukio twisted and kicked. “Damnit,” he spat bitterly. “Why does this always happen? Why is the fight always too much for me!?”

Saya was helpless in her bed. If a single one of those monsters got past Lei and Tian-xi, they would kill her. Sora had died so horribly, only half a year ago… someone precious to him, killed while he was too weak to stop it.

“No!” His small frame slipped free, twisting out of Haoran’s grip like smoke. The ground hit his feet hard, but he didn’t falter. Without looking back, he ran. 

Haoran’s feet skidded, and he turned around to chase him, but he might as well have been chasing a wild rabbit. Yukio had slipped out of his sight within seconds.

***

Lei was fighting desperately. The two remaining Yaoguai had forced her and Tian-xi to divide their attention, and seemed to be learning to fight while as it fought. The dirt exploded around her as the monster's claws slammed into it, and she leapt into the air holding her blade against her head. She turned gracefully, and Cui Cao’s edge sliced cleanly through the monster’s neck, but no sooner had it died than she heard Tian-xi’s cry of pain.

The force of the demon’s attack slammed Tian-xi into the earth. Her guan dao flew from her grip, skidding across the dirt. She tried to rise, but it was already leaping, claws bared for the kill.

“Hand on Tian-xi!” Lei cried, but she couldn’t move. She looked down, and saw, to her horror, that the monster she had just slew, in its dying moments, wrapped its gnarled claws around her shin. Before she could even raise her blade to hack herself free, the realization sank into her chest, that this delay where nanoseconds counted had been fatal, the demon attacking Tian-xi was already there–

Blood spurted from the monster's back, and it gave a cry as it reeled backwards, and then staggered forwards, collapsing onto its face, dead. Behind it, Yukio stood panting furiously, and Kasumi in post-swing. His teeth were grit, and he was covered in the monster’s red blood, and his eyes glowed like something feral. Lei trembled when she saw it… 

She blinked, and shook her head from side to side, forcing herself back into reality. She turned to the beast that held her shin, and hacked through the twisted, death-locked hand, and yanked her leg free, before snapping her attention back forward. Yukio blinked, startled. He took a step back as Lei stomped towards him.

“Put your sword away!” she snapped—in Japanese this time, “Get back in the house. Now.”

Yukio froze. His grip faltered for just a moment. Then he lowered Kasumi and nodded, still breathless, confused, and unsure why her voice had cut so deep.

He turned and ran, but stopped just short of the door. Saya stood there in her nightgown, leaning against the doorframe for support. Her face was contorted in pain from having dragged herself out of bed, and anger from what she had seen. “Yukio, come here”, she said in a soft tone that betrayed her expression.

Lei dropped to her knees beside Tian-xi, her voice softer now. “Hang on, stay with me,” she murmured, pressing a hand to the older woman’s shoulder.

“I’ll be fine- ow!” Tian-xi twitched in pain. “Nothing a little rest won’t fix, my house is turning into a damn hospital.”

“Haoran, thank goodness you're here,” Lei said as he arrived on scene. “Take Ruo Tian-xi inside.” Without a word, Haoran scooped his mother-in-law into his arms. Tian-xi let out a hiss of pain but said nothing more, her face tight as she leaned into his shoulder.

As he turned and began the walk back to the house, Lei straightened and turned toward the fallen body in the field, the stranger they could not save. The blood around the body had already begun to darken in the earth, and the poor woman’s face was twisted in terror. No chance. Not even for her name. Lei’s eyes lowered. The priestess’ dance left no room for grief until after the stillness. That stillness had come. Her hand at Cui Cao’s hilt trembled slightly, before she exhaled and forced it still.

Behind her, there came the soft sound of footsteps through dry grass. Saya was staggering slowly into the field, and was held around Yukio’s shoulders. He was helping her walk, steadying her as she leaned on him. His head rested lightly against her side, and he was holding her sleeve as though grounding himself with it. He said nothing, and looked where Saya looked.

Saya’s teeth were grit with effort. She hadn’t fully caught her breath since pulling herself from bed. But her voice, when she spoke, was steady. “What the hell was that all about Lei-sensei? Yelling at him like that? You never yelled at me like that before.”

Lei grit her teeth and looked down. Overhead, came the sound of thunder, and rain clouds were gathering. “Get back to bed Saya, you’re in no condition to be outside.”

Saya looked down and clenched her jaw. “He just saved Tian-xi’s life. None of what happened is his fault. You owe him an apology.”

The silence that followed was only a second long, but it felt suspended in time… right before the mocking tone came from the tree line. “Isn’t that precious? Looks like we have a little bit of family drama, Ruo Lei.”

They all turned.

Atop a branch on the edge of the tree line, stood a figure in red and white robes, outlined against the swelling clouds. Her white-and-red scarf fluttered at her jaw, and the long black braid coiled down her spine swayed with the wind. Zhi Zhen.

“You,” Lei whispered venomously, anger rising at the sight of her.

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised,” Zhi Zhen said, tilting her head. “You didn’t think that having the honor of four New Yaoguai was random. The five will be sore with me, but the show truly was worth it.” Her eyes narrowed with morose delectation. “You’re just as weak as I remember.”

“Zhi Zhen!!”

“Oh do calm down Lei, You didn’t think I’ve underestimated you that much.” She then uncrossed one arm and looked at her fingernails. “Even still, to fight a weakling like you a second time is beneath me. You’ve given my warriors a good show, but now they will be taking your head.”

Out from the tree line they came, quiet and fluid. More than half a dozen of them, dressed in muted priestess garb, red silks wrapped at their waists, and white veils masking their lower faces. They moved like dancers, drifting out from the treeline as though parting from the trees themselves.

Each of them held a jian blade.

  “Don’t worry,” Zhi Zhen cooed. “The rest of your friends will be joining you soon.” Saya then shoved herself away from Yukio. She tried to remain on her feet, “Saya!” Yukio turned, lowering himself beside her.

“I’m okay!” she hissed, face tight with pain. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I can’t fight, so just worry about helping Lei.”

“That's right, little girls,” Zhi Zhen sang.  “Don’t underestimate my assassins. Each one has killed many..”

Lei’s breath hitched. Her hand hovered near Cui Cao’s hilt. Rain began to fall— gentle at first, a whisper on the wind.

The assassins closed in.

Yukio stood up. Kasumi was already drawn. His hand was steady, and his stance was firm. He backed into Lei so that their backs touched. But then he felt it… Yukio felt the most steady, and the least afraid, when Kasumi was in his hands, but the more-experienced warrior behind him, was trembling terribly. “Lei-san?” he asked.

“Don’t speak,” she said, barely audible.

Thunder rolled across the sky. The rain began to gather, dotting the field with sound, like drumming fingers on taut cloth.

“Now dance for me, Lei,” Zhi Zhen whispered.

And with that, the assassins struck.

Lei swung Cui Cao in a powerful arch that deflected every strike. The four priestesses who had attacked simultaneously floated away through the air, each landing easily on their feet. The rain began to pick up now…

From the door, Haoran had seen enough. He stepped forward, fist tightening, preparing to leap into the field.

“Stop!!” Saya cried from where she sat in the mud.

Haoran froze. “Don’t you dare leave Tian-xi alone,” she shouted. “She needs you now! Protect her!”

Thunder cracked in the clouds above as Lei and Yukio were attacked again. Zhi Zhen’s assassins danced around them like bees. Yukio parried a strike and ducked. 

Mud splashed up his leg as another assassin moved in from his blind spot. Lei caught her mid-strike and forced her away, slicing through the edge of her cloak. The girl didn’t flinch.

From the tree, Zhi Zhen chuckled. “Don't hold back, Lei,” she called. “You’re stronger than they are. You know it. So why haven’t you killed any of them yet?”

Lei’s breath caught in her throat.

Another blade flew toward her ribs. She twisted out of the way, but the tip caught her side. Blood mixed with rainwater. She staggered, but grabbed Yukio and yanked him out of the way from an oncoming attack, simultaneously using him as a counterweight to spin herself and slice the attacker at the neck.

The assassin curved backwards, her scarf sliced… but then she realized that her neck wasn’t cut. She relaxed, and smirked.

Another one of the cultists laughed. “The famous Shénwu heir is all bark now, isn’t she?” 

“She won’t strike to kill,” said another. “She’s still playing priestess.” She rushed towards them!

Lei exhaled through her mouth. “Yukio, duck.”

As soon as the boy did so, Lei was in the air, above their attacker, and Cui Cao sliced the side of her neck. The assassin flew over Yukio’s head, and landed in the mud, blood gushing into the fabric of her scarf.

“If you are acolytes of Zhi Zhen,” Lei cried, “then I won’t hesitate to kill you either!”

For a moment, nobody moved. The pouring of the rain was the only sound, and then laughter, as the girl who had just been cut rose to her feet. “Then why haven’t you?” she challenged. She pulled her scarf away, revealing a cut that was not deep enough to have severed the jugular vein. “Zhi Zhen-fūrén has taught us all how to kill, but what about you? Little Ruo Lei?”

A blade came down toward Yukio, but he blocked it. His wrists trembled under the force. Another kicked his leg and sent him sprawling sideways into the mud. Lei rushed to his side, but blades converging from four angles knocked her into him! It was due to the quick-thinking of both of them that allowed them to spring out of the way before the tip of a jian was buried into the mud where both of their bodies had been an instant before! She skidded sideways, stopping inches from the body of one of the fallen Yaoguai. 

The storm howled louder now. Lei ducked a sweeping kick, spun on her heel, and drove Cui Cao upward, slicing the attacker’s side, and causing her to fall into the mud, but as she fell, another assassin leapt onto her back, using her comrade as a launching pad, sprang into Lei! She blocked the sword, but the force of the blow sent her backwards. 

Yukio cried out again, staggering as he blocked another blow. His balance was starting to break. Too many blades, too many angles. Every time he tried to press forward, another came at him from the side.

Their enemies laughed, soaked to the bone, their cloaks slapping against their legs. They had begun circling again, now that he had been separated from Lei. Saya clenched her teeth helplessly as she watched. The assassins closed in on him, one deliberately stepping over the bodies of one of the girls the Yaoguai had killed.

“Yukio…” Saya began slowly, almost under her breath. “Lei and I can’t kill humans, but you…” the wind ate her words. She did not dare ask him to do that. “Yukio… Hang in there.” 

By now, even the assassins who had been wounded were laughing. “Zhi Zhen-fūrén has given us a buffet instead of a mission.” She pointed the tip of her jian to Saya. “a worm crawling in the mud. Too weak to stand on her own legs,” then the tip pointed to Lei, “a coward who can’t kill,” and then to Yukio, “and a little boy who is too green to go berserk.” She threw her head back in laughter, and was joined by the others, when she stopped abruptly. She gasped weakly for air, and fell forward. Behind her, was a bloodied Ka-Bar knife in a man’s hand. 

The others all spun in alarm. The man holding the knife was short, broad-shouldered and stocky. Rain slid down his coat, and along the water-repellent bandages that covered most of his face. Blood dripped from the Ka-Bar in his left hand, and a wooden club hung in his right. He advanced, stepping over the girl’s body. 

Four of the assassins charged. 

He reacted like water, evading the strike of the first one with ease, before burying the knife into her collar. The second brought her blade down, but the man caught her wrist mid-air, and slammed his forehead into her nose. Cartilage crunched. She staggered back, blood streaming down her mouth, and then crushed her head with a swipe from his club before she even had a chance to feel it!

Bits of skull flew through the rain, but in that same instant, he spun, taking his knife out of the other girl’s shoulder before her body had even hit the ground and slicing off the hands at the wrist of another assassin who was too slow to pull back her blade! Before she could even scream, the man’s club upper-cut her jaw, and took her face clean off.

The fourth assassin who charged him stood frozen in place, shivering as she held her jian out in front of her. The man knelt down, and picked up the sword of her fallen comrade. “This is not the steel of an authentic priestesses' blade.” His voice sounded normal. Unsettlingly smooth even… the thick accent— none present could place.

He slashed the air in rapid succession, and the closest one to him lost her hands, and her chest, face, and neck, bloomed in flowers of blood as her body crumpled into the mud. “Hmm, still higher quality than a regular blade, even if it's not the real thing.”

In a swift graceful motion, Zhi Zhen gave a hand-signal, swiping two fingers downward, like a leaf falling in the wind. The remaining assassins broke off without a word, retreating into the trees like shadows fleeing from flame.

Zhi Zhen stayed one moment longer, her eyes locked with Lei’s across the distance, rain trickling down her face like tears she’d never shed.

Then she, too, vanished 

The field was still now. Blood and mud mixed beneath the heavy curtain of rain. There were four Chiropteran corpses, and seven human corpses. Two innocents, and five assassins, which surrounded the man who now stared at Yukio. Thunder rolled above them.

Yukio’s small chest rose and fell in shallow, confused breaths as the man’s good eye narrowed, like a hunter sighting rare prey. He sheathed his Ka-Bar, and his new sword, but still twirled the club in his hand as he stepped towards him. “You’re a boy whose’ learned the dance? Aren’t you?” he said, now switching to heavily accented Japanese. 

“H-how did you know I’m Japanese?” Yukio stammered.

“You should be more worried about how I knew those other details,” the man said in a voice that was dangerously smooth. Yukio flinched.

Then, a sharp scrape of movement: Lei stepped between them, raising Cui Cao’s blade to point at the man’s neck.

The wrinkles around the man’s good eye showed that he was smiling, as though he immediately recognized the authenticity of a priestess’s blade. “That's a beautiful jian miss,” he purred. “What's his name?”

“Just keep your distance Kuzalu.” Lei replied in a low tone.

“Hoh? You know my name, your ability to gather intelligence is very impressive. Did you know for certain that I was a priest when you heard of me? Or have I only now confirmed that possibility?”

Lei said nothing. Cui Cao remained pointed at Kuzalu’s throat, as Kuzalu reached up towards the bandages that covered his face. “As old as I am, I know I’m not going to live forever, so I don’t mind a few more scars but…” He pulled away the bandages, and Yukio gasped. Lei’s eyes twitched ever so slightly. 

“I got this from one of the ‘New Yaoguai’” Kuzalu said, pointing to the grafted side of his face. “A strike from one of their claws messed me up pretty good. I guess you could say, I’ve had my fun in China, and I’m looking for a way out.” The rain was a steady curtain now, masking the last echoes of violence. Beneath it, no one moved.

Kuzalu’s relaxed poise unnerved everyone else. “Don’t come any closer,” Lei said again, in an even lower tone. “Those girls… some of them were just teenagers, don’t think for a second… that just because I wouldn’t kill those thralls of Zhi Zhen, that I wouldn’t kill you Kuzalu. Come anywhere closer to this boy and I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Kuzalu’s good eye flicked to her. “You think I’m a threat to him. You’re right to worry. I’ve met others like him. They never last long, but I’m not interested in hurting him.” As if to make his point, he took a few steps back, and then spotted the corps of a monster to his right. Lei, Saya, and Yukio’s eyes followed him as he walked over to it, and made himself comfortable on the Chiropteran’s body. 

“Finch won’t let me leave,” he muttered, as if venting to no one in particular. “Says I’m not done. Says I’ve got to ‘contain the cult’ before I get my ticket outta here.”

He made a sound that sounded like it was between a chuckle and a scoff. “Ridiculous. Finch wouldn’t even know about the cult if I hadn’t been the one to dig up the first body, if I hadn’t torn open the first pit.” His eye narrowed at the corpse beneath him. “Now I’m the janitor.” He flicked his hand, dismissively. “Cleaning up messes, when what I wanna do is fight. I’m so tired of China.” The storm was dying down now, and the rain had now descended into a heavy drizzle. 

“I don’t exactly blend in here with my western face either, and with these guys getting crazier and crazier, it's only a matter of time before I’m in a fight that I don’t want. I’ll be of no loss to the bureau either. I’ll bet they’re hoping the commies will rid them of their problem for them now that I’ve worn out my usefulness, and that I’ll take as many of the others out with me before I’m done. So thats the situation. If we get rid of Zhi Zhen, you get your revenge, and I get to conclude my mission.”

Lei’s voice cut through the curtain of rain. “And if you do get out?” Her sword was still pointed at him. “What will you do next?”

Kuzalu turned his head slowly, as if surprised she’d bothered to ask. Then smiled. “I hear Indochina’s getting lively again.” His voice had grown slicker. Colder. “The U.S. army hasn’t erased my fake identity yet, so I can probably rejoin pretty easily and then… ” His smile twisted, “defect to the gooks. They are doing most of the fighting, and most of the dying. The Americans are standing in a puddle of blood right now, but the VS and NVA are up to their waists  in it, and the Khmer Rouge over the border…” His grin widened. “If things go the way I think they are, pretty soon, that country will be drowning in it.”

There was hunger in his voice… a calm insanity that Lei observed, might even surpass Zhi Zhen’s… Something in Yukio twitched, but Lei didn’t flinch. Her eyes were hard now. Cold as the steel she carried.

She opened her mouth to speak—

“I don’t need to hear your answer,” Kuzalu said, before she could get a word out. “We will be aligning.” There was a dangerous warning in his words… He pushed himself off the corpse with one fluid motion, landing lightly on his boots. “But there’s no rush. I’ll find you later.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, and the rain picked up again briefly, shrouding his silhouette until he was gone.

***

The gates to the temple swung open with Zhi Zhen’s return. It was empty, but for the five hooded demons, who waited for her, and now saw her enter, dripping with rain water, and what they perceived as the stench of defeat. The one who had chided her for her obsession with Lei was first to speak. “Four of the New Yaoguai we entrusted to you, lost with nothing to show for it. There were at least two priestesses with pure priestess blood, and they slipped through your fingers.”

“You were not merely defeated,” said another, his voice high and cold, “you were humiliated. Why bother returning at all, priestess? You should fall upon your own sword, rather than live with such shame.”

Zhi Zhen paused mid-step, casting a glance over her shoulder… Her red eyes brimming with calm fury. “True shame,” she said, “is what Ruo Lei will know when I finally have her kneeling before me, and she will witness what you do to her brats before you do the same to her, but she won’t be allowed to die. You shall have her blood like a cow’s milk until she is dry, and then I’ll kill her myself.”

“You have promised this to us Zhi Zhen, yet you continue to fail, and our project is set back with every New Yaoguai needlessly sacrificed to your incompetence!”

Zhi Zhen turned away from them and continued walking, her voice drifting back to them like smoke. “You wanted something more than petty warfare, yes? Something to bring our project to fruition. You shall have it, but not by sinking too much value into those drooling beasts.”

“You are not off the hook priestess,” one of the demons said as the five began to follow her. Zhi Zhen led them past the curtain, and down the labyrinth where none else ventured, descending further under the earth.  Through the winding corridors they went. The torches lit themselves as she passed, casting long shadows along the curved walls. Each step took them deeper beneath the earth, until they came to a step staircase.

“When the Japanese invaded 30 years ago,” Zhen said as they descended. “Among the soldiers of the first division was a man far older than any of his comrades, far older than he appeared. He was a priest, who in his ferocity, scared even the little barbarians. I can’t even begin to imagine how many Shénwu and soldiers alike were lost in order to capture him.”

“Priestess, If you are telling us a parable in order to insist that—”

“I would have succeeded in bringing them to you had it not been for that priest getting in the way. Do you honestly believe that I would be stupid enough to face him? Luckily for all of us though, we have one of our own.”

“Zhi Zhen, you don’t mean—”

“I do. I have spent a long time speaking to him… to Shinkaiten.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs, where a vast, Iron gate stood opposing their bath. Dragons and ogres were carved into the meta, with the imprint of a jian in the center. Zhi Zhen drew her blade, Zhu Guan, and placed it in the imprint. Gears began to groan, as the gate recognized the key, and began to open.

She smiled with schadenfreude, as she felt the trepidation of the five standing behind her. “You don’t have to be in the same room as I release him,” she assured them. “Just leave it to me.” The Chiropteran backed away. 

“Priestess,” one of them admonished, “If this goes badly, we will ensure that you live to regret it.”

“The fate that you hoped will befall Ruo Lei,” said another, “will be mercy compared to what we do to you.”

Zhi Zhen said nothing as they retreated back up the stairs, and the gate groaned open. Inside the room was darkness incarnate. Only the torches on the far wall gave shape to the figure that sat within. He sat in the Lotus pose, shackled at the ankles and wrists, his mane of uncut black hair falling to his waist. He wore no expression, only stillness— a monolith of waiting fury.

“You’ve come, Priestess.”

“Forgive me for keeping you waiting, Lord Shinkaiten. The time for you to taste blood again has come.”

Across the dark room, Shinkaiten’s eyes opened like a pair of red lanterns. “It is not only the priest, Kuzalu, who has been released into these lands.”

In the stretch of silence that followed, only the flicker of fire could be heard. A bead of sweat crept down Zhen’s brow. “My descendent,” Shinkaiten continued darkly. “I can smell him… a boy who carries my blood has been brought to this land.”

Zhi Zhen’s eyes widened in recognition as she remembered Yukio. “That brat that Saya brought over? He is your—?”

“He is my descendent,” said Shinkaiten, closing his eyes again. “The last leaf of a tree I had discarded long ago. The fact that he shares my blood means nothing to me. However…”

Shinkaiten’s voice turned dangerously low, as he opened his eyes again, this time, they glowed with wrath. “He comes carrying my sword…

Kasumi…”

Chapter Text

Returning to the Fortune Swallow  Inn had not been Ideal. Saya found that all of her and Yukio’s clothes had shrunken through the wash, most of the food they had previously bought was spoiled thanks to the lack of any refrigeration, and the receptionist had pestered her more than she had the patience to deal with over their payment. But Saya had more important things to worry about. Kuzalu was one thing, but Zhi Zhen being still out there remained a massive problem.

“Thats not good enough!” Saya shouted into the phone. “This woman’s life is in danger David! If you can’t get her out of China before Zhi Zhen’s thugs get to her…” she was hunched so far over the desk that she was practically climbing onto it, and getting its dust all over her white sweater and black pants. “...Do I really need to spell out what they’ll do?!” She demanded. “They are torturers for a blood cult, and if you can’t find a way to get her out of China–”

“What the hell do you want me to do Saya!?” David barked from the other end. “Do you think I wouldn’t help get your friend out of there if I could!? After all the times I’ve bucked protocol for you, don’t you dare make me out to be just another bureaucrat! I’m boxed in here because I stuck my neck out for you when you left Japan without permission in the first place!” She could hear him slam his fist on a desk, and a cup of pens rattle through the other end of the line.

“I know damnit!” Saya cried, “But I only left because no one else was coming! The Bureau would have just ignored my warnings, and if they came from you, they would have still dragged their feet, you know that! So please, let me take the blame for whatever happens, just get Tian-xi out of here, I know you can do it, so don’t you dare tell me that the bureaucracy is stopping you.”

“The bureaucracy is exactly what's stopping me! You’re currently under investigation Saya! And so am I! I have no money to send you, and my security clearance has been cancelled! Talking to you through the phone is the only thing I can do now, and only because they haven’t gone through my numbers-list yet!” 

Saya’s grip on the phone loosened when she heard this. She fell silent. “I want to help your friend Saya, and I want you to be safe, but there is nothing more I can do to help you. You’re on your own.” Saya said nothing. “For what it's worth, I don’t hold it against you. If I can find a way to help your friend, I will, but if I had the power to get anyone out of China, it would be you Saya, whether you wanted it or not.”

Saya still said nothing…. “When you do make it back here,” David continued calmly, “You and I are going to have a long talk.”

“David I—” the line went dead before she could finish. Before she had a chance to apologize, and without a chance to do that, she cursed instead as she slammed down the receiver.

She calmed herself with forced breaths just in time to hear Lei enter the room. She turned around, and saw her teacher in a pair of white pants and a blue button-down shirt she had borrowed from her. Even though they had shrunk on her, they fit Lei almost perfectly. 

“How are your injuries?” Lei asked with concern.

“Better, thanks,” Saya replied. “How is Tian-xi?”

“She’ll be fine,” Lei assured her. “Haoran says she said she’s more worried about what the doctors say when she heals too fast.

“That's good,” Saya said, looking down. Saya walked over to the window and pulled aside the faded curtain. The street below was quiet, and the sunlight that entered reflected in the shine of her black pigtails.

“I asked David to help get her out,” she said finally, her voice flat. “To get Tian-xi and possibly her family somewhere safe.” Lei’s posture shifted slightly, as Saya slumped her head down with a heavy sigh, “He can’t. The bureau's pulled everything. No more funding. No more favors. They’re punishing him because of me.”

Lei lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, but please don’t blame yourself. You came out of worry for me, which was justified. I’m the one who should have—”

“Its not your fault either.” Saya said, defeated. “We both know that direct contact between us would not have been possible as long as I was in Japan.” Saya’s voice almost cracked as she pressed her forehead against the window. “I hate this place! The air makes me nauseous.” 

“You’ve suffered a lot here Saya,” Lei said, approaching her, and gently putting her hands on her shoulders.”Those memories that you carry, it's a heavy burden, no matter how strong you’ve become.”

“But what about you Lei-sensei?” Saya asked, turning around, her expression soft. “Before we were attacked, Tian-xi was telling me what you had begun to tell me yourself. About your past… I know what the Shénwu are. I know that you had risen above so much before you met me, but… what happened to you in the winter of 1945? What did you see?”

Lei looked down. “Where is Yukio?”

“He’s standing guard on the roof,” Saya said with the faintest hint of a chuckle. “It's his excuse not to be in the room. He’ll probably spend the night up there.” Lei looked down, with a guilty expression. “It's not because you snapped at him though,” Saya now explained, trying to do damage control. “He’s used to getting yelled at. I wasn’t exactly gentle when I was first training him (if anything, I was hoping he would run away). It's probably just because he feels awkward about being the only boy in our group now. He doesn’t know you as well as he knows me, and is trying to give you your space.”

“Please don’t make excuses for me, Saya,” Lei breathed, lowering herself to the edge of the bed. She patted the space beside her, and Saya came to sit, shifting awkwardly as she did. Her shrunken pants tugged stiffly at her knees, the fabric creaking with resistance. She adjusted her posture without showing her discomfort as she prepared to listen.

“You asked me about the winter of ‘45,” Lei said softly. Her voice was hollow, as if brushing against something brittle inside her chest. “I guess I should be grateful that Tian-xi left off there. I…” her lips quivered, and she brought her knees to her chest as she began to shiver. “I broke the taboo. I hated the way the Shénwu did things, and I arrogantly thought that their rules were as old and crooked as they were… I taught my general the dance. I thought doing so would give him the strength he needed to save China, but I was wrong…”

***

December 31st, 1944

The fog lay low over the hills, and the air tasted of smoke and old gunpowder. Lei's lungs were raw, but she ran anyway. Gao Yue, a veteran in his 30s, and reliable comrade, kept pace right behind her, and behind  him, the northern tribesman, Kulan, ran with Lijun's unconscious body slumped on his back.

In the valley below, through the veil of mist and smoke, the makeshift roofs of canvas tents emerged in jagged lines, some lit by oil lamps, others barely held upright. The refugee camp had grown again, but Lei knew she would find them here…

She nearly collapsed with relief when she saw a familiar face as they approached the outskirts of the camp. A child near the edge of the field, crouched among broken twigs. A scarf tied clumsily over his ears. His small hands, red from the cold, sorted through the branches without looking up. Lei opened her mouth. “Yao!” she called.

The boy was startled. His eyes snapped toward her, and widened with urgency when he saw what was going on. Yao wasted no time, and immediately led them through the camp where Lei would find Tian-xi.  Down the slope they went, weaving through the tight paths that cut between tents and crates and rows of sleeping bodies. Yao moved quickly despite the dark, darting through narrow gaps only a child would know. Lei followed nimbly, and Kulan navigated in silence despite the heavy man on his back. A girl stepped aside as they passed, clutching a bundle of dry kindling. Another woman glanced at them from a tent flap, her expression unreadable. Too many had seen dying men carried like this before.

Yao turned sharply, ducked under a hanging tarp, and stopped at a canvas door, tugging the flap aside. “Mama!” A figure knelt by the hearth inside. Ruo Tian-xi was crouched near the coals, flanked by her daughters, Yin and Shihua. She turned, and her eyes locked on Lei. Then Kulan. Then the boy on his back.

Her ladle hit the floor. “Put him down,” she said sharply. “On the carpet.” Kulan stepped in and knelt. He moved carefully, setting Lijun down as though afraid to jostle whatever life was still clinging to him, and Gao Yue remained standing like a sentry as Lei fell beside him, catching herself on her palms. Her arms trembled. She couldn’t hear anything but her own pulse in her ears.

Tian-xi was already moving. Her hand touched Lijun's throat, then his forehead. She checked his breath. Her fingers paused just above his ribs.

Lei watched her closely, not blinking.

Then Tian-xi looked up. “What happened?”

Lei couldn’t speak at first. The words wouldn’t come. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and forced them out. “He went too deep into the dance.”

At that, Tian-xi’s hands froze. The breath she let out was almost too slow to hear. She stood, and turned to Lei. “You taught him?” she asked. Her voice was quiet. 

Lei said nothing, and looked down at the floor.

“Lei….” Tian-xi began again. “What have you done?”

her hands curled into the fabric of her sleeves, and her voice came out thin. “I brought him to you because I knew you had seen this before, back at the village, when some of the girls had gone too deep. You were there for longer than me, and there were more girls there back then, so I thought–”

“What? Have? You? Done?” Tian-xi repeated in a harsher tone, that sounded as though she was suppressing a scream. Shihua sank away into the corner, while Yin hid behind Yao. “You broke the Taboo, didn’t you?” Tian-xi accused. “You taught the dance to a man!”

Lei froze where she was, as though struck. Tian-xi had stepped forward, trembling not with fury, but something closer to horror.  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you risked?”

“I knew the risks…” Lei trembled. “But Tian-xi you… you don’t know what kind of man he is.”

“What kind of man he was,” Tian-xi corrected. 

Lei reacted as though she had been slapped across the face. 

Gao Yue now stepped in front of Lei, between herself and Tian-xi. He opened his mouth to speak, when the flaps of the tent opened, and Hengrui stepped in with Chengong, who was now seventeen years old. 

Everyone turned to the men, and Hengrui did not greet Lei, nor ask about the soldiers in the tent. “There’s bad news,” he said gravely. “The Japanese have launched a southwards offensive. It will be five days before they reach this place. We must go west immediately.” 

Tian-xi turned toward him, face pale. Even her fury stilled. Yao swallowed. Yin leaned into her brother’s side. Shihua, who was almost fourteen now, swallowed a sob that threatened to escape. Lei lifted her head, and turned her gaze to Tian-xi. “Please Tian-xi,” she said. “Please save him. He’s the only one who can save China.”

Hengrui gave Tian-xi a look. It lingered just a moment too long before he turned to Lei, to Gao Yue, to Kulan. “You can stay the night,” he said. “But we’re leaving at dawn. We’ll take the back pass through the ravine.”

“Thank you,” Lei whispered. 

Tian-xi knelt beside Lei and Lijun again, and was more gentle now with the girl as she put a hand on her shoulder. “When girls went too far into the dance, when they fell into the void and their minds wouldn’t come back… there wasn’t anything we could really do but wait, hope, and pray.” Lei’s face was still as the lantern-light flickered against it, as she waited in stillness for Tian-xi to continue. “The only time it ever worked… when someone did wake up… was when their sword was placed in her hands. A priestess’s sword is her anchor. Her body might forget itself, but the sword does not.” She looked over to Lei. “But Lijun has no sword. No anchor.”

Lei’s voice was quiet. “I’m his anchor.” 

Yin now left her brother’s side, and knelt by Lei, wrapping her arms around her, and resting her head against her back, as Lei continued. “I know you don’t understand why I taught him,” she said to Tian-xi, her voice soft and measured. “But he was already carrying it… He used his strength for good more than anyone else, and if anyone deserved the power that came with knowing the dance, It was him.” Her voice trailed off for a moment. The room was still.

The northern tribesman, Kulan, who had remained standing near the tent pole, finally spoke. “I was a bandit,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Before I met Lijun, I wasn’t loyal  to any cause, or any faction. This war didn’t mean anything to me, but when General Lijun caught me, instead of taking my head, he brought me my meal and spoke with me while he ate his. After that, when I realized I wasn’t going to be executed, I wanted to earn the privilege of eating with him at his table some day…” Kulan trailed off. “He’s just that kind of man. One that you never find anywhere else.”

The time stretched further, as everyone sat around Lijun, before Lei finally broke the silence, to Tian-xi again… “I love him,” she said, as though it were a confession. 

Across the tent, Gao Yue shifted. “I’m going to walk around the camp,” he said. “Go see if anyone has extra rations or medicine to barter.” He slung his rifle over his shoulder, nodded toward Hengrui, and ducked out into the cold without another word. Tian-xi didn’t ask why he left. Instead, she focused back on Lei, who was brushing Yin’s damp hair from her forehead.

She kept her voice calm, coaxing the girl to keep speaking.

“When?” Tian-xi asked. Lei looked over, surprised by the question. “When did you know?” Tian-xi said. “When did you fall for him?”

Lei opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her cheeks flushed slightly in the dim glow of the lamp. “…Right away,” she admitted at last. “I was head over heels for him at the start. I just didn’t know what that meant.” Her voice was not dreamy, or wistful. It was quiet and raw, like it had been pried out of her. More hours passed like this, slowly, with quiet murmurs and the rustle of blankets. Someone dozed, and then someone stirred. Hengrui had gone to check the carts. Shihua had nodded off on Chengong’s shoulder. Even Kulan had settled cross-legged against the tent wall, arms folded but not quite asleep. And then—

The flap burst open. Gao Yue stood in the frame, urgency stretched across his face. “They’re here,” he said. “The Japanese. Way sooner than we thought! I saw their lights from the ridge—hundreds of them.” 

Tian-xi stood up instantly. “Then the Kuamintang guards–”

“They’ve already fled!”

“Those cowards!” Hengrui barked as he leapt to his feet. All of his children who had dozed off were now awake. “All of you prepare to leave, now.” He said calmly, but fiercely.

“We will guide your family to safety as far as we can,” Gao Yue said solemnly.

Lei stood. She looked down at Lijun for one final moment, then to Tian-xi. “You have to take the children and go,” she said firmly.

Tian-xi's eyes widened. “Lei—”

“I will stay here,” she said. If you go now, you can still reach the ravine before they surround us.”

Kulan stood up next. “And what about you?”

“I’ll hold them back,” Lei replied. “If I can kill the commander, it may confuse their ranks long enough to scatter them.”

She stood tall, and her voice didn’t shake. Then she turned to Gao Yue. “You and Kulan go with them.”

Gao Yue’s jaw clenched. “Guess again.”

“I’m ordering you!” she shouted. “This is my choice!” But her hands trembled as she grabbed the hilt at her back. She drew Cui Cao. The sound of it being unsheathed cut through the tent night air. Yin began to cry.

Lei left the tent swiftly, but Gao Yue followed her outside anyway. She was already moving fast across the field, toward the ridge where lights were flickering.

She didn’t make it far.

Gao Yue grabbed her by the arm.

She spun on him, furious. “Let me go!”

He gripped her tighter. “No.”

“They’ll slaughter everyone,” she cried. “You’ve seen what they did in the east, what they did in Nanking! I won’t let that happen here!”

“You think killing one officer will stop them?” he snapped, his voice grim.

“I can buy you time for the civilians to escape!”

“No, you’ll die a fool’s death,” he growled. “And they won’t stop. They’re losing this war, Lei. And deep down, they know it. They know they aren’t going back home, they know that they are dead men walking, and so they are going to try and take as many ‘enemies’ with them before they go. Don’t you get it Lei? The Japanese want to die!”

She stared at him, breathing hard. Her hand was shaking. She shook with rage. But she sheathed her sword.

Together, they turned back, but by the time they reached the tents again, it was already too late. A column of Japanese troops had already come around the far side of the camp, encircling it. Machine gun fire cracked in the distance. One woman, clutching an infant, was cut down with a burst of fire. The child hit the ground with her. Screams broke out on all sides. A small boy tried to run between two tents. A bayonet caught him in the stomach and lifted him into the air before slamming him into the ground. A soldier with a flamethrower ignited a row of shelters, and victims ran ablaze into the night, signaling witnesses to their murder with their final screams.

“GO!!” Tian-xi shrieked, grabbing her children. “NOW!” 

Hengrui had already returned from the cart. A smoking rifle in his hand, he fired in careful succession, dropping two Japanese soldiers near the path leading east. “Make for the ravine!” he barked at the others.

Chengong, wide-eyed but focused, helped pull Yin up onto his back, “Mama! run with us!”

“I will! Go ahead!”

Kulan barreled past with a crying Shihua in his arms. Gao Yue stayed close to Lei’s side, pulling her when she hesitated.

Hengrui and the other few men with rifles mounted a resistance, but the Japanese had better weapons, better training, and superior numbers, and those who fought back were quickly overwhelmed. 

Lei turned just in time to see Hengrui stagger, blood staining the front of his tunic. He collapsed forward, but his arm still moved. Chengong ran to his father, and Hengrui pressed his rifle into his son’s arms before he could get any closer. “Take them!” he ordered. “Protect your Mama and the little ones. You’re the head of the house now, Chengong!” Then his hand fell still.

“Baba… Baba!!” Yao cried, but Chengong pulled him back, hiding his own face as he led them away.

“C’mon Yin! Get over here!” Chengong cried.

“Noooo!” There were tears streaming down Yin’s face. “Don’t make me leave Baba! Don’t make me go without him!!”

“Listen to your brother Yin!” Tian-xi cried, taking her by the hand and running with her. “He’s in charge now.” She turned over her shoulder, and looked one last time at  Hengrui’s body where it lay. Tears cascaded from her cheeks.

Behind them, the Japanese had set fire to another row of shelters. Gunfire stitched the earth beside them. Gao Yue yanked Lei sideways, but not before she could see the tent to where the fire was spreading. “NOOOO!” she screamed. But Kulan grabbed her from the other side. Together, he and Gao Yue dragged her, legs kicking, heart shattering, as the remaining fighters, refugees with old hunting rifles and stolen pistols, held the line to slow the Japanese advance. 

The smell of blood and flame thickened the air. Children wailed. Mothers screamed. Horses reared and collapsed, riddled with bullets. But through it all, Chengong did not stop.He led them toward the mouth of the ravine, and up the path. 

Lei’s eyes stung. She reached back, one final time toward the burning camp… Where Lijun had still been lying.

But she saw only fire.

And she knew she could not go back.

She could only scream. And so she did… as the last of the refugee tents vanished behind a curtain of smoke and flame.

Lei’s lungs burned. The raw edge of her grief still caught in her throat, but the part of her that had trained, that had fought, that had endured, shoved it down.

She was running ahead now. The children were with Tian-xi. Gao Yue held Chengong’s flank. They were heading east, ducking through a narrow pass that would snake to the high trails. But then Lei skidded to a halt. Kulan wasn’t with them. 

“Kulan?” she called, twisting back.

Tian-xi stopped short. “No! don’t stop! keep moving!”

“Kulan!!” Lei’s voice cracked as she looked back through the mist.  

He was standing a few paces back, still and quiet, like a mountain. “You have to keep going,” he said simply.

Lei stared. “No. Don’t do this.”

Kulan looked toward the fire rising beyond the ridge. “If the boss is really gone, then I’ll go down In the coolest way I can, and Lijun will drink to how awesome it was when I meet him on the other side. If he’s not there yet… maybe he’ll forgive me, when he finds out I tried.”

“You can’t do this Kulan! You ca-”

“Yes I can Ruo Lei, but you can’t.” He turned to her, that same inexpressive expression on his face as always. “You have to go back. Go back to the unit. You’re the only one who is capable of leading them without Lijun, you know that better than anyone else.”

“I can’t…”

“You are the only one who can carry on his dream, and his memory. That's why you’re not allowed to die. Ruo Lei.”

Gao Yue stepped forward, and he and Kulan’s eyes locked. Without words, they exchanged final salutes, and then, Kulan fixed his bayonet to his rifle with one sharp click.

The mist coiled behind him, and he ran in the opposite direction, back towards the enemy.

“C’mon…” Lei said, turning away again. “We have to keep moving forward.” And so, they kept moving… The morning mist had thinned, but smoke still choked the air.

They didn’t hear the soldiers until they were already surrounded.

Half a dozen rifles appeared from the rocks above, bayonets fixed, and then more from behind. Tian-xi grabbed her three youngest children and pressed them to the ground, shielding them with her body, as Chengong stood over them, rifle ready.  Lei turned, already reaching for Cui Cao—

“Don’t shoot!” Gao Yue shouted in accented Japanese. The rifles steadied, aimed now directly at his chest. He raised his hands slowly. “We surrender. Prisoners of war.” He let his rifle fall from his shoulder, and then barked to Chengong to do the same. When Chengong hesitated, one of the Japanese soldiers began shouting. “Do it now!” Gao Yue cried. Drop your rifle! Or do you want your family to die here?!”

Chengong dropped his rifle, and raised his hands…

***

The Japanese marched them back to what was left of the refugee camp, the sky was gold and grey. The fires had burned low. Smoke twisted lazily up toward a dawn that looked too calm. Bodies were scattered among broken carts, burned bedding and scorched tents. The survivors had been rounded into rows, kneeling in the dirt, hands behind their heads. Some whimpered, others cried.

The group was pushed down beside them. Lei was behind Chengong, next to Tian-xi and her younger children. Her fingers trembled where they interlocked behind her head, just out of reach of Cui Cao, still slung across her back.

It didn’t take long.

A soldier walking behind the row paused as he passed her, and his eyes flicked to the hilt of Cui Cao. He stepped closer. Lei stiffened. Then he reached forward. Lei turned sharply. Her voice cracked with instinct. “Don’t touch that.”

He froze.

His eyes landed on her face.

And changed.

Something ugly glimmered there… predatory.

Lei screamed as she tried to get away, but he grabbed her, and wrestled her to the ground. She screamed, and could hear Tian-xi’s daughters screaming next to her, as the soldier grabbed her by the face, and muttered vulgar things. Then he was thrown off of her!

Gao Yue tackled him in a full-bodied slam, mounted the soldier’s chest and began pounding his face with his fists! The soldier’s face was smashed as Gao Yue grunted angrily with each blow, before more soldiers yanked him off, and threw him to the ground.

“YUE!” Lei screamed, as they beat him with rifle butts and bamboo rods, kicked him until he collapsed face-first, then yanked him upright again. His face was blackened and bloodied. One soldier brought a pistol.

Lei fought again. “No! No, no, no—!!” She writhed, screamed. “YUE!!!!” He lifted his head.

His face was barely visible beneath the blood.

But he smiled.

It was small. Barely there. But it was real. Like a candle burning in wind.

Lei’s cry was ripped from her throat the same instant the shot rang out.

The pistol flared.

Gao Yue crumpled.

Lei felt her breath leave her. The silence that followed the gunshot pressed her into the earth. She had fallen forward, her forehead in the dirt, sobbing so hard her ribs ached. Her fingers clutched the soil like it could somehow hold her together. Gao Yue’s blood still steamed on the air.

She barely registered the voice behind her. “You idiot,” the sergeant barked in Japanese, kicking the soldier Gao Yue had beaten. “That’s why we wait until we’ve taken care of the men first!”

Lei lifted her head slowly. The sergeant stormed down the row, stopped in front of Chengong, and grabbed him by the collar. “You’re old enough to hold a rifle,” he spat. “You go first.”

“No!” Tian-xi shrieked. “Not my boy! Please!!” but she too was kicked back to the ground.

Chengong balled his hand into a fist, but looking at his younger brother and sisters, let it fall, as he was hoisted to his feet….

…and then the sky split with sound.

The first burst of machine gun fire hit the edge of the formation like hail! A torrent ripped across the field, and everything erupted. Soldiers screamed and dove to the ground as bullets shredded canvas, tore through crates, and chewed the dirt into clouds. Dozens were hit before they even understood what was happening.

