Part I – Into the Whispering Pines

The morning after the siege was too quiet.

Yuragimura stood, but not unchanged. The scent of ash still lingered on the wind, and the cracks in the village’s outer seal hadn’t fully faded. Though children played again and lanterns swung gently from doorways, the air carried a heaviness—a held breath that no one dared release.

Akane stood at the edge of the eastern gate, her cloak freshly tied, her sword fastened at her side. The rain had stopped, but her boots still sank slightly into the damp earth. Behind her, Kaoru adjusted her pack and shifted her blades, glancing back once at the village.

“Feels wrong leaving without fixing the damage,” Kaoru muttered.

Akane didn’t look back. “We left them something stronger than a seal.”

Kaoru stepped forward to join her. “You mean fear?”

“No,” Akane said, already walking. “Time.”

The gates of Yuragimura creaked shut behind them as they passed into the trees.

The Whispering Pines welcomed them not with sound, but with stillness. The forest was vast—towering trunks, bark like dried scales, and needles that rustled even when the wind was still. Mist clung low to the ground, curling around their feet like it had been waiting for them.

Each step forward felt like entering memory.

It was said that the Pines echoed the voices of the dead, that on the right night, with the right silence, one could hear lost names drifting between the branches. Kaoru scoffed at the idea once—she wasn’t scoffing now.

“Spirits ever talk to you?” she asked, her tone light, but her hand near her blade.

Akane kept walking. “Once. I didn’t listen.”

Kaoru rolled her eyes, but her smile was faint. “You really can’t just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ like a normal person, huh?”

“No.”

A pinecone dropped behind them.

They both stopped.

Nothing moved. Just the trees, swaying like slow breaths.

Kaoru glanced upward. “Creepy forest, check. Vague ghost stories, check. Sword-swinging cryptid best friend? Check.”

Akane didn’t respond, but a ghost of a smirk tugged at her lip.

They continued in silence for a while, the kind that settled between people who no longer needed to fill it. The forest opened to a shallow stream—clear, cold water winding through mossy stones. Kaoru crouched near the edge and dipped her hands in.

“We should fish,” she said. “Could be our last real meal for a while.”

Akane nodded and began unraveling a line from her pack. She wasn’t much of a fisherman, but Kaoru had a way of coaxing calm from the world.

They sat by the stream for hours. No monsters. No alarms. Just birdsong and the occasional ripple of water.

And then Kaoru froze.

Across the stream, half-hidden by mist, a small, glowing spirit watched them. It resembled a fox—translucent and flickering with pale gold light. Not a threat. Not even afraid.

“…You see that?” Kaoru whispered.

Akane didn’t move. “It only appears when it feels safe.”

They both sat very still.

The spirit tilted its head. It blinked once, twice, then trotted deeper into the woods—vanishing like it had never been.

Kaoru let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “I almost forgot the world still had things like that.”

Akane looked toward the fading glow. “The Bladeborne will be drawn to places like this.”

“Because he’s spiritual?”

Akane shook her head. “Because he’s hiding.”

Kaoru studied her quietly. “You ever think maybe you’re not the only one carrying a past that won’t leave?”

Akane didn’t answer.

But she cast her line into the water anyway.

They caught a few fish and set them out to cook. 

⸻

🟩

The stream ran colder the deeper it curved through the Pines.

As dusk pressed in, the mist began to clear. Shafts of soft amber light broke through the treetops, painting the forest floor in gold and gray. The birds had quieted. Even the insects seemed reverent.

Kaoru leaned back against a smooth stone, sleeves rolled up, wet cloth in her hands. She had already cleaned the blood off her forearms, but it lingered in the creases of her knuckles, under her fingernails. The river water bit with cold, but after so many days stained in ash and sweat, it felt like mercy.

A few feet away, Akane stood still at the river’s edge, back turned.

Without a word, she let her cloak fall.

Piece by piece, she undressed—methodically, unashamed. The blood-stiffened wrappings unwound from her midsection, revealing faded scars beneath. She pulled her inner shirt over her head and let the cool air trace the line of her spine, every muscle beneath her skin shifting as she moved.

Her body bore stories—not written in ink, but in scar tissue, bruised ribs, healed slashes across her shoulder blades and hip.

Kaoru didn’t stare.

But she didn’t look away either.

“Your back looks worse than I remember,” Kaoru said quietly, wringing out her cloth.

Akane glanced back slightly, her expression unreadable. “Yours isn’t exactly a shrine wall.”

Kaoru snorted. “True. But mine looks better in the moonlight.”

