Edo was silent in the deep of the night. A single oil lamp flickered in the corner of the inn room, casting long, wavering shadows against the paper doors. Outside, the steady rhythm of a night watchman's clapper echoed down the street before fading into the dark.
Kashimo stood at the threshold, his staff in hand. He looked back at the small figure huddled on the bed.
"Don't go wandering off, you hear?"
Rinzo pulled the quilt tight, leaving only her eyes visible. The lamplight caught the glint of her pupils, wide and startled like a trapped animal.
"Am I staying here by myself?" her voice was muffled, thick with uncertainty.
Kashimo scratched the back of his head. "Well, yeah. But you'll be safe. Nothing's going to happen."
He sounded confident, though he wasn't entirely sure himself. Edo was a massive city, and he had no idea what kind of things crawled through its alleys at night. Still, he couldn't show any doubt.
Rinzo stared at him, her grip on the blanket never loosening. Kashimo waited for a mont, then set a pitch-black dagger on the cabinet beside the bed.
"I left a cursed tool on the stand. Use it if sothing goes wrong. I'll be back soon."
The door slid shut with a soft click. His footsteps receded down the hall until they vanished entirely. Rinzo stared at the door for a long ti, the silence of the room pressing in on her. The watchman's clapper sounded again in the distance.
"Okay," she whispered.
Kashimo vanished into the night.
Rinzo lay there, her eyes fixed on the closed door. She assud he was going out to intercept the sorcerers arriving under the cover of darkness. She rembered what he'd said earlier that day: even small targets are good practice. She didn't quite understand what he ant by practice, but she knew he was looking for a fight.
She reached out and took the dagger from the cabinet, then pulled the quilt over her head, burying herself in the fabric.
When Kashimo was there, things felt manageable. Even if he was blunt and lazy, even if he was the man who had killed her father, his presence acted as a shield. But now the shield was gone.
The lamp sputtered, its fla dancing and casting distorted shapes against the wall. A gust of wind rattled the shoji screen, and Rinzo bolted upright, staring at the window. There was nothing there. She curled into a tighter ball, pulling the blanket to her chin.
Her father had entrusted her to this man. Those final words, brought back by his killer, were her father's last command. She didn't understand why he would choose the man who ended his life to protect his daughter, but it was the only reality she had left.
The watchman's clapper sounded again. Rinzo closed her eyes, then snapped them open. In the dark, she felt as if sothing was watching her. When she looked, she was afraid of what she might see. She took a deep breath and pulled the quilt over her head.
Please co back, she thought.
The night deepened. The oil lamp finally consud its last drop, the fla struggling for a few seconds before dying with a soft hiss. Darkness flooded the room, filling every corner.
Rinzo eventually drifted into a shallow, fitful sleep, her fingers still curled around the hilt of the dagger. Her dreams were a chaotic ss of blood and shadows. She saw her father falling, Haruta twitching on the stones, and the scream of the wind as Kashimo carried her through the mountains.
At the edge of the dream, sothing was moving.
A black shadow appeared at the window, silent and formless. The moonlight filtered through the paper, unable to define its shape. It was a patch of dark deeper than the night itself, a thick blot of ink seeping slowly into the room.
Negative emotions were the lifeblood of curses. It was a fundantal truth of the world. Fear, resentnt, and grief were magnets for the things that fed on human suffering. Even if Rinzo had no cursed energy of her own, the intensity of her terror was the perfect bait.
And tonight, she was terrified.
The shadow slid into the edges of her mind like a drop of ink into clear water. In her sleep, Rinzo's brow furrowed. The dream changed. The image of her father's body vanished, replaced by a grey, desolate wasteland. The sky was low and suffocating.
She stood alone in the field, clutching the dagger. Far off in the distance, sothing was watching her. She tried to run, but her legs felt like lead. She tried to scream, but her throat was dry and silent. The thing drew closer.
The phantom at the window had fully subrged itself into her consciousness. It had no physical form, only a shifting mass of darkness with a pair of pale, lidless eyes. It stared directly at the version of Rinzo in the dream.
"Found you."
The voice ca from everywhere at once, a thousand whispers crawling into her ears. Rinzo began to tremble, her body shaking even in her sleep. The shadow reached out a black hand, moving toward her face.
Then, the world shifted.
The grey wasteland vanished, and the suffocating pressure lifted. In its place was a setting she knew better than any other.
The dojo.
The evening sun slanted through the paper doors, coating the floor in a warm, golden glow. The air slled of incense and the familiar, sharp scent of sweat and aged wood. She stood there, stunned, looking at the man in front of her.
Hisashige Juro.
Her father stood with his back to the window, his old, faded robes illuminated by the sunset. He looked down at her with a gentle expression, a faint smile playing on his lips. It was the sa look he gave her whenever she grew tired during practice.
"Rinzo," he said. His voice was just as she rembered: deep, warm, and slightly raspy.
Her eyes stung with sudden heat. "Father?"
She tried to move toward him, but her feet were rooted to the spot. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't co. She could only stand there and stare at the man who was supposed to be dead.
Juro reached out and placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair the way he used to.
"It's all right now," he said. "I'm here."
***
Outside the city.
Moonlight spilled over a clearing in the woods, illuminating several bodies scattered across the grass. So were curled up, others lay face down, their expressions frozen in various states of shock. They all shared one thing: they weren't moving.
Kashimo stood over one of them and gave the man a light kick. No reaction. He kicked him again. Still nothing.
"Tsk," he muttered, rubbing his nose. "You talked big. Why can't you take a hit?"
No one answered. The night wind rustled through the trees, sending a few dead leaves dancing past him. Kashimo shouldered his staff and looked around.
The woods had been lively just a few minutes ago. Sorcerers had been erging from every direction, likely scouting the area before the festival. He had simply blocked the main path, taking them down as they arrived.
And now, they were all down.
Not a single one of them had put up a decent fight. Kashimo clicked his tongue and turned toward the deeper part of the forest, his long shadow flickering through the trees as he walked.
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