Lei turned, coughing through smoke, and she saw… A man stood in the center of the camp, holding the massive machine gun as if it were only a regular rifle, and firing at anything that moved. A ragged laugh sounded from his throat as the rifle-belt danced and wriggled! He mowed down everything in sight. Lei could barely move. Her hands were trembling as she clutched Cui Cao. Chengong had fallen back beside his mother. Refugees screamed and scattered, running in all directions.

Lei knew that face… It was Lijun’s face. But warped by something she didn’t recognize. His eyes were alight. Wild. Unblinking, and he was laughing… He didn’t see them. He didn’t see anyone. Not Tian-xi, not the children, not Lei herself. He was cutting through the soldiers and civilians  like wheat.

And then the machine gun clattered. Its barrel glowing red, choked with smoke. Spent. Lijun threw the 122 lb gun into the ranks of the Japanese, hitting one directly and killing him instantly as he flew off of his feet! Some of the Japanese shouted in terror.

"Bakemono!"

"It’s a demon—!"

"Run—run!"

Lijun reached down, pulling a gunto from the belt of a fallen officer. He examined it, felt the weight of it in his hands, and then charged. Men fired at him, but he just ran through the smoke, cutting down column after column of them! “Retreat!” a Japanese officer screamed, his face ashen. “It’s not human!!!”

Lijun laughed harder. He rampaged!  He revelled in the bloodshed! Any soldier who was brave enough to charge him, he looked at like a friend bringing him a gift before bestowing upon them the honor of noble death, until the last soldier who hadn’t fled found himself in Lijun's arms. The gunto through his torso, the soldier still tried to kill the monster. Lijun held the wrist that was trying to aim the Nambu pistol at his head, and Lijun allowed him to struggle, and chuckled a little, before ripping off his arm, and then his head.

Chengong watched with awe and horror. Tian-xi held down the heads of the others so that they would not see. They were the only civilians who had not fled. Lijun stood among the corpses, soaked in their blood. The gunto in his hand had been reduced to a jagged strip of steel, nicked and dented from how savagely he had used it. A bullet had settled in his shoulder, at least, one that was visible. More wounds were charred closed, his hands were burnt almost black from holding the Type 92, and jagged cuts along his bare arms left muscles exposed. 

He turned, slowly, his breathing harsh and animal. No more enemies came. The only thing left was firelight and silence.

Then— A flash of movement.

-Clang!-

A polished blade met his from behind.

He staggered half a step, parrying it with unnatural speed, but for the first time since he had woken,  his eyes met hers.

Lei.

Her hands trembled on Cui Cao’s hilt, and her eyes were wide…but not with fear... Hope. She stared into that crazed, blood-caked face, and saw something. Recognition. Memory. Maybe.

He didn’t attack her.

Lei lowered Cui Cao slightly. Her voice was quiet, nearly lost in the wind. “That’s right,” she said gently. “You remember Cui Cao. You remember how we used to spar.” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “You’d fall for my feints, and then I would try not to laugh as you teased yourself over it”

Lijun said nothing. His chest heaved. “I was teaching you the priestess’ dance,” she continued, voice catching. “You just went too deep. That’s all. You’re not gone. I’m here. I waited for you.” She took a cautious step forward, then another. “Everything’s going to be alright now. I’m here, and we’ll go back to your unit together, back to your dream Lijun…” She held out her hand. He didn’t take it. But he didn’t move away either.

Very slowly, tenderly, she took one of his bloodied hands into both of hers. It was almost crisp to the touch. His thumb felt partially melted, and cauterized wounds were covered in other people’s blood, but she held it like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

For a moment, he was still… and then, he laughed. It started as a low chuckle. Then it broke into something manic and high, bursting from his chest like it had nowhere else to go.

Lei’s eyes widened, and before she could react, a hand closed around her throat! She barely had time to gasp before he lifted her off the ground. Her feet kicked in the air, as he looked up at her and laughed. 

This wasn’t Lijun…. not Lijun… not anymore…. These were the last thoughts that went through her head before desperation kicked in. Her lungs screamed. Her hands clawed uselessly at his wrists. Her vision began to blur, and then darken. She couldn’t breathe, and she was blacking out..

A terrible jolt woke her up, right as she was on the cusp of unconsciousness. He threw her, and her body hit the ground hard. For a moment she didn’t move. Her ears rang. The air had fled her lungs. She blinked up at the smoke-thick sky

Cui Cao was gone from her hands… she heard his voice, far away from her…  “I know, Cui Cao…” she whispered. “I’m sorry too… It's my fault, not yours.”

Cui Cao was in Lijun's hand. He swayed as he walked towards her, and raised it, when a gunshot split the air…

A perfect red flower bloomed above Lijun's brow. His head snapped sideways, but he didn’t fall. He turned, slowly, to the source of the sound…

Shihua. Holding an old rifle with both hands. Her eyes wild, her shoulders trembling, mouth set in horror and resolve… she remembered how her father had taught her to shoot… her father whose body lay smoldering on this very field…

She pulled the bolt back.

-BANG!- A shot to the chest.

Lijun took a step forward. 

She pulled back the bolt and fired again! -BANG!- Into the neck.

Still, he walked forward. 

-BANG!- A second bullet shot into his head, and he twitched, and staggered, but still moved forward. 

Shihua fell back into a seating position as she desperately pulled back the bolt, but the chamber was empty. She prayed aloud through desperate tears as her hands searched for another cartridge, anywhere, but Lijun had already begun to stagger back. He fell backwards and convulsed as his urge to kill fought with his dying brain, and then he was still… His smile vanished, and the hunger left his eyes… he almost looked peaceful.

Shihua collapsed. The rifle slipped from her hands. “I didn’t want to,” she sobbed. “I didn’t want to. He was…”

Lei crawled to her. Her hands reached out, and she pulled the girl into her arms, cradling her against her chest. Shihua’s sobs shook both of them. “I’m sorry Lei!” Shihua cried. “I’m sorry!”

It took Lei what felt like an eternity before she could get her words out over her sobs. “It’s not your fault Shihua!” she cried. “I taught him the dance even though it was forbidden! It’s my fault. Only mine!”

***

Saya sat rigidly on the edge of the bed. One of the mattress springs which had burst through the lining of the bed had been poking into her for the past half hour. The black pants clung too tightly now, cutting into her waist and thighs in awkward ways that made her feel like she didn’t belong in her own skin. Her white sweater left her upper torso itchy while her exposed lower waste was bitten by the chilly room. She’d already been miserable in it. Now, she barely noticed. Her eyes were wide, and her expression stunned.

Beside her, Ruo Lei had drawn her legs up onto the mattress, arms wrapped tight around them. Her mouth behind her knees. Lei sat perfectly still, although almost rocking back and forth. There was no release from having bled out  those experiences… What had laid dormant, and bubbled up to the surface was palpable, as though those feelings now rested on Lei’s skin itself.

Saya turned her head. Slowly. As if afraid any sudden movement might knock the balance out of the air. Saya had always been petite, but Lei was even smaller, and at this moment, for the first time in their relationship, she truly noticed it. 

Gingerly, she raised a hand, and began moving it  towards Lei’s shoulder. “Lei-sensei, I–”

“I also went a little crazy when it happened to me.” 

Kuzalu’s voice! Both women jolted upright, swords already half-drawn before they turned. Kuzalu was standing in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame. “All men who learn the priest dance do at some point,” He continued. “But if they survive beyond that milestone, they can tap into a world thats…” -He took in a long deep breath as though savoring the experience- “...simply cannot be described…”

Lei moved first. Cui Cao was ready.

Saya wasn’t far behind. Her blade rang as it cleared the sheath, her knuckles white, and her face brimming with anger.

She hissed the words like she was ready to kill:

“Where is Yukio?”

Chapter Text

The car crawled through the haze of Beijing traffic, surrounded by choking exhaust and the occasional honk from a bicycle or truck that wove too close. In the backseat, Lei and Saya sat shoulder to shoulder, silent. Kuzalu drove without speaking, a bandana wrapped over his dome, an unlit pipe dangling from his mouth.

Lei curled into herself beside the window, staring blankly at the street. Saya sat beside her, shifting awkwardly in clothes that still felt too tight. But soon she hardly noticed; her attention was on Lei, on watching and thinking, slowly realizing the weight of what she’d been given.

She had never truly considered how her mentor had suffered, or how vulnerable she truly was. How even the greatest Shénwu swordsman was helpless amid wars waged by men with guns… How a girl’s heart, even when shielded by discipline, could love someone enough to break the taboo… enough to make a mistake and pay a steep price for it.

Saya’s fingers gripped her sleeve, white knuckles pressing against her side. Her throat tightened—not just from the words Lei had spoken, but from what they implied.

“Lei-sensei, I… I had no idea…”

“About what, Saya?” Lei asked without moving. “We’re past that point now.”

“Lei, please… I know you’ve carried this for a long time, but you need to know it wasn’t your fault. You had good reason to doubt the rules of the Shénwu, and Lijun… he chose it for himself, didn’t he?” Saya felt a pang as the words left her lips. She had never met Lijun, but the kind of man worthy of being loved by someone like Lei… and how it ended… Something hot began to build behind her eyes.

“You’re right,” Lei whispered. “I thought the Shénwu elders were stupid, and that their rules were stupid, so I broke the most serious one, and I paid for it in lives. That was over twenty years ago. I buried it for so long that I failed to let you learn from my mistake.”

Saya drew a deep, shuddering breath, trying to push the thought away. She forced herself to focus on Yukio’s face, that soft, innocent, childlike face. “Why did I do it, Lei?” she said, tears starting to slip. “Why did I teach it to him? Will he really be stronger? Even you couldn’t stop those things from happening…” She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and looked at the ceiling of the car. “…and when the next war comes, he’ll still be powerless… maybe he can fight demons, maybe he can save people… but…”

Yukio’s first words to her replayed in her mind: “I knew you were someone who fights them and saves people. I could tell, back at the orphanage.” He had wanted to learn the dance to help others… That selfless boy…

“What if I already did it? What if I already ruined him? I thought I was giving him hope… but what if all I did was…” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard.

“It’s not too late, Saya,” Lei said, finally turning to face her. “You never let yourself go as deep as I did. You didn’t push him to. You’re still standing on the edge of the cliff, Saya, and you’re holding his hand. My mistake with Lijun was that I recklessly jumped and pulled him with me.”

“It’s in his nature,” Kuzalu said for the first time since they’d entered the car. “Whether he dies like Lijun did, or lives like I did, he will go over that cliff—with or without you.”

Saya tensed, pressing a palm over her eyes. She tried to force the thoughts away, but they clung. A single choked sob escaped her, then a low, involuntary cry. Her lips quivered, ready to curse Kuzalu, but she swallowed the words along with her tears.

Ruo Lei took her by the shoulders and guided her in. Saya yielded, hiding her face in Lei’s embrace. Lei held her protectively, quiet and steady, until the sound of it came from Kuzalu—the faintest, cruelest giggle.

Lei’s eyes snapped to the back of Kuzalu’s head, brimming with anger. She said nothing, letting her silent fury mark the tension in the car.

***

The car gave a soft jolt as Kuzalu yanked up the handbrake and shoved the door open with one boot. He climbed out without a word. The door slammed shut behind him. Lei’s gaze drifted to the window.

Through the blur of condensation and smog, she saw it clearly.

The gate.

The red banner with its bold characters. The PLA Academy of Military Sciences.

Her spine stiffened. “This place…” She leaned slightly, watching as Kuzalu strode forward.. A young soldier at the gate said something sharply. Kuzalu flashed an ID and waved lazily toward the car. A moment later, the soldier stepped aside. Lei’s eyes narrowed. “So, he wasn’t just screwing with us.” 

Kuzalu disappeared into the building. The car was quiet again. Only the sound of Saya’s trembling breath, and the idle click of the engine cooling. Then an officer stepped out of the gate, exchanging a salute with the sentry, and gently pushing the back of a boy as he exited forth.

He was Yukio, wearing clean, neatly pressed clothes. A light-blue button down shirt, navy blue dress pants, and dress shoes. A cylindrical case was slung over his shoulder, and a thick, brown envelope was tucked under his right arm. His pace was tentative, like someone who wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be here. Lei blinked, and sat up straighter. Her hand touched Saya’s back. “Saya,” she whispered. “He’s here.”

Saya’s head snapped up. Relief and dread crashing through her system at the same time. Her red-rimmed eyes widened, and she sat up, still half-draped across Lei’s side. She wiped at her face, frantically now, using both sleeves, her hands, even tugging at the too-tight collar of her shrunken sweater. “Damnit.” She whispered hoarsely, her voice ragged. “He shouldn’t see me like this,” she muttered, trying to fold herself below the window, as if that would erase the last hour.

Lei was still blinking the fog of her own emotions away. Gently, without a word, she reached up and tucked a lock of Saya’s hair behind her ear.

Saya flinched, not because she was startled, but because she suddenly realized how it might look. Her face burned hotter. The wiping at her cheeks became more frantic.

“It’s not like that,” she muttered, eyes downcast. Her voice was guarded. “He’s… just a little brother to me.” She stopped. Her throat tightened, and eyes widened as she realized what she had just said. 

Even Lei looked stunned for a moment, but she then gave Saya a gentle smile. “You look better already.” The two women stepped out of the car from either side and shut the doors hastily behind them, just as Yukio arrived. Saya turned to him immediately. Her eyes were red, and her face was still puffy. Her bangs were matted to her brow.

Yukio did a double take when he saw Saya’s face, but misread her expression, and his eyes turned away before he could read any further. “Are you… mad at me?” He asked quietly. Saya blinked. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. It was such a painfully innocent thing to say, so far removed from everything that had just happened, that she almost laughed.

“We’re not mad at you, Yukio,” Lei said calmly. “Saya and I are both relieved to see that you’re safe.” Saya meanwhile, was concentrating on relaxing her facial muscles, so that they would be as close to normal as possible when Yukio looked at her again. 

To her relief, Kuzalu exited back through the gate before that could happen, and motioned to them to follow him. 

“I’m sorry I went with him without telling you guys.” He turned to Saya. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It's not like we were jumping for joy to go with him either,” Lei said, not taking her eyes off the man for an instant.

“Don’t dawdle, ladies,” Kuzalu now called. “This charade took me a lot of work to set up.”

Lei and Saya exchanged looks, before following, Yukio kept pace right behind them. The air was heavy with urban grit, but quieter within the gated walls of the military science academy. Office blocks of dull concrete surrounded by flowerless landscaping and watchful guards in heavy green uniforms. The red flag atop the central building flapped stiffly, stained from exposure. Kuzalu led them through a long hall where their newspapers had already been “processed” by some faceless administrator willing to accept a forged backstory in exchange for plausible deniability. A single student aide handed Lei and Saya sealed envelopes with their room keys and employment documents.

Once they had passed this threshold, Kuzalu seemed almost giddy. “If we can keep this up, I’m pretty sure they’ll give me tenure. Or a research grant in nerve gas. Maybe both.” Yukio winced at that. Saya looked at Lei, as if to say ‘we can’t possibly trust him’.

“Joking, joking,” Kuzalu said, turning around. “I am now Michael Hanks. Former capitalist pig, former war criminal, current defector, and aid to the revolution.” He then pointed to the right. “Quarters are in the auxiliary wing. You two–” he said pointing to Lei and Saya simultaneously, “get to share a room. You had no idea how hard it was to get you girls a double when these people consider a tiny room with less than seven people to be ‘wasteful’. You’re welcome.”

Lei’s expression remained stony, and Saya mirrored her’s. “You miss Lei, are assigned as my secretary.” He said, “and Saya, my typist. You’ll both have to work of course. Clock in, look busy. Be sure to misfile something once in a while for authenticity. But whenever you’re not keeping up appearances, the city is yours to roam. No one, not the red guard, or anyone else will dare mess with you. You can hunt monsters and search for bad guys to your heart's content.” 

He then turned to Yukio, and slapped the boy on the shoulder, nearly making him drop his files. “And you, my boy, are a very convincing prop. They loved the backstory: the yankee dogs burned your village, and now you’re here as living proof that I’ve seen the light. You have the least work out of anyone here. Just stick close to me, and don’t step on anyone’s toes.”

Saya’s right eye twitched, but she said nothing. Then Lei spoke up. “So that’s why you insisted on taking Yukio ahead of us.” She surmised. “You needed to use him in order to complete this set up. You probably didn’t get your clearance until this very morning. How careless.” 

Kuzalu gave her a wry smile. “What If I told you that I know exactly what I’m doing?”

With that, he took Yukio by the hand, and led him away. Saya clenched her teeth, and almost opened her mouth to say something— to shout something even, but Lei grabbed her hand gently as if to stop her.

“Lei-sensei, If we leave Yukio with that… thing then…”

“You have to remain calm, and have faith, Saya,” Lei said firmly. “You have to believe in Yukio, as I have chosen to do.” 

Saya gasped, and looked down at Lei incredulously. Then she relaxed…. No one could have described how greatly those words calmed her in that moment.

***

Their shared quarters were more like concrete cells with desks and stiff cots, but they were clean. On top of Saya’s mattress, was a new uniform. Navy pants with a tucked blouse, and a typewriter key insignia stitched above the breast pocket, and an armband that read “assistant”. There was also a matching skirt neatly folded next to it, and a PLA-style cap. It was light and breathable, and far less humiliating than the stretched sweater she still wore.

Lei’s ensemble, folded out on the bed next to Saya’s, signaled a slightly higher rank (despite the lack of insignia). A crisp white blouse with modest shoulder pads, a high-waisted navy pencil skirt, and a small armband that identified her as “Office Staff.” A pair of low heels stood at the foot of the bed. 

They both changed quietly. Saya sat at her desk, buttoning the last clasp with steady hands. “I don’t trust him,” she said softly. 

Lei, still standing with her back to the door, adjusted her collar. “I know. But for now, we need him. Tian-xi can’t return to her home, and her life might be in danger.”

“Because of me—”

“Because of Zhi Zhen,” Lei cut her off firmly. “But if we can use this place as our base, Zhi Zhen won’t dare to attack us. This is a Chinese government institution, and if she, or anyone from that cult attacks this place…” Lei sighed, as though merely explaining why working with such a man was necessary, exhausted her.

“I understand,” Saya said. “Zhi Zhen can’t reach us here, because if she even tries, the state will come down on her hard. Her cult will be proscribed, and everything she has built will be scattered into the wind. And with these new roles, we are state employees. It's just as Kuzalu said. We can do our job without anyone harassing us.”

Lei heaved a sigh as she plopped onto her bed next to Cui Cao. She opened her file as if to make double sure. “On this new ID I’ve been given, my name is still Ruo Lei. What does yours say, Saya? Surely not your real Japanese name?”

Saya opened hers, and took out the papers carefully. The scrutinizing look on her face then broke into a light, ironic smile.

“That's new” Lei said, leaning forward with piqued curiosity. “What does it say?”

“Ruo Sha,” Saya answered. “You and I could be sisters.”

Lei let out an exasperated sigh as she began to lean back. “I guess Kuzalu likes to keep things simple,” she breathed softly as she collapsed onto her cot.

“Yeah,” Saya agreed. The truth was, this was no time for jokes afterall. 

There was a pause.

“We’ll get Yukio out. When this is over.” Saya declared.

Lei nodded. “I will definitely make sure that you get him back home safely Saya. I swear it.” 

Saya looked down, and then her face darkened as a realization came to her. She stood up. “Kuzalu isn’t the only one who can take advantage of this place. Wait here, Lei Sensei.” Saya bolted out of the room and strode down the corridor, out of the barracks, and into the office buildings, until she found an empty room in the administrative wing that suited her needs.

She looked around once, then stepped in and shut the small glass door behind her. The sound outside dulled immediately. A thin layer of dust coated the receiver. She lifted it and rotated the dial—

One ring, two… four… seven. On the tenth, the click of a receiver being lifted. A man's voice, half-asleep, half-suspicious: “Yeah?

Saya’s mouth barely formed the first syllable. “Da—”

“Saya!” David’s voice sharpened, the hesitation gone. “I thought I already told you I can’t help anymore.”

“I’m at the PLA Academy of Military Sciences,” she said evenly.

Silence stretched thin across the line.

Then David exhaled. “The actual Institution? The one in Beijing? That one that's the Chinese West Point, Annapolis, USAFA, and Pentagon in one basket? The one that our intelligence would kill to have inside men in?”

Saya cut to the chase rather than stop to confirm what David had incredulously said. “I'm not asking you for money or anything like that,” she said, “but since you're under investigation, you should be able to collect documents that may help you for your defense, right? That means you might have access to internal documents. I want you to use it.”

David’s tone dropped, cautious. “Saya, if you’re at that institution, the bureau might—”

“I’ve caused you enough trouble already,” she said, cutting him off flatly. “I know that. But this isn’t about me. Just find me anything you can on a man called ‘Kuzalu.’ I believe Paul Finch knows who he is. Whatever Finch has, whatever the Agency has, find it. Then get it to me.”

The line went quiet.

A chair creaked faintly on the other end. David spoke, lower now. “I’ll do what I can.” There was another pause. Long enough for Saya to consider how the raspiness in her voice might be interpreted by David. She considered saying nothing else, knowing that he was probably already worried about her.

But she did. 

“Thank you, David… for everything.” She didn’t wait for his answer.

The line clicked as she gently placed the receiver back on the hook. Then she stood there for a moment, her reflection faintly visible in the dusty glass. Her eyes were still a bit red, and her cheeks still puffy from how much she had been crying earlier. But her face was still there… those eyes… those lips… that mouth. Would anyone ever guess by looking at them what she had experienced? Would anyone look at her and know her true story?

Yet, here she was… That pretty, youthful face of hers now served a purpose, now when she needed to hide who she truly was and what it was she needed to do. She straightened her blouse, adjusted the typist’s pin, and let out a deep breath. Then she turned, and walked back down the hallway.

Chapter Text

Mid July, 1967.

Yukio stood in the long corridor behind the stage, hemmed in by heavy red curtains that smelled of dust and lacquer. Harsh, fluorescent lights hummed overhead. His palms were damp but he had already wiped them against his new pants so many times that Kuzalu scolded him for getting them wrinkled.

In the opening through the curtains, Yukio saw very little of the stage, but heard the auditorium roar with sound. The coughing and shuffling alone from the people in attendance alone was suffocating. There must have been at least a thousand in attendance. He jolted as Kuzalu put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do fine my boy. Try to listen as the Commandant speaks. See what Mandarin you can pick up, it will be useful.” 

Yukio didn’t know why, but these words from Kuzalu did put him a bit at ease… the fact that he was being asked to learn, seemed to lessen his suspicions… but only a bit. The thunderous applause made him jolt, but then he looked forward, as the Commandant began to speak. His military uniform was a blur to Yukio, and he understood very little of what was said, only the words “soldier… enemy… criminal… ally…” and he understood the name “Michael Hanks,” the fake name Kuzalu was now using.  

There was more applause when he was introduced, and the speaker gestured backstage with his hand. “Just sit tight, and don’t fall apart, and don’t run off, and come on stage when I give you your cue.”

Yukio tried to answer that he understood, but all his mouth could do was gulp. His mouth and throat were so dry, he felt as though all of the moisture in his body had gone to his bladder. Kuzalu, wearing a GI’s jungle fatigues, stepped out slowly onto the stage. Yukio could not hear the sounds of his boots against the floor over the crowd’s, but he could feel their vibrations. He squeezed his sweat-tinged eyes shut.

Michael Hanks began to speak. His Mandarin was heavily accented, but very clear. His speech was slow, and solemn, but matter-of-factual. He spoke like a man too old and too tired to lie. But of course, every word was a lie. Yukio could hear how he wove a narrative. How each line built off the last with gentle rhythm. At first measured. Honest. A soft beginning. Then rising. He caught fragments, mispronounced names of battles he had clearly not fought. References to atrocities that no one could verify. The phrase “moral clarity” in Mandarin, which Kuzalu repeated like a refrain, until Michael Hank’s raised his hands to the sky, and spoke with fervor. “I have seen both… and I have chosen…”. The ovation became deafening, and then, Yukio felt a handler roughly prod his back.

He opened his eyes, and saw that Kuzalu was gesturing to him. “Run!” his instincts screamed, “Get away!” but he couldn’t. The effort to move his right foot forward seemed to wake his body, as though it had been in a state of rest, and then his left foot followed. The stage lights blinded him for a moment. The warmth of them pressed against his face. He squinted, swallowing down the urge to shrink…

The cheers began to rise.

Yukio’s eyes widened. The noise crashed over him like a wave. People were standing. Clapping, several cadets were crying, actually crying….

Yukio didn’t wave. He didn’t bow. He just stood there.

“What do they think I am?”

Beside him, Kuzalu stood quietly, soaking in the adoration as if it were his own. Yukio nervously glanced over to him… Kuzalu’s face had that look of satisfaction of someone who had meticulously set every domino in place, and watched them fall beautifully. This was the moment he had built up to. Yukio knew now… He wasn’t a person here.

He was the proof… He was the broken, rescued boy, whose courage and struggle had helped the war criminal, Michael Hanks see the light. He was the storybook victim and survivor… the prop in a lie… and he wondered if it had even been necessary. 

He knew that Kuzalu had already infiltrated the elite corps of the American army, and had been to Vietnam… He could have used any of those receipts to convince the Chinese revolutionaries that he was useful to them, and yet, he brought Yukio instead. “Why?” he wanted to ask. “Is it to shame me?”

He wanted to vanish.

He wanted his sword. He wanted Saya… he wanted to be back in Japan. He wished that he had never had to leave his home in the first place… that he still lived in his modest home in the mountains with his Mom, and his Dad. Sora and his parents might have even lived nearby. 

Yukio’s eyes burned, the sting crawling up unbidden. He blinked hard, but one tear escaped, tracing a hot line down his cheek. Then another. He hadn’t meant to cry. Hadn’t even felt it coming. But the suffocating weight of the stage lights, the thousands of eyes drilling into him, the unbearable shame… everything cracked open inside.

The crowd exploded!

A surge of cheering and clapping rolled through the auditorium, swelling to a roar that drowned out all reason. Faces shone with tears of their own, shouting, clapping harder, desperate to believe the broken boy on stage had finally found peace, had finally surrendered to the cause.

A pair of hands grabbed him, and Kuzalu lifted Yukio into his arms, carrying him off the stage like a fragile trophy. Yukio buried his face deep into the crook of Kuzalu’s neck, desperate to hide his face. The Commandant then took over at the podium, and concluded the ceremony— “Comrades, behold the proof that even the children of war can see the light of our cause!” The crowd’s noise dimmed as the curtains swallowed them. 

Once they were behind the curtains and out of earshot, Kuzalu’s began to chuckle. “That was a brilliant touch Yukio!” He cried, lifting him up, holding him high above his head. “Those tears! I couldn’t have planned it better myself! You’re a natural!”

In Yukio’s mind, he kicked that smile off of Kuzalu’s face! His foot connected with the side of his face that hadn’t already been slashed by the Chiropteran! And shut him up!

But his body stayed still.

Not yet…

***

Yukio waited outside the Commandant’s office. His legs hung on the wooden bench where he sat, his hands balled into fists in his lap. Behind that door, Kuzalu’s voice murmured in calm Mandarin, occasionally joined by the Commandant’s. Then a third, more clipped and nasal. They spoke without tension. No one raised their voice.

Yukio stared straight ahead. He reached behind, and put his hand underneath the back of his shirt collar. No one would have noticed the bulge hidden by his long hair… He silently prayed that no one heard him undo the tapes, and then retrieved a small, black handheld tape recorder.

He turned it on and slipped it between his legs, the mic angled up.

The red indicator light flicked on.

Yukio didn't blink. He listened and waited. He wasn’t worried about getting caught, he had grown accustomed to how arrogant men like this were when they talked like this. All he had to do was listen…

***

Through the noisy, crowded streets of Beijing, Saya and Lei walked side by side. Just two office girls carrying cylindrical cases. Nobody would care, and if anyone had any suspicions about what they were carrying, they would have kept it to themselves. Their armbands signified that they were employees of the state, and the state never employed spies or traitors.

On the stone steps of a former district library, a crowd had gathered. Red banners fluttered all around, and chants filled the air. The same Mantra; “Revolution is Innocent! Rebellion is justified!” 

The scene that followed was the same as had been witnessed in Beijing on a daily basis. A group of unfortunate elders were placed on their knees, heads bowed, and arms held up in the posture of guilt. A young man in a red guard’s uniform… a boy really, probably the same age as Yukio, shouted obscenities at them while his older comrades poked them with bamboo sticks. 

The humiliation ritual continued until their victims began spewing forth the most contrived, ridiculous, and unbelievable confessions. The exception was one man, who proclaimed. “I have nothing to confess. I am not a traitor, I am a farmer.”

“Liar!” cried one of the guards, who hit him on the head with his bamboo stick. He fell to the ground, and blood pooled around his head. “Get up! Get up!” Some of the teenagers cried, as a group of girls marched forward from the crowd, each carrying a red book. They formed a circle around the incident, and began to dance as they sang—

Pick up a pen, and use it as a weapon,

Concentrate firepower on the capitalist gangsters,

The revolutionary teachers and students revolt together,

And The Cultural revolution becomes the leader…

By the time the girls cleared away, the victims had been cleared away as well. The teen who had struck the older man had thrown down his bamboo stick, and was now holding out his red book as he led in the chants. “Long live Chairman Mao!”

“Long live Chairman Mao!” echoed the crowd.

“Death to the Four Olds!”

“Death to the Four Olds!” shrieked the crowd. 

The crowd continued to chant,while Lei and Saya watched from a safe distance. “The four olds…” Lei whispered. “The old ideas, the old culture, the old customs and practices of this land… destroyed at the hands of children who weren’t alive to see how hard the previous generation fought to defend them…”

She paused, as though letting the tension from the words she had just released fade away before returning focus to their mission. “That's the one,” she said, motioning to the red guardsmen who had swung the bamboo. “That's the Yaoguai.”

“He’s too lucid and intelligent to be one of the new ones,” Saya replied. “He’s one of the weaker ones, enough for me to handle. You needn’t worry about him, Lei-sensei.”

Lei hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether or not to approve, before giving Saya a nod. “I’ll keep gathering intel. Meet me at the secondary access point when you’re finished, and we’ll head back to our HQ together.” Saya nodded back, and Lei turned to go her separate way, before pausing. The shouts and sounds of feet stamping on stove pavement still reverberated throughout the street. “...And be careful Saya,” she said, turning around. Saya gave one final nod.

*** 

Saya followed at a distance. Her target was constantly flanked by comrades, but she knew it would be alone eventually. Even if it wasn’t feeding today, she knew it would eventually be alone. Back in Tokyo, she could stalk her targets for days if necessary. Beijing was new territory, but practice had made perfect.

Presently, he spoke softly to a small group of other Red Guards, then disappeared inside a Ministry annex. Saya waited…

Hours passed…

Shadows shifted along the buildings, lengthening. A shift change came and went. The boy emerged again. This time, he was alone. Saya trailed him through narrow alleys, past outdoor kitchen stalls and rows of mopeds. Her steps were silent. Her presence, erased.

At last, he turned into an empty corridor behind what looked like an abandoned post office. The buildings here were in disrepair. There were roof tiles missing, the windows darkened. A train whistle moaned in the distance.

It was time. “Normally, I cut your kind down as quickly as I can to avoid struggle, before you can transform, if possible, but… ” The memory of her powerlessness against the newly bred versions remained burned in her memory, and now played in her mind… The way it had held her by the wrist and dangled her in the air.. The feeling of her skull hitting the concrete… 

She stepped forward, her hand now fully on the hilt. “...I think I could use the practice” She drew her blade and held it ready as she crouched low into battle stance– the steel shimmered faintly in the twilight air. “Why don’t you go ahead and transform?”.

The target’s face remained impassive. He remained still, with his hands folded behind his back. “Are you crazy girl? I could have you arrested, you know? State employee or not, having that sword, and threatening a red guard with it, are both capital offenses.”

Saya said nothing… This one was cautious. They often were… under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have waited… but these were not normal circumstances.

She relaxed her stance, and held up her left hand. She turned her sword, and drew the edge of her blade across her own palm. A red line bloomed. Her blood spilled, slow and thick, down her wrist… that priestess’ blood that was so sweet to the monsters she hunted.

The change in him was immediate. His eyes flashed yellow and his mouth broke into a wide smile that revealed sharp fangs instead of human teeth. By the time he had transformed, Saya was already back in her battle stance. 

It lunged.

Saya moved, but not fast enough. A jolt of pain tore through her left thigh as her injured leg planted too hard. Fast as she healed, she was still not fully recovered from the last attack, and her left femur still hurt the worse. She staggered half a step.

The monster’s claw missed, but only barely.

She twisted sideways and dropped to the pavement, kicking upward with her good leg to push off. Her sword flashed. The cut she aimed at its shoulder went shallow. It shrieked, pivoting, but it was already salivating from the smell of her blood. Saya let the beast overextend. She twisted her hips, gritted her teeth, and drove herself upward, blade rising in a clean arc. Her scream was barely more than breath:

“Haaaaa—!”

The steel met flesh and bone.

The slash landed true.

Clean through its midsection, from hip to hip. 

For a moment, its body remained upright, suspended in shock…

Then the top half slid from the bottom.

The torso hit the wall with a wet thump. The legs collapsed beneath it.

Saya held her stance for a full five seconds more, letting her shoulders fall only once she was certain it was dead.

She stood straight, chest rising and falling. Her thigh still throbbed. Her palm still bled.

But she did not fall… Then she realized… her uniform was stained not only with her  blood, but her entire back was warm and wet from the spatter of the monster’s blood. 

She cursed under her breath. She was back… but she needed a change of clothes before anyone saw…

***

The last bus of the night hummed down the road, while Lei and Saya stood in the aisle, holding onto the straphangers. Lei still wore her crisp office uniform. A white blouse tucked neatly into her blue pencil skirt, heels crossed modestly at the ankle. Her armband sat cleanly on her sleeve. She looked like what she was supposed to be: a loyal civil servant, returning late from a long day at the Ministry.

Saya didn’t match.

After getting her work clothes spattered in blood, her new, hastily-assembled attire consisted of a mismatched top and bottom half. A top of pale blue cheongsam fabric with a high Mandarin collar and short, cuffed sleeves, like an old woman’s dinner outfit… And a bottom that was made up of a skirt that didn’t quite sit right on her frame. 

They got a few looks. One from a soldier who glanced up twice from behind a newspaper. Another from a girl in uniform, probably no older than sixteen, who frowned in disapproval before returning to her pamphlet. But Lei didn’t watch the others, she watched Saya, more precisely, she watched her left hand that was hanging at her side. It was  bandaged in gauze… she had been reckless…

The city passed in a blur. Neon signs. Dark alleyways. The occasional burst of firecrackers in the distance. Behind them, the day’s revolutionaries had either gone to bed or disappeared into basements to write manifestos by candlelight.

When the bus stopped near the edge of the academy, both women stepped off into the warm night air, and walked side by side to the gate. The guard stationed there looked to be a greenhorn of about eighteen or nineteen. He took their IDs when they presented them, but eyed Saya curiously.

“I slipped in a puddle of slime,” she lied (although the irritation in her voice was authentic.) “I have my uniform in this bag,” she said gesturing to the bag on her shoulder, “But I couldn’t wear it back, so I had to throw something together from what I could find.”

The boy’s face twitched. He stifled a laugh behind his hand. “Yeah… I definitely believe it, you stink.”

Saya’s fingers curled slightly at her side.

Lei stepped forward, her face neutral, and flashed their papers. The guard nodded, still smirking, and waved them through.

“Go wash up,” he called after Saya. “Seriously.” Saya didn’t turn around. She kept walking, shoulders square, and fuming that she couldn’t punch him in the gut.

Once they were past the gate, the crickets began to sound, and Saya still fumed. “You know, he’s just a kid-soldier,” Lei said, her mouth twitching cautiously. “Sentry work is the most boring job a soldier can be given. You probably made his night.”

Saya exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Give it a rest already, Lei.”

Lei didn’t respond. But the smile was still there as they entered their building, and turned the hall together towards their room. When they reached the end of the corridor, Lei pushed the door open, and froze. Saya nearly bumped into her from behind. Then she saw it too. Yukio was sitting cross-legged on Saya’s cot. 

Saya jolted, and before Yukio could speak, Saya spoke first. “Don’t you dare say anything about my clothes!” She threw the canvas bag to the floor. It hit with a heavy thump, flopping open just enough to show the soaked, half-crumpled shape of her bloodied uniform inside.

Yukio blinked once.”Are you okay?”

“No, and get off my bed.”

Yukio did not need to be told twice. He slid right off as Saya flopped down, and groaned. “Saya slipped in a puddle,” Lei lied.

“I DID NOT!” 

The room fell into stunned silence.

Yukio blinked. Lei froze mid-step. Even the overhead fan seemed to hesitate in its turning. Then, slowly… Lei smiled, and air escaped softly through her nose. It almost sounded like a laugh at Saya’s expense.

“Uggh!” Saya groaned, as she slammed her face into the pillow. 

Yukio blinked incredulously. For the first time in his life, he had zero idea whether or not he was reading the room correctly.

Lei reached up and pulled the pin from her bun. Her hair fell to her shoulders in a smooth, dark sheet. She sighed and flexed her neck once, rolling out the stiffness of the day, and turned to Yukio. Her smile was gone.

“So,” she asked, “how was your day?”

A beat passed. Yukio’s expression shifted. His jaw tensed slightly. His hand brushed the case containing Kasumi, which had been slung over his shoulder the entire time. “That monkey-bastard. He gave a speech… I’m certain it was about the same bullshit story he told us that he was telling them. I knew he wanted to use me as ‘proof that he saw the light’, like I was some hapless kid he felt sorry for or something but… He brought me on stage… There must have been at least a thousand people in that crowd! And he praised me like I was an actor in a play, he’s insane!”

Yukio then took a deep breath, and walked over to Lei’s bed, where he sat down, bringing Kasumi’s case closer to his body. “I know that he isn’t actually insane though,” he said. “He’s capable of deception and manipulation, as well as careful planning. He’s evil, and unhinged, but not completely crazy.” 

Lei flinched slightly when he said that. “He did go insane,” Lei added. “The Shénwu elders taught us, that when a male opens the inner gate, he rampages. Most of the time, they die in the process, but in the cases where they survived, they would burn through that insanity as they fought, leaving mountains of bodies in their wake, until they had reached a calmer state. But what would be left after that, still couldn’t be called ‘sane’. Only a more controlled version of their insanity. That’s what most certainly happened to Kuzalu.”

Yukio looked like he was prepared to be sick. “I’ve already learned the dance, so I could unlock the inner gate at any time…” his head dropped, and his shoulders slumped, as though his thoughts weighed on him more than his words… for a moment, he said nothing else, and then he unfastened the cap of Kasumi’s case, just to feel her hilt with his fingers. “Will I become like he is?”

Lei looked down, and said nothing as she hid her face, but Saya pushed herself up from the pillow, and turned to look Yukio in the eye. “Thats impossible.”

Yukio blinked. “But why is it impossible? You said it yourself Saya, that when a boy learns th—”

“It's impossible for you to become like him,” Saya said, cutting him off. “Because you’re you.” She sat up fully, rubbing the heel of her palm against her still-bandaged hand. “There’s danger in the gate. That’s real. I wasn’t lying when I warned you about that. Opening the gate sends you deep, and the deeper you go, the stronger you get, but if you go too deep, you lose yourself. That's why it’s good to have a physical anchor to the real world. I for example– cannot go as deeply as Lei-sensei, because..”

She paused, and her tone softened…  Lei was in the room with them.

“Sometimes even good men… get pulled under… but I won’t let that happen to you, and neither will Lei-sensei.”

“Kasumi won’t let it happen either,” Lei said, as if to help Saya assuage Yukio’s fears. “What Saya was beginning to say earlier; Is that I can go deeper than her, because I have Cui Cao...” Her small hand brushed softly against his case. “When you know the breathing techniques required to know the dance, it puts you in a state where you feel like you’re floating in a body of warm water, am I right, Yukio?”

Yukio nodded. “This is where you are now,” Lei continued. “But when you open the inner gate, you will suddenly sink. You’ll know when it’s happening, and there will be nothing you can do about it. For some reason, girls have always been able to go back to the surface after that, but not the boys…” the muscles around her lips tensed. “...Once that gate has been opened, we can go deeper into the dance at our own will, but the deeper you go, the colder the water gets. 

Eventually, it no longer feels like water, and you start to lose touch with reality. First you begin to feel a pressure in your ears, and your vision begins to darken. Then, you stop being able to hear or see at all, you lose sense of touch, taste, and even time. It’s also why we priestesses cannot fight for very long. Eventually, we have to ‘come up for air’. But the fact that you know Kasumi’s name, and she knows yours, and the fact that she calls to you, wasn’t something that Saya expected would happen when she first warned you of the risks.”

Lei stopped, as if she was afraid of giving even herself hope. Saya continued for her; “I don’t have a special sword like that, because I wasn’t born into an order like the Shénwu. And yet, you weren’t either, but the fact that you had Kasumi in your family, means that at some point your ancestors knew the dance.” Saya then gave Lei a look, as though she was expecting her to continue.

“When I have gone in deep,” Lei continued, against her better judgement. “Even after I lose my sense of sight, sound, and touch, I can still feel Cui Cao’s hilt in my hand, see him in front of me, and hear him when he calls to me. 

Of course, once I have already gone that deep, I will need to stop very quickly. Even for me, my ability to use the dance is only as strong as the capacity of my lungs. There were times when Cui Cao made me stop, and if he hadn’t I would have died, or seriously hurt myself.”

Yukio blinked. “So… you’re saying I won’t become like Kuzalu because I have Kasumi?” he asked.

“No.” Saya answered definitively.

Mucihiro’s head snapped in her direction. “Then what is it then!? Why is it impossible for me to become like that?”

She looked him straight in the eyes. “Because you asked that question, and it worried you,” Saya said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She crossed her arms and crossed her legs. “You’re a genuinely nice kid Yukio. Kuzalu is a bastard, rotten to his core.”

Lei nodded in approval at those words. “You’re not like him,” Saya continued, “You’re nothing like him. That’s why he used you on that stage. Because no matter how good of a liar he is, he couldn’t sell it without you there. He needed someone with a genuine heart standing by his side.”

Yukio blinked again, but said nothing, as though he wasn’t sure what words would be appropriate. Then he decided on the mission. He reached into his satchel, and pulled out the tape recorder he had kept hidden all day. Lei and Saya’s attention now turned to it. “Kuzalu met with the Commandant, and an officer. Can you translate it?”

“Of course,” Lei answered. “Play it.” Yukio pressed play.

A soft click. Then static, and the muffled sound of men talking through a closed door. 

“We hope you will understand that we expect more than rousing speeches denouncing America from you, Mr. Hanks.”

Yukio’s eyes flicked toward her at the word “Hanks”. Lei kept listening, steady.

“Of course,” Kuzalu’s voice responded, casual, relaxed. “That’s why I am training your men at this university, am I not?”

There was a pause, just long enough for the shape of a grin to be heard in his tone.

“Yes, and we appreciate that,” another man said. “We also agreed to call you by this alias, to protect your family back home, but we are hoping, sir, that you will go public with your denouncements soon.”

The tape hissed for a moment. No reply yet. Just the long silence of a calculating man considering his next move. Yukio looked over to the women.

It was Saya who spoke first, low and sharp. “Of course he doesn’t want to go public.”

Yukio blinked. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know how many names he has used,” Saya said gravely, “but the one he used before this one… he needs that name intact.”

She sat back slowly, her bandaged hand resting on her knee. “Once he gets bored, once he feels like he’s wrung all he can out of the Chinese army, he’ll crawl back into that skin. ‘Michael Hanks,’ ex-American GI, war hero turned pacifist— it’s a clean costume, but he used another name before that. That name would be on his American military records. Thats the costume he was in before this, and he’s not finished wearing it.”

Lei nodded once, lips pressed thin. “That alias is a backdoor.”