That earned a small smile from Akane. She stepped into the stream slowly, water lapping at her calves, her thighs, her waist. Her breath hitched slightly as the cold reached her ribs—but she didn’t hesitate.

Kaoru stood and stripped her own clothes off with less grace and more speed, muttering curses as her foot slipped on the rocks. When she waded into the water, she gasped and nearly turned back. “Okay, nope—this is frozen demon spit. What is wrong with you!?”

“You’ll warm up,” Akane murmured, dipping beneath the surface until only her shoulders and head remained visible. Water ran down her face like rain.

Kaoru gritted her teeth and forced herself in.

They bathed in silence for a while—wiping away the dirt, the sweat, the dried blood.

The water ran red and clear in turns.

Kaoru tilted her head, watching Akane run a hand over a long, thin scar along her ribs.

“You know…” she said, voice low, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this… but you’ve got the kind of body sculptors would kill to model.”

Akane raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to flatter me or throw me off guard?”

Kaoru smirked. “Both.”

Akane didn’t return the smirk—but she did glance over Kaoru’s shoulder and nod.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” she said. “Your shoulders. Your stance.”

Kaoru blinked.

It wasn’t flirtation. It was something rarer.

Respect.

“Damn right,” she said, though her voice had softened.

The light continued to fade, and they both began washing the river from their skin. Kaoru was the first to step out, wringing out her hair as she walked barefoot across the stones.

They dressed slowly, quietly.

By the time they finished wrapping themselves and tying their gear, the sun was gone, and the forest was fading into silver.

It was time to build the fire.

By nightfall, the forest had changed.

The Whispering Pines, once ethereal in the sunlight, had become a cathedral of shadows. The wind moved differently—sharper, colder, more curious. Even the crickets had grown quiet.

Their camp was modest: a low fire in a stone ring, two sleeping mats rolled out against the base of an ancient tree. Kaoru sat cross-legged, blade in her lap, whetstone in hand. Akane crouched near the fire, feeding it a few more dry branches. The flames licked upward with a sigh.

Akane’s eyes flicked toward the dark beyond the clearing.

“This place gets dangerous after dark,” she said calmly, but her hand lingered near her sword.

Kaoru kept sharpening. “How dangerous?”

Akane didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

The way the trees swayed felt wrong now—like something moving between them.

“Great,” Kaoru muttered. “Guess it was too peaceful earlier. Should’ve known the universe would balance the scale.”

Then it happened.

A snap of underbrush.

Low growls.

The fire popped.

Two figures emerged from the tree line—low, lupine, their eyes glowing yellow through the dark. Fur matted with mud and ash. Their fangs bared, long and jagged, too large for their skulls.

Youma wolves. Young ones. But not harmless.

One lunged first—fast, direct, stupid.

Akane moved like a breath of wind.

Her blade flashed once, and the creature’s head separated from its shoulders midair, its momentum carrying the body past her. She didn’t even look back.

The second wolf darted sideways, circling Kaoru, testing her.

She rose slowly, flipping her sword in one hand. “You sure you don’t want to trade? Yours was kind of pathetic.”

The wolf snarled and charged.

Kaoru stepped left—then pivoted hard, slicing across its neck. Not a clean cut, but deep. It stumbled. She followed with a downward stab—spine, done.

She stood panting over the corpse. “Still got it.”

But then a third growl—lower, deeper, colder.

From the trees stepped something twice the size of the first two.

The mother.

Scarred. Intelligent. Rageful.

Beside her, a fourth wolf emerged, slightly smaller—but faster, leaner. Its mouth dripped black ichor.

Kaoru’s stance shifted. Akane moved to step forward—

“Wait,” Kaoru said, eyes fixed on the mother wolf. “Let me handle it.”

Akane paused. “Both?”

“I can take them.”

Akane’s gaze lingered. “You’re not proving anything.”

“I’m not trying to,” Kaoru said. “But I need to.”

Akane didn’t argue. She stepped back—but her hand remained near her blade, just in case.

The fire cracked again. The air tightened.

Kaoru squared her stance, one blade raised, one behind her.

The wolves circled.

The bigger one snarled and lunged first.

Kaoru met it head-on.

Steel screamed against fang as Kaoru met the first charge head-on.

She parried the mother wolf’s jaws just in time, its breath hot and rancid against her cheek. She twisted her hips, slashing with her offhand blade—missed. The wolf’s claws tore across her upper shoulder—not deep, but brutal. Blood spilled instantly, warm down her back.

She staggered.

The second wolf lunged from her blind side. Kaoru spun, caught it with the flat of her blade, but not cleanly. Its fangs caught the meat of her thigh and ripped through her outer leg wrap, leaving a burning gash. She cried out, dropped low, and kicked it off—but her footing slipped.