Saya rose from her bed in a single resolute motion, and strode over to her desk, preparing the typewriter. “Keep playing the rest of that tape, Yukio. We’ll translate it for you, and we definitely won’t let that bastard do as he pleases. Once we’ve taken down Zhi Zhen, he isn’t leaving this country…”

***

In the quiet hallway, a single light illuminated the dark. The door of Saya and Lei’s room opened, and Yukio stepped out. “Good work today Yukio,” quietly followed him.

Yukio turned around, offered a quiet “Good night,” and let the door close gently behind him. On the way back to his own quarters, he walked slowly. Lei’s words played again in his head…

“Even after I lose my sense of sight, sound, and touch, I can still feel Cui Cao’s hilt in my hand...”

Yukio let his fingers slide across the curve of Kasumi’s case, and felt a warmth answer him. She had been with him before he knew her name. She had waited. And now, she was his.

His hand lingered over the case a moment longer, as though it contained his own heart…

…On another part of the campus, behind the door of an office, all was dark, save for a single streak of sodium-orange light cutting through the blinds. Kuzalu sat slouched in a chair behind his desk, fast asleep. The dark canvas of his uniform hung loose from his frame. His boots were kicked off. An open copy of Propaganda: The Formation of Men’s Attitudes by Jacques Ellul was draped over his face like a fallen curtain, its spine cracked and pages splayed. Though the custodian could not read a word of the English on the cover, it was clear enough to him that Mister Hanks had fallen asleep while reading, and should remain undisturbed.

The silence in the room was complete. No wind. No hum.

No sword.

In his sleep, Kuzalu shifted once.

Then, he whispered aloud— a rasp of a name cracked in half by memory.

“...Enhedu’anna...”

There was no answer.

Only silence.

Chapter Text

The dormitories for the female staff at the PLA Academy housed around 200 people. Nothing stood out about the room in which Lei and Saya now woke up. Both women had always been early risers, and dressed themselves in silence as they prepared for the day. Saya looked down in disapproval at the pin and insignia designating her as a ‘typist’ but said nothing. She envied neither Lei, nor Yukio.

She looked over her shoulder, and saw Lei adjusting her shoulder-pads, and then sliding into her heels. Once they were ready, the two women left their room, and began walking side by side to their stations. Some of the guards recognized them as they passed, and smiled at them. Coworkers greeted them, and then they parted at their junction.

Saya went straight to Michael Hanks’ office, with paper, ink cartridges, and cotton wipes in her typist's satchel. Hanks was already up, standing at the window which overlooked the campus grounds, a mug of coffee in his hand. Saya did not offer any greetings or pleasantries. She got right to work. She sat herself at a desk with a stack of documents to her left, a freshly loaded typewriter in front of her, and Kuzalu’s voice at her side.

“Start with this phrase,” he said in Mandarin, without moving from his place. “Operational fallback procedure for jungle contact.”

Saya’s fingers clacked rapidly over the keys, and the feeling of disgust grew within her as she did. The pages were destined for circulation among the People's Liberation Army’s internal briefing groups— Hank’s or rather— Kuzalu’s supposed war experience would soon become state doctrine. She thought about David, and her part in the betrayal of his homeland… she had to make a constant effort to put those thoughts out of her head….

“Now,” Kuzalu said, reaching for the next file, “let’s discuss how American fire teams were trained to suppress sniper positions.”

Saya stopped working. “Tell me what you’ve found out about Zhi Zhen first.” 

Kuzalu and looked over his shoulder at her with an amused smile. “All in good time Saya.” There was a warning in his tone, and the cut on Saya’s left palm, which was already mostly heeled, opened up again as her fists clenched so tightly that her fingers dug into it. 

She knew that Kuzalu would continue to pursue Zhi Zhen with or without her help, and without it, he would replace her with a more willing typist… her protests would do absolutely nothing but endanger herself, Lei, and Yukio.  “Please continue,” she said.

Kuzalu did not drag the contest out any further than he needed, and continued to speak as Saya transcribed his words… She knew that he was right about one thing… he too had deadlines he had to meet in order to keep up appearances here, but still… did the ends justify the means?

She made a mental note, that as soon as she could, she would help David by showing what she uncovered in China, and then Paul Finch would be the one in hot water instead… he would have deserved it. Saya wondered just how little he knew of what he was getting into when he recruited Kuzalu.

Saya’s break had not come soon enough. She did not wait for Lei as she exited the facility. The air was less polluted than usual today, and the early summer warmth was pleasant as she exited the gate, and walked to the bus stop, her sword hidden in its case over her shoulder.

The bus rolled up, and the doors opened. She got on, and they closed behind her. The bus drove off, and Yukio, was also beginning his day.

He never spoke, and no one asked him to. As he served Tea, the officers either thanked him kindly, or barked orders and insults at him, a behavior which would always be quickly corrected by Michael Hanks, not because he cared for Yukio, but because it kept things simple if Yukio was not abused, the way some of these men would abuse others in his position.  Mr. Hanks had a way with words, body language, and gestures. He would be forceful without being confrontational. 

Presently, Yukio listened as Kuzalu met with a pair of Chinese officers, their voices calm, unhurried, occasionally curious. One of them, Colonel Jian, seemed particularly interested in “Western emotional warfare.” Kuzalu obliged with a full explanation about “how Americans measure battlefield morale loss.” Yukio only understood pieces of it. But he took mental notes. The officers asked too few questions. 

They wanted to believe him.

When Kuzalu wasn’t looking, Yukio would sometimes duck into the outer office where Lei worked and brush past her desk. Without looking up, she’d accept whatever he handed her, and he’d whisper two or three phrases, never more.

“Spoke with Jian. Name came up: Haiphong. Cross-check?”

Lei accepted the folders from Yukio without a word, but her fingers brushed his briefly in quiet thanks. Her expression was unreadable as she turned and made her way back down the corridor, the weight of the documents settling evenly across her forearms.

As she walked, she sorted them by touch and glance—  her day’s office briefings in one stack, Yukio’s information on Kuzalu in another, and the most dangerous set of documents— mapping the presence and spread of Zhi Zhen’s cult, tucked firmly under her thumb….

Once Lei entered her workroom, the mood changed. It was as though she had stepped into a pressure cooker… She nodded once to the senior secretary seated near the door, who was an older woman with her lips curled into a barely concealed sneer. Layers of sweat clung to the walls, Mingling with the ink fumes and glue from cheap, poorly printed pamphlets. The ceiling fan rattled, and the fluorescent bulbs flickered every few seconds as if to remind everyone that nothing here was quite stable. Not the wiring, not the hierarchy, not the air.

Lei walked modestly, with the files held closely to her chest. She sat at her desk, and lowered her eyes the moment she did, as she was expected to do. 

Her seat was in the corner, a place that offered no protection from the noise. If anything– it was a boon. It allowed Lei to hear what was going on, and provided enough cover to observe without being obvious. 

The desk was old, stained with ring marks from tea cups and careless elbows, the finish long gone from years of grinding labor, and already, the room was loud with the sound of keys clacking, pens scratching, and low voices murmuring across desks. “Comrade Ming reported Comrade Lu again,” one woman whispered to another near the window. “Said she folded a corner of the Chairman’s directive pamphlet. How disrespectful”

“She should’ve reported her for being too pretty,” the other said, rolling her eyes. “That’s more dangerous than folded paper these days.” Both laughed, but then quieted when they saw Lei watching. One of them gave a cold, fake smile. “Ah, our little orchid is listening again.”

“I wasn’t,” Lei replied gently, eyes down.

“Oh? I could’ve sworn you had those big ears for something other than decoration.”

They turned away before she could respond, and Lei said nothing. She had learned by now— that the most dangerous currency in this place wasn’t information, it was perception. She’d already been labeled “too quiet,” which could mean she was arrogant, or worse— dissatisfied, and therefore, a counter-revolutionary. 

She wore no makeup, tied her hair into a practical knot, and kept her head bowed more than was necessary. It didn’t help. Every other woman in this room was engaged in an endless and exhausting war to prove they were the most revolutionary. Each one had some story about how their brother denounced a traitor, or how their cousin once shared a bench with Jiang Qing during a revolutionary opera. Lei was capable of deception, but she was not Kuzalu. She had no such stories. So she became the perfect target.

Behind her, a male officer’s boots clomped across the tile. Lei stiffened before he reached her. She knew the rhythm of this one.

Commissar Zhao. A mid-tier cadre with too much time, and too little oversight.

“Little Miss Ruo,” he said, setting a stack of folders down next to her elbow, just far enough away that she had to lean and reach awkwardly for them. His voice was strained with projected power. “Still writing so daintily?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered quietly.

“You ever seen a real battle report?” he asked.

She looked up, meeting his gaze only for a second. “No, sir.”

He snorted. “Of course you haven’t. All you girls ever do is copy memos about latrines and food quotas. That’s why your hands are so soft.” He said, moving his fingers dangerously close to her’s. His voice dropped a half-octave, almost daring her to flinch. “They’ll get rougher if you stay long enough. Maybe that’s when we’ll start trusting your notes.”

Lei made herself calm. This man had no idea the extent of what she had done with those soft hands of hers, and what she was still more than capable of. But she had a goal here, so she bore it. She turned to the cadre with a cautious smile. “I hope I can count on you then, sir… when my handwriting does get rougher.”

Zhao smirked. “You’ll need more than that to make it around here,” he said, letting his eyes wander for a moment too long, but the edge in his voice had dulled. His superior then called him from the hallway, and without a word, he about-faced, and marched to him.

From the back corner of the office came the soft scrape of a stool. Two of the other women were watching. “That one’s learning fast,” one of them muttered just loudly enough.

Lei meanwhile, had returned to her stack of files. Most were routine, resource tallies, inventory logs, revisions to meeting transcripts. She completed them in record time, not because she was fast, but because she knew every shorthand system in the building. She never corrected errors publicly, and never showed she understood the code systems better than the women who had worked here for years.

It was after lunch that she saw it: a single document with no signature and no stamp. It had been mistakenly included in the morning courier packet. She scanned the heading twice before realizing what she was holding.

Subject: Movement Patterns – Suspected Subversive Worship Hubs, Capital Region

Her fingers went cold. It wasn’t labeled as cult activity directly—too dangerous for paper—but the language was unmistakable to her. "Subversive gatherings," "ritualized behavior," "non-sanctioned spiritual phrasing repeated in closed circles." She recognized the pattern. It was Zhi Zhen’s movement, mapped block by block, hidden in euphemisms.

She flipped the page and saw redacted names, community leaders, even a senior PLA wife mentioned in a coded footnote. The file was destined for intelligence review. It wasn’t supposed to be here. She looked around. No one had noticed…

To take the document outright would be suicidal. Someone would eventually realize it was missing, and all eyes would turn to the quiet girl in the corner who didn’t talk to anyone and never gossiped. So instead, she laid a blank memo over the top of the document, carefully aligning it to make a handwritten copy. The priestess dance and opening of the inner gate had enhanced her vision enough that she could see through the blank sheet, and trace the words on the original report with only minimal light. She copied only the necessary names and locations. Not a word more.

Halfway through, a woman slammed a drawer across the room. “Comrade Ruo,” barked the senior secretary near the door, “have you finished the Field Memo retypes?”

“Nearly,” Lei said, pausing only for a second.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” the woman said with narrowed eyes. “That’s never a good sign in this climate.”

“No, Comrade,” Lei replied softly, bowing her head again. “I’m just tired. Not of this work, but due to my own frailty. I will improve.” 

The woman nodded once, then turned away, seemingly satisfied. It took another ten minutes, but Lei finished the copied sheet, rolled it tightly, and slid it into the hollow center of an ink cartridge she had hollowed out weeks earlier. She capped it, locked it in place, and then resumed her regular work.

Only when she exhaled did she realize how shallow her breathing had become. Her fingers trembled faintly, but no one noticed. Later that night, that scroll would go to Saya. It would be encoded and hidden again. It would reach David. It would be ammunition, but before that happened, they met in the office of Michael Hanks.

***

Kuzalu stood before the mapboard, the paper surface rippling slightly from the open window. One hand held the edge of the draped city chart; the other shuffled a red marker between his fingers. Each marking a site referenced in the (carefully massaged) information Lei had given him, which had all passed quietly through Party censorship. Lei and Saya sat side by side in a pair of wooden chairs. Yukio’s legs dangled from where he sat on top of Kuzalu’s desk. Kasumi’s case was placed neatly across it and behind him. 

“Here,” Kuzalu declared, tapping. “Here, here, and here. These are the incidents your information identified, Ruo Lei. Or rather, what was allowed to be recorded. But that report was only on the cult. The Chinese have not made the connection between it, and the deaths. I trust you are all already familiar with the way Chiropteran cover their tracks after feeding. Staging the killings as suicides or stabbings. I don’t imagine things as common and mundane as this end up in your reports, do they miss Ruo?”

 Lei nodded. “Saya also discovered, through her investigating, that the cult does things cleaner to feed the new ones as well.”

“The victims that they are allowed to hunt for themselves are mostly vagrants,” Saya added. “People whose disappearances would go unnoticed, but their appetites are much bigger than the older breeds, so the cultists have also stolen bodies from hospital morgues.”

“Indeed they have,” Kuzalu said, tossing the red marker to Yukio without warning. “The black one lad.” 

Yukio grabbed the black marker from the mug, and tossed it to Kuzalu, who caught it. “The red indicates what the generals here know, and they do know a bit about the vagrants,” he began.

“The yellow marker is his favorite.” Yukio added dryly.

Kuzalu chuckled as he marked the board.  “The blood from Red August is still fresh,” he said with a wolfish longing. “Ninety thousand people were displaced in this city alone, not to mention the closing down of the orphanages and sending those children out on the street, and there is an ever-growing number of that as rivals in the country-side are purged.”

Saya glanced over to Yukio, to see if he was alright. He was calm… but there was still an unmistakable anger in his eyes. He hid it well, but she knew…

“Miss Kinoshita’s information,” Kuzalu continued. “Has found attacks not by the normal Chiropteran, but by the new ones here, here, here, here, here….” he marked the spaces on the map, and there were a lot… “...and here… but sadly, they don’t help us locate the cult.”

“What do you mean?” Yukio asked. 

Saya pointed. “Look at the map Yukio. Look how close they are to the bus routes.”

“It means that Saya is finding them everywhere she looks,” Lei added, “but no pattern. It's—”

 “Too frequent,” Yukio said as he realized it. “We can’t find out where they are coming from, because they are all over the city.”

Kuzalu nodded. “It’s not just in Beijing either.” He flipped the map of the city, showing a regional map. It showed the northern coastline, and just southeast of Beijing, was the port-city of Tianjin. The entire city was circled with the red marker. Lei furrowed her brows. The party had tried to keep that secret, but it seemed Kuzalu knew something else based on her information… 

“This one,” Kuzalu continued, tapping the city with the marker, “was mentioned in your report Miss Ruo, but can you tell me why Zhi Zhen has bothered to recruit so heavily in Tianjin?”

Lei thought back to the story of Saya and Yukio being attacked in their hotel, and how the cultist left the country so easily. “It’s to control a terminal,” she answered. “So that they can move members of supplies in and out of this country’s port without-” 

“You are missing the forest for the trees my dear girl,” Kuzalu interrupted. “Also, don’t give me that look. I’m old enough to be your father, I can call you ‘girl’ if I please.”

“Just what is the point!?” Saya’s exasperated tone rushed him along.

“Ahhh, youth,” Kuzalu sighed. “Always hurrying. The point, Miss Kinoshita, is that this cell in Beijing is not an isolated root. It’s a rhizome. You pull it here, it grows in Tianjin. Pull it in Tianjin, it resurfaces in the Hebei countryside. Yellow!”

Yukio immediately tossed Kuzalu the yellow marker, which he uncapped, and circled Tianjin twice. “This is how cults work. You have a good mind for strategy Miss Ruo, you might have missed your calling as a security analyst. But that is not quite how a cult works. What you didn’t account for,” he said, “is the landscape of ideology. The Party has cleared the fields, removed the old gods, but in doing so, they left something worse: empty temples.”

He tossed the marker back to Yukio, and folded his arms. “Do you know what Madame Zhi is doing?” he asked them, his voice low and clear. “She’s not hiding from the Party. She’s feeding off it. The more religious figures they jail, the more she replaces them. A priest executed becomes a martyr. A burned manuscript becomes a secret text. That’s how these cults thrive.”

He turned back to the board, and his hand swept over the map in a grand gesture. “We’re standing in the ruins of a broken belief system, and she’s building a new one inside the cracks.”

“Then what do we do?” Yukio asked flatly. “If Zhi Zhen is the one controlling it, then we can put a stop to it all if we just find her.”

Kuzalu smiled faintly. “Zhi Zhen probably isn’t going to show her face again for a while because of me, (sorry). But we still might not stop the cult by getting rid of her, and at the rate we are going, even finding her is going to take at least another eight months, if not years, and I’ll be stuck in this God-forsaken country until I die of air pollution or boredom.” He sighed. “We have to find the core myth.”

Saya  frowned. “What do you mean, core myth?”

“I mean the story she’s using to make people believe,” Kuzalu answered. He picked up the black marker again and wrote, in large English letters across the top of the map:

“THE SHROUD.”

“A cult is never just an organization,” he said, tapping the word. “It’s a story. A lie people want to believe. If you want to kill a cult, you don’t kill the members. You don’t even kill the leaders.”

He turned, and looked directly at Yukio. “You kill the myth.”

Yukio shifted slightly. “So what do we do?”

Kuzalu grinned a strange, almost boyish grin on his otherwise wolfish face. He turned back to the board and wrote three words under the shroud:

“Fog. Fire. Faith.”

Then, he posed it like a riddle: “What survives in fog, feeds on fear, and dies by fire?”

Yukio furrowed his brows. “What?”

Kuzalu looked over his shoulder. “Cults thrive in fog, my boy. They use tradition as camouflage. If you want to gut Zhi Zhen’s network, you have to find her myths... and burn them out.” Kuzalu’s grin widened. “Now, a farmer does not burn his entire field to flush out one rat, but if this rat is particularly annoying…”

“Watch your next words carefully Kuzalu,” Lei said darkly. 

Kuzalu did not move. His eyes merely shifted to Lei, and his stare was unflinching. “This country might be able to benefit from another-”

“No,” Lei said firmly, rising from her chair, “this country has suffered enough. I will not allow you to light another powder keg, just because you are bored!” In that moment, even though she knew she could not fight him, but there was a silent understanding between them that she would oppose him until her last breath if he crossed that line.

Kuzalu chuckled. “You're right,” he said good-naturedly, “If that were to happen, I might not want to leave China.”

“Sick.” Lei hissed under her breath. She sat back down, with her eyes closed in thought. “The new ones…” she said. “The ‘New Yaoguai’ can’t disguise themselves like those monsters normally do, since they can’t think intelligently, so they have cult members who are normal humans escort them.”

Saya nodded. “But they usually make sure to stay in public areas, where we can’t touch them, but Lei-sensei, what are you suggesting?”

“I am suggesting a plan that you will stay out of, Kuzalu. Saya and I will go into town, find one of these cult members, and find out what the myth is. You won’t have to do anything, just stay here at the academy, and wait until we report back to you.”

Kuzalu’s smile softened. Yukio’s eyes followed him as he walked back around his desk, and dropped into his swivel chair. “You, are going to get that information out of someone?” he mused. 

Lei and Saya exchanged a look. “You underestimate us Kuzalu,” Saya said. “We can—”

“I know you can do it Saya. Finch wasn’t too careful about guarding your file, but you're not going anywhere. I need you to stay right here as my typist.”

Saya’s lips tightened with anger.

“Find. Someone. Else.” She said through gritted teeth. 

Kuzalu smiled as he leaned back further in his chair. “There is no one who I trust more.”

“Do you want to get out of here, or not?” she asked, her voice rising. “Look, I’ll do my duties here as your typist during the day, and then, I’ll go with Lei to get the information we need. You can’t possibly have a problem with that.”

Kuzalu pursed his lips, as if thinking it over, and then said, “against my better judgement, I will trust you two with this. You both go and get some rest.” Without a word, Saya and Lei rose simultaneously, and Yukio hopped off the desk and followed them. 

“Ladies,” he called to them one last time. Saya and Lei turned around. “If you screw this up,” he said with a dark smile, “There will be consequences.” He didn’t need to say more.

Chapter Text

The afternoon July air was heavy with heat and thick with moisture, clinging to skin and hair like a second layer of clothing. The scent of hot pavement, bicycle grease, and low-burning coal fires hung in the air as the sun burned high above Beijing’s skyline as Saya stepped out of the gate. Her clothes were still dry, indicating that she had just changed into them, an off-white short-sleeved tunic which was just loose enough for easy movement, with black pants tucked into canvas ankle boots. The cylinder case slung over her back could’ve passed for an artist’s tool roll or a surveyor’s pole, but it held her sword. Her twin braids were tight, and her ash brown eyes were hard. 

Ruo Lei waited for her at the exit, and the two women began walking hurriedly towards the bus-stop the moment Saya exited the gate. Her hair was tied back in a single braid that bounced over the strap of Cui Cao’s case. “We are getting a late start,” Saya said in a low tone.

“It's not your fault,” Lei said, as the trolleybus  hissed to a stop, and painted metal doors banged open. The two women climbed on board, and paid their fare. “Kuzalu warned us that there would be ‘consequences’ if we failed,” Lei continued as they took their seats, “but he’s made it more difficult for us by keeping you.”

Saya closed her eyes… Kuzalu wanted her there, because he wanted her to see that he was keeping Yukio at his side… Her intuition screamed that should they fail, Yukio would be the first to suffer. Kuzalu wanted her to know that… but she dared not voice those thoughts. 

***

They disembarked at the bus stop that was nearest to their destination, and Lei wrapped her headband over her brow. The sun had slid lower in the sky, but the heat in Beijing had not relented. The air pressed down like a damp wool blanket, suffocating the streets in a haze of humidity and charcoal smoke. There was no breeze, just the stillness of summer swelter and the far-off, sluggish screech of an old streetcar’s brakes.

Saya and Lei moved quietly through the city’s outer wards, their route deliberate. The traffic and buildings thinned, the bustle gave way to broken sidewalks, rusted chain-link fences, and hollowed-out storefronts whose signs had long since been painted over with Party slogans.

The old bus terminal lay just ahead, and like all things ‘old’, it had been ravaged of anything valuable, and then discarded. It was an open, skeletal structure with warped steel beams and cracked concrete. There were no buses, but vagrants still used whatever was left of the building as shelter from the heat, even though the glass from the terminal windows were long gone, and the shade it offered was patchy. 

Men without homes lined the edges of the wall. Some wore caps or army coats so worn the buttons had long since fallen off. Saya and Lei passed by a veteran who was missing a leg and leaned on a rusted shovel-handle. Another man lay curled on a cardboard bed, clutching a faded Buddhist amulet carved from old wood. 

“Some of these men fought in the war.” Lei murmured quietly. “Some of them fought all the way from Jiangxi… marched with frostbite to Yan’an, slept in trenches with lice. And this is where they end up.” The pain was audible in her voice.

“Please focus, Lei-sensei.” Saya’s voice was not unsympathetic, but to Lei, who remembered that same war so much more vividly, the betrayal was much harder to stomach.

She looked over at two men in their early-mid 30s, who would have been teenagers by the end of the civil war, sharing a mattress they had no doubt found together, and one held a sharpened stick in his hand, ready to defend that mattress… one was wearing a cap with the red star of the communists forces, and the other wore a coat of the Kuomintangs… 

enemies who fought on opposing sides, but bled for the same country, 

now discarded together.

Lei looked back toward Saya. “Let’s split up. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

Saya nodded,  "I'll circle through the south side and backtrack through the alleys.”

Lei nodded back. “I’ll sweep the rest of the terminal.”

  “Be careful.”

“You too,” Lei said quietly, and turned down a narrower corridor. The whole place smelled strongly of stale urine and old cooking oil. Somewhere in the distance, someone was weeping. Lei did her best to ignore it.

She saw an old man sitting against the wall, wearing a dirty tunic, and with sun spots on his bald head.  His legs spread out like a child’s, and there was a dullness in his eyes, as though he had already lost his cognitive faculties, but when he looked up at Lei, he smiled an innocent, toothless smile.

She offered him a weak smile in return, and he began to mutter something… a name. Perhaps he mistook her for someone he once knew. The man reached toward her with a trembling, tentative hand, as though she were the vision of someone he had loved and lost. His expression crumpled into something between joy and grief.

Lei approached, and knelt down in front of him, and allowed him to hold her hand, and touch her forearm, still holding that sad smile of hers.

Then his nostrils flared. The warmth in his eyes vanished in an instant. He inhaled deeply again, and his pupils dilated. A grotesque hunger overtook his face. His hand latched onto her arm.

Lei froze. She tried to pull away, but his grip was impossibly strong. 

No old man, no human, could have held her like that. She shifted her weight, twisted her wrist,  her body twisted violently, straining against his grip. Her feet skidded on the dusty ground as she tried to wrench herself free.

Her free hand darted for Cui Cao. But she was too late. His face ripped apart into a new form. A New Yaoguai! It bit down hard, and the highly-craved priestesses’ blood it had smelt— her blood, leaked through its teeth marks. Lei screamed, and from the other side of the terminal, Saya heard it.

She flew towards the sound of Lei’s scream, sword already drawn. She did not stop when she saw it, experience had already prepared her for the monstrous sight before her. She braced her heart for the worse, and did not falter when she saw it greedily drinking Lei’s blood.

It dropped her when it noticed her, and roared, shaking the terminal. Saya slid in low, barely ducking the massive clawed arm that swept down in a blur. The wind of it nearly took her off balance. Her blade sang once— cutting shallow across its ankle, and she sprang back, landing in a crouch, breathing hard.

She remembered the last one… the last New one she had fought. Her legs, ribs, and wrists still ached from the mere memory, but she was here now, and no one was coming to help.

The monster snarled, lowered its head, and lunged.

She dodged again—barely—throwing herself sideways and rolling under its reaching claws. The pavement scraped her elbow raw. She lashed out as she moved, slicing across its back, but the blow was light. Too light.

It turned faster than she expected and backhanded the ground where she’d been crouched a half-second before. Chunks of concrete burst from the impact.

Saya darted in, struck again— a flash of steel across its forearm.

It barely flinched.

The monster came at her in a blur of limbs and bared teeth. She leapt back—cut again—ducked low—stabbed into its shin—and then was forced to retreat as its claws tore a trench in the concrete where she’d just been.

She was fast, but she was straining against her own nerves.

One hit, and she would be done...

Sweat dripped into her eyes. Her arms were already shaking. Her legs burned. She circled, low and light on her feet, keeping just out of reach. She was wearing it down. Shallow wounds now lined its body, not deep enough to kill but enough to slow.

Then it charged.

She didn’t retreat this time.

She lunged forward instead—under the swing of its claw—turned her entire body into the momentum of the strike, raised her arms above her head, and drove the blade with both hands into its gut, just under the rib cage.

A wet, horrible crunch.

Saya twisted the blade hard and yanked it free, leaping back just in time to avoid the convulsion of its claws. The monster stumbled, dropped to one knee, blood cascading from its torso. Its mouth gaped, choking on its own growl.

Then it collapsed, face-first.

 She dropped to her knees beside her teacher’s crumpled form. Lei’s eyes were half-lidded, her breathing shallow. Her braid had come undone, and the streak of blood smeared across her temple stood out against the pale sheen of her sweat-dampened skin.

“Hey.” Saya reached under her arms. “Come on.”

Lei blinked slowly, then winced as Saya pulled her upright. The weight of her sagging body forced Saya to rise to a crouch, then her feet. Lei’s left arm hung limp, but her right reached for Saya’s shoulder, trembling. Her voice was barely audible. “If there were any cultists... hiding here... watching their Yao... they’re gone now. We can’t…”

“Don’t talk,” Saya said quickly. “Save your breath.” She braced Lei’s full weight under one arm and began to walk. Each step was a drag—Lei’s boots scraped and staggered across the broken concrete,  her head drooping more with each step.

Saya could feel the heat of her blood through the fabric of the tunic. The bite wound ran from Lei’s collarbone across her chest, to her sternum. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the monster had drank so much, and Lei’s body so small, that it made Saya quiver.

Every instinct screamed that they were exposed. Open. Alone. But she didn’t look back at the corpse. She didn’t think about cultists or patterns or intelligence. “She needs a hospital.”

The thought hit hard, cutting through her growing dread. She could feel it rising: the pressure, the failure, the weight of Kuzalu’s warning…

“If you screw this up... there will be consequences.”

She could already picture his smirk. Could imagine the casual cruelty of whatever he’d do to her— or Yukio. But she couldn’t afford to think about that now. She tightened her grip on Lei.

They reached the edge of the alley. A cart creaked past in the street, its driver not noticing— or not daring to stop. Saya scanned for a trolley, a bicycle, a phone booth, anything. She spotted a military phone post not far off and grit her teeth.

“Don’t worry, Lei-sensei. You’ll be taken care of. I can face Kuzalu myself.”

Chapter Text

The stairs creaked beneath her as she stumbled downward. Saya’s head was bowed, with a dark hood over it, obscuring her vision. It made her breathing even more difficult than it already was, considering the tape over her mouth. 

Her wrists were taped behind her back, and her fingers were wrapped too, rendering her hands useless. Kuzalu’s hand gripped her upper arm, not harshly, but with that uncanny, effortless strength of his. He guided her as he marched her down the stairs, and then down a hallway. Every time she tried to twist or break free, he adjusted course with only the subtlest correction. It was like trying to escape from a steel cable in the shape of a man. Her canvas boots scuffed across wet concrete. The air grew cooler the farther they descended. She screamed into the gag, muffled and raw. He said nothing.

At last, Kuzalu halted. She heard the rattle of keys, the scrape of metal against a heavy door, and the groan of hinges as something opened. The hood came off. 

Saya’s eyes were wide open, but it didn’t take long for her vision to clear. The pit in her stomach dropped.

The room was subterranean, windowless. Low ceilings. The walls were white, and water leaked from a broken heating tank… and curled in the corner, was Yukio, wearing a blue jacket and black pants, soaked from the damp floor. 

He too had his hands secured behind his back, with tape over his mouth, and his eyes widened in alarm when he saw her. Kuzalu shoved her lightly, and she staggered forward, catching herself on her knees as she hit the wet floor. Her gaze snapped up to him, fury radiating through her narrowed eyes.

Kuzalu leaned against the threshold, and sighed as though he were not angry, but disappointed. "I did warn you, there would be consequences for failure. But don't worry, I am not blaming you for it. I just need you two to be contained here for a while, and then I'll come and let you go when I'm done. I shouldn't be long." 

Saya screamed at him against her gag. Yukio stared at him with absolute fury.

Kuzalu continued; "The one I hold responsible for the failure of this mission, is the one who demanded I allow it in the first place. Based on your report, she's at the Beijing-Wan-Huang hospital on paper-tax street?" Saya's eyes widened with fear and recognition.

Kuzalu’s frown twitched into the faintest of smirks, as he turned and began to close the door behind him. She surged forward, throwing her entire weight at the door, but it had already closed and locked automatically by the time her shoulder slammed into it, pain flaring down her arm. She slumped against it, panting hard through her nose, heart racing… 

She could hear her own rapid breaths ringing in her ears, hanging in the air in front of the tape, as she slowly turned to Yukio. Her wild eyes met his, two pairs of lights flickered across the dimly lit room. She had no idea what he was thinking, but her anger dissipated when she looked into his eyes, now replaced with the shame of being seen here by him… seen in this same pitiful state, unable to save him or even herself… 

She had failed as a teacher… as someone who was meant to guide him… as someone who wanted to protect him… the pace of her breathing became more rapid now, as those memories began to resurface. She shut her eyes again, breathing becoming more rapid, as she fought to keep them down, but to no avail…

She had been the same age as Yukio then…her feet scraped across the church floor as the Padre dragged her and Sekiko, both of them crying helplessly, as he took them outside, to where those vile gangsters were waiting… She remembered the part of her that blamed Sekiko, because she was the older sister, and she had irrationally expected her to be able to protect them both… but she couldn’t… 

Saya remembered the feeling of what they had done to them… the pain… the smell…, She wanted to pray for Lei’s safety, that Lei would be spared whatever Kuzalu was plotting, but in this moment, she couldn’t pray. The image of the cross burned in her mind, and all the pain that came with it rushed back to her. She screamed helplessly into her gag…

***

In the dimly lit, half-empty Beijing-Wan-Huang Hospital, the  night shift had thinned to a skeletal crew. But not all was lethargy and gloominess. There was chuckling as two figures walked side by side. Kuzalu wore the uniform of a cadre from the PLA's foreign asset’s division, but without the austerity. His clothes were pressed impeccably, but he walked with ease, and spoke softly to the young nurse walking beside him. His Mandarin was accented, but the tones were perfect, and he made sure that his accent added extra music. 

“…I used to work in field hospitals,” he said, offering her a sideways glance. “Korea. Vietnam. Once in Nagaland. Never met a nurse who I wouldn’t have rather worked for than my officers.”

The nurse smiled despite herself. She was slim, just past twenty-five, and clearly exhausted. The starched fabric of her uniform was rumpled from long hours, and there were deep circles under her eyes. But for the past few minutes, this strange foreigner had managed to charm her—no small feat on a night like this. “Well,” she whispered, “you’re lucky I didn’t assign you to the surgical ward. You’d be mopping blood until morning.”

Kuzalu chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

She paused outside a low-lit room, glanced at the clipboard mounted beside the door, then pushed it open just enough to slip through. Kuzalu followed her, his boots silent. Dozens of beds lined the room, some occupied by elderly patients snoring softly, others by much younger women, more than a few deeply sedated. 

The nurse tiptoed forward and pointed delicately to the fourth bed from the end. Her voice was a whisper.

“There she is. Lost a lot of blood. Resting. Try not to wake the others?”

Kuzalu nodded. “I’ll be brief.”

“Then I will leave you and Lei with some privacy,” the nurse said with a final nod. She slipped out, letting the door close quietly behind her.

Kuzalu stood still for a long moment. Then he moved forward, hands in his pockets, boots clicking softly over the tile. The woman in the bed lay motionless, face turned away. Her braid spilled neatly over the pillow, and the blanket was pulled up to the neck.

He stopped at her side. No sound from the room. No movement from the bed. But something…

Kuzalu’s expression didn’t change. He tilted his head slightly. Then slowly, he reached out to touch the edge of the sheet… but before he even noticed that the body was a fake, he saw no IVs on the rack, and in that same instant, he felt it.

The faintest pressure. From above.

Lei’s body dropped silently from the rafters above. She had been completely silent and completely still before. She maintained  that control, honed through a lifetime of discipline. 

Her knees locked around Kuzalu’s hips mid-fall. Her left arm came around his collar, and in the same fluid motion, her blade Cui Cao whispered forth, and pressed  lightly—precisely—to the underside of Kuzalu’s jaw.

The weight of her landed without a jolt. A leaf falling onto stone.

“Do not speak,” she murmured, breath warm near his ear. “Do not move. Or Cui Cao  will sever your spine before your teeth even click together.” Kuzalu stood straight.

He did not raise his hands. He did not twitch. His eyes moved first, scanning the mirror across the room, confirming what he already suspected: the body in the bed was no body at all. Just rolled blankets and shaped linen beneath a braid Lei had cut from her own head.

His mouth curved slightly.

“Clever girl,” he said, unbothered.

Lei’s tone didn’t waver. “Walk. Out. Now.”

She dismounted as lightly as she had landed, never lifting the blade from his throat, and nudged him forward with her elbow. He obliged, step by slow step, as they moved silently to the door and slipped into the hallway beyond.

It closed behind them with a faint click…

The hallway outside was silent save for the buzz of overhead lights and the faint hum of an orderly patrolling another part of the hospital. Lei nudged Kuzalu forward, keeping Cui Cao poised at his neck with the precision of a surgeon. Kuzalu walked without resistance.

They walked a short distance to a narrow utility door beside the stairwell— “Open it,” Lei commanded. Kuzalu did so, and she followed him inside, closing the door behind her. “Hands behind you,” she ordered.

He did.

Lei grabbed a length of waxed cord from the shelf, tied his wrists efficiently, double-knotted it with a hard jerk, then stepped back. She leaned against the metallic shelf, catching her breath, Cui Cao still in hand. Kuzalu stretched his shoulders slightly, testing the cords. Then he grinned. “I didn’t think you had-”

“Shut up,” she snapped. But as soon as she did, the light-headedness overtook her. She staggered again and braced herself against the shelf, still raising Cui Cao at him. A long silence passed between them. Lei’s chest rose and fell faster than normal. Sweat glistened at her temples.

“Relax,” Kuzalu said. “You’re in control here. I know when I am beat.”

“Why did you come here?” she asked. “And what have you done with Saya and Yukio?”

“I came here to punish you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I was going to squeeze your IV to wake you up, and then I saw that the IV bag wasn’t on the rack.” He began to chuckle. “You taped your IV bag to your body didn’t you?” —He was dead on, Lei’s IV bag was taped to her upper back, hidden underneath her hospital gown— “and then you cut off your braid, and stuck it to that fake head on the pillow to make that fake body look more real. I have underestimated you Ruo Lei, I no longer want to get rid of you.”

“Answer my question, you jackal, what have you done with Yukio and Saya!?”

“You lose some leverage when you let the desperation in your voice sound like that,” he said. “But don’t worry. Miss Kinoshita and Yukio are safe. I didn’t want them to interfere with what I had come here to do, so I had them contained…”

Lei seethed, and trembled when he said that. “You bastard, what do you mean? What have you done!?”

Kuzalu chuckled. “Well, seeing now that it was unnecessary, I do regret it, but it  wasn’t anything they won't recover from. I tied them up and locked them in a boiler room.”

Lei stared at him incredulously. Her grip on Cui Cao remained firm, but the tremor in her other hand betrayed her. The blood in her ears was pounding… “You're insane…”

“Incomprehensible to you maybe,” he said, lowering his tone, “but I am not insane. I had reason to see you, with your sentimentality as a liability, so the actions I took were—”

“Stop it!” Her grip on Cui Cao remained firm, but her gaze shot downwards. “Stop… trying to justify what you did as if it was in any way rational.” Her words were catalyzed in condemnation. “You’re telling me that you bound and gagged a child!? Yukio is only twelve years old, and he’s been through so much already! How could you put him through that!? And how dare you do that to Saya! She’s already done more than you ever have!” 

“I’ve done more than you know,” Kuzalu said calmly, although for the first time, there was a twinge of anger in his words.

“Oh, I know more than you think,” Lei said, bringing her gaze up again, so that she was looking Kuzalu in the eyes. Her eyes were cold, but angry… dark, lids half-closed, but pupils shrunk and focused. “I know what your kind does when they open the inner gate… at some point Kuzalu, you rampaged. You lost yourself, and killed who-knows-how-many others in the process. But I can’t have any sympathy for what you are now. Tell me where Yukio and Saya are, exactly! Or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

He tilted his head. “I was going to tell you, but now I’m curious. Would you actually kill me if I didn’t?” 

Cui Cao swung at his throat, and Kuzalu leaned back to avoid the blade, but Lei then swung down with practiced prowess and slashed his chest. His uniform began soaking up blood around where it had been cut. 

“That’s  going to require an interesting explanation when we get back to the PLA academy,” he said calmly.

“Do you want to keep testing me?” Lei asked. “Tell me where they are, or I’ll take your head.”

“But my head can’t talk. If you do that, then you’ll have an even harder time finding them, and since I planned to come back soon, I didn’t leave them any food.” 

“Don’t mock me, this is your last warning.” Cui Cao’s tip hovered less than an inch from Kuzalu’s throat again, steady despite the pulsing in her temple. Her breathing had slowed, controlled now—but her body remained taut, like a bowstring drawn too far. 

Kuzalu regarded her without fear. The gash on his chest bled freely, but his smile only widened. “Your interrogation skills need work,” he said with a tilt of his head. “And you really ought to sit down before you fall down. It’s obvious that you still need medical treatment.”

Lei’s expression didn’t shift. But her knees did weaken. She masked it well. Cui Cao stayed poised, but her free hand reached for the wall behind her, just barely brushing the steel shelf for balance. Her body swayed slightly. Kuzalu noticed, of course.

He didn’t exploit it. “Nevertheless, you’ve shown that you are capable of getting serious when you want to. I left them in the sub-basement,” he said finally. “Room C7. There is a key on the hat rack in my office. I didn’t mean to lock the door, it just locks automatically when it shuts. I didn’t design it that way, but thats the way it is… sorry.”

Lei’s knees finally gave out, and she slid down semi-gracefully into the wariza position, panting. 

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Kuzalu observed, not devoid of sympathy, “and yet you anticipated my arrival through sheer instinct and intuition, and ambushed me in the darkness. You have proven yourself a true heiress of the Shénwu, even if you are weakened by sentimentality.”

“Why did you do it?” Lei asked breathlessly. “They'll never want to work with you again. They will only fear and hate you. If you wanted to punish me then why terrorize them?”

“All three of you already feared and hated me,” Kuzalu answered calmly. “You worked with me because our goals aligned, and I used my position to offer the only base of operations we could have possibly used without getting innocent people targeted by Zhi Zhen. Do not think that I am ignorant of the way you three have hid information from me, and collected information about me behind my back. I don't blame you for this, my old self would have hated me too, but you don't have to like me for this endeavor of ours to work.” His expression remained calm as he narrowed his eyes. “Fear is an oil that will keep this machine running sufficiently enough on its own.”

“Is that what you think?” Lei asked as her chest heaved with rapid, increasingly labored breaths. “Now they’ll fear you so much that they would rather take their chances than ever work with you again. Even now, I’m too afraid to cut you loose.” Sweat  trickled down her neck. A drop of it trickled across her chin, and dropped to the floor in front of her.

“I can still make it there,” she huffed, as she struggled to her feet. “I just need some water… do not go anywhere, Kuzalu.” 

“You’re struggling to stand,” he observed.

She knew that, but the image of Saya and Yukio… bound, alone, waiting in the dark… the fact that they needed her, she knew she couldn’t afford to wait. She had soldiered on with graver wounds than this before. 

She had dragged herself through the forests in 1938 or 39… she had crept into the tent of Wan Yinuo, a general  from a separatist province, one of many who had allied with the Japanese Invaders. She had truly believed that killing him would save lives. 

And yet, he was ready for her. She was beaten and her wounds were so great, that she nearly died before making it back to Lijun and his army. Lijun had cancelled his campaign due to that failure. Ruo Lei had not only failed to kill the general, but she had compromised their element of surprise. 

Eventually, Wan Yinuo and his comrades were defeated, and their territory overrun, but not by Lijun's forces. It was by the blade of the Han-supremacists Kuomintang army that they fell, and the people—many of them civilians—were rounded up and executed for treason.  Lijun never forgave himself. He truly was a general who cared about the lives of the people, all of them, whether they were Han, Hakka, or Cantonese… Whether they were Buddhist, Confuscians, or Daoists… 

All of these people had once lived together under the banner of a unified Chinese Empire, and he wanted to restore that. He wanted to rebuild what our predecessors had bled to build… a Peaceful China, a prosperous China, a just China… Lijun wanted to build that future from the bottom of his heart, and she… she had broken the iron rule. She taught him the dance.

Her eyes drifted toward Kuzalu. He hadn’t moved. The cord still bound his wrists behind his back. His uniform was stained with the blood from her blade. And yet he stood like a statue. He remained unashamed, unafraid, and unreadable… devoid of pity, or a desire to be shown mercy. A man with an iron heart. A man who was only helping them, because he was bored with China, and wanted to find bloodshed in a less peaceful place.

And yet for the first time, she wondered… What kind of a man was he before he opened the inner gate? And who had taught him to open it? She scrutinized Kuzalu for moments longer, when  a slam echoed faintly through the hallway. Muffled voices filtered in through the thin steel door.

"She’s not in her bed!” came a woman’s angry voice.

Lei froze. Her ears sharpened.

“She was there! I swear she was there!” the terrified voice of the young nurse pleaded.

A third woman’s voice snarled, “Shut up.” 

Lei held her breath, then moved to the key-hole on the door. Through her narrow-vantage point, she could see two of Zhi Zhen’s assassins, and the terrified nurse. One of the assassins held a large, dull-looking boy by the hand. He was wearing a muzzle… clearly not a boy… Lei’s heart sank. It was one of their monsters. 

Then came the voice of one of the assassins: “Why don’t we just awaken the New Yaoguai? They’ll sniff out her priestess' blood and find her.”

A pause. And then, louder, right outside the closet door:

“Ruo Lei! We know you’re here! Our scouts saw what happened at the old bus terminal!” The one who shouted then held up a vile of liquid. “We have a New Yaoguai with us! And if you don’t come out quietly, we’ll let it go wild in the middle of this hospital!” Lei’s eyes widened with realization. That vile contained her blood. It must have been collected from the site of the attack.

For just a second, there was silence. Then from behind her, Kuzalu chuckled lightly and said, “It seems I may have jumped the gun on calling your mission a failure. My apologies.”

“Shut up,” Lei hissed through clenched teeth.

She backed away from the door, her legs unsteady beneath her. Her pulse roared. Outside, she could still hear the nurse sobbing. The minions were pacing. They were serious. They’d brought a New Yaoguai into a hospital filled with vulnerable patients. If it got loose… “Ruo Lei!” she heard the woman call again.  “Come out now, or we let the big one go wild in the middle of this hospital.”

Lei clenched Cui Cao tighter, but the motion made her whole arm ache. She could still fight, but not win. Not like this. And if she died now, if they opened that door and the creature rampaged… What would she have died for?

“You have ten seconds before we break this vile of your blood.” The other woman called out. “Come sweet little Lei. Ten…”

Lei’s pulse jumped.

“Nine…”

Her eyes drifted to Kuzalu again… To his hands. Still bound behind him.

“I’ll cut you free,” she said quietly, voice low and fierce, “but if you so much as—” She broke off. He was already holding them up in front of him. His wrists, still circled by the waxed cord, but the knot had been unraveled with ease. He could have broken free whenever he wanted…

“Eight…”

But Kuzalu hadn’t moved. He could have left her here. He could’ve struck her down the moment she collapsed earlier. He could’ve walked out and given her to the cult. Instead, he stood there, not gloating, not smug. Just patient. Showing her his hands as if to say he had been waiting for her permission.

Lei stared at him, teeth clenched, heart racing. But she didn’t stop him.

“Seven…”

“Please!” the nurse cried. “Please just le—” -SMACK!-

“Six…”

“With your permission…” Kuzalu offered. Lei’s tongue was tied.

“Five…” the voice outside called.

A whimper from the nurse.

“Four…”

Lei gave the slightest nod.

Kuzalu picked up a broom handle, stepped past her and quietly turned the door knob

“Three…”

He looked over his shoulder. “Ready?”

“Just try not to kill anyone,” Lei pressed.  

“Two...”

“My dear girl,” Kuzalu said, “Taking them alive was your original plan was it not?”

“One! Thats it Ruo Lei! You’ve–”

The door opened.

Kuzalu stepped out, the fluorescent lights shining along the scars on his face, and reflecting in his dark hair. His uniform red with his blood around the chest, but a calm smile on his lips. His presence changed everything. Behind him, Lei stood half-supported against the doorframe, Cui Cao gripped tightly in one hand, though she could barely lift him.

Of the two assassins,  the older one’s jaw tensed. “Return to Zhen-fūrén,” she barked at her junior, not taking her eyes off Kuzalu. “Tell her to send Shinkaiten. I will hold him here.” The younger woman nodded and turned to run.

Kuzalu raised a sleek black Type-54 pistol from beneath his coat and fired once before immediately reholstering. The sound cracked through the corridor like a slap of thunder. The bullet caught her squarely in the thigh, and she collapsed mid-sprint, crumpling hard onto her side. The nurse screamed in terror, both from the gunshot, and from the demon who had begun to transform, from the form of the simple child, to its true form…

The older assassin had already awakened it. Her own blade was drawn now — but Kuzalu was gone.

He was behind her.

The broom handle whistled like a helicopter’s blades. Once, twice — then shattered against the side of her head. She staggered, and he pressed forward with relentless brutality, again and again, knocking her head back and forth, and breaking the broom-handle against her skull until the wood splintered down to the length of a baton, then shorter still, until he struck the flat edge hard against her temple’s equilibrium point with a snap of the wrist.

Her eyes rolled back. She collapsed. Before her body even hit the floor, he had caught her sword as it fell. The Yaoguai lunged at him — mouth split wide with fangs, sinews bulging through the torn rags of its disguise. It swiped with clawed fingers like rusted blades— Kuzalu stepped in.

The stolen sword pierced its naval with surgical precision, and in one violent wrench, he pulled sideways — carving a brutal diagonal slash from gut to hip, all before the beast could even let out a roar.

 The contents of its belly spilled out in a flood, slick and steaming. The beast’s legs gave out beneath it, its claws flailing weakly before collapsing into twitching silence. The nurse who witnessed this fainted and collapsed to the ground. 

The sound of boots thundered up the stairwell.

The night doctor ran into the hall with four orderlies, and as many security officers with their pistols drawn, burst into the corridor. Their eyes immediately shot to the foreigner in the bloodied uniform. “Hands on your head!” one of them shouted. “On your knees!”

Kuzalu did not flinch. He took a single step forward, and with a fluid motion, he retrieved an ID from the inside of his uniform coat. “Stand down,” he said calmly, “I am an inspector from Unit Six of the Central Supernatural Containment Division, Bureau of Public Safety.”

It was a complete lie, but one of the revolution’s slogans had always been ‘Chase away the ghosts and monsters!’ and the ‘inspector’ had spoken with such calm authority, in his uniform which fit him impeccably despite the slash and blood… to say nothing of the monster’s corpse leaking guts all over the linoleum behind him. One of the younger orderlies gagged at the sight of it, and now that it had become noticed, no one could take their eyes off it. 

“I assume,” Kuzalu added smoothly, “that you are familiar with Protocol Nine-B: Monster Elimination and Witness Processing?”

The senior guard , a narrow-faced man with pockmarks and tired eyes, gave a hesitant nod. “Of course, Comrade Inspector…” He lied, so as not to lose face.

“Good,” Kuzalu said slowly. “Then you know that as official witnesses to a supernatural incident, all personnel involved are bound by emergency cooperation protocols. Have your men secure that prisoner,” he said, pointing to the bleeding assassin on the ground. 

“Wait you idiots!” She cried, “This man is—”

“Gag her,” Kuzalu spoke over her. “She is a witch, and will try to cast a spell over you with her words.”

“HE LIES! HE’S A—” 

Once she was secured and silenced, Kuzalu continued his instructions. “Bag and secure the creature’s remains. Use biohazard materials if you can, but discretion is paramount. Get to work, all of you, except for you,” He said pointing to the doctor. “Come with me please.”

The doctor gulped nervously as he passed the monster’s corpse on the floor. The security guards, and the orderlies with them, stood frozen around it, unable to believe their eyes. Kuzalu walked to the closet where Lei remained. Just past the threshold of the open door, she still leaned half-collapsed against the shelf, face pale, sweat now dampening her collarbone.

She blinked at him. “What—”

Kuzalu leaned down and whispered against Lei’s ear, so only she could hear: “Don’t worry. I’ll clean up here. Go and free Saya and Yukio… with my apologies.”

Lei didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Kuzalu now turned to the doctor behind him. “This woman is Second-Class Inspector, Ruo Lei, of the same division. She engaged the target earlier today, and was injured in the process. Get her whatever medication she was prescribed when she came in.”

Lei murmured something, but he spoke louder.

“And I want a taxi arranged immediately. No buses. This is a senior operative under emergency clearance. She is to be returned to the PLA Military Academy directly.”

“Right away,” the doctor said, as though he were being choked by his own collar. He turned over his shoulder, and barked that one of the orderlies should bring a wheelchair.

Lei watched as Kuzalu now walked back towards the scene to direct the clean-up. And she realized that she was being handed the chance to walk away,  rescue Saya and Yukio, and to do it while still maintaining the illusion of order. Kuzalu had made that miracle happen effortlessly.

The doctor  stepped up beside Lei and bent slightly. “Comrade Inspector,” he said, voice low, “with your permission.”

Lei gave a weak nod, and he lifted her, and placed her gently in the wheelchair. On their way out of the hallway, they passed the nurse who had witnessed the incident. The same young woman who had led Kuzalu into the ward. She sat huddled against the wall, tear-streaked, visibly shaking. She could not even look up as they neared. “I’m sorry,” Lei said softly.

The doctor continued to navigate the wheelchair carefully through the hospital, while looking at Lei’s file. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you’ve healed incredibly quickly. Otherwise, I would have fiercely recommended that you not be transferred from here. But please go straight home if you can.”

“It is urgent, Doctor,” she said tiredly. 

“Please don’t say anymore. I understand…”

Outside, the air was heavy with heat and smog, still clinging to the asphalt. The lights from the streetlamps pooled yellow on the pavement, just as the black taxi they had requisitioned pulled up to the pavement. The doctor pushed the chair to the edge of the street, locked the brakes, and crouched again to help Lei up. She gripped the door with one hand and steadied herself on the car’s frame. He offered no assistance beyond what she allowed.

Before climbing into her seat, Lei turned toward him, eyes steady, despite everything. “You will tell no one what you saw here tonight.”

The doctor didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Comrade-Inspector.” He had not asked her about the sword she gripped, and neither did the driver. Yet, she could not relax. There was something urgent that she had to do when she got back. 

***

Saya and Yukio sat huddled together in the damp, cold, sub-basement. They had already spent hours trying to escape, back to back, arms shaking, they had worked in silence to free each other, hoping their numb fingers might catch an edge, a fold, anything. But the tape around their hands was so thickly wrapped that they might as well have had rubber fingers.

And by now, the cold had seeped into their bones. They were both trembling violently now. Yukio’s small body curled inward, face buried against Saya’s shoulder. His knees were tucked to his chest, and even that brought no warmth. Saya, slumped against the wall beside him, leaned her cheek gently against his hair. But the tape over her mouth was beginning to make her jaw ache…

Their only sounds were the slow, involuntary shivers wracking their bodies, and the distant hum of pipes overhead. Until—

Click.

They both froze. The lock was being turned, and then the door handle…. It opened, and light from the hallway spilled across the flooded floor in a widening crescent. In the doorway stood Ruo Lei. Still in her hospital gown, Cui Cao still slung across her shoulder. The moment she saw them, her face twisted in fury. She rushed forward despite her condition, and knelt down behind Saya, and cutting through the tape around her hands.

Saya didn’t wait. The moment her hands were free, she tore the sodden strip from her mouth and spat out the taste of stale adhesive. “That son of a—”

“Later,” Lei rasped. But she swayed.

“Lei?” Saya caught her by the shoulders before she fell. Lei shook her head once, and motioned to Yukio. Saya turned to him at once, crawling over and working quickly to free his arms. She peeled the tape from his mouth just in time for him to snarl through chattering teeth:

“That bastard… If he ever touches me again I’ll…” His voice cracked. His whole body trembled, not just from cold, but from shame, from fury, from everything being twelve and betrayed could mean.

“Yukio…” Lei whispered.

Saya had her arms around him already, trying to steady him. “You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s over.” But he kept shaking his head, breathing hard.

Lei leaned against the wall, dragging in air through her nose. “Kuzalu is at the hospital,” she breathed. “I don’t know when he’ll be back, but he’s not going to hurt you anymore.”

Yukio turned to her with glassy eyes. “He gagged us and left us freezing in this tomb! I don’t ever wanna see him again!”

“I know. I know…” Lei’s eyes flickered, and she blinked hard, and then her body slumped forward. “I’ll explain… I’ll… ex…plain…” Her eyes closed mid-word.

“Lei!” Saya caught her, cradling her under the arms. Saya’s eyes widened with sudden shock from how light and limp her mentor felt. “Yukio, help me—!”

He was already at her side. The two of them held her upright, and exited the room. “Tch,” Saya cursed. “That bastard put a hood over my head when he took me down here, how do we get back?”

“I know the way,” Yukio said. “That piece of shit didn’t bother with me.” He then went into a spiteful impression of Kuzalu, replicating his accent, “‘Yukio my boy, don’t be afraid. I’m not punishing you, I just need you to sit here quietly for a while’ THAT PSYCHOPATH!”

“Don’t shout!” Saya hissed. But Yukio was already quiet, and hung his head.

They moved up the groaning stairwell, their soaked clothes squelching with every step. Out of the building, into the warm air, and towards the women's dormitories. They hastened their steps when they saw it, until they finally arrived at that familiar building. The familiar hallway. The familiar door.

Yukio pushed it open. Saya and Lei’s room was dark, save for the faint light leaking through the window curtain. The air inside was warmer. Familiar. Dry. It felt like a sanctuary.

They brought Lei to her bed, and lowered her down gently, before covering her with blankets.

Saya’s hands, still trembling, reached for the blankets folded near the foot of her own bed. She tossed two to Yukio and wrapped one around herself. It was then that Lei stirred again.

Her eyes opened weakly. Her breath was shallow, but even. “…Don’t worry,” she murmured.

Saya leaned close. “Lei-sensei”

“Don’t do anything rash.” Her eyes barely opened. “Don’t… worry about Kuzalu… I will explain… but not now.”

Saya did not know what to make of this… she had no idea why she shouldn’t worry, but she trusted Lei. She gripped her hand, nodding slowly. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

Lei’s eyes closed again, and Saya sat with her in silence, until she heard a familiar cry behind her. She turned around, and saw Yukio on her bed, curled up and sobbing with irrepressible anger, fear, fatigue, and shame. 

She didn’t blame him, She climbed into bed with him, and held onto him. He returned the embrace, and they remained like that for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

A knock came at the door of their dorm room. 

Saya’s eyes blinked open. She lay on her side, her arm curled around something warm and breathing. She looked down. Yukio was still asleep, his face pressed against her shoulder, his dark lashes trembling faintly with dreaming. His fingers were tangled in the blanket between them.

Knock-knock-knock…

Saya stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. She untangled herself from Yukio, and swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbing her katana, and holding it behind her back as she crept towards the door… Knock-knock-knock… Saya opened the door a crack.

The light from the hallway made her blink. Standing there was a junior logistics assistant, one of the young men from the commissary. He was wearing a surgical mask, and carrying three trays stacked neatly on top of one another. “Sorry to bother, they told me to bring you your meals… while you were in quarantine? Comrade Ruo right?”

Saya nodded. “Remind me again, what does our ‘quarantine’ entail? Where is Michael Hanks?” she hadn’t spoken carefully, but it didn't seem to arouse suspicion.

“Comrade Hanks told us about how all four of you caught a bug, which is why he could not be available for duties, and why the three of you are staying here. I’m just supposed to let you know that meals will be delivered to your room for the rest of the day. And there’s a doctor making rounds later this afternoon, just in case. If you’re feeling better tomorrow, you’ll be cleared to return to normal duties.”

Saya studied him a moment longer, and then accepted the meals. “I, uh… I hope you feel better soon,” the young man added, “I’ll be back in the evening with dinner. Take care.” With that, he closed the door behind him, and Saya turned around to see Lei and Yukio awake and alert, both hands on the handles of their blades.

“Well,” Saya said as she placed the trays on the table. “So we know now that the bastard doesn't plan on coming back till tomorrow at the earliest. Lei-sensei, you need to eat.”

Lei shook her head.

“Eat,” Saya said more firmly. “You should still be in the hospital, but you were dealing with Kuzalu, and then dragged yourself down to the boiler room to pull us out of that sewage. You must–” Lei didn't need any further persuasion. She took the tray from Saya, and lifted the metal lid, and her mouth watered at the sight of porridge with duck eggs… when meat and eggs were rationed during these times of scarcity… Lei did not question what strings had been pulled. She dug in. 

“Yukio?” Saya offered, handing him his tray, but Yukio shook his head and refused. He had no appetite, and Saya understood. “Here,” she said, sitting down next to him. “Just try starting with small bites.”

Kuzalu was not brought up again during breakfast. Yukio and Saya, (still not used to milk,) offered theirs to Lei, who accepted it without reservation or modesty, and was still feeling hungry when she finished. 

A doctor came shortly after breakfast having received instructions to make sure Lei was taking her Iron and vitamin C supplements, and to instruct them on the conditions of their quarantine. Kuzalu had clearly thought of everything, making the lie believable, but having also fed the commissar caveats among the lies that allowed the trio access to the telephone room and showers.

When Lei asked in a hoarse voice if it was possible for them to receive any extra food, the doctor kindly said that he would see what he could do, and returned half an hour later with three pieces each of a paper bowl of fish soup from the officer's canteen, a pear, and a carton of soy milk. The warm, creamy broth and ripe pears were the most delicious thing any of them had eaten since they were at Ruo Tian-xi’s house.

The doctor assured them that he would come by to check on them periodically, before he left with their grateful thanks. It was only once their food was digested and their spirits were raised, that Lei dared to tell them about what had happened the previous night.

Lei told them how she had ambushed and cornered Kuzalu, and watched their faces crease with unease when she revealed that Kuzalu could have broken free whenever he wanted, and accepted her blade’s slash across his chest without any fear or flinching. 

Even though she had experienced it herself, she almost shuddered at her own words… She knew that men like that existed. She had come face to face with countless men without any sense of self-preservation during the war.

But Kuzalu had been different… he saw through her… he knew that she wouldn’t kill him, even if she told herself that she would… She told them everything of what she witnessed, how he handled the situation, and every word that he told her. But she said nothing of her own feelings, sticking only to the facts. 

Finally, she presented a choice, that the three of them would have to unanimously agree upon before moving forward. 

1. They could leave Kuzalu, which would mean that they would no longer have a base from where to pursue Zhi Zhen, and in all likelihood— would be hunted by Zhi Zhen’s cult instead. Anyone who tried to help them would also become a target, and Kuzalu would not likely intervene again, the way he had when they were attacked at Ruo Tian-xi’s home…
2. They could continue to work with Kuzalu, knowing how dangerous, unpredictable, and immoral he is…

Presently, Yukio asked: “And if we leave, can we keep moving to hotels like we did in Japan? If they try to kill us, I’ll be ready.”

“We can’t do that,” Saya said. “Even if you are ready to sleep with one eye open every night Yukio, we can’t live like that without David’s help.”

Lei nodded, “You’re right. We can’t stop Zhi Zhen without him, but… you two don’t have to do it. You were both in Japan when this was beginning, and only came to China because you wanted to warn me. Now, I have been warned.” 

Lei rose from her bed, and walked a few short steps across the room to sit down next to Saya. She put a hand on her knee, and her jade green eyes met Saya’s ash brown.

“I know you didn’t want to be here in the first place Saya. Please do not worry about me. I can handle Kuzalu, and Zhi Zhen has always been my vendetta, not yours. There is no need for you to continue to suffer on my behalf.”

Saya looked down, and closed her eyes. For a long time, no one spoke. Yukio remained alert, and poised, and Lei, pensive and patient. Saya’s long lashes fluttered, and her mouth tightened, as though she were wrestling with the decision internally. Finally, she opened her mouth before she opened her eyes. ”David might lose his job or worse because of me. If I go back now, they'll arrest me, and they won't listen to me because they see me as a monster. It won't help David if that happens.”

She opened her eyes, and turned to Yukio. “If I can help Lei-sensei bring down this cult in China, and collect the evidence and receipts to show what we've done, I'll be able to help build a case that will get David off the hook. Members of this cult have already infiltrated Japan, a United States ally, so they will believe that they had plans to use their new Yaoguai as a major weapon against them. But also—” she turned back to Lei, who she knew was not invincible. “I won't leave you either way, Sensei.”

There was another pause, before Yukio spoke. “I'm not leaving you either, Saya.”

“You will be in no trouble once you go back to Japan, Yukio,” she said. “And I can forgive Kuzalu for what he did to me more easily than I can forgive myself for what he did to you. You are a child, and I failed to protect you.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I would honestly feel better if you were back in Japan while we did this Yukio.”

Yukio’s hands squeezed his knees. “You don't get it, Saya,” he said. “Even if I wanted to go back to Japan, I wouldn't, and you shouldn't want me to either.” He turned and looked at her with earnest eyes. “What makes you think Kuzalu would allow me to leave?” Lei and Saya both blinked. 

“He wants me here,” Yukio continued. “He constantly has me by his side, not just because I'm useful to him, but because he…” he broke off, and looked away from Saya for a moment before continuing. “If I leave China before he does, he's going to blame you two for it, and things will only be harder.”

“Yukio–” Saya tried to reason, but he whirled his head around so quickly that his hair whipped around his profile like a halo. 

“I'm staying with you,” he declared. “I'll eat shit from Kuzalu for as long as I have to, if it means we can stop Zhi Zhen. And then if I can, I'll expose him so that he can't leave this place, and so he can't hurt anyone else either.”

Both women blinked again. Saya had known that Yukio was logical, and had a strong sense of justice, but he had been trembling like a leaf and crying just hours ago. Suddenly, he spoke like a soldier putting his knife in the ground, refusing to retreat beyond that point. Lei meanwhile, was reminded of someone else…

“So I guess it's decided,” Saya said, lowering her shoulders. “It's not the option we wanted, but we work with him. Until we don’t need him anymore...” She  then looked to Yukio. “And I will gladly help you expose him for what he is. Let the Chinese do whatever it is they do to foreigners who deceive them.”

Lei averted her eyes. 

“Even still,” Yukio said, “When he finally does get back…I don't think I'll be brave enough to pretend that everything is normal.”

Saya narrowed her eyes, and spoke resolutely; “Why the hell should you?”

***

As the doors to the hall opened, Michael Hanks was greeted by a line of officers, Cadres, and even women from the office applauding his return. The sound of their clapping hands and their cheers sounded throughout the building as he stepped over the threshold. 

“Welcome back Mr. Hanks!” cried the commandant. 

“Comrade Hanks!” cried Commissar Zhao. “It’s good to see you back, sir!”

The tall foreigner gave a pleasant smile. “Good to be back soldier.”

Some of the girls who were in earshot giggled nervously when they heard him speak. “Comrade Commandant, won’t you walk with me?” he offered, and the Commandant beamed with pride as he obliged. Even though he was the head of this institution, he felt it greatly to his credit to be in the company of Mr. Hanks, who wore his Cadre’s uniform with impeccable bearing, and walked and talked with pomp and decorum that put even senior officers to shame.

“How are my staff Comrade Commandant?” Hanks asked as they walked. He had spoken discreetly, but just loud enough to be overheard.

“Your typist and secretary are still a bit tired, as is the boy. None of them have left their dorm all morning. But we can arrange replacements for you.”

“Thank you Comrade Commandant,” Hanks replied, “but that won’t be necessary. I have spoken with General Liu Shaowen yesterday, and he graciously extended the deadlines. In the meantime, please see to it that my staff are well taken care of.”

The office girls who were listening as they passed looked on with envy for that lucky typist and secretary, whose superior spoke so softly about them, and cared for their well being. Some of the younger Cadres meanwhile, listened in awe as the man casually described standing up to general Liu.

As they walked on towards the main building, he saluted the clerks, shook hands with more officers, and greeted the receptionist with a smile that made her blush, his scars clearly not having ruined his face, until they reached the door of his office. 

“It might have gotten a little bit dusty while you were gone,” said the Commandant, “which none of us ever thought could happen, given how hard you work. If it turns out to be the case, don’t hesitate to call me. We will send someone up right away.”

“Oh I can handle a bit of dust Comrade,” Hanks laughed. “Who honestly has time to worry about dust these days?”

“Quite right,” said the commandant with a smile. He shook Hanks’ hand, and they parted.

Mr. Hanks then opened the door to his office, closed it behind him, and flipped on the light-switch. The instant that he did that, a boy’s body leapt from his left field of vision, and greeted him with a punch to the cheek.

Kuzalu’s head turned with the punch, and saw Yukio, crouched on his right, glaring up at him. Kuzalu did not react, and maintained eye-contact with Yukio, who now slowly stood up, matching his gaze, hot anger burning behind his dark brown orbs, before he finally broke his gaze away– quick and deliberate, and made towards the office door.

Before Kuzalu could turn his head to see him go, the tip of a blade touched the bottom of his jaw. He looked down and saw Kinoshita Saya, staring up at him with that cold fury, her full-lips pressed together in indignation, before they parted with a castigating admonition— “We will continue to work with you, because lives are at stake,” she  said coolly, “But I will never trust you, and if you touch me again, I swear on my life, I will kill you."

With that, she twirled her sword and sheathed it in a single motion, closed the cap to her cylindrical case, and joined Yukio at the door before exiting. 

Kuzalu rubbed his cheek with this thumb, and thought of the dullness of Saya’s blade. That sword had seen better days…

Chapter Text

Saya and Yukio parted ways shortly after exiting Kuzalu’s office. Yet, Saya walked with no satisfaction having delivered her ultimatum. Kuzalu did not react like someone who had gotten the message, and it dawned on her… she hadn’t taken back control…

Kuzalu had not hurt her badly. To him, to his twisted mind, locking her and Yukio in that room was no different from a shepherd putting his sheep in a pen. It was not what he had done that now haunted her, but the knowledge of what he could have done, and could still do. 

Saya hastened her step, and when she left the office building, she broke into a run towards her dorm. 

She opened the door to her room, and locked it behind her immediately. For a moment, she stood there, with her back to the door, her heart pounding in her chest. “What is wrong with me?” her hand reached the door handle to make extra sure it was locked. Then, with rigid footsteps, she made her way to her bed, and lay down, thinking that some rest might put her at equilibrium once more. She pulled the thin blanket over her eyes, and her head on the pillow…

A grinning face with scars from clawmarks… Kuzalu’s face…. Jakdan’s face… Darkness… 

The cold floor of the sub-basement room…. The cross hanging from the Padre’s neck as he dragged her by the hand… Kuzalu leading her down to the basement, and again… the Padre leading her and Sekiko by their hands…

The sounds had returned, always in the same order. The jeeps. The voices. The boots. The door slamming open…. The familiar smell. The tobacco they chewed, the oil they put on their boots to keep the leather from cracking. The way some of them smelled. The burn scars on one’s skin. The Leprosy on the skin of another. Sekiko holding her tight before it happened. “Don’t cry Saya,” Sekiko instructed in the firmest voice she could. “Whatever you do, don’t let them see you cry…”

Then the hands came and pulled her away.

Every moment of happiness they knew— was weaponized against them. Their puppies that Jakdan’s men had killed for their meat. They way the Padre thanked them when he was offered a bowl of broth. The mocking laughter. The cruel games. The despair as they were pulled away by hands they could not resist. Saya often felt broken before they even reached the shed…

There was wood against her back, rough, and splintered. Her mouth was dry. Her eyes stung. Her knees hurt. She could hear herself breathing in shallow gasps, but it wasn’t her body. It was a younger one.

She was there again.

She heard the creak of boots.  Laughter muffled through stone walls. The wet slap of hands against flesh. Things that her mind at the time could not have even described.

She felt herself being broken… she thought she would break… she had forgotten what it meant to hope.

Her head fell so that she was facing right. She saw Sekiko… Seki-nee, her big sister. Seki-nee, who had been the strong one, her friend and leader. In that instant — a single heartbeat frozen in time — Saya saw, that Seki-nee was no better off than she was.

Sekiko was just as helpless as she…

She came back to herself with a violent jolt.

The scream had already left her mouth— raw, strangled, not a full sound but still too loud. She stuffed her face into the pillow to stifle what hadn’t already escaped. 

The memory still clung to her skin like tar, but it was just a memory… just a dream… she was back in her room. And yet, she still hadn’t fully returned.

She barely registered the knock until it came a second time, followed by a voice.

“…Saya?”

Her stomach dropped. It was Yukio… She didn’t know what he had heard— if he had heard anything at all, or if it was just a coincidence that he was here, but her stomach still dropped as the horrible realization came crashing down on her… they were in that sub-basement room together, yet she was the one who should have had the answers… she had been just as helpless as he was, just as Sekiko had once been to her…

“Saya?” He asked again. “I saw you running across the courtyard, and you looked upset.”

“Of course I'm upset! Leave!”

But she couldn’t form those thoughts into words, her voice was too cracked to say anything. Yukio had always looked up to her, but at this moment, she was not the person who trained him. She was not the person who could have been a big sister to him… She was that weak, pathetic little girl, who wet herself when she heard their footsteps approaching.

“Go away!” she snapped, too fast, too loud; her voice cracked on the last syllable. A pause. No footsteps. Just silence.

Saya squeezed her eyes shut. Her breath hitched. She hadn’t meant to sound like that.

She turned toward the wall, curling back in on herself, chest tight.

After a moment, she heard soft footsteps retreating down the hall… Only when she was certain that he was gone, did she move again. The moment she could stand without collapsing, she moved like a ghost down the hall.

The women’s dorm was thankfully empty this time of day. The washroom mirror was too clean. The tile too white. She stepped into the shower stall and undressed in silence. She avoided looking down. The water was freezing at first. She didn’t flinch. Cold was familiar. She scrubbed her arms until they stung. Her collarbones. Her shoulders. Her hands. Over and over. She still couldn’t get rid of the tingling in her skin… it almost never helped when these attacks came, and yet, it hadn’t happened to her in years.

Now, it had come again. Saya closed her eyes and looked down as she let the water wash over her. In moments like these, she knew that it was all she could do. The bruises weren't there, the blood wasn’t there, but the feeling of alienation in her own body remained. No matter how many times she reminded herself that the things that did this to her were long dead— she knew she would never get back what they had taken. She stayed under the water long after it turned lukewarm. Only when her fingertips wrinkled and her shivers returned did she shut off the valve.

She wrapped herself in a towel, and looked at her reflection in the mirror once more… collarbones too sharp, ribs just faintly visible under the skin. Her shoulder blades were too noticeable, her skin too thin. She turned away, and went back to her dorm… She knew that this feeling would pass, she just had to let it…

The room was warmer now, but she still shook… the cold was on the inside. 

She knew that she should go and find him, if not to apologize, then just to check on him and see how he was doing.

The braids in her hair were still soaked as she got dressed. Blouse buttoned. Pants pressed. Belt flat. Shoes polished. The typist’s uniform— simple, utilitarian, conservative. It covered her arms. Fell straight down her legs. She’d worn it many times before, but today, every fiber itched. 

She looked down at herself again, then back up. Her hands ghosted over her sleeves, her collar, the crease at her waistband. She adjusted them. Then adjusted them again. Her reflection didn’t look right. The shape of the blouse— did it cling too tightly? Was it too obvious that her posture was tight, her breath shallow, her body still recoiling from something no one else could see?

She pulled at the fabric near her hips, then smoothed it again.

Still wrong.

She checked the belt again.

Still wrong.

The ghost memories of previous attacks came back… She gripped the side of the desk, jaw clenched, and shut her eyes. The smells, the sensations, the shame…

“No,” she told herself. “That’s not now. That’s not real.”

She opened her eyes and looked again. Her clothes were clean. Dry. Her socks white. Her fingers trembled slightly as she ran them once more over the creases in her sleeves.

There were no bruises. No stains. No hands where they shouldn’t be. The mirror showed a composed young woman. Not a child. Not a victim.

Still, before stepping away, she reached down and gripped the fabric of her pants — just to be sure — and felt the shape of the cloth between her fingers like proof.

Only then did she exhale.

She adjusted her cap, and doublechecked her reflection in the mirror… someone dignified, and presentable.

“You’re here.”

“You’re not in the church.”

“No one is watching.”

“They're dead.”

Mantras Lei had taught her. Steady as stone.

Saya murmured them softly now, again and again, as she stood in the doorway, and then opened it. On the other end of the hallway, the door was already open, and she stepped through it as easily as it should have been. The courtyard outside was warm. The air shimmered faintly in the early sunlight. Birds chirped overhead, the scent of dried earth and clipped hedges filled her nose. The sun kissed her sleeves.

Still, she shivered. She stopped in the shade just beyond the dormitory threshold and took a steadying breath.

Her left hand flexed once. Then again.

“You are in your body.”

“You are wearing clean clothes.”

“You are walking in sunlight.”

“You are not a child.”

The tension in her chest eased just enough to let her step forward. The gravel crunched beneath her heels. It was a clean sound. Real. Present. Now came the harder part. Finding Yukio.

She hadn't seen where he went after she told him to leave. She wasn't even sure if he would want to see her. Not after the way she had sounded.

She turned toward the stone path that led toward the practice grounds. He was likely training there, and if he wasn’t training, then maybe by the garden plots. He didn’t like loud places. Saya narrowed her eyes as she walked, her boots clicking lightly over the pavement. He wasn’t in the shade under the courtyard trees. Not behind the drill sheds either. But looking at the clouds, at how high and slow they moved, and how fluffy they looked on a rare clear day such as this— she knew.

“He’s sky-gazing.”

She passed a column of cadets in grey fatigues as they marched stiffly across the parade square, their heads shaved, expressions grim with exhaustion. A cadre barked orders at them in a raw, horse, and angry voice. 

No one noticed her. Or if they did, they didn’t look twice. Past the shouting. Past the dust and steel polish. Past the endless rhythm of military regiments, until she saw him sitting on a stone bench, his hands pressed against the back of it to support his body as he leaned back, face gazing up at the sky. He noticed her approach, and turned around to see her. He gave her a small smile, and turned back to continue watching the clouds.

For a split second, Saya was astonished, and then it finally occurred to her— This was Yukio. He was used to her snapping at him, and probably just assumed that this was one of those times where he needed to respect her space. 

Saya let out a sigh of relief. Yukio truly was a blessing in terms of how easy he was making this for her. She reached subtly down, smoothing the edge of her blouse against the waistband of her pants one last time, and  crossed the space without another thought. She lowered herself beside him; the bench was warm from the sun, and even with the noisy drills and marches in the background, she could feel the ice in her stomach begin to thaw.

It then occurred to her that she had reached the edge of a calm cliff. She was in a state of mind where she wanted to tell Yukio everything, she even almost lied to herself that she owed him an explanation. But she could not, and would not. How could she possibly explain what had happened to an twelve-year old boy? And  then she realized…”You’re turning thirteen next month, aren’t you, Yukio?”

He nodded with a “mmm,” and continued looking at the sky. It hadn’t broken the silence the way she had hoped it would, so she said something else— 

“That was pretty cool how you punched Kuzalu in the face.”

Yukio turned his head slightly, letting the light catch on the slope of his cheek.  “It didn’t feel as good as I thought it would,” he admitted. “It didn’t feel good at all actually. I thought I might feel better, but…” He looked down at his hand. “…My knuckles are just a little sore now.”

Saya turned her head, watching him. The small way his shoulders had sunk. The absence of triumph in his voice. The quiet weight he carried even while sitting in the sunlight. She understood him more than he knew. The emptiness after anger. The hollowness of revenge. The way hitting back never took anything back. “You didn’t do it to feel better,” she said softly, eyes still on the sky. “You did it because the bastard deserved it.“

Yukio glanced at her. Her tone was steady. Matter-of-fact. But not cold. “It doesn’t fix anything,” she went on. “It doesn’t make the memories go away. It won’t stop them from coming back when you’re alone. But sometimes…” She finally turned to him, eyes gentle but unflinching. “…Sometimes it reminds you that you’re still here. That you weren’t swallowed.”

Yukio blinked. His fingers curled slightly. He didn’t speak for a long time.

Then he nodded once. Slowly. “I think I understand.”

Saya closed her eyes, and took a long, deep breath… It occurred to her now, that despite how much they eerily had in common, Yukio’s past couldn’t have been more opposite of hers. She had asked David to get any information on him that he could, and she read through it carefully. As she recalled it, she felt as though she was beginning to understand why this boy, whom she thought of as fragile, was so calm compared to herself.

She knew how he and his sworn brother had been bullied so terribly by the others. Witnesses had testified to the cruelest of torments when they were all interviewed after the incident. Yukio must have been locked in closets and cupboards so many times that he’d grown used to it.

In that moment, she felt the urge to put her arm around him and pull him close. But she didn’t. She exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled again… “Yukio,” she began. “Your friend Sora, won’t you tell me about him? What was he like?”

Yukio blinked, as though he wasn’t sure if he had heard correctly, but then his face lit up, and he jolted forward in his posture. “Sure!” he chirped. “I can tell you all about that.”

***

Kuzalu was in a particularly good mood that afternoon, even though the bags under his eyes suggested he had not slept. He alone seemed unaffected by the air that was so much heavier than usual in his office. Yukio had opted not to sit in a chair or on Kuzalu’s desk like he normally would have done, remaining in seiza, with Kasumi by his left hand. Saya sat the same way, seated not far from him with her own sword ready.

Lei stood in the corner, with Cui Cao leaning against the wall next to her. All three of them were as far away from Kuzalu as possible, and all three of them ready to draw their blades, but they all listened when he spoke.  

“Zhi Zhen had co-conspirators,” he said. “Apparently, the Tianjin branch of their cult is headed by another one of their original members.” He wrote a name on the map above the city, in the yellow marker; ‘Han Jianping’. “Apparently, after the Shénwu elders saw the profit  they could make from assassinations during the Chinese Civil War, they revived some of the… older customs. Blood rituals. But Zhen and Jianping both broke further taboos when it came to… what they did with the corpses.” 

Lei’s hand immediately reached for Cui Cao, not to use his blade, but to keep herself from crying out. She knew what Kuzalu would say next… “They took the blades from their victims, and trained a new generation of Shénwu assassins. However, they have not armed them with those blades.” Kuzalu paused, but only for a fraction of a moment before he continued. “A Shénwu’s blade is her father in the absence of an actual father. It is forged before her birth, often being passed through generations, from mother to daughter, and forms the bond with her that it will share with no other.” 

Kuzalu snickered. “A bit different from the tradition that I was taught, but the effect remains the same. The sword of a Shénwu priestess can make her as strong and as capable as a Green Beret, even if she is weak as a kitten without it. But it can also be a curse to her, if she wields a blade she is not supposed to be wielding...” 

He then turned from the map to his audience, particularly to Lei, his expression slightly softened. “There is a way of getting around this. The blade must be remelted and reforged, in water from a clean and natural source. A ritualistic bathing and purification for the metal, that must be repeated before, during, and after the reforging process. Given the invaluable quality of such metal, Zhi Zhen and Han Jianping would certainly want to arm their acolytes with it, but they don't know how. There's actually only one person alive who does.” Kuzalu gave a cautiously proud smile, before turning back to the board.

Lei’s fingers gripped the cloth of her sleeve. Saya glanced toward her. She had never heard this part before. Reforging a Shénwu blade? She’d never known it was possible. Her own sword had no name, no history, and no voice… but if Zhen could corrupt the old ones… twist them…

Even Yukio looked slightly shaken by this. His fingers brushed the sheath of Kasumi.

“Zhi Zhen has successfully trained 26 acolytes in the art of the priestess dance, though that number is now lower, with all the ones who have been killed like flies lately. Four were killed in Tokyo during the botched kidnapping attempt of Kinoshita Saya last April, five were killed by me during the attack on Ruo Tian-xi’s home near this city, and recently, two more at the hospital, who were Zhen’s more senior killers.”

He beamed with pride, as though he were giving this briefing to himself, and not a trio who wouldn’t be in the same building as him if they had a choice. “So Zhi Zhen is down to 15. Neither of those women knew how many Han Jianping has, but they were quite confident that she is the subordinate one in this relationship. Neither of the two have been foolish enough to teach a male the dance (no offense Miss Ruo and Kinoshita), but there are male assassins who are aware of what they are doing. However, these people only make up the nucleus of the cult. The majority of their followers are just fools, mostly hysterical women and dispossessed peasants who went crazy when they had to come to the city (not that I blame them).“

Saya’s jaw tightened. She didn’t interrupt him, but she shifted her knees, just slightly. A grounding movement. Just to remind herself that her sword was close. She glanced over to Yukio, and saw from his expression, that he was probably thinking the same thing as her.

“They have been allowed to witness the majesty of the Chiropteran,” Kuzalu continued. “They believe that they are dragons fallen from heaven, and their mission is to help them return through blood sacrifice. That's not the simplest myth for us to destroy, since even if we kill those buggers in front of them, it will not disprove their divinity, only reinforce how unholy this earth is. This is also why they are breeding the new ones This is also why normal members have been posing as parents of the New Yaoguai, or guardians, since they cannot blend into human society as well as the traditional models. Chiropterans have shorter lifespans than humans, but they reach maturity much faster. The new ones are just dumb. This brings us to a more troublesome point.”

Kuzalu snapped the yellow marker in half, and smeared the oozing ink all over the map, before ripping it off of the board, revealing a diagram of the five spiritual elements. Earth, Water, Fire, Air, and Ether. ”We have five particularly troublesome Chiropteran on our hands. Apparently, they are using the priestesses, and the cult. They manage all branches between here and Tianjin. Unfortunately, those two couldn't tell me much more about them. Only the high priestesses, Zhi Zhen and Han Jianping know more. However, I did learn what their goal is.”

He turned towards the trio, with an excited smile on his face. “They are going to breed a dragon!”

A silence fell over the room. “What does he mean by a dragon?” Yukio whispered, turning to Saya.

“I have no idea,” she answered in a clipped tone.. She sounded like she wanted to get out of there as much as he did. “Kuzalu,” she said, turning to him. “Did you get information about their whereabouts? Their base of operation? Meeting times?” She shut her mouth tightly after finishing her question, as though hiding the bile that rose up when she tried to speak to him. 

“I will tell you that,” Kuzalu said with a sigh. He closed his eyes, as though he were losing steam. “But first, there is something else… It's not relevant to the lore of the cult, but it’s  pretty big, and could change everything.”

All eyes in the room were on Kuzalu now. “When those two assassins saw me, before I captured them, the senior one turned to her junior, and said; ‘Return to Zhen-fūrén, tell her to send Shinkaiten’. So during the interrogation, I asked her to tell me who Shinkaiten was, and she was even more reluctant to tell me that than anything else.”

He let those words hang in the air, and then, the silence was broken again by his laughter. A snort at first, and then a chuckle, and then he threw back his head. “Another priest,” Kuzalu announced. “One just like myself.” A stunned silence fell over the trio. Yukio felt a chill crawling up his spine. He looked over to Saya, and saw how her body tensed, and her posture tightened. In her corner of the room, Lei’s grip on Cui Cao tightened. 

Kuzalu tilted his head back and exhaled through his nose,  not quite smiling this time, but not disturbed either. “She didn’t know much else,” he said. “But the fact that Shinkaiten isn’t a real name tells us he’s the same type as me.” He tilted his head back. “Priests who live long enough to regain their senses always take a new name. Mine used to be Baran.”  

He gave a small shrug. “It was a nice name, my mother liked it, so I liked it too, but after a while, it just didn't feel right anymore. None of our old names felt right... I don't know why that is, but it seems to be universal."

Kuzalu spoke of losing his name as though it were a candy he had enjoyed as a child, but no longer had the sweet tooth for as an adult. 

Yukio’s shoulders shifted. His eyes remained on Kuzalu, but his gaze lost focus for a breath. His fingers, which had been resting gently on Kasumi’s sheath, tightened, then loosened again. He blinked once, slowly, then looked down. Saya’s posture straightened, not stiffly, but as though something inside her had drawn taut. Her mouth parted a fraction, and her eyes flicked once toward Yukio, then quickly away again. She adjusted the hem of her uniform sleeve, and then stilled.

Lei’s arms were crossed. They remained crossed. But the tension in her shoulders had changed. Not defensive. Not aggressive. Just heavier. Her chin lowered ever so slightly, and for a long moment, her gaze stayed fixed not on Kuzalu, but on the floor where his feet stood. When her eyes did rise again, they didn’t narrow. They didn’t harden. They just watched him, silent and searching, as if weighing the answer to a question she hadn’t asked aloud.