The smaller wolf was already coming back.

She flipped her grip, slashing horizontally—a clean cut to its flank. It yelped and backed off, circling.

Kaoru rose slowly, now bleeding from two points. Her vision blurred for half a second.

The mother wolf didn’t wait.

She came barreling through the mist like a storm—muscle and fury and speed.

Kaoru ducked, pivoted, managed to slice across the ribs—but her blade barely sank in. The creature’s hide was like armor. She tried to strike again, but the larger wolf shouldered into her, launching her off her feet.

She crashed to the ground, air torn from her lungs, blades skittering from her hands.

She scrambled to grab the nearest hilt—just in time to roll as the mother’s jaws snapped down where her throat had been.

Kaoru rolled twice more, gasping, bleeding, scraping across roots and rock.

She got to one knee—just one—and raised her blade defensively.

The smaller wolf came again. This time she screamed as she blocked it, the force of the bite rattling through her bones. She jammed her blade upward into its neck—not a killing blow, but it staggered. She was slowing. The fire in her legs was becoming ice.

The mother crept in again, low and patient.

Kaoru stood on shaking legs, body trembling, breath ragged.

Across the clearing, Akane’s silhouette hadn’t moved.

Her fists were tight, her stance tense—but she didn’t step forward.

She was waiting. Trusting.

Kaoru’s fingers clenched tighter around her hilt. Blood dripped from her hand, running between her knuckles.

And that’s when it hit her—

Not the wolf. Not the pain.

But a memory.

Part II – Fire in the Pines (Scene 2/2)

Kaoru stood trembling, blood dripping from her chin, the two wolves circling like vultures waiting for her to drop.

And then, in the ringing stillness between heartbeats—

She remembered.

⸻

She was thirteen.

The courtyard at the training grounds was packed with rising dust and bruised egos. Her limbs were thinner back then, her footing uneven. Akane—barely older—moved like smoke, already lethal. She struck dummies with precision, while Kaoru struggled to even hold her blade correctly.

She remembered the way the instructors murmured behind their fans.

“She has spirit,” one said.

“But she’ll never catch up to her.”

Kaoru remembered watching Akane from the shadows—how she moved, how she never flinched, how she always stood at the front while Kaoru followed behind, half a step too late.

Always trailing.

Always almost.

She remembered the sting of it—not hate. Not envy.

Hunger.

⸻

Her eyes snapped open.

The fire in the clearing had burned lower now, casting a dark glow across the wolves’ snarling faces. But Kaoru didn’t feel fear.

She felt clarity.

She gritted her teeth and roared, a sound pulled straight from the pit of her chest.

“No more falling behind!”

The mother wolf charged, fast and wide-jawed.

This time Kaoru didn’t retreat.

She stepped into it—ducked under its lunge and drove her shoulder into its ribs, slamming her blade upward beneath its jaw. It shrieked, tried to bite down—but she was already twisting the blade, shoving it deeper until she felt it hit bone.

Blood sprayed. It stumbled.

Kaoru ripped her sword free and spun just in time to catch the second wolf leaping at her side.

With a growl, she sidestepped and grabbed its throat midair with her free hand—using its momentum to throw it hard against the stone by the fire. Before it could recover, she drove her second blade through its skull, pinning it to the earth.

She turned back to the mother.

It was limping now. Wounded. Desperate.

Kaoru spit blood to the side, wiped her mouth, and walked toward it.

“Come on,” she growled. “Let’s finish it.”

The beast charged again—slower now.

Kaoru feinted left, ducked low, and came up hard beneath its chest, plunging her first blade into its heart. The wolf staggered—and she wasn’t done.

She ripped the blade free and vaulted onto its back, bringing both swords down—crossing them like scissors into the back of its neck.

The creature let out one last, choking cry.

Then fell.

Dead.

Kaoru stood above the corpses—bleeding, panting, steaming in the cold air, her swords shaking in her grip.

For a long moment, there was no sound but the hiss of the fire.

Then Akane stepped forward at last, her expression unreadable.

Kaoru didn’t look at her right away. She just sheathed her blades with shaky hands, sat down hard beside the fire, and exhaled.

“…Told you,” she muttered. “I had it.”

Akane knelt beside her, wordless.

Then, quietly:

“You don’t trail behind anymore.”

Kaoru looked up. Her breath caught—but she didn’t smile.

She just nodded.

And then leaned back, eyes closed, blood drying on her skin, chest rising and falling like waves after the storm.

⸻

The wolves were dead, but the silence that followed wasn’t peaceful.