Kuzalu tapped the board once with the back of the marker. “Now, about their location…” he unfurled the map of Beijing, and continued on with the plan.

***

The Trio spoke alone for a long time after that, in the room that Lei and Saya shared. But by now, they sat in silence. 

Yukio was nodding off beside her, but Saya hadn’t the heart to tell him to go to his own room. It was mostly him they were worried about. 

The plan had been simple enough. They would scout the hideout, and if the information was correct, then they would attack on the last day of the week, when Zhi Zhen and the five met, without any of the lower acolytes. And by now, Yukio’s head had fallen against Saya’s shoulder, and his eyes closed.

Across the room, Lei sat on her bed with her back to the wall, one leg drawn up, Cui Cao resting in front of her. “It's not as complicated as you think it is Saya. I was fortunate not to see Lijun become truly corrupt. No matter what happened in his final moments, I still remember the man I loved. I hold no such feelings for Kuzalu, I assure you.”

“I know sensei,” Saya said softly. “Ever since I… I never hated anyone, until my parents were murdered by soldiers… I didn’t understand until later, that all of those soldiers were once civilians, who suffered because of a war that my father had a hand in. It didn’t make me love him any less, or miss him any less. I just understood… that humans are too complicated for me to fully understand, and fully judge. Thats why I’ve used the skills you taught me to fight the demons, and…” 

She stopped herself. She couldn’t claim to be free of hatred… She still had never forgiven the men who took everything from her. “Even though I’m not a man, you still made me take an oath Lei-sensei, and I’ve kept it. But… I never—” she shook her head. “Forget it. I’m just tired, and I’m talking nonsense.”

“It's okay,” Lei said gently. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me Saya. I know your heart, and it's purer than you give yourself credit for.”

Saya looked down at Yukio, still resting against her. She adjusted his sword so it wouldn’t tip over. “Do you think…” She stopped herself. Her hand froze midway between smoothing her pants and reaching for Kasumi. “Do you think it will happen to him?”

“Don’t do this to yourself Saya.”

Saya stifled a cry that almost escaped her. “It would be my fault.”

“That's enough,” Lei said softly, but with authority. She rose from her bed, and gently pried Yukio’s head from Saya’s shoulder, before laying him down gently onto her bed without waking him. Lei stood for a moment beside the bed, watching the boy’s breathing settle, and his fingers curl. She turned to Saya. “Go wash your face, and brush your teeth. Get ready for bed.”

Saya blinked, as though returning from far away. “But Yukio— he’s in my bed.”

But Lei was already making for the door. It was no longer her problem.

“Sorry Saya, I need some air.”

She exited the dorm, and out into the courtyard, walking along the familiar cement path until she came to the hall where Kuzalu’s office was. She knew he was likely sleeping there, since he often worked late, balancing both the duties that came with the charade of being an American defector, and also the investigating and planning that went into defeating the cult. 

As she approached the doors, the stationed PLA guard straightened up. Recognition lit his face, followed by a smile. “You’re up awfully late, Ms. Ruo.”

She returned the smile. “I've just forgotten something, that's all.” 

He stepped aside without hesitation. “Go on in. I won’t mark the log.”

“Thank you comrade Ong,” Lei said, bowing her head slightly as she passed. “Would you like me to bring you some tea on my way out?”

Ong sighed gratefully. “You truly are a gem. I’d love some if it's made by you,” he beamed as he closed gently behind her.

She continued onward, up the stairs, and to the office room where they had all been briefed earlier that evening. Even though she hadn’t been separated from Cui Cao since she left her room, she still felt his absence. “You’re just here to ask him a question,” she reminded herself under her breath, as she reached into her front pocket for the key. It clicked in the lock without resistance, and the door creaked open.

The office was empty. She could tell without flicking on the light. She stepped in cautiously, and the tension  she hadn’t realized she was holding loosened slightly.

Then— footsteps.

Her head turned sharply. She could already tell from the weight of the steps, and their unhurried rhythm, who it was. The footsteps paused behind the half-open door. She turned. Kuzalu entered, one hand on the knob, the other holding a long, cylindrical case wrapped in thick black cloth.

A flicker of surprise at seeing her there passed over his face, before it returned to its normal placidity. “Why aren’t you sitting?” It was more of an instruction than a question, so Lei took a seat in one of  the guest’s chairs in front of his desk. 

Kuzalu cracked his neck, and grunted softly as though releasing built up tension, before sitting on top of his own desk, and placing the case down beside him. “So what did you want to ask me, Lei?”

Lei looked down at her lap, and ripped off the band-aid. “What did you do to those two prisoners to get that information?

“I could tell you,” Kuzalu answered surprisingly softly, “but what good will come out of you knowing? It's better that you allow yourself to win instead of dwelling on how dirty your hands might be by association to mine.”

Lei had no response. Her gaze continued to linger on where it had been, and her fingers closed into fists. But Kuzalu did not seem to mind the silence. His hand brushed over the cylinder, before pulling it into his lap. “While we’re on that subject,” he said, unwrapping the parcel, “Those swords that the assassins carried are not made from the kind of metal that Cui Cao or Kasumi is, but it is still very good quality metal. I had those jians melted into a katana. Give this to Saya, tell her that you're the one who commissioned it. I don’t think she’ll accept it if she knows it's from me.”

Lei’s eyes flicked up, narrowing faintly as they met his. Slow, simmering suspicion crept into her features. “I’m not doing this because I’m trying to be nice,” Kuzalu said with a hint of an ironic chuckle. 

Lei slowly rose from her chair, maintaining eye-contact with Kuzalu, before accepting the sword, putting it back in its case, and turning to leave.

“Just one more thing, Ruo Lei,” Kuzalu said before she exited the door. She stopped, and turned around, and saw a surprisingly serious expression on his face. “Ruo Tian-xi is in Japan,” he said. “Don’t wake Saya up, but she should know in the morning, so that she can call her handler.”

Lei looked up in surprise for a moment, but then the neutrality returned to her face, and she looked down at her hand which held the doorknob. “She’ll be glad to hear that,” she said calmly.

She opened the door, and stepped out. “I hope so,” Kuzalu said as the door closed. “These gestures almost always come with strings attached…” 

Chapter Text

Torchlight illuminated the chamber, flickering against the stone pillars and prayer banners. Zhi Zhen stood on the dais with her arms crossed, as Han Jianping approached. 

Jianping was unusually tall for a priestess, and glided arrogantly rather than walked. She wore the standard Shénwu robes, but her headband covered her eyes. The patterns on its folds were completed by the tattoos on her face. Her sword, Mo Leng, radiated malevolent recognition from where it rested on her back. Zhen’s own sword, Zhu Guan, gave off the same baleful hum from where it clung to her back..

“The foreign priest has given us trouble, Zhi Zhen,” Han Jianping said in a contralto voice. “But I assure you, Tianjin is safe. Our project will not fail.”

“Shinkaiten will take care of him,” Zhi Zhen said calmly. 

Han Jianping’s painted lips jumped into a smirk as she brought her long nails over them, as if to hide a giggle. “Have you given him Lan Hu? It would be poetic to have that pathetic Ruo Lei killed by the sword that used to belong to her detestable sister. Oh how I wish I could have seen it when Zhu Guan sliced through her pretty neck.”

Zhi Zhen smirked. “Perhaps Mo Leng shall have the honor of killing the other sister.’ She waved her hand dismissively. “But don’t get your hopes up about Shinkaiten. He was trained for a katana, not a jian, and he refuses to wield anything but the blade he believes is rightfully his. We'll worry about it later.. Approach the dais, Han Jianping.”

Han Jianping did so, and Zhi Zhen let the silence pass as the torchlight danced along both their faces. “The five have been getting bossy lately,” Zhen said  darkly. “They are miserly with how we can use the New Yaoguai, despite their high supply, and I have been forced to rely too heavily on my assassins, who each take years and years to train.”

“Mine are at your disposal,” Jianping said diplomatically.

“You have only 19 of them at hand, and they must remain in Tianjin, to protect the dragon’s body. The Han clan’s version of the dance is better suited to that purpose than that of my Zhi clan.”

“I thought you did not care about the Five’s dragon?” Jianping said with the faintest trace of amusement on her lips. “Has not our goal been the restoration of the Shénwu's glory from the beginning?”

“That was where we aligned,” Zhen said, her tone leaving no room for debate. “The terror of the Chiropteran has always been about bringing us power. Our Creed is to take life first, and protect it second. The Five are nothing more than quacks masquerading as alchemists. That's why I need you, Han Jianping.” She narrowed her eyes. “We are going to soak this land in blood once more. We don't need to wait for the dragon to be perfect to the Five’s ridiculous expectations before we release it. It is almost at the stage where it can serve our purposes.”

Han Jianping now crossed her arms as she began to laugh. “I was waiting to hear about when we would diverge from those—” They were interrupted by a loud thud. From behind one of the prayer-banners, a broken katana was thrown, and clattered against the floor, spattering blood stains. Shinkaiten stepped out from behind shortly after, his eyes narrow and veins stretching across his brow. 

“Vile woman,” he snarled. 

Han Jianping did not flinch, but a cold sweat now trickled down her neck. 

“Please relax lord Shinkaiten,” Zhen said calmly. “We wouldn’t think of betraying you.”

“These things are not Kasumi,” Shinkaiten growled at the broken sword on the floor. He walked through the prayer banners, dragging the still living body of a bleeding New Yaoguai with him. “My descendent keeps my blade within this city. I’ve stayed my hand this long. Will you dare to ask me to wait any longer?”

Han Jianping shuddered, but Zhi Zheng remained outwardly unfazed. “It will not be much longer Lord Shinkaiten,” She said. “But I must still implore you to stay your hand. As long as they are employees of the Chinese military, any action against them will draw attention to our—” Shinkaiten crushed the Yaoguai’s head in his hand.

Shinkaiten let the silence linger, before turning to the priestesses. “I have the patience of a true Samurai,” he said. “But despite my honor and my virtues, I still have my limits. I have waited for almost 30 years. If you wish to see how far my patience will stretch, then delay telling me your plan a moment longer.”

Zhi Zhen did not flinch. “As of now Lord Shinkaiten, we do have a plan… ”

***

October 27th, 1947.

The forest was a quiet kind of endless. Mist breathed through the cedars in low ribbons, soft against the stone steps that led up to the forgotten shrine. The smell of moss and wet earth clung to the air. In the hollow of that place—sacred, unseen by the world—Saya stood alone.

Ruo Lei had taken her here long ago. It was a safe place, one used by the Ruo clan for generations. It was here that she met Ruo Tian-xi, yet, the food that the older woman brought her had no taste. Strength was the only thing that mattered now.

Saya’s sword was too large for her. At only 134 cm tall, her sword felt mockingly overlarge and heavy in her hands. Both of her parents were below average height, but those two years she lived at the church, where broth and bread was all that was available, she felt had affected her growth the most. But That was not on her mind. Those thoughts would not occur to her until years later. Presently, she swung it again and again, her fingers raw, her breath trembling with the cold. Learning to kill those monsters was all that mattered.

It was the morning after her twelfth birthday. She had not mentioned it to Lei, or anyone. 

It should have been Sekiko’s birthday too… but those monsters had taken her.

Saya’s arms burned, but she swung again, teeth clenched. The edge of the blade caught the fog like a thin gleam of winter sunlight. Her jaw locked; her eyes stayed fierce, refusing the sting that threatened behind them.

The sharp call of a crow cried from somewhere above, and the sound echoed off the half-collapsed shrine walls. Saya froze. There—just beneath that cry—was laughter.

At first it was faint, like wind threading through bamboo. Then it multiplied, overlapping—rough male voices, familiar, leering. The air shifted. The trees seemed to tilt inward. Her fingers went cold.

Saya turned, searching, blade raised. The laughter circled. Faces formed between the trunks—blurred, yet unmistakable. The soldiers who had taken turns with her mother in front of her… the same soldiers who killed both her parents… the thugs who visited the church… The thin-lipped smile she remembered. The yellowed teeth. A flash of a priest’s collar behind them.

“No…”

She backed away. The sword shook in her hands. Their laughter thickened, their forms sharpening as if called forth by her fear.

Saya screamed so hard that she felt her throat tear. She lunged at them in desperate anger. She cursed them, shouting words that no child should know, language learned in hatred, in captivity, in the dark corners of memory that had never slept. She swung her sword, but the blade sliced through fog, through nothing.

Each strike left her weaker. The forest spun. The laughter roared, and the sword’s weight dragged her arms down. 

And beneath the laughter, she heard the Padre’s chants and benedictions. 

She clasped her hands to her ears so hard it hurt, but the latin prayers that she heard every night grew louder, overpowering the laughter, until only Jakdan’s sneers could be heard, mingling with the Padre’s chants. She shut her eyes as tightly as she could, but the soldier with the broken jaw, smiled at her as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

A cross on a rosary dangled in front of nothing. The Padre’s chants grew louder, his voice wet with tears as he prayed for the souls of the two girls he betrayed over and over. Prayers she could not escape.

She was not ashamed of having dropped the sword. 

“Papa! Mama! Seki-nee!” she cried. She cried out their names, but all she could remember was the sights of them she did not want to see. “I want to die!” the words clawed from her throat. “I want to go home… I want to go home… I want to die!”

She might have found her sword again upon opening her eyes, had Ruo Lei not found her first. She remembered being steadied by her mentor’s gentle hands, and soft whispers.

“They are not here,” Saya. “They are gone. They’re dead. They’ve all gone somewhere they can’t hurt you anymore.”

Lei pulled Saya into her lap, and repeated those words to her, until the phantoms dissipated. “Saya,” she said as she brushed a wet strand of hair from the younger girl’s cheek. “You have no idea how strong you already are. To have come this far into mastering the priestess dance, is something that no ordinary girl could do. Even girls of the Shenwu who practice from childhood don’t always pass their training. That's why I didn’t want to train you at first, but you showed such a strong will, Saya, that it impressed, and even frightened me.”

Saya trembled in Lei’s embrace, and did her best to focus on Lei’s words.

“You were someone I could not ignore,” Lei said. “I had to teach you the dance, because even though you were in hell, even though you suffered more than anyone, you stood straight and demanded I teach you what I knew. Like a stone, enduring storm after storm, no matter how the wind may crash against it, no matter how hard the rain may fall upon it, it is unmoving, and unbroken. That's who you are Saya.”

Lei shifted Saya so that she was now looking her in the eyes, and then switched from Mandarin to Japanese: “Ishi no yo ni. Steady as stone.”

Saya blinked. “Steady as stone,” her voice was weak. It came out in barely a whisper, but she felt warmer than before. Stronger than before. 

Ruo Lei helped Saya back to her feet. Yet, her trembling did not go away entirely that day. Twenty years later, it still hadn’t.

***

Saya crossed the threshold of Kuzalu’s empty office with her eyes already fixed on the rotary phone on the corner of his desk. She closed the door behind her with a soft click and walked to the phone. Lei had told her just that morning— Tian-xi was in Japan. Tian-xi was safe.

At least, that’s what she wanted to believe.

Tentatively, Saya picked up the receiver and dialed the number she had dialed so many times before. David’s number. She brought the handset to her ear, already rehearsing what she would say. It rang— seven rings before an unfamiliar voice answered on the other end. .

“You must be Saya.”

The man’s voice had the clipped, angular cadence of New England, and it came without pause or preamble. “This is your new handler. My name is James Carroll, but you will only address me as ‘Mr. Carroll’, or ‘Sir’.”

Saya opened her mouth to speak. “Y—”

“Shut up and listen,” he snapped, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

There was a moment of silence before he continued, as though the silence was deliberate, to let the sting settle in. “Burton’s career is over. The Bureau has stripped him of his clearance. His pension will likely be revoked too. He’ll spend his golden years stuck behind a cubicle if they don’t lock him up.” There was a satisfied snicker. “He deserves it, of course, for letting a monster like you do whatever she wants.”

Saya’s jaw locked. She said nothing, but her hand on the phone tightened, the cord stretching taut.

“You are not special. You are not independent. You are a potentially dangerous tool, and I will treat you like one. Unlike Burton, I understand the kind of leash creatures like you require. And if I so much as smell disobedience on you…” He let the pause hang, and in that pause, Saya could almost feel the smirk through the wire. “There will be consequences.”

Another pause. “The Bureau didn’t appreciate your little trip to China. You compromised operations, and David wasted resources to help you. These stories about Michael Hanks are no currency with me either. Whether anyone else hears what you say, is up to me, and I don’t consider it that interesting.”

Saya closed her eyes, and breathed slowly.

“But, lucky for you,” Carrol continued, “some of what you found was useful. So I’m giving you until the end of the month...” The words came slowly now, deliberately. Like the sound of boots descending wooden stairs. “...but if you are not back on Yokota Airbase by August first…”

Another silence— then came the twisting of the knife. “...Ruo Tian-xi will take your punishment instead.”

Saya’s eyes twitched. 

“Do I make myself clear?”

Saya didn’t respond at first. “Lets try that again, and for your sake, Tian-xi’s sake, and Burton’s sake, I hope you will answer me properly this time. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”

“Yes sir…” Saya said, in a voice that was calmer than what she felt. 

Carroll let the silence stretch for another uncomfortable moment. “Never make me wait for an answer to one of my questions again. Vampire whore.”

–Click–

The dial tone whined like an irritant in her ear. Saya stood frozen, the receiver still clutched against her head, knuckles pale. Her breath hitched once.

Then she screamed as she slammed the receiver down so hard that the plastic cracked apart in her hand. The cradle snapped. Pieces scattered across the desk and floor. Shards of bakelite skidded across the tiles.

Her hand trembled. The door to the office flew open, and a Cadre stood with a concerned face. “Is everything alright miss!?” he cried. 

Kuzalu put a hand on his shoulder from behind, and moved him out of the way. “Must’ve been the mouse. I saw him under my desk earlier today, and forgot to say anything about it.”

The Cadre looked at her as if to demand to know whether or not it was true, and Saya nodded. 

“Please try to control yourself, comrade,” the Cadre said, dragging his palm down his face, his tone having gone from concerned to exasperated in an instant. —Saya’s jaw twitched— “Your scream scared the entire hallway, and I thought there was an actual emergency.”

“And now you know that there isn’t one, comrade,” Kuzalu said, gently pushing him out of the way of the door before closing it behind him. “I will deal with my typist.” The  door clicked behind him, and Saya still fumed, trembling with anger. 

She turned away from Kuzalu, shamefaced, and looked at the broken phone as if regretting that she hadn’t shattered it into even more pieces. “Don’t take it personally,”  Kuzalu said in a softer tone than she expected. “Americans don't understand the rite of passage we have gone through. They see the strength of our bodies, the sharpness of our senses, and how slowly we age, and assume that we are monsters." He then paused. "Okay, I'm a bad example," he admitted with a degree of self-awareness.

Saya turned around and glared at him. “You’re just like them,” she said in a voice that was cracked with anger. “Right now, they are using someone I care about to make me compliant, just like you did with Yukio and me when you locked us down in that sewer.”

Kuzalu remained standing with his hands behind his back, but there was a flash of anger in his eyes when she said that. “Thats different. I never used your lives to threaten her.”

Saya stood there in stunned silence for a moment. “You make me sick,” she finally said, before walking past him. But as she put her hand on the doorknob, he spoke again—

“You’re a lot older than 31, Miss Kinoshita. You’ve lived more lifetimes than anyone in this building but for Lei and myself. And yet, you are young and beautiful, which is both camouflage, and a curse. I am sure you’ve built walls and barbs around yourself so that others wouldn’t treat you as a child. Yet it's better to be seen as a child than as a monster.”

Saya paused… She hated how right he was. The way handler after handler had treated her, was the reason for it. But not David… David didn’t fear her, and he didn’t treat her with disdain either. No, he had gone out of his way to help her, even when he didn’t have to. He saved her life on missions, and showed genuine concern for her well being when she was in danger, not because she was a useful asset, but because he saw her as a human being, even when she had denied it herself.

And now, her small shoulders trembled. She had been cold. Distant. Because she was terrified he’d start treating her like a child if she let him see too much. Now he was in trouble because of her, and she had no way of knowing if he was alright. 

She did not want to be in that office with that man another moment. She swung the door open, and shut it behind her in a single second. She tore into the hallway, and Carroll’s voice coiled in her ear like wire. When her mind tried subconsciously to match a face with that voice, Jakdan’s slimy visage… the one he wore when disguised as a human. That wet hair, yellow teeth, oily tongue…

“Unlike Burton, I understand the kind of leash creatures like you require. And if I so much as smell disobedience on you…” 

“Damn him...” she  muttered, forgetting that she was now speaking in her native Japanese, and supposed to be Chinese. She steadied  herself against the wall, and Cadre Renqi, the Cadre from earlier, noticed her unease. 

“Comrade Ruo,” he said, “You look terrible. Please be at ease, these facilities are usually very clean, and I don't think you'll be startled by any more mice.”

“Ku… comrade Hanks took care of it,” she  said in a quiet voice. There was a rasp to it, and her legs were trembling as she leaned desperately against the wall. 

“You really don't look well,” Cadre Renqi said with mounting concern. “Please,” he began reaching to offer her support, “Allow me to–”

“Don't touch me!” she cried, louder than she had meant to. “I mean… I'm so sorry comrade, I didn't mean to be rude, I've… I g… I always had a terrible fear of mice. When I was a little girl and living in the countryside during the famine, they would infect what precious little rice and grain we had. They made me so sick and hungry that… I'm so sorry.”

It was generally considered unwise to acknowledge that there had been a famine. But luckily for Saya, this Cadre’s expression softened, not with pity, but with the quiet weariness of someone who had also survived lean years and had long ago learned not to speak of them.. “I lost my mother to malnutrition,” he admitted. “Please try to control yourself though. Even though you are a woman, you are still employed at a military institution. It's dangerous to speak about such things around here.”

“Thank you,” Saya murmured, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “Would you please tell comrade Ruo Lei to come and find me in our dorm when she has a chance?”

“Of course,” Renqi said, almost putting a hand on her shoulder, but drawing it back when he saw the faint flinch. His face creased with the pain of recognition… recognition of the things better left unsaid.

 “Your cousin is almost finished with her duties for the day anyways. You go to your room and lie down. I am sure you've been working very hard.”

He turned on his heels and walked away without lingering any longer. Saya steadied herself back onto her feet, but her legs and hands still trembled, her throat was dry as sandpaper, and her jaw was already aching from how tightly she had been clenching it. And slowly, her anger began to return, overtaking her fear. Cadre Renqi was a good man, but the men who followed the demon called Jakdan, men like Carroll and so many soldiers and bureaucrats just like him… like Kuzalu— No!

They were ordinary men, but so much worse than Kuzalu. Kuzalu had merely reminded her that her ability to protect herself was not guaranteed, that no matter how much she trained, no matter what weapons she possessed, there would always be cruel, evil monsters, against whom she would be helpless.

“ If you are not back on Yokota Airbase by August first, Ruo Tian-xi will take your punishment instead.”

She was helpless against him too! Against Carroll! She was at his mercy, and she bit down into her trembling hand to stop herself from screaming. She knew she had to calm down… Lei was already shouldering more than she should… Facing the Shénwu who murdered her sister, the terror of potentially facing another priest… now she would have to tell her that Ruo Tian-xi, who was the closest thing Lei had to a mother, wasn’t safe… 

She staggered into her room, and immediately made for the water basin on the table, and she splashed her face so aggressively she accidentally saturated herself. It dripped down her blouse, her skirt, soaking into her socks… On the 14th of July, they would bring Zhi Zhen down. On the 14th, it would all end, it had to…

The 14th was mere days away, and she wasn’t ready.

Chapter Text

Yukio woke up in his cot. It was quiet, and still dark out. He blinked. Today was the day… Shinkaiten… What kind of a man was he? Was he like Kuzalu? Was he worse? Was he someone they could reason with? 

He heard a familiar voice. 

“Don’t worry Kasumi,” he whispered, as he pulled his sword closer. ”I’ll be careful. Saya and I  have the easiest job. If Shinkaiten is a threat when we get there, then Kuzalu will handle him. Lei will defeat Zhi Zhen, and Saya and I will fight anyone else who might be there, and just be their backup if we have to.”

“...”

“I’m not afraid, Kasumi…”

It was not long after that, that the sun rose from beyond the horizon… from the direction of home. Yukio was already dressed by then, standing in the garden, wearing a well-fitting blue Mao suit. He turned his heels, and walked towards the gate, Kasumi at his side. Saya and Lei were waiting for him there, similarly dressed. Blue Mao suits that neither attracted attention nor hindered movement. 

Kuzalu alone seemed to be completely free of worry. He was reclining on the bench by the bus stop, dressed in a Cadre’s work clothes, and smoking a pipe, letting plumes of thick smoke rise up into the lantern-light. His car was parked nearby, the same one he had driven them to the PLA academy in. “Yukio, come here.” he said without moving from his relaxed pose.

Yukio did so, as though he were a soldier following an order, without any fondness. 

“You understood that, didn’t you? Even though I said it in Mandarin,” Kuzalu said. “You’ve learned quickly.”

“Please don’t say that you're proud of me, or something patronizing like that,” Yukio said with a sigh. “After we finish this job, I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“I would call you a liar  if you said otherwise,” Kuzalu said as he watched the smoke dissipate above his head. “People who like me are either fools I had lied to, or people who are crazy enough that even I don’t want to be around them. So I’ll be as honest with you now as I’ve always been; when this is over, throw Kasumi into the sea.”

Yukio reacted as though he’d been struck in the face.

“If you put her on your wall,” Kuzalu continued, “you’ll only delay what is already happening. And then you’ll become like me.”

Yukio was silent.

“My sword’s name… was Enhedu’anna. It’s a Sumerian name. Kuzalu is also a Sumerian name. Do you know what it means, lad?”

Yukio remained silent. 

“It means…” Kuzalu said as he swung his legs over the side of the bench, and sat upright, “...’the one whose abode is the wilderness’. Like you, I had people I liked, and who liked me. People who were part of my team. Do you understand my use of past tense here? Don’t become like me. Get rid of Kasumi as soon as this job is finished. You will lose her either way.” He rose from the bench, and a small pouch of bone ash he had prepared the night before fell out.

“Uh oh,” he said, bending to pick it up. “Wouldn’t want to lose that.” He pocketed it, and walked towards the car, leaving Yukio in silence. “Ladies,” he now called to Saya and Lei. “I hope you’ve already said goodbye to the PLA academy. We’re moving out.”

As Kuzalu walked around to the driver’s side, and opened the door, Yukio turned his head and spoke— “Why? Why are you telling me this now!? Before a mission!”

“Because I know you won’t heed a damn word I say,” Kuzalu said calmly. “But you might think about it after everything is calm again.” And  with that, he shut the door behind him.

Overhead, the light of the streetlamp went out, as the sun illuminated the city. Already, traffic could be heard in the distance, and Yukio stood there, not even realizing he had been clutching Kasumi's case tightly, until he sensed a light pair of footsteps behind him.

“Sorry I missed what he said,” Saya said defensively as she approached with Lei at her side. “What did he tell you?”

“It was just nonsense,” Yukio said. “I don’t want to repeat it.”

Lei and Saya exchanged a look. “When this is all over,” Lei said, “Let's leave a stink bomb in his car, and have it set to go off when he puts it in park, right before he gets back to the academy.” Saya smiled at that. 

Yukio blinked… was that the first time he had seen her smile? She then turned to him, and asked— “Are you ready?”

Yukio narrowed his gaze with determination, and nodded. Saya put a hand on the cylindrical case where Yukio kept his sword. “You’d better protect Yukio properly today, Kasumi.” and with that, she followed Lei into the car, and Yukio after her. Today was the day they settled it once and for all.

***

The sun had fully risen by the time the car  joined the slow river of Beijing traffic. Outside, the city was awake, horns honked in rhythmic frustration. Bicycles weaved between trolleys and trucks, and banners fluttered from street lamps, slogans in red characters catching the breeze.

Inside the car, no one spoke.

Yukio and Saya both sat in the back, leaning towards their respective windows, their gazes far beyond the streets. In the passenger seat, Ruo Lei squinted softly as the morning sun shone onto her face, and turned her head towards Kuzalu, whose mood was hard to gauge. His face was the kind that would have been inexpressive, even before the scars, but he seemed calm enough… that was reassuring. 

She did not understand why she wasn’t feeling more nervous. The last time she faced Zhi Zhen, she was beaten easily, and would have been killed had Hengrui not arrived when he did. But that was a distant memory now, and Lei closed her eyes, and hugged the case containing Cui Cao closer, as she replayed the mantras in her head.

“Be like a falling leaf. Let thy blade guide thee…

I shall fall as lightly as a leaf. And I shall not need to worry where I fall….

I am not afraid of the demons.”

A checkpoint appeared ahead. Concrete dividers. Two guards with slung rifles and khaki uniforms flagged them down. Kuzalu pulled the car smoothly to a halt, rolled down the window, and presented his government ID. One of the guards took it, and flicked through the pages. His eyes moved from the ID to the foreigner’s face, then to Lei, to the two silent passengers in the back. His mouth twitched, but whatever doubt lingered in his mind was quickly swallowed. He straightened, handed the folder back, and gave a salute. “Safe travels, comrade.”

Kuzalu returned the salute with a silent smile, and drove on. The city grew quieter as they left the central arteries behind. Morning gave way to harsh sunlight, filtered through the smog. Rows of gray tenements slipped by. Laundry hung from iron bars on the balconies, swaying faintly. Some storefronts were shuttered. Others displayed faded portraits of Mao and cheap radios stacked in crooked pyramids.

They turned into a narrow road, barely wider than the car, and rolled to a slow stop beside a drab warehouse with boarded-up windows and a sagging tin awning. The building was anonymous. A single delivery door in the back was secured with two padlocks, and a rusted exhaust pipe ran crookedly along the outer wall. It looked like any one of a dozen distribution depots lining the older districts of the capital. From the outside, it looked empty and forgotten….

Kuzalu killed the engine, and all four doors opened without hesitation. Lei tied her Shénwu headband around her forehead in a single practiced motion, the markings of her Ruo clan now a mark above her eyes. Saya and Yukio discarded their cylindrical cases, and carried their swords ready, and Kuzalu retrieved a hatchet from underneath his seat, before all four of them closed their doors behind them, and began walking in unison towards the entrance. 

A rust-streaked door with no lock and no signage greeted them. No guard. Just a keypad, already broken; someone  had already smashed it with a rock and forced the door in. Kuzalu pulled it open and stepped in, followed by the trio. The ground floor was nearly empty. Dust hung in the stale air as they stepped onto the cracked cement floor. The whole place smelled wrong. Not fresh enough to be abandoned, but not lived-in either. Somewhere in between.

Yukio stepped forward, his footfalls nearly silent. But before he could go further, Lei placed a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were steady. Her voice low. “Watch her,” she murmured. “The dance should’ve awakened your senses. Soon you’ll be able to track like this on your own.”

Yukio blinked and nodded once, lowering his gaze to the floor and watching as Saya moved ahead of them.

She didn’t speak.

She simply paused in the center of the room and inhaled. Once. Deeply.

Then again.

Yukio did the same, and realized that he could smell it too, even if it was faint… blood had been on this floor, and bleach was used to clean it up…

For the more experienced among them, this was not blood from mere injuries. It had pooled. Cooled. Coagulated. Some of it old. Some of it fresher.

Saya  turned slightly, tracing the scent with the slightest tilt of her head. It clung to the floor. Drag marks. They weren’t visible, but they didn’t have to be. The story was there. Bodies. Still alive when they were brought in. Dead by the time they were taken below.

“They were sacrificed here,” she said finally, voice hushed. “Then dragged.” Her steps took her toward the back of the room. Toward a wall that looked the same as the rest. But something was different here. She crouched, brushing her fingers along the baseboard, where dust had gathered unevenly.

Saya pressed her palm against the stone, and there was a click. A soft creak. A portion of the wall pushed inward. A narrow seam opened. Hidden hinges groaned. Behind it, there were steps carved from old stone, worn by time, steep and narrow, descending into darkness.

No one spoke. Saya stepped back once and glanced at the others. Lei met her eyes and gave a single nod. Yukio’s hand went to Kasumi’s hilt to make sure she was still there. Kuzalu smiled. “I suppose I oughta go first,” he said. “No point in young and pretty things like yourselves being put in harm's  way first.”

“Not so fast,” Lei said, holding out her arm in front of him. ”You’ll go last,” she  said quietly. “That way if you get any ideas, I’ll already be ahead of you.” Lei turned to Yukio next. The sharpness in her tone melted. Her hand came to rest gently on his shoulder, and her voice softened to an assuring whisper. “You’re behind me.”

Yukio gave a small nod. He could feel the old pressure in his chest, but he placed a hand lightly on Kasumi’s hilt. Behind him, Saya moved without a sound. She touched his back with the flat of her fingers, allowing him to know she was behind him. One by one, they crouched low and entered the narrow passage, their blades drawn but low. Kuzalu brought up the rear, and though his steps were heavier, he kept pace.

The stairs descended deep, and it was difficult to see due to poor lighting, but at the end of the passage, the walls widened, and the smell of oil-lamps wafted up. At the bottom, a wide chamber opened before them. The torchlight flickered red-orange across the walls, casting long shadows that danced with every breath of air. Then the roof over their heads fell away, as the stairs reached the chamber.

At the heart of that amphitheater was a great sunken floor, like a massive underground parking lot converted into a chapel. Hundreds of supplicants stood motionless, shoulder to shoulder in dense rows. Civilians turned cultists, watching the newcomers with hollow reverence.

At the far end, raised above the rest, was a simple stone dais. Upon it stood Zhi Zhen.

She wore white and crimson robes that shimmered like blood in the torchlight, her eyes ringed in kohl. Her expression was calm, aloof, as if she had been standing there waiting for a very long time. A few paces to her left, stood Han Jianping, arms crossed.

The team halted at the base of the stairs. No one spoke.

Han Jianping leaned in, and her lips barely moved. “He’s not here,” she whispered. “I don’t sense him. Shinkaiten was supposed to flank them from the rear.”

Zhi Zhen’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. “Then he’s a disappointing coward,,” she said, voice low but unconcerned. “Or he’s watching, and waiting to strike when the time is right. Either way…” She turned her gaze back to the intruders, expression unreadable. “We proceed.”

She raised her hand, fingers spread wide, and the cultists began to move. Like a tide… “The two females,” she said to the congregation, “are to be taken alive. Their blood is pure. It will not be spilled quickly. They will feed the Yaoguai for decades, and decades to come. The two males…” her voice dropped. “Kill them.”

Yukio, Saya and Lei, all  tensed, as a murmur rose among the cultists.

“Blood begets life. Life begets blood.

Ferry us to strength. Ferry us to glory…”

They marched toward the stairs, and Kuzalu chuckled. “We could retreat to where the stairs were more narrow,” he suggested, and then put his hand to his chin as though completely free of the stress of the current situation. “If I were them, I would negate this disadvantage by trying to force us off these stairs while we are here in the open, but since I make up the rear—”

Saya gasped, realizing it before Kuzalu said it. She dove onto Yukio, shielding him with her body, and the hidden sniper lurched his aim at the last second—just enough to miss her. The shot ricocheted off the steps beside her.

Kuzalu chuckled. “I honestly wasn't expecting that,” he said as he jumped down the side of the staircase, narrowly evading the bullet that was meant for him. “Get moving lad!” He called back to Yukio. “You and I are their targets, but we're harder to hit when we're moving!” 

Cultists immediately converged on where he landed. This time, the assassins Zhi Zhen trained were not among them. She had clearly learned her lesson about feeding them to Kuzalu's bloodlust, and would keep them in reserve for the other three who had each taken a vow against taking human life. Kuzalu— showed no such reservations. His ax tore through the cultists who charged at him with knives and machetes and pointed sticks. The weaker ones tried to retreat, the sight and smell of blood momentarily shocking them back to their senses, but they were immediately cut down by the senior cultist who held the rear guard, while the braver ones in the front held the line, and did not even begin to flinch as  gunman fired into the crowd from where they hid, in the hopes of hitting Kuzalu.

“This is madness,” Saya said in a strange voice, as she and Yukio took cover further up the stairs, where the arched wall shielded them from the fire. She had been shot at before, but the delighted cries of Kuzalu and the sickening sound of his ax chopping through flesh, pulled them even deeper towards madness. 

“Kuzalu!” Lei cried, the voice of the bygone commander returning to her as she emerged into the open. “Take out those sharpshooters!” 

Kuzalu turned to her, and his expression made her gasp… there was something lost  In those eyes… they were crazed… but when his eyes met hers, something appeared to break in them… a flicker of grief., And  then, in that moment, the tip of a Shénwu's sword glinted through the crowd. Han Jianping. 

Mo Leng’s blade pierced Kuzalu's side, and he jumped away before it could reach his heart, but the mob was waiting for him. 

The points of their makeshift spears, sharpened metal rods, and knives tied on to broom handles, stabbed at his torso. A chain was thrown around his neck, and all human reason vanished. With his life on the line, Kuzalu went even deeper into the dance. Lei knew the signs. His eyes were rolled completely to the back of his head.

Lei froze.

He looked just like Lijun… His mouth open in a soundless cry of ecstasy or agony– she could not tell which. Her feet wouldn’t move. Her heart pounded in her chest. A whisper, no louder than the breath it rode on, escaped her lips: “Kuzalu…” She took a half-step back before catching herself, and her fingers closed tightly around Cui Cao’s hilt. 

“You’re right Cui Cao… Now is not the time for this!” She drew a breath. Deeper. Sharper. And the command in her voice returned like a blade drawn from its sheath, the voice of the woman who once commanded men on the battlefield. “Saya! Stay on the stairs! Go back closer to where the ceiling is low!”

Without waiting for a reply, she moved.

The world narrowed to a single objective. The sharpshooters.

Her eyes had already marked them the moment they arrived. She had seen the flashes of their muzzles firing from behind prayer banners, tucked into alcoves. She knew those hides. Had faced them a hundred times in the jungle and the mountains and the trenches of the last war. She knew how to reach them. How to silence them.

She kicked off from the stair’s edge. For an instant, her body hung suspended in the open air, thirty feet above the floor—the hall below unfolding in slow motion beneath her. Banners rippled, gunmetal glinted, the breath of gunpowder rising toward her like incense. Then gravity reclaimed her.

Her braid snapped behind her like a whip, her breath tight, her mind razor-clear.

Cui Cao whispered through the air.

The first sharpshooter didn't even see her coming. One strike sliced the rifle in two. Cui Cao’s pommel struck the back of his head before he even saw her, and he fell into unconsciousness. 

Before the next one could aim, she was already there, as silent as a leaf falling in a gentle wind. His rifle was cut in half, and he was rendered silent.

She danced between the prayer banners, a blur of cloth and steel, disarming one after the other. Her blade sliced through barrels and bolts, sent shattered wood and warped iron clattering to the floor. Each assailant fell, and each step took her closer to the dais, to where Zhi Zhen waited. She alone would die by her hand!

On the staircase, Saya shoved Yukio behind her. With this narrow way the enemy could attack, they would be forced to lose their advantage in numbers. Saya’s vow forbade her from killing humans, but it did not forbid her from hurting them. Yukio could barely see past her shoulder. "Saya—"

“Behind me,” she snapped.

Another second and they were on her.

The first cultist lunged with a scythe. She ducked beneath the swing and drove the pommel of her blade into his sternum, dropping him. She pivoted, smashing the blunt end of her Katana into the jaw of the next cultist, and then swiped the ankle of a third, causing all three of them to fall off the side of the stairs.  

Yukio grabbed Kasumi’s hilt. “I can fight—!”

“You’ll run if I fall. Understand me, Morino?” she said through clenched teeth, batting aside a broken pipe swung toward her face. “You run.”

They were backing up—step by step—toward the narrow overhang where the ceiling pressed close. A choke point. 

Good. She could keep them from flanking her. 

Two cultists tried to rush at once. She turned her blade, disarmed one, elbowed the other in the throat—and stepped again. A spear was lunged at her, but she sliced the wooden handle, and gave a shout as she kicked its wielder in the face, sending him crashing into the cultist behind him. 

Another cultist gave a battlecry as he charged. Saya pivoted, raised her sword to strike—

—CLANG!---

The blade hit the stone ceiling above her. She had retreated too far, and miscalculated her surroundings.

Her wrists jarred from the impact, and the cultist was on her before she could reset. Rough hands grabbed both her arms. He yanked her from her stance as if she weighed nothing. She felt her feet lift— then instinct kicked in.

With all her momentum, Saya slammed her forehead into his nose. There was a crack, and a gurgled scream. His grip slackened, and they both tumbled backward over opposite sides of the stairwell. She could hear Yukio calling her name, but with  a desperate cry she called out—- “Yukio! Don’t you dare come after me, stay right ther–”

Saya’s fall was broken as she landed on a corpse. One of Kuzalu’s many. She lay there dazed, the cadaver’s blood seeping through the fabric of her clothes. Her vision spun, as her head turned to its side. 

Kuzalu was dancing the dance of death, covered in blood from head to foot. His ax blade was gone, leaving only the handle in his hands, and he wielded it with such strength that it buried itself into skulls and ribcages as though it were a sharpened blade.

The fortitude of the cultists had now shattered, and they were in full retreat from him, climbing over one another to escape, slipping in blood, trampling the weak. But Kuzalu didn’t stop. His eyes were wild. He didn’t even see her. A chill settled into Saya’s spine.

Then she felt it...

A stillness behind her. Like a drop in pressure, or the moment before thunder. She turned, and jumped to her feet, holding her sword in front of her.

Han Jianping stood just paces away.

One foot landed soundlessly on the stone, her robes fluttering in the torchlight. Mo Leng gleamed in her hand, and Saya felt the hairs stand on her neck as she felt the killing intent, not only from Han Jianping, but from Mo Leng too… she had never felt such malevolent energy from Cui Cao before.

Han Jianping’s eyes were hidden under cloth, but her lips squirmed into a derisive smirk. “You must be Saya,” she said in a melodic tone that may have been beautiful if not for the venom. 

Han Jianping vanished, and Saya’s instincts kicked in like a shot of adrenaline.

She saw the assassin reappear, and held up her blade to block it in the nick of time, but the force of Jianping’s blow caused her to cry out as she staggered back. She could feel the shockwaves of its force reverberate from her arms, throughout her body. 

“Hmmm hmmm” Jianping chuckled. “Not much different from what I expected… Ruo Lei’s little stray.”

Saya’s teeth clenched. “Don’t argue with this woman,” her mind told her, but her mouth and tongue moved against it. “I am not her stray. While you  and Zhi Zhen brainwashed dozens of girls and treated them like fodder, Lei-sense…” “What are you doing!? You’re falling into her trap!” Saya stopped herself, and steadied her stance. 

Han Jianping’s smile widened, and she tilted her head back, as though she was about to laugh. “Thats adorable, you really are a stray. Even now, you talk like you’re desperate for someone to keep you.”

Han Jianping now lowered her head, and faced Saya. Even with the cloth over her eyes, Saya could feel them on her. “You weren’t born to the Shénwu dance,.” Han Jianping stated. “You were dragged into it. A stray, hoping to earn Lei’s scraps.”

Saya said nothing in response. Her back pressed to the stair wall, cold stone against it . The torchlight threw their shadows long across the floor, and somewhere above, the distant rhythm of chanting still echoed like a drumbeat of the inevitable.

She couldn’t fight this woman head-on. Not here. Not like this. She needed to get back to Yukio.

Saya exhaled through her nose. Quiet. Measured.

She slid one foot to the left, the sole of her shoe whispering across the stone. Her shoulder brushed the wall, her blade still raised. Another inch. Then another. Han Jianping’s head tilted slightly, as if amused. Her smile didn’t change.

Saya moved again. The torch behind her flickered, casting a ripple across the floor. One more step, slow, careful—

Then she ran.

A flash of cloth—Han Jianping lunged.