Kaoru sat near the fire, blade in one hand, a torn cloth in the other. She hissed between her teeth as she pressed the fabric to her shoulder, staunching the blood.

Akane knelt beside her and silently offered a strip of clean gauze.

“You’re not gonna say I told you so?” Kaoru asked through a wince.

“No,” Akane said. “You already know.”

Kaoru smirked and nodded. The fire crackled as she tied off her shoulder and wrapped the gash on her thigh. The sting was nothing compared to the weight she’d just thrown off her back.

That night, they didn’t speak much more.

They slept close to the fire, under tall pines that no longer whispered.

⸻

Days passed.

They traveled through forgotten grasslands and hollowed ruins—temples swallowed by vines, crossroads where statues wept without eyes, rivers blackened by ash.

They asked elders in quiet villages about the Bladeborne. Most gave shrugs, others stories too vague to follow.

They acquired 3 healing talismans. Continued to search. 

Each lead grew colder than the last.

Even the wind began to lose direction.

On the sixth day, they stopped on a cliff overlooking a vast scarred plain. The sun was setting—thin and exhausted, like it too had been searching without reward.

Kaoru sat with her knees drawn up, staring at the horizon. Her hair, still damp from a recent rain, clung to her cheek.

“We’ve searched every damn direction,” she said. “And the world just keeps getting quieter.”

Akane didn’t respond. She stood nearby, one hand resting on the hilt of her blade, the other holding a prayer slip between two fingers.

They stood in silence, the cliff beneath them whispering wind into the void. The sky was quiet. Too quiet.

Kaoru kicked a loose stone over the edge. “Maybe it’s time to admit—”

The world cracked open.

A blast of wind hit them from the north, violent and searing, like the breath of a god awakening.

Then—

A blinding, furious beam of orange light erupted from the horizon.

Not a fire.

Not lightning.

It was as if the earth itself had been pierced, and the wound bled light straight into the heavens.

The clouds ripped apart around it. The ground beneath their boots shivered, a low quake rumbling deep through the bones of the land.

Kaoru shielded her eyes with one arm, breath caught in her throat.

The beam pulsed once—then again—sending shockwaves across the distant plains. Ash and light collided in the air, rising like a tower that clawed at the stars. The roar came seconds later, like a delayed thunder—deep, bone-rattling, endless.

Akane stared, her expression unreadable.

Kaoru stood slowly. “…That’s no signal fire.”

Akane had already begun walking.

“Let’s move.”

⸻

And far ahead, where the sky had been torn open…

Ash fell from the sky like pale snow, drifting in slow spirals through the stillness. The battlefield had long since grown cold, but the scent of blood clung to the air like it refused to forget.

Lonmaru stirred.

He lay in the center of a shallow crater—jagged, scorched, like something had torn itself out of the earth. His body ached with an ancient pain, not from broken bones or torn flesh, but something deeper. Something soul-worn. As his eyes fluttered open, a dull gray light pressed against the sky, casting long shadows through the smoke.

His hand moved first.

Fingers twitched and curled around the hilt of the sword beside him—his sword—as if it were a part of him. The blade pulsed faintly with a dim, crimson glow at its center, like a sleeping heart. He lifted it slowly, and the ground crackled beneath the weight of its energy. Symbols—unreadable, forgotten—etched along the steel shimmered, then dimmed once more.

Lonmaru rose to one knee.

The ash clung to his dreadlocks, streaking them with white. His bare chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, and as he reached to steady himself, a sharp, burning throb flared behind his left eye—deep and blinding. He clenched his teeth, wincing as the world seemed to twist for a moment, as if something inside him was waking up.

The pain wasn’t new.

It was his—a mark left not by blade or beast, but by something older.

It throbbed now, as if the land itself had called him back.

He didn’t speak.

He rarely did.

But behind his silence, something stirred. Memory? No. He had none. Only fragments—flashes of battle, a voice like thunder, the cold eyes of his master. His past was a locked door, and the key was buried in fire.

Then he felt it.

A presence. Watching.

He turned his head slowly, the sword lowering just enough to let his fingers rest against the blade’s edge. Across the field of shattered weapons and broken bodies, barely visible in the haze, a silhouette stood on the ridge—small, still, untouched by the ash. A woman, or the ghost of one. Cloaked in shadow. Hair whipping in the wind.

She was watching him.

Not with fear, but with something else.

Curiosity. Recognition. Maybe even expectation.

Lonmaru’s grip tightened.

The pain behind his eye pulsed again—hot and sharp, like a warning.

The blade hummed in his hand.

And though the battlefield remained silent…

Something had shifted.

⸻