Saya raised her sword just in time. Mo Leng crashed against her blade like a falling ax. The blow knocked her off her feet—backward. She hit the stone hard, her back scraped against rough ground, but her body reacted before her mind caught up. She rolled sideways, corrected her stance, and found her feet again.

Another blow came. Han Jianping’s feet seemed to float above the ground as she advanced rapidly, and then struck with full force! 

She caught the next strike—but only barely. Her wrists screamed, her knees buckled, and for a moment the chamber spun. The next blows came one after the other! Han Jianping was not fast, but her strikes were powerful. Steel rang in the chamber like thunder as she swung gracefully, tilting her shoulders back with each one-handed swing. 

Saya parried one strike after the other, her shoes skidding across the stone floor as she was pressed back. Each time she met Han Jianping’s sword, her arms jarred, her breath caught, and her blade shook in her hands. She adjusted her grip. Set her stance. Blocked again. The force of it almost knocked her off balance, but she held, until the back of her foot caught on something.

 She  fell backwards just as a horizontal swipe aimed for her neck took the tips of her twin braids instead. 

Saya’s breath caught as she hit the ground, having tripped over another one of the bodies left by Kuzalu’s rampage. A moment suspended. She stared up at Han Jianping, her chest heaving, heart slamming against her ribs. The assassin stood poised above her, not striking, just watching. Her head tilted slightly, like a cat studying an injured bird. She smiled, and then she spoke, quiet and amused. “You fall beautifully Saya.”

Saya held her blade in front of her, preparing for the next strike, but in that lull, she noticed it— nicks and chips all along its length. Every strike by Mo Leng it had blocked, left a mark. 

“It’s  a shame,” Han Jianping mused, with a hint of sincerity in her voice. “It is not as though you were a total outsider to the Shénwu. Afterall, your grandmother was something of a legend when she was alive.”

“My grandmother?” Saya asked, more of a ruse to buy her time to allow her to catch her breath than anything. 

“If you don't know who she is,” Han Jianping answered, “then that really is sad. Hanabusa Hisaka may have been a Japanese mongrel, but she was a brilliant historian and a genius of the occult. Her knowledge of the Shénwu order and its history ran so deep, that the Shénwu themselves used her research to revitalize their order.”

Saya blinked in astonishment, before regaining her full focus on the enemy before her.

“We had lost who we were with the world's rapid modernization, but we rediscovered it in time for the war, and became feared once again, thanks to her.” She gave a mirthful chuckle. “I guess we all owe a bit of a debt to Hanabusa. It's a shame she died so young, and never passed a sword on to you.” She pointed Mo Leng at the chipped weapon in Saya’s hands. “That blade has no voice at all.”

Om… ta…

Han Jianping spun around, just in time to block Cui Cao’s strike as Ruo Lei swooped down from behind. Wind from the strike caused her headband to unravel, and fall down her face to her neck, revealing a pair of sharp, gleaming eyes. 

Han Jianping swung Mo Leng with full force, knocking Lei several meters back, but she landed as lightly and as gracefully as a feather falling. “Where is Zhi Zhen?” she  demanded. 

Saya’s eyes widened with realization. Their leader must have escaped through a secret passage during the chaos. 

“Tianjin, probably.” Han Jianping answered. “But I'm surprised you want to chase her instead of run from her. Do you have a death wish, little girl?”

“You and her both should stop calling me that,” Lei said as her eyes narrowed. 

“Why not? Compared to the real Shénwu like us, who have shed the blood of our own sisters, and who don't think ourselves too holy to take lives the way men do all the time; you are nothing but a little girl. A weak, sentimental child who never grew up. Didn't you learn that the last time you crossed swords with Zhi Zhen?”

Lei said nothing, and continued to stare Han Jianping down.

“Nufu,” Han Jianping chuckled. “It must have been absolutely traumatic for you, to be put in your place by someone as efficient as she.” She raised her blade closer to her own face, still not taking her eyes off of Lei. “Mo Leng tells me… that Cui Cao is very angry right now.” Her smile spread malignantly. “You must have embarrassed him terribly back then, to survive with such shame, while being so weak.”

“He's angry all right,” Lei said calmly as she crouched into her stance. 

“We both are.”

Both opponents now took their stances. Even the sound of Kuzalu’s rampage seemingly began to fade. Each exhale became steady. Each breath, deliberate. Each heartbeat pulled them deeper. The dust on the stone seemed to slow its drift. Mo Leng tilted forward like a striking fang, and Cui Cao rose, quiet as a breath drawn before a scream.

The color from their irises began to dull, and the veins on their heads and necks pulsed. Han Jianping's lips parted slightly, her eyes gleaming now, fully revealed. Her smile vanished. The Dance had begun.

Lei said nothing, but her presence shifted…. The stone beneath her seemed steadier….

Then their feet left the ground.

Two blurs moved at once. Not lunging, but passing through the space between them. 

Then silence.

Two women stood once more, but now with reversed positions. Lei where Han Jianping had been. Han Jianping where Lei had stood.

Only one moved.

Lei exhaled slowly, Cui Cao resting gently in her lowered hands.

Behind her, Han Jianping stood still for a heartbeat longer. Her arms trembled. A line of red bloomed slowly from shoulder to hip. Her legs buckled.

A groan escaped her mouth, and her knees hit the floor. Her body swayed once more, and then fell to her side.

It was over.

Chapter Text

Han Jianping rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide with disbelief.

Further down the hall, the last screams of the cultists echoed, and moments later, Kuzalu emerged from the shadows. Bleeding, but standing with ease. About half of the cultists were still alive and huddled in fear behind the prayer banners, their weapons dropped, and their leaders gone. 

Nobody had to say it… Zhi Zhen was still out there, but the base of the cult in Beijing was no more. 

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” Kuzalu said.

Lei and Saya both shot him a worried look.

”Don't,” he began in an almost tired tone. “All that happened was that I went deeper into the dance than any woman can ever know. I am not the least bit ashamed, only slightly frustrated that I will never be able to explain it to you.”

“You don't have to,” Lei said, sighing.

“Are you back to normal?” Saya said mistrustfully, as she rose to her feet.

Kuzalu didn't respond right away. He gave Saya a thoughtful look, and then asked; “How  is the boy?”

Saya’s heart stopped for a moment, and she turned her head back to the stairs and cried; “Yukio, are you alright!” 

“Yeah!” he  called back. “But… I think I’ll wait here.”

Saya couldn’t blame him. Even after decades of experience, this much carnage was still difficult for her to stomach, so she could only imagine how nauseating it must be for Yukio. But the relief that he was all right settled in. 

Lei now turned, and went to where Jianping now lay. Her defeated foe looked up at her with stunned and hateful eyes. Lei allowed a moment to pass as the other woman caught her breath, before saying “Han Jianping, you are not cut deep enough for that wound to be fatal. You can still walk out of here. Just tell me what I need to know.”

Jianping coughed a smirk back onto her face. “There are numerous secret passages. Behind the curtain on the dais. Zhi Zhen could have taken any number of them, and be out of the city by now.”

“You said she would return to a secondary base of operations in Tianjin,” Lei said. “Where exactly?”

Han Jianping chuckled. “Not exactly in Tianjin itself” she said, “but in a nearby town named Shueyon. That is not the main base, that lies in Tianjin itself, where Zhen will now not dare to show her face. That is sacred ground for the Five. No… she will go to Shueyon.”

“That town has been a ghost town since the great leap forward.” Kuzalu said, stepping closer.” What exactly is in that area?”

Han Jianping gave a rasping chuckle. “That,” she said triumphantly, “is where they are creating the dragon.”

A silence stretched past them. Only the sound of Han Jianping's labored breaths and occasional chuckle could not be heard. Kuzalu approached with unhurried steps, the bloodied ax-handle in his grip. He stood over her like a shadow, and with a voice as casual as if he were asking for the time, said,

“If you don’t have anything more to tell us... I guess I’ll send you off.” He raised the ax-handle.

“Don’t!” 

Lei’s voice rang out, sharp and almost desperate, cutting across the chamber like a whipcrack. She moved before she thought, stepping between them. “Haven’t you already killed enough people here?” Her voice trembled. The chamber was still thick with blood. Mangled corpses… all of them, she considered to be victims of Zhi Zhen, not enemies.

But Kuzalu, though he showed he was not unwilling to listen by his hesitation, looked completely unmoved. He cocked his head, and gave Lei a curious smile, the kind a father might give to a child whose request was impossible, but whom he intended to humor.

Saya gently grabbed her arm. “Don’t try to reason with a monster like him,” she murmured. Her tone wasn’t cruel, but cool, hollowed out by years of seeing what men like Kuzalu leave behind. Her eyes didn’t even meet his. They only flicked to the floor, then back to Lei. “He doesn't care. He’s just a Chiropteran with human anatomy.”

Kuzalu’s mouth twitched into a smile, and he began to chuckle. So did Han Jianping, a pained, labored, rasping laugh, but within moments the two of them were howling with laughter. Saya clenched her teeth. Lei’s fist tightened around Cui Cao’s handle.

Kuzalu threw his head back and his roars echoed throughout the chamber, as Han Jianping cackled from the ground where she lay. It was a ragged, cracked sound, like a bone snapping under pressure. “Ha ha ha ha! Oh Ruo Lei,” she croaked. “I underestimated you. You are far crueler than I ever expected you could be!”

The laughter stopped abruptly, and she turned to Lei with hatred crawling all over her tattooed face. “What do you expect will happen if you leave me here?” Han Jianping went on, her lips red with blood. “That I’ll wait patiently for the police? That I’ll die neatly in a cell? Hah! A painful death is a blissful dream compared to that. 

If you spare me, I will kill again. 

I will kill to escape. 

I will kill out of sheer fury for what you’ve done. 

The shame of being spared by you—” her eyes gleamed, mad and glassy, “—will be the only thing I have left. And I will never forgive it.”

There was silence, broken by Kuzalu’s returning chuckle. “Well,” he said. “I guess that settles that.” Once again, he stepped closer to Han Jianping, and raised the ax-handle, but this time Lei’s hand caught his wrist. She looked up at him—not begging, not pleading, but asking, low and firm: “Wait.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “You have a pistol. Use that.”

Kuzalu’s expression softened, and he offered a smile of compromise. He lowered the ax handle, reached down to the blood-soaked holster, and withdrew a pistol whose barrel was still dry. Saya stepped back, and so did Lei. They turned their backs as the sound of the hammer being pulled back clicked. A single shot rang out.

Han Jianping’s laughter died in her throat. Her body went still.

The silence that followed the gunshot was thick and endless. No one moved. No one breathed. The cavernous floor of the warehouse soaked in the echo, until even that faded into nothing.

Lei and Saya stood with their backs turned to the scene. 

There were a few whimpers from the people hiding behind the prayer banners, but nothing else, until Kuzalu’s boots scraped softly against the blood-slick stone as he stepped forward. They could hear it—the rattle of metal as he bent to pick up Mo Leng.

A whistle of air followed. Then another. Kuzalu's footsteps shuffled faintly as he tested Mo Leng’s weight, swinging the blade in wide arcs that hummed through the dead air.

“Finally,” he muttered with something close to reverence. “A blade of the originals. One that never dulls, never rusts.” He shifted his grip, rolling the hilt in his palm. “And it balances perfectly.”

Lei’s throat tightened. She didn’t turn, not right away. But her shoulders rose, stiff with tension. Her hands clenched at her sides. Saya glanced at her, but said nothing. “Go,” Lei said quietly. “Check on Yukio.”

Saya didn’t hesitate. She sprinted towards the stairs, and her footsteps rang lightly as she took the steps two at a time.

At the top, she found him. Yukio, still kneeling where the arch narrowed, exactly where she had last seen him. He did not run like she had ordered him, and the fact that he had neither done that, nor jumped into the fight, printed itself in guilt all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I tried to do what you told me, but I couldn’t turn my back on you, Saya.” 

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Like I said, they wanted me alive, but they would have killed you the moment you stepped into their sights .” Yukio nodded to show that he understood. His uniform was untouched, pristine. He looked at her, blinking slowly, as if waking from a long trance.

Saya stopped several paces short of him.

Her own uniform, she realized, was soaked, splattered with blood. Thick, dark stains clung to her sleeves, her collar, the front of her shirt. It had dried at the edges and gone tacky in the warmth of the air, but the smell was still there. Copper and rot. Her breath hitched. Her throat burned. She didn’t want to step closer. Not like this. Not while wearing that.

***

Below, Kuzalu twirled his new weapon in his hands, grinning to himself. Another rotation—an elegant twirl through his fingers—and then a satisfied grunt. “It's perfect for me!”

A tremble passed through Lei’s shoulders.

Then she turned.

“He has a name!” she snapped, her voice cracking like a whip through the hollow air. Her face was drawn, pale, straining under the weight of something that could not be said without breaking. “That sword…” she swallowed hard. “His name is Mo Leng. He isn’t yours.” Her voice wavered now, but the fury didn’t subside. “He was with Han Jianping…” She felt as though she would cry… the sight of Mo Leng, being twirled like a toy in the hands of a murderer… It was a desecration.

“I don’t understand you,” Kuzalu replied, his tone lacking its usual mockery. He did not stop turning the sword in his palm, though more slowly now. “Why show such pity for someone who, by your own standards, was evil? I wouldn’t expect you to show any pity for me either, so—”

“I do pity you!!!!” Lei cried, her voice breaking in full now, ragged with fury and sorrow. “And no matter how repulsive you are, I can’t even bring myself to hate you!”

Kuzalu’s eyebrows rose, even if the rest of his face remained expressionless. Lei’s hands clenched at her sides. Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts as the tears she had been doing so well to hold back until now— overflowed. “What I saw today,” she whispered. “You looked just like Lijun…”

The name slipped out like a wound tearing open. Her breath hitched. She stared at Kuzalu, but she didn’t truly see him… Not as he was now. She saw a different face, a younger one. The same unseeing eyes. The same hunger for motion, for violence. And behind that; grief. The same grief.

“Baran… that was your name,” she voiced. “You mentioned that name only once, but I haven’t forgotten it.” Her voice was almost tender, but Kuzalu did not move. He merely stopped twirling the blade in his hands.

“I curse the dance,” Lei went on, her words trembling now, each one scraped from somewhere deep in her belly. “I curse what it did to him... and what it did to you.”

She looked up, and her tears had begun to fall freely.

“I loathe it! I loathe the Shénwu! Such a practice should have never have been taught!!”

Kuzalu said nothing for a long moment. He did not meet her gaze. Instead, he let Mo Leng fall slowly to his side, the tip grazing the stone floor. “Your pity is wasted,” he said. “‘Baran’ is just a collection of syllables that were used to identify me, and that I was taught to respond to when I was young.” He raised the sword again, slowly, letting the light catch along the blade. “And this,” he said, “is no longer sentient. Whatever bond it once had… it died with her. When a priest or priestess dies, the soul of their sword goes with them. All that remains is steel.”

“That’s a lie!” Lei shouted. Her entire body shook now, and her eyes were ablaze. “Even if you can’t hear it speak, that sword has a voice! And even if his original wielder is dead, he remembers her!” She pointed to Mo Leng. “That sword will never truly be yours.”

Kuzalu looked at her. The smirk was long gone from his face. He hung his head, and began to walk towards her. “Neither was the name ‘Baran’,” he said, as he passed her by.

***

Saya shivered with her back against the cold stone, a few steps down from where Yukio sat holding Kasumi. They had sat like that for a while now, neither of them speaking, before Saya broke the silence. “Are you alright?”

“I'm not hurt,” Yukio replied. “Just… a bit shaken.”

Saya nodded. “I guess I’m the same,” she admitted. It surprised herself to say it out loud. “We still have some work to do down here,” she continued. “But I want you to go back upstairs. That room by the entrance. The air’s clearer there. You’ll feel better.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. “I’m not happy with how useless I was this entire fight.” He looked down. “I just got in your way.”

“No, you got out of my way.” She gave him a wry smile. “You should have seen how Lei had to save me.” She turned away, and looked up. “I must’ve looked pathetic. Now get upstairs, and wait for us. I’ll be up to check on you soon. And If anyone shows up… police, soldiers, anyone— you don’t say a word. Pretend you can’t speak. Just show them that ID Kuzalu gave you. Nothing else.”

Yukio gave a short, firm nod, understanding. Then, to her surprise, he returned her smile… just a little. “I can do that.”

She watched him take Kasumi into his hands and begin climbing the narrow staircase. The faint scrape of his feet on the stone steps receded slowly, until he vanished around the corner.

Only when he was gone did Saya allow herself to exhale. The coppery scent of blood clung to her uniform, mostly on the back of her Mao shirt, where she had landed against the corpse. It wasn’t a lot, but the stiffness and stickiness made her stomach turn.

Saya descended the stairs, one hand lightly brushing the wall for balance, the other unfastening the buttons of her Mao jacket without even realizing that she was doing it until she was already past the wall, and standing on open staircase. From there, she saw Kuzalu, herding the terrified survivors of the massacre towards the room beyond the curtain where Zhi Zhen had escaped through. 

“Get moving!” he barked. “Through the same route your priestess took to abandon you! Now! Before I test my new sword out on the lot of you!” It was effective, and they filed hurriedly through the curtains, many of them wailing as they did. 

Aside from clearing them out of the building, this order serves two additional purposes. 

1. By making them pass through an area where only the priestesses were allowed to go, Kuzalu ensures that they are broken from the illusions of the cult. 

2. By making them go this way, Kuzalu is making sure Zhi Zhen did not leave any booby-traps behind, for he intended to search these areas himself when they were done.

Saya removed the disgusting Mao jacket from her person, and threw it over the side of the stairs as she descended. Only the simple black doudou beneath remained, tied modestly across her collarbones and back. She spotted Lei, with her back to her, as she stood in the center of the chamber, watching Kuzalu. Yet, as Saya approached, she noticed that her mentor had noticed her without turning around, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. 

***

The chamber behind the dais was cooler, dimly lit by the low flicker of a dying torch wedged in a cracked wall sconce. The air smelled of dust and old blood. Shelves lined the stone walls, most of them half-collapsed, scrolls scattered in brittle curls across the ground like molted skin. Whatever this place had once held, whether it was ritual records, or something else— was trampled. Either by Zhi Zhen, or the stampede of fleeing supplicants. 

Saya stepped carefully across the debris, sharp eyes scanning the room ahead before taking each step. Her boots squelched. They too stank of blood, but she decided there was nothing she could do about it. Even Lei who walked beside her, who had kept her clothes clean of blood as she fought, hadn’t been able to avoid stepping in it. 

In the far corner, beneath a dislodged lattice of shelving, lay a cluster of swords… Saya’s eyes widened… They were all Shénwu-forged .

She and Lei made their way forward, and began searching through them. Such exceedingly rare objects were now gathered here. The majority of them were Chinese jians, a dozen to be exact. But there were also three Daos, one Korean Hwando, one European Sabre, and four Japanese katanas, with iron  tsubas and ray-skin hilts. 

Saya’s eye went to them at once. Her own blade needed to be replaced immediately, and even though none of these katanas were hers, the temptation to have something made of Shénwu metal was difficult to control. For a moment, she felt disgusted with herself. Kuzalu had done the same thing… but her pragmatic sensibilities kicked in. There was greater shame in losing because she could not replace her katanas fast enough, and the near-death experience of the previous October, where even a wounded Yaoguai proved too much for her to handle without a proper katana– justified the decision.

She gathered all four katanas in her arms, and then turned to her sensei. But before Saya could say her name, she saw the blade that Lei held in her arms… It was a beautiful jian with a platinum hand-guard and a pearlescent pommel. Even in the dim light, Saya’s keen eyes could make out the clean, snowy white of the scabbard. Lei lowered herself to her knees, and held the sword reverently. She unsheathed it less than an inch, as if to verify that a real blade still remained, and it glinted brilliantly in the dim light. 

Her shoulders stiffened, and her mouth tightened at the corners. She said in a voice that would have cracked had it not been any lower— the name of this blade….

“Lan Hu”

The sword that belonged to Ruo Lian… Lei’s beloved elder sister, whom Zhi Zhen murdered.

Saya thought to say something, but her lips did not part. She realized very quickly, that she had no words to offer Lei… she turned, and left the room, to leave her friend to her peace…

Just outside of the back-exit, Saya exhaled. The part of town that the escape route led to, was surrounded by short walls, and full of trash and open sewage, but the stench was preferable to the scent of the massacre that still lingered in the sanctum. And unlike in that chamber she was in the sunlight here… It was still early in the afternoon, and while it was no garden- it was still fresh air.

She set three of the katanas down on a glass panel that looked clean enough. She tested the fourth in her hands, and found it to be unbalanced. Too blade-heavy. She tested another. This one was too long. Being a petite woman, Saya was well-acustomed to swords made for taller wielders, but this one clearly made for someone taller than average, and the thick tang made the handle slippery in her grip. She picked up the third blade, and twirled it easily between her hands. This one was good, but there was still a negative energy coming from the blade itself. It was neither something Saya could explain, nor a reason not to use it, but there was now no reason not to test the last blade.

She picked it up, and looked at the brilliant contrast between the black samegawa and the small, white diamonds of the tsuka-ito. Like stars in the night sky. The Tsuba was ovular and black, but seemed especially radiant on the sides, with gentle platinum ornamentation denoting sagaribana. She unsheathed it, and watched the handle catch the daylight.

The moment she swung it, her wrist aligned without effort. The curve swept like a ribbon, silent and taut. She switched hands. Same result. The blade caught no drag in the air, no wobble on the reverse cut. “Perfect,” she declared. 

She sheathed it, picked up the rest of the swords, and went back inside. Her new blade. It wasn’t special. Not like Kasumi was to Yukio or Cui Cao was to Lei. It did not speak to her, but it didn’t protest either. 

***

The room where Saya had found the secret entrance was quiet. Yukio sighed as he waited. 

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The stone walls and floor remained cold where he sat, his back straight, hands resting atop his thighs. He had given up on trying to meditate, but he didn’t know what else to do.  Kasumi lay across his lap, her familiar weight comforting, her presence steady.

And then she wasn't.

Someone entered the room. To Yukio, the change in pressure was like a cold hand resting just behind his neck. His fingers tightened around Kasumi’s sheath. Slowly, he raised his eyes. The man was already standing in front of him. He was tall, with long hair flowing down the back of his head. His eyes were difficult to read, or rather— they were difficult to look at.

Yukio saw them as black pits, that might have sucked him in if he looked at them too long. His body now moved before his mind. His fingers gripped the hilt. He pulled, but to his shock and horror, Kasumi refused to leave her sheath. 

Yukio began to tremble… Kasumi was afraid, and now, so was he.

The man took a step forward. “You can feel it, can’t you?” he said. His voice was low, rich, almost… gentle. “That your sword has a memory.”

Yukio said nothing, though his jaw clenched.

“I am your ancestor,” the man continued. “Though my appearance is probably that of a man in his 30s or 40s, I am 87 years old. Your paternal grandfather,- though I have never met him– is the first child of my daughter.”

Yukio found his mouth too dry to voice questions, and his jaw clamped shut.

“I had not met my daughter either,” the man continued evenly. “I married very young, and successfully opened the inner gate after that. My name then became Shinkaiten. Family means nothing to me, but I can tell that you are from my line. Such things become easy to tell when you have gone as deeply into the priest’s ritual as I have. I can see your heartbeat. I can smell your fear. I can feel that the blood that flows through your veins, carries my very own memories.”

Yukio’s foot retreated backwards just a tenth of a centimeter. His instincts screamed that this man was telling the truth, and he felt naked… And the sounds Kasumi was making… he had never heard her make such sounds before.

“Once, long ago, I too held that blade. And now, I’ve come to take her back.”

Yukio’s heart pounded in his chest. “No!--” Even as fear rippled through him, he knew these thoughts to be true. “He’s wrong. Kasumi isn’t his. She chose me.”

He saw Shinkaiten extend a hand. “Give her to me now.” 

“No.” It came out before Yukio realized he was speaking.

Shinkaiten tilted his head. “No?”

“You’re evil,” Yukio whispered, voice tight. “You’ve killed. You… reek of death, it's even worse than Kuzalu! She won’t go with you!” And then, as if some invisible thread snapped between them, Yukio pulled, and Kasumi sang as she left the sheath—sharp and bright, a single flash of silver. She was now ready in his grip.

But he barely raised her before the blow came.

A blur of motion—Shinkaiten’s arm—and then pain!

Yukio’s head snapped sideways from the backhand. His feet left the floor. He flew through the air and landed with a thud against the stone floor. The lights overhead suddenly became dimmer as his head throbbed with pain. His vision was swimming, and his mouth filled with blood.

He couldn’t speak, or even feel his jaw. His cheek throbbed like it was cracked clean through. The room spun.

Above him, Shinkaiten loomed. Without a word, he reached down, and picked Kasumi up off the floor. Yukio’s fingers scrambled, reaching to stop him, but he couldn’t move fast enough. Shinkaiten lifted the blade in one hand and inspected it… and his eyes then narrowed.

“I thought you would remember me,” he said, quietly. Yukio was already terrified of this man, but what happened next, unleashed new gates of horror… Shinkaiten, who had been composed, controlled, and imperturbable, began to shake… Before, his mouth had barely opened when he spoke, but now his teeth clenched as a pained sound escaped him, veins popped on his neck and face, and sweat began to break on his brow.

“I waited twenty eight years for you, Kasumi!!!” he cried. “Twenty eight years of separation from you!!! Twenty eight years of agony! Dreaming of you! And now you do not even speak to me!!! How! Why!!?”

Yukio, propping himself up on his hands, tried desperately to get to his feet. Every fiber in his body, every instinct, every ounce of strength that he had, screamed at him to move! But he couldn’t. Shinkaiten now looked at him again, and his eyes flared with anger. “Is this the reason why? Kasumi? Is this why you do not speak to me? Is it for this boy that you betray your master!!?”

Yukio tried to speak, but he still could not. Shinkaiten struck. A gash above his left elbow. Yukio flinched with pain. The next strike was shallow, across his cheek, right below his right eye. “You serve this boy Kasumi?” Shinkaiten demanded, and then struck again. 

Yukio tried to scream, but only a broken, wet gasp came out. As Kasumi’s blade cut his stomach, his thigh, and his foot. Then Shinkaiten changed tactics, and went from administering gashes, to smaller cuts. Precise. Surgical. To prolong the pain as long as possible. And through it all, Kasumi remained silent in Shinkaiten’s hands.

But not asleep…

In the chamber below, while Kuzalu rested, as though sleeping off the excitement he had just enjoyed, Lei and Saya were on their way up the stairs to check on Yukio, when Lei stopped in her tracks. She turned around, to the blade on her back. 

"What's that Cui Cao?” she asked.

Dread then began to slowly creep into her expression. “It can't be!"

"What is it Lei-sensei?” Saya asked, fear etching into her own features. “What is Cui Cao saying?"

Lei looked at Saya, her face pale, and said gravely…

 "Kasumi is crying."

Chapter Text

Winter. 1906.

Kinoshita Nobutoshi knelt alone before the small household shrine, his knees stiff from the cold. Outside, the wind had stilled, but frost clung to the windows in soft white veins. The black-and-white photograph on the altar showed a woman’s beautiful, youthful face. Even in grayscale, her eyes seemed to look through his soul. They still reminded him how little he had known of her, and how briefly.

Nobutoshi touched the wood of the altar with both hands and lowered his head.

“My cherished wife,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to express my grief. I never had your love for poetry, or your eye for beautiful things. Maybe I could have learned from you in time, if you were still here. But since you’re not… all I can do is apologize. For not learning. For not being more open, in the short time you were with me.”

He paused, as if waiting for a response that would never come.

“Little Arata is growing fast. He has your looks, but none of your temperament. He’s loud, demanding, never shy about what he wants. Just like his father.”

A brittle breath, almost a laugh.

“Your sword is in Port Arthur. Your brothers built a shrine to your father there, and placed it inside. It’s a beautiful blade. If it hadn’t been yours, I would have fought tooth and nail for the right to keep it. But I know it doesn’t belong to me.”

He swallowed hard.

“Would you have wanted it buried with you? Or hidden? Or passed on?”

A long pause.

“I don’t know if it still waits for you… or for someone else. I don’t know what good it does to speak of it now. I know I’ll probably never know.

Farewell, my beloved Hisaka.”

July 16th, 1967.

Saya’s hands were locked tight around the case that held her new blade.

The wood dug into her palms as if trying to draw blood, and for a moment she almost welcomed the idea. 

She had refused to sit, and so did Lei. The two of them stood side by side in front of Kuzalu’s desk. On the other side of it, Kuzalu leaned back in his chair. “He was spotted leaving the hideout through the front entrance, carrying a Japanese sword in one hand, and an unconscious boy over his shoulder," he said. “From eyewitness accounts, the boy looked bad. He was dripping.”

They already knew this information. There should have been no reason for Kuzalu to repeat it, but he did. “He disappeared shortly after that, but was spotted again leaving the city, this time with a suitcase that was just large enough to fit a body of Yukio’s size in it. He was also carrying a wrapping that was just the right length to be hiding a katana of Kasumi’s size.”

Saya felt her heart skip a beat. This was new information. “This information was brought to me this morning,” Kuzalu said, “but the sighting occurred two days ago, at approximately 13:00 hours. Based on the timing from when he finished cleaning up, this suggests that your theory was correct, Miss Ruo. Yukio was taken at the same time as you and Saya were making your way up the stairs to check on him.” He shook his head. “Tsk tsk tsk. You almost made it.”

Lei’s fingers clenched around Cui Cao’s case, and Saya swallowed bile that threatened to spew from her mouth. 

“But there is a bit of good news,” Kuzalu said, smiling slightly. “Our friend, Shinkaiten, ran into a bit of trouble at a checkpoint. No papers, broken Mandarin, thick Japanese accent… killed a few borderguards, and then ran off towards the backroads. The police are on his trail now. They think he’s bound for Hebei or perhaps the mountains, but he’s cleverer than that. He’s following the coast road.”

“Tianjin,” Lei said flatly.

He smiled. “Correct. I still have a few more pieces of information about this case coming my way. Although I doubt the police or the state will be of anymore help after he’s already reached his destination.” He paused, as if waiting for Saya or Lei to thank him, but he didn’t seem to mind when they didn’t.

He straightened in his chair, the faint smile on his lips curdling into something more personal.. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited, I haven’t had the opportunity to fight another priest since 1901. It was quite a frenzy back then. The three of us can leave for Tianjin tonight.” 

He leaned forward over his desk, and his smile broadened. “Once again ladies, we are aligned. I get to fight Shinkaiten, and you get to take back whatever pieces of Morino are still left."

Saya straightened, and without folding or faltering, turned on her heels, and left Kuzalu’s office. Lei gave him a quick look of disgust, and then followed.

Outside Lei was outside, Saya was already marching down the stairs, the older girl now hurrying to catch up with her. “He was trying to get under your skin,” she told her as she matched her pace. “That’s all. That’s all it ever is with him.”

Saya didn’t stop. She didn’t even blink. Kuzalu was the furthest thing from her mind. It was the image of Yukio, limp and bleeding, stuffed into a suitcase like a piece of cargo.

The pressure in her chest wouldn’t ease.

Saya stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and let out a shaky breath. “What does he want with him?”

Lei blinked.

“Shinkaiten… why Yukio? What did he ever…”

“We will bring him back,” Lei said firmly.

Saya shook her head, jaw tightening.

“Hey,” Lei said before Saya could speak. Her voice was soft, but her hands were firm as she took Saya by the shoulders and spun her around. “Look at me, we will bring Yukio back, I promise you.” She gave Saya’s shoulders a light shake, and saw in her eyes how truly tired the younger girl was.

"We will bring him back,” she said one final time, “but you haven't slept since Yukio was taken. You’re exhausted. Go and get some rest before we leave tonight, you'll need your strength. Go rest. Even a few hours will help."

Lei didn’t say another word as she led her back through the corridor. Saya made no sound of protest, but grimaced when they walked from the office building to their dorms. The sunny sky and warm air seemed to mock her. The door to the dormitory creaked faintly on its hinges as they entered.

Saya’s side of the room was unchanged. Her bed was made, neatly, as it always was, though the blanket had begun to lose its starch and creased easily now. On the small table by the headboard, a cup of tea sat untouched from the night before. She stepped inside, slow and automatic, and set the case holding her sword down beside her pillow.

Lei hovered in the doorway for a moment. “I’ll wake you before we leave,” she said, voice low. “Try to get a few hours.”

Saya nodded, barely. She didn’t undress. She didn’t even remove her shoes. She sat on the edge of the bed first, staring at the window, though the curtains were drawn too tight to see anything but the faint light behind them.

Then, wordless, she laid herself down, one hand tucked beneath her head, the other resting lightly on the case beside her.

Her eyes stayed open for a long time.

Lei watched her for a beat longer before stepping back into the hall and shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

Saya closed her eyes.

But rest didn’t come easily. She breathed in slowly through her nose, then out again, trying to still the tremble in her chest.

The wood of the case was cool beneath her fingertips.

Eventually, sleep found her. Not gently, but like a wave crashing down on top of her, sudden and dark and absolute.

The carpet was warm beneath her cheek.

Saya lay flat on her stomach, her arms outstretched before her… it was the carpet where she and Sekiko used to play with their toys. Even now, the smell of candies clung to the carpet’s tufts of yarn. Some of her old dolls were just out of reach. A rocking horse was visible out of her periphery… 

She and Sekiko had been frightened of it when her father first brought it home, until her mother had teased them about their fears, before trying to ride it herself, and falling off. She had chased the girls for laughing at her, which only made them laugh even harder. The rocking horse was no longer scary after that…  

“I’m dreaming.”

As soon as those words passed through Saya’s mind, the dream turned into a nightmare. Beyond the threshold of the door that once led from the living-room to the foyer, warped light, and ruin…. Horror… 

Yukio was standing there, and behind him, she knew in her heart to be— Shinkaiten… She had no way of knowing what he looked like, but her mind had conjured up every evil imaginable… 

Every demon she had ever nearly lost to. 

Every man who had ever hurt her, or someone she loved.

Every shadow she did not recognize…

Its hand was on Yukio’s shoulder.

Saya called out, but no voice left her throat. She tried to stand up, but her arms lacked the strength to push her body from the floor. She tried to crawl forward, but hands reached out and grabbed her. Rough hands… some monstrous, others human… some seemed to be the hands of demons, as though hell resided just underneath the carpet.

One pair of hands belonged to Kuroha, the name used by the first demon she had killed. Another giggled the way the demon who used the alias Yoren did….

Yukio’s face was passive. His eyes dull with resignation, and she felt her body being dragged back, and her skin crawl, as he was led away by Shinkaiten… as he was led away, and she was gripped with a force she hadn’t known since she was a child, and pulled into the unknown…

Saya woke up with a start. The dimmed light through the curtains told her that night had fallen, and her skin was still crawling… she was covered in a cold sweat, and yet her skin felt hot, as though she had been submerged into a warm bath, and yet there was no comfort to be felt…

She looked over to her right. The cylindrical case that held her sword had fallen from her bed, and rolled to the other side of the room…

***

Ruo Lei had not been to her dorm since she left Saya there. She did not need to pack anything, knowing that Kuzalu would provide anything else she needed once they were on the road. All she needed was her headband, and Cui Cao, which were on her person as she walked under the moonlight.

It was Cui Cao who had coaxed her to step out before their departure, though she was a bit surprised to see Kuzalu already awake. There he was, standing at the gate with a porcelain cup of coffee in his hand, and another being held by the sentry. He and Kuzalu were speaking, and the sentry chuckled at something Kuzalu had said. No doubt comrade Hanks had brought this guard some coffee to smooth their departure. He was already holding court, and yet it was still a bit early for them to leave.

Lei knew she would have to wake Saya soon, but there was something she needed to say first.. She slowed her pace as she reached the gate. Both men noticed her as she approached, and the sentry, sensing a more private conversation was about to take place, took a step back. Kuzalu turned toward her, his expression unreadable in the half-light. “Moonlight suits you, Ruo Lei.”

“Kuzalu,” she said, switching to English, knowing that the sentry would neither understand it, nor find it suspicious. “Will you please try to go five minutes without insulting me?”

“I wasn’t insulting you,” he said evenly. “But if you’ve come to say something, then speak. I am at your service, Ms. Ruo” 

“What you said in your office today,” she said quietly, “About  Morino. About what ‘might be left of him’...”

“Hm?” A sip of coffee. “Did I say something incorrect?”

Lei turned to give the sentry a sharp look, and he took another step back, before she turned to Kuzalu again, and said venomously, “You knew exactly what you were doing. What you were doing to Saya… don’t think that I will sit passively and let you torture her like that, just because we’ll be stuck in a car together for the next two days.”

Kuzalu’s face looked almost tired in the moonlight, but he was smiling. His expression did not change when Lei said that. 

Her fingers trembled slightly. She knew that Kuzalu was unpredictable, powerful, and that worst of all, they needed his help. But  more than she feared him, she owed this to Saya — “There’s a line,” Lei said, quiet now. “And you enjoy crossing it. But not now. Not to Saya, not about Yukio. Saya loves him, and I love her. I’ve known her since she was….” Lei’s fist began to tremble now. “I could overlook you hurting her  before, but not now. Not when it serves no possible purpose but your own sadistic games.”

She looked up at him, and did not speak again until she had confirmed that his eyes met hers. “I put my blade to your neck once before Kuzalu. I was merciful to you then, but if you push me, I will show you how merciless I can be.”

Kuzalu’s mouth spread into a grin as soon as she said those words, and the moments of silence that followed passed with a thick tension that made the night air heavy enough to make Lei take a step back. “To see the legendary assassin who personally slew who-knows how many enemy commanders during the civil wars? Who danced upon the fires that consumed tens of millions of lives… Do not threaten me with a good time, Ms. Ruo.”

Lei’s teeth clenched. But before things could escalate, Kuzalu turned his head towards the building. “You underestimate that girl though, Ruo Lei. It seems she’s already prepared.”

It took Lei a moment longer to notice, but Saya was walking towards them, dressed all in black. The look of calm anger on her face accompanied by a pair of charcoal cotton pants, a black mandarin collar blouse, and her new sword in its case, strapped at her side. She marched towards the gate in a pair of liberation boots, her twin braids bouncing across her back. 

The sentry who had been keeping a polite distance turned his head when he saw her approach. It was not only her appearance, but the way she walked as though her destination was somewhere far away, and she was heading there, rather than to them… Saya walked with a resolution of completing a task, and would not stop for anything or anyone that was in her way. She barely acknowledged Lei’s gaze, and completely ignored Kuzalu’s grin as she neared.

“Lets go,” she said, walking past them, and towards Kuzalu’s car. “I don’t want to keep him waiting a second longer than necessary.”

Kuzalu chuckled, and then to Lei, “You  heard the lady.”

He politely took back his coffee cup from the sentry , and took his sweet time in putting the coffee-set back in his car. Lei did not move. She watched Saya’s face through the backseat window. She was fully awake, looking ahead… there was that same fierce look in her eyes Lei knew when she saw her awaken after opening the inner gate.

Girls who were born into the Shenwu took a decade and a half to master it on average, if they mastered it at all. 

Saya had mastered it in just over five years.

She had begun her training the same winter Lei had rescued her. Saya had been too angry to be afraid back then.

Now… she was the same way again. 

For a minute, time slowed for her, and her heart ached. She looked down at her feet. Kuzalu now had his hand on the door of the driver’s seat. “Kuzalu,” she said softly.

He stopped. “Yes?”

She struggled to find the right words… it occurred to her in that moment, that threatening Kuzalu would do no good, and neither would begging him. All she could do, was be there for Saya, and hope that her strength was enough.

“I know you said we would be taking the backroads to avoid checkpoints, but I want to get this over with. Don’t drag this out longer than it needs to be.”

“We’re getting an early start already,” he said. “We can be in Tianjin by mid-morning tomorrow.”

Without another word, Lei climbed into the backseat beside Saya, and Kuzalu ignited the engine. The car pulled out of the circle, and through the relatively quiet night streets of Beijing, onward towards the dragon’s den.

The American defector, Michael Hanks, also known as Albert Yulee, disappeared from the government’s sight. The head of The intelligence Bureau of the Joint Staff department, General Liu Shaowen; was forced to resign over the incident, and replaced by General Shen Shazi.

Chapter Text

The station was not yet stirring. The first trains wouldn’t arrive for another hour, and the sky outside the wide windows was still the color of cold ash. A flickering gas lamp on the far wall gave off a faint hum. In a disused portion of the waiting hall, shuttered to the public by a flimsy roped barrier, five figures stood in a semicircle.

Zhi Zhen stood alone before them, in a muted-greenish gray Mao suit, with a high collar that was buttoned to hide the tattoos under her lips. A shaft of dim light from the grimy ceiling pane caught in the high sheen of her boots, and the polyethylene of the case in which Zhu Guan rested.

“You return to us upright,” spoke the first of the Five, voice rigid with cool contempt. “You should be crawling on your stomach for this.”

“Not only have you failed to give us Ruo Lei and her apprentice," the second said, holding, “but you lost Han Jianping.”

“That is what wounds us most,” the third added, his voice papery and thin, as if passed down through layers of gauze. “Not the loss of the base. Beijing was a shell. But Han Jianping.”

“Han Jianping,” the fourth echoed. “Her blood sacrifices were as important to us as yours were. You were only named her superior because of your skill, and now you have failed in your role. She cannot be replaced, and her death is on your hands, priestess.”

“We warned you,” said the fifth,in a deeper, scornful voice. “We warned you not to rely on Shinkaiten. And now, your decisions have led to a disaster, for which there is no excuse.”

“Speak, Zhi Zhen,” said the first again. “How do you intend to pay for your failure?”

At last, Zhi Zhen looked up fully. She still said nothing. Her silence was neither fear nor penance. It was the silence of calculation.

The light overhead flickered once, and then the Five were no longer faceless.

The one who had spoken first, stood with the posture of a mid-level court official. Its tailored blue-gray tunic perfectly pressed the lines of its shoulders with rigidity and precision. Its hands, clasped behind his back, bore lacquered nails, immaculate and unsettling on a man. His face was narrow and waxen, cheekbones too high, his shiny light brown hair pulled back so tightly that it looked as though it further stretched the skin of his face over its features. Its title was Ma’a. The Base.

The second was broader, stockier, a low-ranking Party officer by appearance, though the shine of its leather belt and the crisp pleat in its pants suggested vanity rather than rank. Its mouth twitched as he looked at Zhi Zhen, waiting for the debt to be acknowledged. Its title was Lük. The Seeker.

The third appeared the oldest. A Mao suit tailored to its lanky frame, pinned with medallions of service to the bygone war effort. The calloused hands that held his cane before it suggested a lifetime of honorable labor, though they trembled as if with palsy. Yet, its voice had held no weakness. Its title was Tung. The Tower.

The fourth wore the simple garb of an academic: short-sleeved white shirt tucked into olive pants, a leather satchel over its shoulder like a teacher’s. But there was nothing of a teacher in its eyes. Its thin face was androgynous in the worst of ways. The glint in its small eyes suggested constant judgement, and its thin lips looked as though they were ready to castigate the one he was looking at, in this case— Zhi Zhen. Its title was Wun’ei. The Binding.

The fifth, who had spoken last, was in the form of a tall man. Its eyes deep-set and shadowed beneath a weather-beaten fedora. Its voice had been the heaviest, and its frame matched it. A trench coat, too long for the season, hung from its shoulders, and in the dusty light, it seemed to absorb more shadow than it cast. Its title was Sao. The Whisperer

All five looked human. Perfectly, convincingly human. Yet none of them blinked when the light above flickered again.

Zhi Zhen still had not moved. Her eyes passed over each of them without deference. Then, at last, she spoke. Her voice was low and level, a thread of quiet iron. “Watch how you speak to me.”

The silence that followed was sharper than any raised voice. The long shadows stretched on the tile, but none dared shift. “I have already told you,” she said, “that no matter how powerful you are, you do not want the Shénwu as your enemy.” She touched the polyethylene case at her side, almost unconsciously, as she let her words settle like ash.

“You five forget yourselves. You forget who it was who bled to complete the circle on Mount Shu. You forget who it was that fed the altar with the marrow of her own hand. I lost Han Jianping, but it is not your place to tell me what she was worth.”

The Five did not retreat, nor did they even step back. But neither did they interrupt.

The eldest of the five tilted his head slightly, but said nothing. Wun’ei narrowed his eyes. “Your sacrifices mean nothing. Han Jianping is gone, and we still do not have Ruo Lei, whom you—”

“Ruo Lei was my vendetta,” Zhi Zhen went on. “Hardly relevant to your goals. As I have stated in the past; I have no issue with handing her to you, so that you may use her blood when I am finished with her, but make no mistake. She is mine to destroy.” She let those words sink in, as though she were drawing a line in the sand. “As for the dragon, his awakening will proceed, with or without her.” She paused. “We will not speak of this again outside Shueyon.”

The room shifted. A quiet passed between the Five, though no glances were exchanged. There was only the hum of fluorescent light, and the subtle scrape of the young man’s knuckles against the concrete table.

Then Ma’a nodded. “Very well. Shueyon.”

***

They’d taken the backroads as planned. Presently, Kuzalu kept a relaxed hand on the wheel, as he navigated the car down narrow, winding paths lined with abandoned farms, and neglected fields. The red slogans of the revolution were still visible in places, splashed in crude brushstrokes across crumbling brick and the sides of shuttered grain depots. 

Here and there, the bones of old industry stood rusting in silence: a threshing machine half-sunk in a rice paddy, or the skeletal remains of a tractor cannibalized for parts. Long-abandoned communes leaned under the weight of disuse, their walls papered in faded posters, some still bearing the visages of leaders whose eyes had not blinked in a decade. Children’s shoes, too small now for anyone, had been left on windowsills like offerings. No one had come back for them.

In the backseat, Lei sat upright, occasionally looking up from her map to check on Saya, seated beside her. Saya was seated upright, her hands on her knees, staring out the window. She had not slept, or spoken throughout the entire car ride. 

Kuzalu had not spoken either, except to ask Lei what the map said.

The road widened as they neared Tianjin, and soon, the skyline of a city under a thin curtain of smog and cloud came into view. 

As they grew closer, and became drawn into the late-morning traffic, it was clear that they had left Beijing. It was less crowded here. A police officer standing in the middle of a traffic-circle guided them through, and though students of the red guard patrolled the streets, they did not have the same force of numbers or swagger as the young revolutionaries of Beijing. 

Lei looked at the map again, and began reading out loud. “Keep going straight Kuzalu, once you pass the Marco Polo square, make a right onto the bridge… ….good, now make another right, and then you’ll go left past the high school…”

Kuzalu turned into the quieter streets, as they entered the old Austrian neighborhood, once established by foreign missionaries, now overcrowded with former refugees from the countryside, having been settled there after the famine.

“There,” Lei finally said, her voice soft but clear. She pointed out the window, to a low, unmarked building set back from the road, partially obscured by the carcasses of crumbling brick walls. Its windows were darkened, its exterior a drab cement shell marked with rain stains and rust streaks.

“This is the place?” Kuzalu asked.

“Thats what you wrote down on the map,” she affirmed.

Kuzalu slowed the car to a halt across the street. The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the engine ticking as it cooled.

Saya moved first. She opened the door without a word and stepped into the dusty street. Her boots struck the concrete with certainty. Lei followed, Cui Cao slung over her shoulder. Kuzalu came last, stretching slightly while holding Mo Leng by the scabbard, and cracking his neck. 

“It's in a residential area, but this place is so crowded that no one would probably notice whatever is going on in here,” he said to no one in particular. He chuckled through gritted teeth, “People tend to care less about others in crowds,” he said. “Everyone minds their business.” He caught up with Saya and Lei, neither of whom turned around as they walked down the stone path towards the building, the sides overgrown with weeds.

The gate groaned as they pushed through it, gravel crunching underfoot, and they made their way for the entrance, which was obscured from the street by a portion of a brick wall. The interior looked like an office… a reception area for information on the residents of the lodging. It was Lei who found the latch, tucked behind a collapsed wall panel, more obvious than the entrance in Beijing, almost careless in its placement.

Remnants of the old walls and shelving remained. The interior of this building had clearly been converted from a condominium to a temple. Inside, a rough altar sat surrounded by crates and paper bundles. The room had clearly been stripped in haste… ledgers missing, candles snuffed…. Only a few tattered records remained.

Saya stood in the center, shoulders heaving with restrained breath. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. For twelve hours she had kept her silence, but here, surrounded by dust and absence, her composure cracked. She took a hard step forward and then another, as if movement could will someone into being.

"They’re gone," Lei said tightly.

Kuzalu crouched by one of the crates, ran his fingers along the scratches in the wood, then rose slowly. "They’ve regrouped," he said. "If they’re not here, they’ve gone to Shueyon."

Saya turned to him immediately. “Then we go—”

“No.”

Saya’s breath caught. She looked ready to snap at him, but Lei stepped between them before the moment could ignite. “He’s right.”

Saya’s head whipped toward her, eyes wide and sharp.

“You’ll need him when we reach Shinkaiten,” Lei said evenly. “And he’s driven all night without stopping.”

“I’m not—”

“We’re all tired,” Lei said. “We rest. Then we plan. Then we move.”

For a moment, Saya stood frozen, caught between impulse and discipline. Then, slowly, she lowered her gaze. “…Fine.” She didn’t say another word. But the unresolved frustration still clung to her like heat.

Kuzalu said nothing more either. He simply turned and began looking for a place to nap. Lei’s gaze drifted to the far side of the chamber, where a cluttered desk leaned against the wall beneath a shuttered window. Papers were strewn across its surface in uneven stacks. She could hear Saya’s breathing behind her, still taut and too shallow.

She turned back. Saya stood a few steps from where she had stopped earlier, her shoulders tense, her jaw tight. Her hands were still curled at her sides, though now her fingers tapped rhythmically against her thigh, an unconscious tick of unburned energy.

“Saya,” Lei began softly.

Saya didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. And I’m not going to try to talk you into sleeping, because I know it won’t work.” Lei paused, tilting her head toward the corridor. “Come on. We’ll search the building. If they cleared this place in a hurry, something might’ve been left behind.”

Saya looked over, her eyes heavy but still burning with purpose. “Yeah… okay. Just—let me grab some water for us. I left the canteens in the car.”

Lei nodded. “I’ll get started.”

Saya gave her a brief, grateful look before slipping out through the door and into the corridor.

Left alone, Lei moved further into the narrow room, scanning the overturned desk and crates.

She moved slowly, methodically, sliding her hand behind an overturned shelf, and found a slim bundle of cloth-wrapped documents that had fallen between the wall and the shelving. Most were decaying lists— names, old records of movement between outposts, coded inventories.

Then her fingers paused.

One envelope had a different weight. Heavier. Tucked in the folds of an older bundle, wrapped with a strip of faded red silk.

Lei untied it carefully.

The parchment inside had yellowed with time, the ink faded but legible. Her eyes scanned the top line—

To Elder Shan, of the Shénwu.

Ruo Lei opened the letter with a new focus, and read the carefully written characters:

February 19, 1897

Meiji 30, 2nd month, 19th day

Guangxu 23rd year, 1st month, 18th day (Year of the Fire Pig)

To Elder Shan, of the Shénwu.

I write to you with both urgency and hesitation. The matters I raise cannot wait, but I fear they may forever change how you regard me, or how the Shénwu regard themselves.

Through my father’s correspondences and my own translation of ancient Yuezhi and Sogdian texts, I have come to recognize a pattern: the manifestations of the Yaoguai, as the Maharal and others had theorized— do not occur at random. They surge in number during specific historical eras, almost in lockstep with certain cultural ruptures. Particularly during times when the spiritual disciplines of the Dance lose primacy to practical warfare.

You have said before that the dance is both a bridge, and a tether between the mortal body and the ancient forces that encircle it. But I have come to fear that when this tether is strained, distorted, or placed in unworthy hands, it can become a snare.

The Order of the Black Moon in Mesopotamia for example, once taught the Dance to young boys, knowing that most would perish from it, and that the few who lived would live deranged. The logic, if one can call it that, was to create vessels so broken that spirits might more easily inhabit them. Madness, it seems, was not a cost, but a sign of success. 

Even closer to home, I have found Genkō-era fragments describing a now-extinct Japanese sect that trained orphaned boys under the guise of monastic instruction. They were not taught wisdom, nor even warcraft, but were slowly transformed into something deathless. The Emperor later ordered them purged. Yet rumors persist that remnants of their practice resurfaced among fringe elements of the warrior class. These rumors trouble me more than I would admit in public. The infamous Drovnaia in Eastern Europe, very likely took direct inspiration from this.

But I reserve my greatest grief for what I see stirring within the Shénwu themselves.

I am told of a ritual, where young priestesses are made to fight one another, even unto death. That sisters are set against sisters. I know not if this is still practice, or only memory. But if it is real—if it returns—then the Shénwu shall know a future soaked in human blood, and the Yaoguai will rise again with a terror not seen in centuries.

We cannot sacrifice spirit for strength. I beg you to remember: the Dance was once a prayer. A praise to unseen forces. We have turned the blade inward. Even my honorable father has been affected by these dangerous things I have studied, which I should have been more prudent about. He has commissioned the forging of a katana in the ways that the priestess’s blades were forged, and I fear it will open doors we do not know how to close.

I tried to speak with him, but his logic is fortress-thick. He does not believe that spirits tremble when the wrong ones dance. He thinks only of the prestige of such metal, and even I know, that all of my warnings amount to superstition, I know that my heart is more right than my head, and yet I do not know how to express these fears to him, anymore than I can to the other elders of your order, who refuse to contact me.

I am only a daughter, and not yet a mother. But I feel as though I am watching a line of descent collapse into degeneracy, and monstrosity.

With grave concern,

Hanabusa Hisaka

Shanghai Academy of Antiquities (on leave)

Lei’s breath slowed. She read the letter again. She re-read the passage about The Order of the Black Moon… Kuzalu….

And then there was the blade commissioned by Hisaka’s father… Lei knew well, that no good could come out of such a blade created at the behest of a stranger to the dance. Saya’s great-grandfather… clearly, he was not acting with evil intention, yet he knew not what he did.

Lei recalled the moment when she had learned that the girl she agreed to train was Hisaka’s granddaughter. But  when she asked Saya about it, she had known nothing of her grandmother, only that she died when her father was a baby, and that her grandfather had spoken longingly of her… Saya wouldn’t have known anything about this.

Lei stared toward the door Saya had exited through… No… not yet. Not until she was sure what she was reading.

Carefully, Lei folded the letter and slid it into her coat’s inner pocket. She'd decide later how much to share. Saya had enough to worry about right now. She needed clarity, not riddles.

Footsteps echoed down the hall again, and Lei  turned just as Saya re-entered, hauling a jerrycan, her expression sharper now despite the fatigue in her limbs. “Here,” Saya said, setting the jerrycan  down, and handing a full canteen to Lei.

“Thanks,” Lei said with a soft smile.

They stood there a moment, drinking in silence. Then Lei tilted her head toward the rest of the room. “Let’s finish what we started.”

***

The room was dimly lit by overhead bulbs and naked wires draped from the rafters like vines, humming faintly with unstable current. All fifteen priestesses had been called from their assigned posts, gathered now in a wide hall whose paper-thin walls and concrete floor betrayed the hideout’s makeshift nature. One of the younger girls, of about 15 years of age, shifted where she stood. She turned her gaze to her sisters. “Why has Han-fūrén summoned all fifteen of us?” she whispered. “Shouldn’t at least a few be guarding the dragon?”

No one answered. The silence pressed down.

Then, the door at the far end of the room opened. Zhi Zhen stepped inside.

She was back in her Shénwu robes. Her posture was poised, her chin slightly raised. Her face, however, was hollow and expressionless. “Zhi-fūrén” one of the priestesses asked. “Why have we gathered here? Where is Han-fūrén?”

Zhi Zhen answered. “Han Jianping is dead.”

There were gasps and whispers. The youngest flinched. 

Zhi Zhen took another step forward. Her voice did not rise, but it gained weight. “Han Jianping’s sacrifice was unfortunate, and though it was through no fault of her own, or yourselves, the void she left must still be filled, and a debt to the Five  must be paid.”

Some of the other priestesses stiffened. By now, some of the more well-attuned ones had sensed a shift in the air. “You all took an oath before learning the dance,” Zhen continued, “that you would be prepared to sacrifice yourselves for the Shénwu if necessary.”

“What is it you are asking us to do?” one of the older girls cried, “Zhi-fūrén!?”

A hum began to rise in the air. Sorcery. Now all could feel it.

The girls reached for their weapons—or for one another. The elder among them, a tall woman with a burned cheek, stepped forward. “Zhi Zhen,” she said warily, “What  is this?” But by then, the circle had already closed.

From the shadows, they emerged—five figures draped in flowing black cloaks, too tall and long-limbed  to be humans. The Five had taken their true monstrous forms. Slow incantations in an old pre-tonal form of Chinese emanated from them in voices that only a Chiropteran, or a Priestess trained to hear their tones could hear.

An invisible pressure struck the floor. The room began to dim as the air became thick with the smoke of burning bones and scrolls, the floor beneath them rippled with something like vertigo as the spell of the Five Yaoguai began to take effect. Some collapsed where they stood, gasping. Others managed to draw steel, only for Zhi Zhen to slash at their hands and fingers, with surgical precision, rendering their counter-attack useless. 

One of the girls let out a feral scream, and this seemed to awaken her comrades to the fact that Zhi Zhen had betrayed them, and they now had no choice but to fight. These girls were not untrained, and a few of them who had collapsed rose from the floor. They fought through the illusions casted by the Yaoguai, and invoked the Dance, going deeper, until the assaults on their senses no longer affected them. 

They struck at the sorcery— cutting through smoke and pressure. They charged at the Yaoguai.

For a moment, the tide seemed to shift—their blades found rhythm, their feet struck true. They would have broken through.

Zhi Zhen slid between them like a blade of wind. Zhu Guan without a sound, and their cruel Dance ignited in full. 

The girls were cut down effortlessly, surgically, and without giving them the dignity of death. The oldest girl managed to grab two others and bolt for the door—but something was already waiting there. A flick of shadow. An arm that lengthened just slightly too far. The door slammed shut behind her, and her scream was cut short.

Within less than a minute, it was over.

All fifteen lay defeated.

The Five moved in tandem, completing the binding. The smoke dissipated after doing its job, and ensuring that all fifteen priestesses were now immobile. Zhi Zhen stood in the center of it all, untouched. She returned Zhu Guan to his sheath.

The glow of their talismans faded. One of the Five, Ma’a, knelt to inspect a girl’s arm. “Yes,” it murmured. “They’ll keep well.”

“You did well, Priestess Zhi,” another said. “We consider your debt fully paid.”

Without a word, Zhi Zhen turned her back and walked toward the far door.

She did not look at the girls again.

Chapter Text

Zhi Zhen walked at a steady pace through the corridor of what was once a municipal center for the town of Shueyon. The building itself had actually been built in preparation for the town  turning into a flourishing city. Instead, it became a ghost town, and the interior of the building that had been built with such optimism for Shueyon’s growth, was now dimly lit, damp, poorly ventilated, and stank of mold and decay. 

Zhen’s white and red robes whispered along the dirty tiled floor, and beside her, walked  Lük of the Five.

By day, he was a middling official with party credentials and a desk near Tianjin’s civil affairs office. He filed memos. He shook hands. He was the face of bureaucratic order. But here, in the sanctum of rot and blood, it had shed that skin. It wore long black robes that trailed like ink, and its face—pale, narrow, and waxy—was made more grotesque by its lack of expression. 

“I must thank you, Priestess Zhi Zhen,” it said. “Your demonstration of what you are willing to sacrifice shows your commitment to our alliance. The rest of the Five consider your blunder in Beijing fully rectified.”

Zhi Zhen snarled. “What I’ve given you more than makes up for it. You had two priestesses, and you were expecting two more. You’ve lost one, and gained fifteen more. You should remind your friends that they got more than they bargained for.” Lük did not smile, but showed that it had taken note by its lack of reaction. 

They came to the holding chamber where thirteen former priestesses were being kept. The stench of ammonia, mildew, and fear, was noticeable even with the door closed. Lük opened the door, and found them now disarmed, and stripped of their dignity. Some were weeping, others were praying  his presence meant that it was time to relieve two of their comrades from the hell they had been cast into. Another two would now take their place…

The monster in human form’s eyes panned to Yanxue, one of the older women, who was in her mid 20s. She was the one with the burn-scar on her left cheek, and whose hair had been tied in a ponytail. Now, it had been cut short by her captors. 

The demon’s eyes then panned to the youngest of the girls, Xiaorou, who could have been no older than fifteen. Lük strode inside and grabbed Yanxue by her arm, with its monstrous strength, and then made his way for Xiaorou, who screamed, and  tried to back away, pressing against the far wall. But she too was grabbed, and dragged from the room. Zhi Zhen who stood in the doorway, closed and locked the door behind her, making it a wall that shielded her from the gaze of the women she had betrayed.

Lük and Zhen took the girls, now bound at the wrists, down the hall, and into a large room. Where the vast, sunken basin of what had once been a swimming pool designed for competitions, stretched before them like an offering. Scaffolding arced over the pit, holding two restraint arms in place above the drained pool. 

Suspended from them were the bodies of two priestesses, dangling upside down, their ankles, held in metal clasps. Their wrists tied either behind their backs or in front of them, their hair cut short, and dangling below. Each bore a thin incision just under the jawline, from which blood trickled in slow, deliberate drops into the basin below.

At the pit’s center, submerged in a thick slurry of dark blood and stagnant fluid, something monstrous slumbered. Something massive and membranous… Veins crisscrossed the semi-translucent shell of the cocoon, beneath which, the dragon lay dormant.

The younger girl in Lük’s grasp had begun to hyperventilate, at the sight of it, but Lük was unmoved. “Originally,” it said instead, voice devoid of warmth or cruelty, “this mechanism was designed to hold two bodies. Two vessels: Ruo Lei. And the other one, the Japanese blade called ‘Saya’.” It adjusted its grip, shifting the weight of the girls as one might shift bundles of firewood. “But now we have fifteen. The blood can flow faster, as fodder for the larvae." It spoke as though he were merely talking about irrigation.

Zhi Zhen stood at the edge of the pit and gazed down into the basin. She said nothing for a long time. The smell, the copper, the slow drip, the quivering breath of the two already suspended—clung to her senses. She was not immune to the scene before her. She was almost sickened.

Almost.

Zhen had fantasized about Lei being the one suspended above the pool. She had not imagined it would be her own warriors… And yet, it meant nothing more to her than an unfortunate, but necessary, sacrifice. “Adjust the contraption as you will,” she said. “Whether you bleed two of them in shifts of two hours each, or five of them at a time for more, it is now your responsibility. I never want to come to this place again.”

“Understood,” Lük replied, as it dragged the next two girls forth.

Lük started with the priestess suspended on the right side of the basin, barely conscious as the incision began to clot and the trickle of blood slowed to a drip. The ankle cuff released one side with a mechanical click, then the other, before loosening its grip. Lük lowered her to the damp tiles of the former pool deck, where she lay limp and unmoving.

Now, the high, piercing, desperate sobs of Xiaorou echoed through the chamber as she realized she was next. “Please—don’t! Please, don’t put me up there—no, no—!”

“Endure it Xiaorou!” 

The older priestess, Yanxue, still restrained by rope at her wrists, straightened her spine. Her voice came low and firm, almost maternal in tone.  “Endure the pain. They will not kill us. We must support each other through it, and so you must relieve your comrade. They will not break us. Do you understand?”

The younger one shuddered, her voice faltering into hiccuped sobs. She bit down on her trembling lip, stopped resisting as Lük lifted her onto the scaffold. 

The demon had begun to secure one of her ankles, when into the restraint rig when the metal door at the far end of the chamber suddenly clanged open , and then slammed shut. 

Lük was calm when it turned its head to see who had entered, but when it saw who he was, its eyes widened with fear. Its grip slipped, and a terrified scream tore through Xiaorou’s throat as she saw the monstrous thing at the bottom of the pit. She was in a freefall towards it, when Yanxue  lunged forward, catching her by the ankle just in time. Despite her hands tied together in front of her, she held Xiaorou with a desperate, two-handed grip.

Lük staggered backwards, robes waving violently as it reoriented itself into a defensive stance. The appearance of the man was difficult to make out in the dim light, but it was obvious to tell from his shape; exactly who he was.

“You,” Zhen snarled, narrowing her gaze with hatred, her voice like shards of glass. “This is all because of you, Shinkaiten! Because you ran when we needed you, Han Jianping is dead!”

“That was unfortunate…” Shinkaiten murmured. “My apologies.” He gave a shallow bow. “I needed to get something.” The fingers on his left hand gently coiled around Kasumi’s hilt. “However, my blade no longer recognizes her master.” Then, with no ceremony, his right hand moved to the figure he’d brought with him.

He reached behind, gripping the back of a boy’s collar, and shoved him forward. 

The boy stumbled onto the pool deck and collapsed. He braced himself on hands and knees, his arms shaking beneath him. His breathing was uneven, as though he had run too far and too fast on wounded lungs. Indeed, he had tried many times to escape, and now his body bore the slashes and bruises of it. He was even younger than Xiaorou.

“This is Morino Yukio,” Shinkaiten stated. “My descendent. Kasumi believes him to be her new wielder. Until this embarrassment is corrected, he cannot be allowed to die. However, even though she no longer calls to me, I still possess her with my hand. I do not ask that we work together, I only inform you that I shall remain here, and watch over the dragon, while Kasumi begins to remember her lord.”

Zhi Zhen looked offended now. Though she had been Shinkaiten’s only friend in his time of captivity there were things that even she still held sacred. “You are not your blade’s ‘Lord’ or ‘Master’,” she spat. “Your arrogance disgusts me. A priest’s blade is his guide, not his servant!”

Lük remained frozen. Yanxue cradled her trembling junior tightly in her arms, and Yukio refused to look up. 

Shinkaiten walked forward, passing Yukio as he approached the edge of the pit. “Our disagreements aside,” he said, drawing a small knife, “we both want the same thing. The dawn of a new era of both demon and priest.” he slid the blade across his hand, and let his blood drip into the basin. 

For a second, no one moved. No one made a sound… Even the air was still, then came a groan that sounded as though the gates of hell were opening on its hinges. Yanxue and Xiaorou screamed as they hugged each other tightly. Yukio screamed as he pressed his face flat against the floor. Zhi Zhen and Lük stood frozen in place, as the dragon stirred loudly within its egg, having tasted Shinkaiten’s powerful blood….

And then everything went silent. No one dared to speak, except for Shinkaiten. 

“Carry on as though I were not here,” he said. “But continue to feed the beast.” With that, he turned around, and grabbed Yukio by the arm. Yukio did not make another sound as Shinkaiten carried him out, leaving the rest of them behind.

***

The scent of sizzling oil and spice drifted up from the Iron wok. Kuzalu hummed a jolly tune to himself as he tossed the pan with the easy rhythm of a master chef.

He scooped up a handful of pre-peeled vegetables from the basket, and juggled them in the air, before tossing them all high up into the air, and drawing his new sword, slicing them all cleanly as they came down, and fell into the pot. Then came cuts of pork, which he tossed into the air, spun on his heels, and then sliced in perfect strips over the wok.

His eyes shone with feverish delight at how cleanly Mo Leng had cut. A boy with a toy, a killer with a keepsake. Bloodlust and culinary elegance mixed like wine and vinegar in his brain. The sword gleamed. So did his teeth.

“You’re mine now,” Kuzalu whispered to Mo Leng, wiping its flat edge with a corner of his apron before carefully laying it across a drying rack that had once held ceremonial knives. “I’ll show you what a proper master does.”

He plated the food, steaming and perfectly seared and seasoned, the delicious and rich aroma curling upward like incense smoke. He balanced the tray on one hand, kicked the swinging door open with his foot, and strode down the dark corridor humming tunelessly, footsteps light as that of a tap-dancer.

He nudged open the door to the room where Saya and Lei had holed themselves up. But he immediately read the room. They were seated quietly across from one another, with their own, simpler meal already ready. The two of them gave him a look. 

Kuzalu stood in the doorway for a beat too long, tray in hand, smile frozen on his face.

Then he stepped back, quietly let the door drift shut, and turned around without a word.

Still humming to himself, he carried the tray outside, where a thicket of weeds separated the building from the road. There was a low step still dry enough to sit on. Kuzalu set the tray on his knees and took a slow bite. The pork was perfect. The spices were sharp and bright. He chewed and looked out at nothing in particular. Then came the soft patter of paws.

A scruffy dog approached. He was mangy, one ear torn, ribs showing under its matted coat, and had slunk into the courtyard, sniffing at the air.

Kuzalu narrowed his eyes. “Beat it.”

The dog sat down. Tail wagged once, and barked.

Kuzalu picked up a pebble and lobbed it. Not hard.

The dog didn’t move.

“Get outta here, beat it,” Kuzalu tried again. 

The dog tilted its head.

“Here, fetch this instead,” Kuzalu said as he threw a stick.

The dog licked its lips and gave a single, hoarse whine.

Kuzalu sighed. “Riiiight, I almost forgot, you don’t wanna play, you're hungry… but I bought, and cooked this food myself, mutt! Why can’t you work for a living like the rest of us?”

The dog simply stared, and then gave a high-pitched bark.  

Kuzalu looked at the pork. Then he looked at the dog. Then broke off a small piece and flicked it across the stones.

The dog caught it in mid-air.

“…Hmph,” Kuzalu muttered, cracking a grin. “So you can fetch afterall.”

He tore off another piece, this time placing it gently on the ground between them.

The dog crept forward, cautious but eager, and ate. Then sat. Then inched closer.

Eventually, the dog’s head was resting against Kuzalu’s knee.

He scratched it behind the ear. “You’re pretty brave to try and guilt me into sharing my food. I’ve killed men for less you know.”

The dog gave another bark, and received another piece of pork.

“Haha, you’re not so bad.”

The dog gave a contented grunt.

So did he.

“A pair of dirty dogs, huh?” he muttered, more to himself than the mutt. He sharpened Mo Leng idly on the stone, then set the blade down, and retrieved a folded piece of paper from the inside of his pocket. 

The paper itself was a wrinkled, incomplete part of a letter, which read;

May 11, 1899

JMeiji 32, 5th month, 11th day

Chinese lunar: Guangxu 25th year, 4th month, 2nd day 

To Elder Ruo, of the Shénwu,

I pray this letter finds you in health and sound mind. It has taken me many months to gather the resolve to write to you, though you are among the few to whom I could send this. I have not been fully myself in the past two years as you already know, so I have written very little since then. For the first time in my life, I lack the certainty to commit my thoughts to paper, and yet, the fear of how our work may go astray compels me to write regardless.

It is in this unsettled state, yet with purpose intact, that I must speak on matters I once hoped would resolve themselves without intervention. They have not. The Shénwu stand again on the knife-edge of an old peril—one I warned of before, and one that has continued to spread in silence. The deterioration of discipline among certain instructors, the narrowing of the Dance into a contest of endurance and force, the whispered encouragement of rivalries among the youngest priestesses—these things are no longer rare. They have become patterns.

These past months have impressed this increasing sense of urgency upon my work, for I sensed that what I once believed to be a distant possibility has begun to take form in the present. Yet the circumstances of these times constrain me more than I could have anticipated. Monsieur Victor Rothschild, who was my most generous sponsor, has also been struck by tragedy, after the the loss of his only child. 

He cannot be reached, and his relatives believe he has undergone a religious awakening, and vanished.

With his withdrawal, the practical means by which I might continue my investigations have evaporated. My impending marriage complicates things even more. It is a change I accept, though I feel the weight of it more than I care to admit. The life that awaits me will not easily accommodate the responsibilities I have undertaken on behalf of the ancient disciplines. I do not yet know whether I will have the support—or the courage—to pursue them as I once did.

For this reason, Elder Ruo, I enclose with this letter the manuscript of my final book, Yorukotachi. It is the sum of all I could gather, arranged with the hope that clarity may remain even when the author’s voice is no longer present. I ask only that you translate it into the tongues most needed, and ensure its teachings reach those who guide the youngest priestesses. If there is any merit in my work, then may it serve as a barrier against the cycle we have witnessed before—a cycle of drift, corruption, and bloodshed that gives rise to the Yaoguai.

I trust you, Elder Ruo, more than any of the others, for you have fought the longest to resist the trends that have been mishaping the way we understand the Dance. If my fears are misguided, then you may set this aside and think no ill of me. But if they are not, then I beg you to ensure that the next generation is better-guided.

With quiet resolve,

Hanabusa Hisaka

Formerly of the Shanghai Academy of Antiquities

Kuzalu folded the letter with a reverence, but the moment it was placed back into his pocket, his face became a smirk. “Yorukotachi,” he mused. “Children of the night. Hehehe, this is getting to be more interesting than I thought.” 

The dog next to him was now licking the wok clean. “Sorry buddy,” Kuzalu said, as he took the pan away, and began to trace Kanji in the grease. “Yoru-小  and ko-夜... there is another way this can be spelled depending on how the Kanji is read.”

Kuzalu’s grin widened. “Arata you handsome devil. Either this is a coincidence, or you knew more about your mother than I thought, didn’t you? You named your daughter in her honor.”

Chapter Text

It was twilight on the outskirts of Shueyon. The pacific winds scraped dry reeds against the rusted fencing as the man sat  down in the thick grass, looking at the skyline one last time, before comparing it with his sketches to see if he had missed anything. He was sure that he hadn’t when A hand closed on his shoulder.

The man screamed, nearly stumbling forward. But the grip didn’t tighten. It rooted him, cold and heavy. Like stone. The man turned slowly. Behind him stood a towering figure in a faded trench coat that billowed in the wind, and a wide-brimmed fedora. Its face was half in shadow.

“I’m not a spy or anything—” the man said in a hurried voice. “He just asked me to describe Shueyon. Since nobody lived here, I thought it would be okay. Please believe me comrade, I am not an enemy.”

“Who is ‘he’?” Sao asked in a calm voice.

“A foreigner… a white man. He had dark hair, and the right side of his face had a lot of scars on it, like they came from claws. Looked like he’d fought with a tiger or a bear. I… I thought he was just a cartographer or explorer.” The man reached into his pockets, and pulled out a wad of cash. “This is the money he paid me. I’ll give it to you, and everything I wrote down, please don’t arrest me.”

Sao released his grip on the man’s shoulder. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” it said. “Keep your money, and report back to that man as you would have.”

The man stood, inched away, eying Sao, and then giving a grateful nod, before turning, and increasing the distance between the two of them.

“Do not tell him that you saw me,” Sao said in one final warning.

“Of course not,” the man said, and then turned back towards his way.

 Sao looked to the horizon. That was not the first man Kuzalu had sent either…”We will be waiting for you,” he muttered.

***

Yukio sniffled as he scrubbed at the floor with a rag that had once been part of someone's curtain. The wood beneath his fingers was splintered and stained, and the dust clung to his skin no matter how many times he wiped it. His knees ached, but he didn’t dare stop.

Shinkaiten had chosen this room

 For himself, and though  its windows were shattered and boarded, its walls lined with cracks like dry veins. He expected Yukio to clean it until it was “suitable”.

 Yukio blinked hard and kept scrubbing. Dirt gave way to old paint. His wrist trembled.

It wasn’t the cold. It wasn’t even the bruises on his ribs or the sting where Shinkaiten had struck him. It wasn’t the fact that he had been wearing the same clothes since he was kidnapped, cut, bled , stuffed into a sweaty suitcase, beaten, dragged, and humiliated…

It was Kasumi… he hadn’t even been allowed to hold her.

He swallowed back another sob and turned, hoping not to see Shinkaiten watching him again. Through the wide door, he saw him in the other room, swinging Kasumi in practice. The sight of it nearly made Yukio sick.

Shinkaiten leapt and swung the blade in a long arc. A pivot. A low, gliding step. Then a slash through the air so fast it cracked like a whip. He moved with a grace, power, and prowess that was nearly super-human. And yet,  his expression darkened with every strike.

“Tch, what is it you refuse to see Kasumi?” he muttered. “I am not your enemy.” Still the sword did not answer.

Yukio turned away, a fresh sting rising in his eyes. He pressed the rag against the floor, trying not to cry again, but the sob broke free before he could stop it.

Behind him, the blade hummed once more through the air, sharper this time. Less like practicing an art. More like punishment. “Say something,” Shinkaiten murmured, low and cold.

But she didn’t.

Yukio tried to keep his eyes on the floor as he scrubbed, but he could still hear Shinkaiten’s hateful gaze turn to him. “Please Saya… Lei… anyone… Kuzalu… even you… Please come…” Outside, the rain began to fall, yet he still heard the floorboards creek as Shinkaiten approached him.

Yukio began to scrub more furiously, and yet, no amount of preparation prepared him for the feeling of when Shinkaiten’s feet settled. Yukio’s arms froze. His stomach dropped. 

“Up,” Shinkaiten commanded.

Trembling, Yukio obeyed. His shoulders stiff, he couldn’t bring himself to look Shinkaiten in the face. Through the blur of his tears, he focused on Kasumi, hanging in his grip. He tried to shut out her voice, but it still came to him. “Its not your fault,” he said, in his quietest possible voice.

“It is her fault,” Shinkaiten said. “You have done nothing wrong. I now realize, that you did not know this blade belonged to me when you accepted her. But she…” Shinkaiten held up Kasumi’s blade and looked at her. “She remembered me, and she chose to tell you her name instead. This is not meant to be a punishment to you…”

Yukio took a step back. 

“...This is to separate Kasumi from you, until she remembers her master.”

A swift, surgical slash. Yukio didn’t move. Strands of his hair fell to the floor, followed by a single drop of his own blood, from where a shallow cut across his left cheek had been made.

“Look up at me. Let me see what kind of face you are making.”

When Yukio hesitated, Shinkaiten pushed the blunt end of the blade’s tip against Yukio’s chin, forcing him to look up, and Shinkaiten saw the defiance in his eyes.

With another swift slash of the blade, Shinkaiten struck the back of Yukio’s knee with the blunt end, directly to his lateral meniscus. Yukio cried out in pain as he fell onto all fours, screaming from the pain, and sheer anger, for all he and Kasumi were being made to endure. His cries echoed against the walls of the room, and Shinkaiten stood over him, watching, his mere presence suffocating him, and adding to the torment, until Yukio’s screams of agony had transferred into sobs of fear.

“I expect deference from you as well,” Shinkaiten said. “Your little acts of rebellion will not be tolerated.”

“Lord Shinkaiten,” came Zhi Zhen’s voice from the doorway. “A word please.” She was standing there back in her full Shénwu robes, the scarf over her mouth bearing the markings of her Zhi clan.

Shinkaiten returned her gaze, before slowly, sheathing Kasumi, and giving Yukio one final warning; “Clean this mess up,” before striding towards the door, and out with Zhi Zhen. They stepped out onto the veranda, and the sounds of Yukio’s crying was drowned out by the sound of the storm coming down hard on the tin roof above them.

Together they looked out over the washed-out remnants of Shueyon. A veil of rain blurred the ghost town beyond, creating a mist against the rooftops, and a cascade over abandoned trees and yards, as nature slowly reclaimed the town. Zhi Zhen did not turn to him when she spoke. “They’ll be here soon,” she said simply.

Shinkaiten gave a low hum. “Kuzalu.”

“And Ruo Lei, and the one called Saya,” she added, lips curling faintly with disdain. “The Five keep eyes in more places than even I like to admit. I don’t suppose you’re still undecided about him.”

“I will face him,” Shinkaiten replied. There was silence for a time. The rain kept falling, harder now, drumming against the rusted gutters and the earth below. “Do you regret betraying your underlings?” he asked unprompted.

Zhi Zhen stiffened. Just slightly. But he saw it. “Worry about your own problems.” she answered coldly.

“I was betrayed once,” he said without feeling. “I would not have been captured if I wasn’t.”

Zhen gripped her sleeves. She knew that Shinkaiten was lying. She already knew the truth… Working with such an unpredictable character was not ideal to her, but he would fight Kuzalu… but between the betrayal of her priestesses, and working with this demon, she hoped this would end soon.

Chapter Text

The rain had not let up, and outside, loudspeakers blared flood warnings. Many of the roads near the Haihe River had already been closed. Saya, Kuzalu, and Lei were less than half a mile from the swollen banks, and though the waters had not breached yet, the city braced. Five years ago, when the Haihe overflowed during the summer rains, thousands were killed in Tianjin alone. Those who had lived through it still carried the memory like an ache in their bones.

And yet, in the old Austrian neighborhood, nobody fled.

The streets were quiet but restless. The rain beat steadily against iron balconies and cracked eaves, its rhythm broken only by the wet dragging of buckets, crates, and loose bricks being hauled into the alleyways. Families worked in silence, without direction, each household moving as if bound by the same unspoken understanding.

Children in patched jackets laid down burlap sacks filled with coal ash and broken corn husks, packing them into the seams between weathered doorframes. A group of boys carried rotting pews out from the school building, and wedged them up against the base of the northern wall. A grandmother squatted, smoking her pipe under the tin roof of a porch, calmly watching the storm that none could control.

In the building that was on the corner of the neighborhood, closest to the highway and the river, Saya stood motionless in front of the window facing the east.  Her twin braids were damp at the ends from an earlier step outside, the dark silk of her clothes catching the dim light like water pooled in velvet. She did not blink. The reflection in the glass was warped… rain-distorted and ghostlike, but still unmistakably hers.

Ruo Lei crossed into the room, and wasn't sure whether or not Saya had noticed her, but she did not hesitate before speaking. “I've just spoken with Kuzalu” she said. “He agrees that we won't let the fact that the roads are now closed delay us. We're not leaving a moment later than originally planned Saya.”

Saya was grateful that she hadn't said: ‘we’ll save him’. She had heard that mantra so much by now both from Lei and herself, that she half expected Kuzalu to start saying it just to toy with her. “I wish we would leave now,” she said without turning around.

“It won’t be long.” Lei’s voice was soft, but certain when she said that.

Neither dared to admit it out loud, but Kuzalu's quick thinking had been invaluable. They hadn't prepared for The hideout to be empty, yet Kuzalu only needed a short nap before he's spring into action, and began sending locals to Shueyon to report back with all they had seen. Had he spoken to either one of them about this plan beforehand, Lei would have probably opposed involving civilians, and yet within a day, all of them had come back with enough information that when pieced together; gave them enough information to triangulate the most likely locations of where to strike, and how to do it. 

Still. Saya, no matter how much she reminded herself that he was a victim of the dance, and no matter how much she told herself that she would still care about Yukio no matter what— she hated Kuzalu. There was no man alive whom she hated more, and yet, they continued to be in his debt. He was like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

It was at that moment that the door opened, and they heard his wet boots slosh along the floor as he approached their room. “Bad news first,” he announced. “Shueyon is currently an Island. The Haihe hasn’t flooded yet, but the Duliujian river has, and the road to Shueyon is under water. The road is now half road, and half lake.”

Saya and Lei looked at him, as if waiting to hear the good news, which was Kuzalu’s cue to deliver it. “We can still get there by sea, and there is a bastard who is crazy enough to take us there by boat.” He gave a dry chuckle as droplets of water still clung to his skin. “Mr. Liu says he can take us across the Bohai bay, but only when the storm calms enough. He is a man of the sea, and will not go a moment before the time is right.”

Saya and Lei exchanged a look. “You can trust this man?” Lei asked Kuzalu. 

Kuzalu raised an eyebrow.

“What did you promise to pay him?” Saya translated.

“Mr. Liu was a reasonable man,” Kuzalu said. “I’ve spent quite a lot of my cash for recon, and other expenses, I didn’t have a penny to offer Mr. Liu, although I did say I would try to bring his daughter back alive.”

“Kuzalu!” Lei gasped, “you didn’t resort to that!?”

Saya had already grabbed the hilt of her blade, and bared her teeth. She looked as though she was a moment away from drawing her sword, when Kuzalu threw his head back laughing.

“I would be offended by that if I didn’t already think you two were stupid.” He leaned in, and relaxed, taking his time to leisurely orient himself before explaining. “Mr. Liu’s daughter, Xiaorou ran away from home when she was going through her pre-teen phase. Han Jianping took her into the cult.”

Lei did not take her eyes off of him, but she exhaled, while Saya relaxed her grip on her sword handle.

Kuzalu’s fingers flexed above Mo Leng’s hilt, but his voice remained calm. “He told me that he would accept the news of Han Jianping’s death as a down payment. He will ferry us to Shueyon, and while I couldn’t make any promises that I would bring her back alive, it was enough. In addition to rescuing Yukio, we are going to try to bring sweet little Xiaorou back to her father too. Is that alright with you two?”

Saya exhaled as she relaxed. Lei closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course that's okay with us, Kuzalu.”

Kuzalu let the silence pass for a moment, as if waiting for them to thank him. When that moment passed without a word, he gave another soft chuckle. “You know, it just occurred to me,” he said, “whether by fate or coincidence, the threads are real. The fact that all three of you have come together, and all three of you were the younger of two siblings. Not to mention that both you, Miss Kinoshita, and young Morino were the younger of identical twins.”

Saya’s eyes widened. She nearly reached for her blade again before her better judgment intervened. 

“Wait a minute,” Kuzalu said, scratching the back of his head. “Yukio didn’t have a twin. Seems my memory lapsed for a bit there.”

“How do you know that?” Saya demanded. “How did you know that I had a twin?”

“Come now, Saya,” he replied, halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “It was innocent curiosity. It’s not every day I meet fellow practitioners of the Dance, let alone from the Far East. And besides… It wasn't hard. Japan is a remarkable nation. In contrast to Miss Ruo’s country of half a billion illiterates, Japan is a nation where everyone reads, and everyone writes. Records of citizens, their names, occupations, ancestry… it’s all written down.”

“You unimaginable bastard,” Saya said, narrowing her eyes. Her voice was calm—dangerously calm. “To say such things at a time like this…”

“It is precisely at a time like this that I choose to say such things,” Kuzalu answered.

“I know you three were also doing your homework on me,” he continued. “But I doubt you found much, even though I gave you the name I was given at birth.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kuzalu,” Lei said, stepping between him and Saya. “We kept tabs on you to make sure you weren’t doing anything behind our backs. But neither Saya nor Yukio were the least bit interested in who you were. We already knew enough.”

Kuzalu’s smile softened, but the air around him somehow grew heavier. “Saya and Yukio might not have been interested,” he said. “But I notice you didn’t include yourself in that statement.”

Lei’s shoulders tensed.

“Don’t worry,” Kuzalu said. “I doubt there’s any real parallel between me and the late General Xu Lijun. You and I… we’ve got nothing in common. Although,” he added, his tone almost gentle, “awkward as this may sound, I did feel something of a kinship with Miss Kinoshita…”

Saya’s mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. Her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles had gone white. She took a step forward, eyes sharp with something close to disgust. “And what is that!?.”

“Get a hold of yourself Saya!” Lei said firmly. “He’s baiting you, that's all this is. Either that or he’s a complete idiot!”

“Then I suppose I must be an idiot,” Kuzalu said, “because I’m not trying to bait you. Of course, you and I are nothing alike in temperament or ethics, but we both come from similar places. I was the son of a Turkish Bey, and you the daughter of a Kinoshita Arata.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly.

Saya did not move. But the silence she gave off was so heavy it made the floor feel unsteady. “You didn’t know my father,” she said in a dangerously low tone. 

“Correct, I only know what is written about him,”  Kuzalu replied. “War profiteer. Factory owner. Made his fortune selling arms to the Imperial Army. Tried to flee the country when it all came undone. Shot resisting arrest at a checkpoint. That’s how the Chinese record it.”

“How easy it must be,” she murmured,  with thunder faintly rolling in the distance. “To speak of dead men as if their lives were neatly recorded footnotes.”

“Wasn’t meant as judgment,” Kuzalu said. “Only context. We both come from legacies soaked in blood.”

Lei’s jaw tightened. “Enough.”

But Saya lifted a hand— “Let him talk,” she said. Her voice was composed.

Kuzalu tilted his head, intrigued. 

“You think I don’t know what my father was?” Saya asked, now looking directly at him. “I watched his trucks pull into the factory yard. I smelled the oil, the metal, the carbon soot. I heard him on the telephone shouting about quotas and raw ore. I know the blood that bought my education. The sheets that I slept in, the toys that my sister and I played with, the food that we ate, I know it was bought with blood. I know what my family did.”

Her words came slowly now, tightly measured. “But what you don’t know,” she said, “is that when we were stopped at that checkpoint, my father never once begged for his life. It was for our sakes that he got down on his knees, and when he saw that they would hurt us anyways, my father—” her fists trembled, and the cadence of her voice slowed, but her words remained steady  “--threw himself at a man with a gun, just to buy his wife and daughters a chance!”

Lei had stepped closer now, not to interrupt, but to be near.

“You read what the records said,” Saya said, her voice shaking only once. “But you didn’t see my mother push my sister and me forward, and tell us not to look back, after she had just been raped in front of us. You didn’t hear my father’s screams as he fought with all his strength, until they shot him at point blank.” Her breath hitched, and the chuckle that followed scared even herself. “But how could you possibly understand that? Your human heart died a long time ago didn’t it? You can’t even imagine whats going through my head right now, can you?”

She looked up at Kuzalu with twitching lips and unflinching anger in her eyes. “If you bring him up again, do it with your whole chest. Don’t pretend it’s a clinical comparison. Say what you really want to say.”

The pause lingered.

Kuzalu finally exhaled through his nose. “I was going to say,” he said, “that I envied you. Just a little.”

Lei’s eyes flicked toward him, but Saya didn’t respond.

“I don’t remember my father doing a single brave thing,” Kuzalu continued. “Oh, he loved to tell stories about what a brave warrior he was, but the only opponents I ever saw him fight were my weak mother, his other wives, and his kids. He was clever though, it's the only positive thing I got from him. He knew how to drive wedges between his jealous wives so that their sons would fight each other instead of standing up to him… I suppose I inherited his cowardice too, because I ran away.” 

He studied the faces of the two women with whom he was speaking, before smirking, and continuing. “All of my half brothers grew up to be just like him, yet I wasn’t happy or sad when they had all been killed in the wars that followed. I felt nothing. Indifference is… cleaner. But you—” He gave a faint shrug. “You still feel something. That’s worth studying.”

“I’m not a specimen,” Saya said coldly.

“I know,” Kuzalu replied. “That’s what makes it interesting.” He turned, as if the conversation was over. “I hope the boy’s alive,” he said without turning back. “You’d both make better people if he is.” And with that, he closed the door behind him.

The sound echoed in the stillness he left behind.

Saya didn’t move. She stood where she had delivered her final words, jaw set, shoulders squared, but her hands… her hands were trembling ever so slightly.

Lei didn’t speak at first. She stayed close, not stepping forward, not turning away. But after a long pause, she said quietly, “He talks too much.”

Saya exhaled. A breath she didn’t know she was holding. “So do I,” she murmured.

“No,” Lei replied. “You don’t.”

Saya's fingers slowly unclenched. Her arms lowered to her sides, but they hung stiff, like they didn’t know where to go.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Lei watched her carefully, her gaze steady. “Doesn’t matter to who?”

Saya blinked. “To anyone,” she said, too quickly. “It was a long time ago. I was a child. I didn’t know anything.”

Lei stepped in a little closer, “And now?” 

Saya looked at her… then she looked away. Her neck moved as she swallowed. Her voice was thinner now, brittle around the edges. “Now I know too much.” She turned her back to Lei, as if to shield something.  “He was a bad man,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I know that. He made weapons. He profited off other people’s suffering. I know what he did… but…” The sentence stuck in her throat.

One hand rose to her face, as though to scratch at her temple, but instead, it lingered just beneath her eye. She wiped something away with her sleeve before it could fall. “I didn’t mean to say all that in front of you,” she said hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Saya.” Lei spoke calmly, and gently put her hands on her junior’s shoulder. Saya turned around, her head bowed. She hesitated for a moment, as though waiting for permission, before resting her head on Lei’s shoulder.

“You’re allowed to grieve for your parents,” she said. “You never have to justify yourself to me.”

“Why would Kuzalu even bring it up?” Saya said, barely above a whisper. “He knows about Yukio, he probably knows about Tian-xi too, and how worried—”

“Don’t waste your time trying to think about how his mind works,” Lei said. “He was clearly trying to drive a wedge between us for his own amusement. But none of that matters now. What matters is Yukio. I know that you understand what he is going through better than anyone, that's why—“

Lei did not need to say anything more. Saya pulled away from her, the anger had returned to her eyes. “We’re definitely getting him back,” she said cooly.

“Of course we are,” Lei said, nodding. They both turned their heads to the window simultaneously. The eye of the storm was nearing.

***

The rain poured in steady sheets, blurring the edges of the streets and swallowing the rows of buildings in the haze. Mud laced the pavement where drainage had failed, and the swirling runoff soaked through gutters clogged with old leaves and bits of trash, although few could see it through the heavy mist of the downpour. 

It was under this cover of haze that three figures moved swiftly through the streets.  Their wide sedge hats bobbed as they trotted, their black raincoats slick with water and clinging at the legs as they made for the Haihe river. 

Kuzalu led the way until they reached the spot underneath the bridge, where a wooden boat rocked in place. A low-profile vessel, narrow and weather-stained, with a canvas sheet folded at its rear. At the stern stood a man, rain drops impacting on his hat and shoulders. He had seen every storm this region had seen in the past 35 years, a citizen of Tianjin whose family had lived here since the end of the Great Clearance. 

One hand gripped the rudder. The other rested on a metal hook fixed near the side. Kuzalu stepped forward first. Liu Tiansheng nodded once in greeting, then motioned them aboard without a word.

Saya climbed in second. She felt his eyes glance over her once, but they gave nothing away. Still, a strange sensation crept up the back of her neck. He hadn’t looked at her long, yet something about him made her lower her head so that the sedge hat hid her face. 

Lei boarded last, and the moment she had taken her seat next to Saya, Liu Tiansheng pushed them off with a heavy boot and a practiced twist of the rudder. Both she, and Saya had an instinct to study him more, to get a good look at the man who was risking his life to help them, and the father with a  daughter who he wanted to see again, but the current caught them instantly, and Lei had been a soldier, not a sailor.

The boat jerked forward, and for a second, her stomach dropped. Saya’s breath hitched next to hers. The swollen river roared forward heedless of their wishes. It was to their advantage that the current carried them quickly forward, but at the same time it threatened to capsize them. Dark water slapped the sides, spraying high, and the wind threatened to tilt them with every gust. The only thing keeping the vessel steady was Liu, his knees braced wide, moving the rudder like a polearm. He said nothing, even as the boat heaved through the narrowest bends, sliding just past a broken dock, or coasting sideways through a surge of whirlpools near a sunken street sign.

One wave crested and nearly tipped them. Saya dug her fingers into the wood, Lei ducked as the spray hit her square in the chest, and Kuzalu cried out; “You are a master oarsman Mr. Liu!” The man gave no reply. He adjusted the rudder, and shifted his stance in preparation to counter the next swell. 

The boat rocked hard again, snapping against the waves. The Haihe narrowed briefly, then widened as it bent past the final sluice gates near Tanggu, the brackish scent of salt hitting their noses before any of them saw the open water.

The urban grime fell behind them, and now they drifted through the liminal edge of land and sea. Industrial ruins blinked past on either side— rusted cranes, tangled cables, a collapsed loading dock jutting half-submerged like broken teeth. The storm’s roar was louder here, unshaped by buildings, a soundless pressure that pushed into their skulls and made speech feel useless.

Then, almost at once, the river fed them out.

They emerged from the mouth of the Haihe like a bullet from the barrel, skimming forward into the silvery sprawl of Bohai Bay.

The rain did not stop, but it thinned. The wind dulled to a shuddering breeze. The sky remained gunmetal gray, but the sea itself smoothed like oil, the waves diminishing to long, slow breaths that rippled beneath the boat without trying to crush it. They had entered the eye of the storm.

The bay stretched outward like a drowned plain. To the north, the faint silhouette of Dagu Fort loomed behind the veil of mist. The water was dark—silt-laden, rich with churned-up detritus—but not hostile. The lull allowed them to sit upright again, and for the first time since leaving the bridge, Saya peeled one hand from the bench to brush wet hair from her cheek.

Liu didn’t speak, but his eyes flicked toward the horizon, where a second wall of clouds gathered. They had little time. He shifted his grip on the rudder and angled them toward a far point obscured by reed-covered sandbars and warehouse ruins. No safe harbor—only a brief place to breathe before the storm closed again.

Chapter Text

In Shueyon, the situation was not that different from Tianjin. The downpour came heavy, with gusts of wind casting streaks of haze in the rain as it fell against the roofs, and a brackish surge flowed through the streets,  carrying leaves and fallen branches lazily along, before depositing them in whirlpools or on the steps where the floodwaters cascaded down.

The only difference between here and Tianjin, is that no one had evacuated from Shueyon. Nobody lived there. Shinkaiten stood on the balcony of his temporary abode, Kasumi in his hands, Yukio made to sit in seiza behind him as though he were a page. Shinkaiten, the priest, the samurai, the disgraced Army officer, and captive of the Shénwu for all these years, stood as a free man, his keen eyes piercing through the rain and haze, watching the municipal building…

Inside that building, the Five demons were dry. The only part of the storm that made it through was the sound of the rain on the roof above them. But louder than the rain, was the slow, rhythmic dripping of blood.

Five priestesses hung suspended above the drained pool, feeding the dragon at an agonizingly slow pace. Upside-down, bound at the ankles and silenced by cotton cloth forced between their lips, they wept as they bled. Their arms hung limp, wrists bound, fingers twitching only occasionally with the passing of agony or prayer. Their hair cut short, and their bodies growing weaker by the minute.

Sao stood motionless in the far shadow, its arms folded beneath the folds of his coat. Tung leaned lightly on its cane, his eyes fixed not on the pool, but on the steady, uneven drip of blood. Wun’ei crossed its arms and kept his gaze trained coldly on the priestesses’ faces, watching how long each one took to show that their spirits had been broken. Lük savored a bloodied cloth between two fingers, inhaling it with faint amusement, as though weighing the merits of the vintage. Ma’a, immaculate as ever, dabbed the corner of its mouth with a pressed white handkerchief.

All had tasted the blood.

None spoke of it, though it hung in the air—thicker than incense. All of them were restrained enough not to consume it in excess, but here, in moderation, it offered clarity. Focus. A brief, burning glimpse of something ancient.

Even still… Zhi Zhen had given them quantity, not quality. Ruo Lei only ever had one student, while Zhi Zhen and Han Jianping had dozens. None of these priestesses were trained to the same level as Kinoshita Saya, yet, the dragon’s cocoon glowed. 

“They are close,” Ma’a said, voice as calm and composed as if noting a change in the weather. “You can smell it in the ash.”

“As prepared as we are, we must not let our guards down,” said Tung. “Priestess Zhi should be able to handle Lei, and her protege, but if Shinkaiten betrays us again, who will fight Kuzalu? We must prepare for the worse.”

“This may be true,” Lük concurred. “However, you said yourself Tung, that we have a contingency for this.” It then turned to Wun’ei. “This is where you and I come in.”

Wun’ei nodded. “If it comes to that.”

“If it comes to that,” Ma’a finished, “The Dragon’s growth may be sadly delayed, but its safety will be secured. That is the worst case scenario. Should we be forced to rely on our contingency, but capture Ruo Lei, and Kinoshita Saya alive, then we will have come out on top.”

Tung nodded. “If we can have the bodies of Shinkaiten and Kuzalu after this, than the dragon will be born unimaginably strong. But we must all remember, this is only what we stand to win from a gamble we did not want. Ruo Lei is soft-hearted and sentimental, but we know this about her because we know her. We know very little about Kuzalu, and we may know even less about Kinoshita Saya. If those two can sway Ruo Lei’s heart, then our contingency plan may very well fail.”

“That cannot be allowed to happen,” Ma’a said. “I know that none of us here will allow decades of work, and half a century of planning to be undone.”

Tung nodded in agreement. “We Yaoguai do not live as long as humans who have opened the inner gate. We are all at the point in our lives, where if this fails, it will be over for us.”

“It will not fail,” Wun’ei said with a twitch of the lip. “Priestess Zhi came up with this contingency plan herself, and she knows Ruo Lei better than an experienced huntress knows her prey. Our contingency plan will not fail, even if Shinkaiten turns tail again.”

Sao said nothing, only turned its face a fraction toward the pool. The blood was pooling thicker now, the cocoon beneath twitching once, barely perceptible. A breath from a creature that had not yet woken.

Then came the sound. A long, low, and unsteady groan. 

All eyes turned upward. The ceiling above the pool, once reinforced with beams of wood and steel, now sagged visibly under the weight of rain. Decades of rot and abandonment had eaten into its supports. Now, with the water seeping in from all sides, it could bear no more.

The collapse was sudden.

A section of roof gave way, sending a wave of broken wood, rusted rebar, and wet plaster crashing into the center of the pool. The dragon’s cocoon remained untouched. The priestesses shrieked behind their gags, swinging slightly from the tremor. A gust of wet air followed the debris, and the first droplets of rain fell into the chamber.

But the Five did not move. None had been struck. None had raised a hand. The silence afterward was heavier than the rain.

For a moment, the sound of dripping blood was joined by that of dripping water. From the exposed hole in the roof, the storm poured in, diffused gray light casting long shadows through the opening. No words were spoken.

All five looked up, toward the sky.

The clouds churned overhead—silent, unfeeling, vast. The open wound in the ceiling offered no meaning. Yet the Five stood still, gazing upward as though it had whispered something only they could hear.

An Omen.

***

The storm had begun to die down as the boat came from up north. Yet the swollen Duliujian river still surged like a thing possessed, its muddy current lashing against the banks of the abandoned township. Waves slapped hard against the flat prow of the old boat as Liu Tiansheng steered it into the shallows near a sandbar at the river’s mouth. Even now, the mist and haze made vision difficult.

Even before the hull had fully touched ground, Saya leapt from the vessel without a word. She landed in the ankle-deep floodwaters with a splash, not hesitating as she stalked ahead, head bowed slightly, fists clenched. Her coat was already soaking through, but she didn’t seem to feel it. She was here for one reason. The rain, the mud, the danger—none of it mattered. 

She was going to get him back.

Kuzalu disembarked after her with less haste, his booted feet sinking slightly into the silted earth. He glanced back toward the man at the helm. “Thank you, Mr. Liu,” he said coolly, brushing wet strands of hair from his face. “We’ll try to bring your daughter back.”

The words sounded hollow. Polite, but detached. As if they were said for obligation, not hope.

Liu Tiansheng remained where he was, hands fixed on the tiller. He did not meet Kuzalu’s eyes right away. For a long moment, he simply stared at the turbulent river, his shoulders slumped beneath his sodden coat. Then he spoke—his voice low, ragged from long silence. 

“I trust you to honor your word.”

Kuzalu’s reply came without hesitation or warmth. “Do not worry about my word. If I can’t bring your daughter back to you, I’ll still bring you the head of Zhi Zhen, regardless.”

Lei stepped off the boat last, her long coat whipping around her ankles in the wind. She paused near Liu, her expression calm but heavy with empathy. “Please,” she said gently. “Tell us what Xiaorou looks like. Anything that might help us recognize her.”

Liu looked up at her, and their eyes met. For the first time, they both got a good look of each other’s faces under the sedge hats. Lei’s green eyes met his brown, and then his lips parted. “She was eleven when she ran away,” he said in a soft, deep voice. “That was… nearly five years ago now. She was small. Slender, with a soft voice. Tan skin, like a southerner. She has a scar, barely visible, under her right eyebrow. She accidentally cut herself while playing with one of my fishing hooks when she was little.”

A sudden change flickered in his eyes when he said that, as though the memory stirred a long-suppressed longing within him. “She… liked to wear her hair long. She loved to brush and comb it in all kinds of different ways. She would sometimes sing to herself while doing it, when she thought no one was listening.”

He hung his head, as though ashamed of having said too much.

Lei bowed her head respectfully. “We’ll look for her. And we’ll do everything in our power to bring her back to you.”

Liu Tiansheng looked up again at her. “I have steeled myself for the worst,” he said. “But even if it is just her body… even if it’s only a piece of her clothing—bring her back to me.”

Lei nodded once, deeply. “We will.”

***

Shinkaiten stood on the veranda with his back to the room, motionless as stone, gazing outward. The rain did not bother him. He held Kasumi at his side, as he stared into the distance. The storm had subsided into a drizzle, but the sky remained gray.

Behind him, Yukio knelt in seiza, his back straight, his legs folded precisely beneath him. The cut he had received on his cheek earlier had formed a scab, but more cuts and bruises remained hidden beneath his tattered Mao suit, which cling damply to his body.

The summer storm had chilled the coastal air, and Yukio was cold. But his jaw locked tight, to keep himself from shivering. Fear of punishment from Shinkaiten for breaking composure, or moving without being excused from where he sat, kept him still. He watched as Shinkaiten’s head moved. From where he sat, Shinkaiten looked so serene, and so poised, as he turned his gaze down to Kasumi.

Yukio felt his stomach clench. He knew that Kasumi was still not speaking. He bowed his head.

The steps to the veranda on Shinkaiten’s left began to creak with the sound of footsteps. Zhi Zhen appeared from the mist like a wraith, her long sleeves slick with rainwater, her hair clinging to her face and neck. She did not bow. “The three of them have arrived,” she said. Her tone was even, but she watched him warily.

Shinkaiten nodded slowly, the rain dripping from his chin. “Good,” he said. “I will fight Kuzalu when the time is right. Until then, continue as before.’

“So you’re not going to help us? Again!?”

“I have already told you, I will see to it that the dragon is not disturbed, but you are to act as though I am not here at all. Those were my instructions.”

Zhen’s lips tightened. “You’re making a mistake,” she said, though it lacked defiance. Her breath smoked in the air.

Shinkaiten did not turn. “Then bear it in silence.”

Zhi Zhen’s nostrils flared, but she said nothing else. With cat-like speed, she sprang from the veranda, landing in the courtyard with barely a sound. In the blink of an eye, she was gone—vanished into the storm to deliver his orders.

Shinkaiten stood still a moment longer. Then: “Stand.”

Yukio swallowed, and rose to his feet without hesitation. Yet, his body shook as he approached. His legs moved without certainty, trembling with each step forward. But he obeyed, and continued forward, until he stood beside Shinkaiten, the height of the railing just below his waist. The rain beaded on his shoulders, soaking through the last dry patches of cloth. He didn’t wipe his face.

“Look,” Shinkaiten ordered.

Yukio turned his eyes toward the municipal building.

At first, nothing moved. Then, one by one, three figures emerged onto the roof, silhouettes lit from behind by distant flashes of lightning. They did not transform. Not yet. They stood in their human forms—tall, lean, almost regal in their poise.

Then, in perfect unison, each threw back their head and roared.

Yukio knew this sound. The roars of the Yokushu, the Chiropteran, the Yaoguai.

But these roars were different. The voices of Ma’a, Tung, and Sao, primal and ancient, a bellow of hunger and war that cut through the rain and echoed off the riverbanks and the stone alleys of Shueyon. The buildings shuddered with the resonance. 

Yukio watched, unable to look away as their roars were followed by transformations…

On the streets of Shueyon, Saya, Lei, and Kuzalu heard the same thing. 

Lei’s hand grabbed Cui Cao’s handle.

Saya and Kuzalu looked up at the sky, and saw the three Chiropteran had taken to the sky, their bat-like wings carrying their rat-like forms above, their veined membranes beating the air as they circled Shueyon’s crumbling skyline.

Saya muttered a curse under her breath. And then, it happened. The shadows began to shift, summoned by the roar.

From the alley to the right of an old police barracks, a New Yaoguai lumbered. Droplets of rain dripped from its massive muzzle, and it walked with a hunch. Its arms were distorted, and so long they almost reached the ground. 

Saya and Lei wasted no time. Instinct and experience told them all that more were coming, and dispatching this one now before it could be joined by others.

Saya dove under its swipe, rolling beneath its legs and slicing its tendons. 

The monster made no sound as it fell to its knees, as Lei flipped over its head, Cui Cao severing the arm that reached to grab her, before slicing the monster’s neck. 

The head dropped with a splash.

Saya rose to her feet, already breathing hard.

She was stronger now, yes, but not foolish. These things were still monsters. More than one at a time was suicide.

Lei’s face was calm, but her grip was tight around Cui Cao’s hilt. She remembered what it had felt like, to be in the jaws of one of them….

And now, more Yaoguai approached, their mouths open and their bodies lumbering. Their hair like writhing gray worms in the rain… Kuzalu began to laugh, but quickly regained control, and sighed as if releasing the pre-battle madness with it.

“If you want to get closer to your destination,” he said, twirling Mo Leng in his hand. “We’ll need to go through or around. Take your pick.”

They didn’t wait.

The alley behind the police barracks reeked of rot and rusted iron. Lei and Saya had broken into a sprint, not looking back to see where Kuzalu had gone. The monsters gave chase.

They passed the skeletons of old storefronts, windows shattered, signs dangling from rusted bolts. Mold-covered flyers stuck to phone booths and bent mailboxes. A ruined streetcar lay on its side, vines coiled around its rusted frame.

They climbed a chicken-wire fence, ducked under a collapsed wooden beam, then vaulted a brick wall slick with moss.

Two more Yaoguai dropped from the scaffolding of a collapsed hotel. Snarling, disfigured, teeth like crooked nails.

 The trio turned sharply down an overgrown tramline, weeds choking the rails, shattered glass crunching underfoot. The sky wept above them. Behind, the horde howled.

Then, Saya smelled it—stronger now.

It stung her nostrils.

Blood. Human blood.

And something worse…. Something that would have made her despair. But she surged forward without stopping.

That’s where they were going.

“Hang in there, Yukio!”

From the shattered remains of the nearby schoolhouse, three Yaoguai emerged—twice the size of the last wave. One had a swollen second head fused to its shoulder. Another moved like it had no bones, a fluid nightmare slithering forward in pulses.

From the train station ruins, six more advanced in a loose phalanx.

They were being herded. Kuzalu’s nostrils flared. “That’s not random. The clever dogs are trying to cut us off.”

He was right. The municipal building stood directly ahead, but a lattice of crumbling stalls, broken carts, and rusted scaffolding made any detour impossible. The main avenue, wide, but exposed, was about to become a trap.

Kuzalu turned, walked up to Lei from her blind spot, and without warning, grabbed her by the waist. 

“What—!” she gasped.

He chuckled as he lifted her high over his head, and gave a light grunt as he hurled her over the barricade.

She landed on her feet, barely, sliding into a crouch, Cui Cao stabbing into the wet grass at her feet.

Saya’s head whipped toward him, fury flaring. Kuzalu just grinned at her. “Would you like me to give you a toss too Miss. Kinoshita? Or would you rather go on your own?”

Saya stared at him for a breath. Two. Then she understood. Not in words, but in instinct.

He wanted this. He wanted the fight. Alone. Outnumbered. Outmatched. He wanted his fun.

Let him have it!

Saya turned and ran. One of the Yaoguai reached for her—

“Ooooowah!” Kuzalu grunted as he chopped off the arm that reached for Saya, and then leapt over her to sever the head of the next beast that tried to cut her off. 

She joined Lei, and without a word, the two of them ran forward. Behind them, Kuzalu was laughing his head off as he danced with the Yaoguai. 

They ran across the overgrown soccer fields, past the rusted barbed-wire fence, and dashed across the street, and stopped at the plaza in front of the municipal building, now in front of them. Its brick walls covered with weeds and moss, but still recognizable. And waiting for them under the wide concrete overhang of the building’s entrance, was a woman who by appearance, was a few years older than Lei. 

She had long, straight dark hair flowing on her back, though it was wet from rain, and some of it was matted to her brow. She was dressed in white robes, tied at the waist with a black sash, and covered by a leather coat. And she kept her nose and mouth covered with a scarf that also bore the markings of her clan.

. On either side of her, idled two hulking ZIS-151 Soviet trucks, their engines rumbling low and steady. The vapor from their exhaust pipes twisted into the mist, like smoke from the nostrils of chained beasts.

Saya paused, though her expression did not change… so this was Zhi Zhen. It was her first time meeting her, but she needed no introduction… This was the woman who had killed Lei’s older sister. This was the woman who survived being shot by Hengrui. The woman who no doubt, knew where Yukio was being kept…

Zhi Zhen sneered at Ruo Lei. “You really did come all this way, Ruo Lei. I’m truly impressed. You’ve been so careful since your beating by my hands. In all those years since then, we’ve never seen each other again, and now you come charging right in, just to save a little mongrel boy.” Zhen cocked her head to the side, and her eyes looked to Saya, looking for a change in her demeanor.

Saya did not flinch. She maintained her glare. 

“Hoh?” Zhi Zhen sneered. “This one doesn’t seem to be afraid of me. You haven’t taught her well Lei. Someone like her should know to fear the Shénwu.”

“You are not the Shénwu, Zhi Zhen,” Lei said coldly. 

“Zhu Guan and I are the Shénwu. I thought you learned this last time we crossed blades.” 

“The Shénwu is not one priestess and her sword,” Lei said, passion beginning to burn through her tone. “It's something that is greater than you or I… which became so horribly corrupt. But I know that someone like you can never be reached.” She  looked up, and pointed Cui Cao directly at her. “I’m going to end this now!”

Zhi Zhen seemed to be smiling underneath her muffler. “End this?” she asked. “By all means, little ones.” Zhen shifted her weight and reached one gloved hand toward a thick, fraying chord that dangled from the overhead frame of a makeshift awning. She grasped it deliberately—letting the silence stretch—and then gave it a sharp yank.

The canvas coverings snapped loose and peeled back in one sickening motion, the tarps slapping hard against the sides of the trucks.

Saya inhaled sharply.

Tied along the inner support bars of each truck were rows of girls, fifteen in all. Their heads were bowed and freshly shorn, revealing the angry pink of irritated scalps. Their wrists had been bound above them, lashed tightly to the cold metal ribs of the tarp frame, and the ones lucky enough to be clothed, were dressed in sagging, soiled rags.

One of them raised her head. Her eyes were sunken, bruised, glassy. Another blinked slowly, lips cracked and trembling. None of them spoke. 

“Han Jianping’s warriors,” Zhi Zhen declared. “After you killed her, they were repurposed to feed the dragon.”

Lei’s shoulders trembled with fury. “Let them go!” she cried.

“Do it yourself little girl,” Zhi Zhen said silkily. “Or you can ‘end this’. Come now my sweet little Lei, dance for me one more time.”

Saya opened her mouth to say something to Lei, but before she could, the engines of the two trucks roared to life, and they sped off in opposite directions.

Saya moved.

No hesitation. No signal passed between her and Lei. They split like lightning forks in opposite directions, instinct overtaking strategy. The truck on the right screamed down the broken street, fishtailing as its tires tore through dirt and loose rubble. Saya’s boots struck pavement as she launched herself in pursuit.

The wind bit her face as she sprinted. Her lungs pulled air like bellows, hot and sharp. The rear bumper loomed ahead, and with a burst of speed she caught the corner and hauled herself up. Metal screamed under her grip. Her blade clattered at her side as she scaled the back.

The canvas flapped wildly in the wind. Her fingers found a handhold, and she pulled herself up between rusted metal and whipping tarp. And then she saw them.

Eight of them. Priestesses. Girls. Their arms were stretched out, bound wrist-to-frame with lengths of coarse, industrial rope. Their bodies were gaunt, hollowed. Torn remnants of ceremonial robes hung from their shoulders, and dried blood rimmed their lips and nostrils. One of them—barely older than twenty, met Saya’s eyes directly. Her mouth moved, forming some soundless, pleading syllable.

Saya froze.

Her body lurched as the truck crashed through a chickenwire gate

 Saya's knuckles whitened on the frame. She moved—half climbing, half crawling—reaching toward the nearest prisoner, when a strange flicker caught the corner of her vision.

Firelight.

It was faint at first, but it spread fast. Orange licked up through the truck bed, hungry and alive. A thick, oily smoke billowed forward from beneath the canvas, and she could smell the unmistakable stench of kerosene.

No...

Then she saw it. A figure in a heavy raincoat leapt from the driver’s side door, and rolled onto the pavement.

Saya lunged forward. She drew her blade, teeth clenched, eyes burning. But it was too late.

The truck’s trajectory was not random, it was barreling towards a target that had been set up by the Five before.

Saya’s instincts kicked in right as she saw it– erected in the middle of the road, was a barricade of barrels. The front of the truck plowed into them, and when the flames flicking from the doors licked the sides of those barrels, they exploded.

The hostages all screamed terrified, agonized screams. The heat surged all around the truck. A bloom of fire ripped outward, consuming the hostages, without even a canvas to shield them from the eyes.

Legs danced in agony as the fireball blazed, and engulfed them, the truck, and the shrine of pain they'd been tied to. The air shattered. Glass screamed. Concrete cracked. 

Wun’ei watched from where it had jumped, and smiled. 

From a veranda far away from the chaos, Yukio stood watching, Shinkaiten’s hand on his back rooting him to the spot. His captor’s fingers felt like splinters in his spine. He watched as the fireball rose into the air, and though he could not hear the screams, he could feel the tragedy reverberate through him with the shockwaves. 

Shinkaiten had already explained to him what the plan had been, knowing he would be unable to stop it, and now, tears flowed helplessly down Yukio’s cheeks. 

A second fireball could be seen just minutes later, and Yukio’s fingers tightened around the rails of the veranda. He breathed the way Saya had taught him, trying to find calm, trying to find strength. And went rapidly deeper, into the dance.

Chapter Text

The world screamed with fire.

A plume of black smoke rose from the pyre, carrying with it the smell of burning wood, scorched metal, and cooked flesh. Shouts and crackling flames rang in the distance, but near the epicenter of the blast, there was only silence. Silence and ruin.

From the shadows of a crumbling alley, Wun’ei stepped forward. Despite having just leapt from a moving vehicle, it looked almost serene. A thick rain coat hugged its frame, and its boney hand moved a strand of wet hair out of the way of its thin, androgynous face.

As it approached the carnage, its nostrils flared involuntarily. It drew a long, savoring breath, and its tongue flicked out to wet its lips.

The scent was unmistakable. Blood. Priestess blood. Even through the ash and gasoline, it laced the air like incense. Wun’ei’s heart quickened. “So many,” it whispered, stepping over the rim of a shattered oil drum, “and one… still ripe.”

The flames had not yet consumed the wreckage entirely. It moved quickly, eyes scanning for a body, her body. If it could pull it free before the skin blistered, before the organs cooked—if it could claim her intact—then the Dragon would feed well. And they would all see. They would all know.

But just as it reached the smoldering edge of the crater, a sound made it pause.

Not the roar of the fire.

Not the groan of twisted metal.

A step.

Light, but forceful, and alive.

Wun’ei turned.

Saya stood behind it. Smoke clung to her like a veil. Her coat hung in ribbons over her black attire, but her body had escaped the flames. Her shoulders were square, her gaze was low, her lips were firm, and her jaw was tight.

And the rage that emanated from her… the way she looked at it…. That anger, that wrath… Even Wun’ei, one of the Five, felt it. 

She raised her nameless blade.

And with a scream that split the world, she slashed down.

The steel hissed through the air—close enough to shear the edge of Wun’ei’s form.

It staggered, heart seizing, and then turned and ran.

Through ash and cinders, Saya chased.

Wun’ei’s feet pounded across the crumbling asphalt. It leapt over the railguard of the road, and knee-deep into an irrigation ditch, before sloshing out, and sprinting in a panic across the wet grass. 

Saya cleared the railing and ditch, and rolled as she landed onto the grass, dashing after it in pursuit.

Her hair whipped around her face, scorched black coat flaring behind her in tatters, each stride cutting the distance like a blade. Her breath came low and silent. Her blade shimmered faintly in the smoke-streaked daylight.

Wun’ei didn’t look back. It couldn’t.

It didn’t dare pause to call forth its monstrous form. It didn’t dare risk the seconds that would take. It could feel her presence at its back, a pressure like a guillotine just before the drop. It grimaced in shame… any of the others would have fought her, but it… it was the most cowardly of the Five, and Wun’ei knew it.

The streets narrowed as Wun’ei turned into the older city-center, Saya hot on its heels. Wun’ei turned sharply, nearly slipping, and darted into the husk of an old building whose facade had long since weathered away to the bones. It threw its shoulder against the door, and vanished inside.

Saya followed.

She didn’t register the architecture. Didn’t see the archways or the shape of the broken steeple shadowed above. She had no time to wonder what this place had once been. All she saw was the coward slipping through its darkness like a rat into a wall.

She stepped across the threshold, blade low and ready.

And did not yet realize she had entered a church.

Saya stepped inside the sanctuary, her rage came with her. It seethed just beneath her skin, clenched in her fists, curled along her spine like a drawn blade. Her boots echoing dully on the moldy carpet that thinly covered the cracked stone. She walked with purpose down the aisle, between the rows of pews.

But something changed as she did. Her footsteps became heavier, and her breath caught. First came the confusion, and then the nightmarish dread, as though she were walking through molasses. A tremor seized her knees.

High on the far wall above the altar, lit by the slanting gold of post-storm sun through fractured stained glass, hung a simple wooden cross. Dust clung to its edges. The wall behind it was cracked and soot-streaked, but the symbol remained intact—silent, absolute.

Saya stared. Her throat clenched. Air refused to come.

Below the cross, faded by smoke and time, was a mural. The Madonna and child—painted in those gentle, European pastels. But her vision blurred, then warped. The holy mother shifted, her face hollowing, lengthening, curling into something darker, more sorrowful. And in her arms—no infant.

Sekiko.

Her sister’s lifeless body lay cradled in the figure’s arms. Blood soaked the folds of her dress. Her neck lolled at an unnatural angle, just as Saya remembered it, just as it had been in the snow, under the trees, when all the screaming had stopped.

She couldn’t breathe. Her knees gave out. Her palms splayed against the floor where she collapsed into a wariza position. She wavered, head bowed, trying not to retch, trying not to weep. Trying not to become that girl again… that terrified, helpless little girl. Her pathetic old self, that she though she had abandoned long ago… she was her again. Losing the battle to control her own body… those weak legs could not carry her away. Those weak arms could not fight back so why even bother raising them? 

Why should her body obey her? 

Why?

Wun’ei, watching from the darkness, cautiously emerged from the overturned pews where it hid. It had seen her enter the sanctuary, ready to kill the instant it was in her blade’s range, and now… All of that rage seemed to have vanished, and given way to fear.

Cautiously, it stepped into the aisle, and Saya saw it as it approached. Saya lifted her head just a fraction, and saw a face step into the dim light.

She froze. And hallucination took her. It began subtly—the curve of the jaw, the set of the lips. Wun’ei’s androgynous face softened, lost its edge. His cheekbones grew gaunter. The eyes took on a sheen of sanctimony.

The Padre. Not how he looked at the end, no. But how he had looked that first year, when he was still pretending to be kind. When his hands trembled in faux-piety. When he lovingly comforted them, called them ‘niñas’ and told them that Jesus had a special purpose for children like them…

Saya’s stomach twisted violently. 

She tried to push herself upright, but her arms failed her. The face changed again.

Now it was that other man— One of Jakdan’s men. The short, fat, and pasty one, who laughed as he encouraged them to “fight back” to struggle against him, just so that he could enjoy peeling even more agency away from them, to sear into them– just how powerless they were. 

The shape before her tilted its head, curious.

And then it became another man. One who reeked of sweat and stale liquor. The one who told her and Sekiko things that they didn’t understand, but made them feel disgusting all the same, even when he was too drunk to lay a hand on them. 

The shape shifted again, taking form of the man who found the puppies she and Sekiko had taken care of —harmless dogs whom they fed, loved, and kept hidden until their tormentor found them, killed them, and laughed at the girls as they sobbed. Jakdan and his men stayed longer that night, to cook the dogs, and praised Saya and Sekiko for “fattening them up”.

And then it became another man, the one with leprosy, who enjoyed making them squirm as he pressed his hideous flesh closer to theirs

And another.

And another.

Each time the face shifted, Saya recoiled further into herself. And finally….

It was Jakdan. His yellowish skin gleamed with sweat. His mouth curled beneath that oily mustache and patchy beard in a leer so familiar it made her teeth chatter. And in a moment of abject panic, of raw anxiety, she saw his face twist yet again into Jakdan’s Chiropteran form! Chiropteran, Yokushu, Yaoguai, Monster, Demon! She had fought them for decades. She had prevailed against them time and time again, but not the little girl. Not young Saya. Not the frightened orphan who would have been nervous to even hold a sword.

“Please! don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!”

Wun’ei stared. This sight didn’t make sense. A sick, crawling thrill ran down the monster’s spine.

It took a step forward, tentative at first. Then another. Saya flinched, and whimpered. “Don’t hurt me,” she begged again.

Wun’ei’s lips curled into something grotesque. It couldn’t begin to guess what had brought her to this. It didn’t care. All the demon knew was that she—this thing, this force of retribution against its kind, was helpless before it.

The reversal made its hands tremble with excitement.

It circled her slowly, keeping just far enough to dart away if she moved, but close enough to drink it all in. Her fists clenched and unclenched. Her head twitched—as if was watching something only she could see.

“You came to kill us,” it murmured, voice slithering like oil across marble. “And look at you now.”

She flinched more violently than before, letting out a high-pitched cry as she curled her face behind her knees.

Wun’ei Blinked in surprise. “Oh. That worked.”  It crouched just outside her reach, head tilted. "You're not used to being on the ground, are you, huntress?" Face twisting into a syrupy smile. “You came here for retribution? Didn’t you little lady? Only not the kind of retribution you wanted.” It reached a thin, bony, long-nailed hand closer to her, and rather than reach for her sword, Saya tried to crawl backward. She barely bade it a foot away. There was no strength in her arms. 

Wun’ei’s hand paused in the air, and then inched closer to her. She flinched violently, letting out a sharp yelp. “What’s the matter?” It cooed mockingly, “You don’t like being touched?”

It leaned in, extending one hand slowly, fingers just brushing the air above her chest.

She gasped, recoiling. “Don’t,” she rasped. “Please don’t.”

Wun'ei’s hand stopped, then flicked upward suddenly, as if to seize her collar. Saya cried out and kicked at him, striking only its sleeve. It staggered back, and then the smile returned to its face, as it realized the lack of danger. “Oho! She still kicks! Still bites, I wonder?” Its tongue clicked. “How very… vivid you become, when you're frightened priestess.”

It dropped to one knee beside her and slammed a hand against the stone floor with a thunderous crack, causing her to jerk in fright. He grinned as she scrambled like a trapped animal, gasping and wide-eyed.

"You should see yourself," it purred. “All that power. All that pride. Now look at you.” 

“I’ll kill you,” was what she wanted to say, but the words refused to form beyond her imagination. Wun’ei reached for her again, and all she could do was scream. “No!” Her legs kicked out as she tried to cover her head with her arms. “Get away from me!”

Saya’s sobs broke in her throat, and Wun’ei drew near again. It made another lurch toward her—half pounce, half taunt, and she let out a scream, curling her knees to her chest and kicking wildly at the air.

It circled again, slower now, drunk on the scent of victory. Each time she flinched, it fed the demon. Her fear. Her voice. Her struggle. Its cowardice hadn’t vanished, but the tables had turned. She shrieked again as it lunged— this time catching her ankles. She twisted violently and kicked loose, scraping herself against the splintered pews.

It moved again, faster, more sure. She screamed, thrashed, arms flailing, but this time its hand closed around her wrists. With a force she hadn’t fully prepared for, it drove her down, pinning both arms above her head with one hand and straddling her hips with its weight.

Her legs kicked furiously beneath the monster. Her mouth opened, ragged and gasping, her cries tearing at her throat. “Get off me! No! No! ” She writhed and bucked, but Wun’ei only grinned. 

“They won’t believe it,” it said almost to itself. “The others will be delighted when they see what I’ve caught. The priestess herself. Not dead. Still breathing. Oh, the dragon will feast on you last…”

Its left hand holding her wrist down, it raised its right hand, and the tip of its finger began to change.

A claw emerged where the nail should have been. Saya’s eyes widened.

“No—!” she shrieked, but the sound was cut off in a choke as the claw touched her skin. A tiny, surgical prick.

Her body bucked with fresh terror. Her scream tore through the rafters as she thrashed, kicked, twisted, every inch of her alight with rage and panic—but Wun’ei did not move. It held her fast.  Saya’s struggles slowed. Her eyes fluttered once, then closed. And she lost consciousness.

A smear of crimson on the tip of Wun’ei’s claw. It brought it to his tongue. The moment it touched, the monster froze. Then: “...Sweeter,” it murmured. “Even sweeter than Zhi Zhen’s.” Its eyes darted down at her face again, alive with new astonishment. “But… you’re not even full Shénwu. How is it—?”

It licked again. “…Deep, the blood of someone who has gone deep into the dance… but you don’t even have a named sword! How could you have gone so far into the dance!?” 

***

Saya’s eyes fluttered open.

There was only light around her. No color, no shadow, only the gentle hush of white, like a dry mist caught in a sunbeam. It didn’t sting. It didn’t blind. It simply was, warm and silent and kind.

She lay in a bed she did not recognize, its covers soft and wrapped snugly around her body. The cloth was white too, edged in delicate gray. Woven into it were sagaribana blossoms, their pale petals suspended in the linen like ghostly lanterns adrift on a still tide.

She realized, distantly, that she had been crying. Cool trails clung to her cheeks, but a hand— steady, warm, and gentle, wiped them away.

She turned her head toward the figure kneeling at her bedside. But he had just stood and begun to walk away. All she saw was the black hem of a kimono, the flicker of motion as he disappeared from the edge of her vision. 

She didn’t know who he was, but as soon as he left, she felt the way a baby must feel when her father rises from the cradle and vanishes from view… Small, suddenly alone…  The air grew thinner. Her throat tightened. Tears came again, fresh and quiet.

Then he was there again.

She felt his presence, and the air felt warmer again. He had returned just as silently, just as surely, and sat again at her side. His presence was unmistakable. She did not open her eyes. She didn’t dare. If she looked, he might vanish again.

So she stayed still. She let herself be comforted. She didn’t know whether she was a woman or a girl, wounded or whole. It didn’t matter. Whoever she was, she was allowed… for once…. not to hold herself upright. 

Her tension softened.

Her pain receded.

Her fears, her questions, the burning weight of memory… all of it ebbed.

She lay there, caressed  in warmth, in presence,in the strange peace that only a soul removed from pain can know.

And then the blanket folded around her like wings, and strong arms lifted her. She didn’t resist. She rested her head against his chest, letting herself be carried. When she opened her eyes again, the black kimono was before her—but she could not tell whether its weave bore tiny white stars, or if she was gazing into the night sky itself.

He carried her from the mist. She never noticed when it faded. They crossed into a moonlit meadow, quiet and silver and still. But Saya did not look at the ground beneath them. She only looked upward, at the wide, endless sky.

White sakura blossoms drifted above her on a gentle wind. They spun, danced, and disappeared.

A thin cloud veiled the moon, yet the light still shined through. A gentle breeze kissed her cheeks, and ran its fingers through her hair…And the world fell into softness.

Saya stirred faintly, her neck aching. She tried to lift her gaze, to see the face of the one who carried her, but her neck was simply too tired, and too relaxed, and looking at his kimono made her feel dizzy, as though she were staring into an abyss too vast to name.