Jin stepped through the shimmering veil of air and into a scene of quiet devastation. The ruined city of Kagetora sprawled before him, framed by the splintered remains of its once-formidable gates. Beyond the jagged archway, the city lay wounded and grieving. Smoke hung in twisted ribbons over broken beams and collapsed rooftops. Everywhere he looked, soldiers and civilians picked through rubble with solemn urgency—hauling away debris, laying out bodies in neat, mournful rows, murmuring prayers for the dead. The air was thick with ash and sorrow, and Jin’s heart clenched at the sight. This is what she did, he thought, stomach sinking. The memory of Reika’s colossal silhouette from the day before flashed through his mind. She had done this, and now here he was, returning at her side.
Beside him, Tachibana Reika strode forward with unhurried poise. Her wooden sandals clicked lightly against stone, unnervingly calm amid the wreckage. Jin’s own footsteps faltered as he took in the stark contrast: all around them was frantic motion and despair, yet their approach was leisurely, almost serene. Each step Reika took was measured, confident—too confident for a place that had just seen carnage. Jin swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how out-of-place they must appear: the conqueror and her prize, walking casually into a city still in mourning.
Up ahead, a soot-streaked man in armor lifted his head from the wreck of a burned cart. Jin recognized the broad shoulders and the way the man’s hand hovered near his sword. Captain Taketsune Masanori. The captain of Kagetora’s guard had been a familiar presence before all hell broke loose. Now Masanori stared as if seeing a ghost.
“Jin?” Masanori’s voice cracked the air. He took a hesitant step forward, eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re alive?”
Jin’s chest tightened. He had not expected such an earnest greeting. Under Masanori’s stunned gaze, Jin managed a faint, uncertain nod.
Masanori looked him up and down, as if confirming Jin wasn’t some illusion. “How—” the captain began, then his voice hardened with memory. “You were taken. That demon queen—she took you.”
“I know,” Jin replied softly. He dared not glance at Reika. “I… didn’t exactly have a say in it.” His words came out bitter, heavy with the helplessness he felt.
At the mention of “demon queen,” a ripple of tension went through the nearby soldiers. Jin could feel Reika’s presence at his shoulder without even looking—an imposing stillness amid the ruin. Masanori’s eyes finally slid to the tall woman standing at Jin’s side, and Jin saw the blood drain from the captain’s face.
Reika met Masanori’s stare with mild interest. In her human-sized form she looked almost ordinary—almost—but not quite. She was only a head taller than Jin now, but everything about her drew the eye. The long black kimono she had chosen clung elegantly to her frame, its silk embroidered with subtle threads of gold that caught the midday light. Her long ebony hair fell loosely down her back, the breeze tugging at it like it were strands of midnight. For a heartbeat, one might mistake her for a highborn lady visiting the ruins. Then there was the air around her—charged and heavy, like the atmosphere before a storm. Even standing still, she radiated power and otherness. And when Reika’s eyes—violet and unearthly—flicked to Masanori, Jin saw the captain flinch as if staring down a drawn sword Masanori’s knuckles whitened around the hilt of his blade. “You…” he breathed, his voice low with dread and anger. “You’re that Demon queen.”
Reika arched one fine eyebrow at the title, a hint of amusement curling her lips. She cast a sidelong glance at Jin, then looked Masanori up and down with an almost playful curiosity. “And who’s this?” she asked lightly, as if Jin might introduce them at a tea party. “This mouthy one with the sword—one of your generals, Jin?”
Jin opened his mouth to respond, but Masanori stepped forward stiffly and answered for himself. “Taketsune Masanori,” he declared, squaring his shoulders. “Captain of Kagetora’s guard.” There was iron in his voice, but Jin could see the fine tremor in the man’s stance, the way a single step closer to Reika had sweat beading on his temple.
“Ah… a captain.” Reika let the word roll off her tongue as though she were tasting it, her voice rich with mock appreciation. “You’ve got a spine, I’ll give you that.” Her grin widened, cat-like, and she took one slow step toward Masanori.
Jin felt the air pressure change—the weight of her power pulsing outward as she moved. Though she was still in a smaller, human guise, reality itself seemed to ripple in deference to her. Masanori certainly felt it; he recoiled instinctively, boots scuffing back on the broken stones as his grip on his sword hilt turned bloodless. Jin’s heart lurched at the sight. Masanori was one of the bravest men he knew, yet a single step from Reika sent him stumbling backward like a frightened novice.
“What are you doing here?” Masanori barked, voice strained as he fought to keep it steady. He raised his blade halfway between them, though he did not dare point it fully at her. His eyes darted to Jin, confusion and betrayal mingling in them. “Why bring him back? What do you want from us now? Are you here to finish the job?”
Each question came harder than the last, fueled by outrage and despair. Around them, a few soldiers were edging closer, drawn by their captain’s tone and the unmistakable presence of the invader who had leveled their city. Jin felt their eyes on him too, and a hot flush of shame crept up his neck. Here he was, apparently free and unharmed, walking beside the very monster who had caused all this suffering. He couldn’t blame Masanori for suspecting the worst.
Jin lowered his gaze to the rubble at his feet. “Masanori…,” he began, unsure what he could possibly say to make any of this better.
Reika answered before Jin could find the words. “So many questions,” she tutted with a silken laugh. She lifted a hand to her lips as if Masanori were an amusing child. “And you make it sound so ominous. Honestly, I’m just here as a friend.” She shifted her violet gaze to Jin, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Jin’s a very old friend of mine—a dear friend. I thought a little trip might be good for him. A chance to see the city.” Her eyes drifted past Masanori, sweeping over the ruined skyline of Kagetora. “Besides… our last visit was so rushed. He didn’t get much of a tour last time, did he?”
Jin winced at Reika’s breezy tone. A tour. As if she hadn’t rampaged through these streets as a towering beast less than a day ago. Masanori’s face darkened, grief sharpening into anger.
“We just buried forty good men because of you,” the captain spat. His voice cracked, whether from fury or sorrow or both. “You expect me to believe this is just a friendly visit?” He nearly choked on the last words.
Reika’s smile never faltered. If anything, it grew more sweetly patronizing. “Believe what you want,” she said, shrugging with a casual grace. “But I did promise Jin I wouldn’t kill anyone today.” She said it brightly, like one might promise a friend to behave at a social gathering.
Masanori blinked, taken aback. It was clear he hadn’t expected her to admit—so openly—that the only thing staying her hand was a promise to Jin. Jin himself felt a mix of relief and dread at her words. Yes, she had promised—but Reika’s promises had a way of twisting on a knife’s edge. Please, everyone… don’t provoke her, he pleaded silently.
“Mm, that’s right,” Reika continued, almost in a purr. Her gaze flickered to the surrounding soldiers whose faces ranged from furious to terrified. “You should all be very grateful to him.” She nodded toward Jin, amber lights dancing in her eyes. “If not for Jin, I wouldn’t be holding back at all.” The undertone of that statement sank in a cold wave over the men present: if not for Jin’s influence, she would happily finish what she started yesterday.
Jin shifted on his feet, heat rising to his cheeks. He could feel every wary stare turning toward him now—some in confusion, some in grudging gratitude, others in raw resentment. He wanted to protest that he hadn’t done anything special; all he’d done was beg her to spare lives. But his tongue felt heavy. How could he explain any of this?
A brittle, tense silence followed Reika’s pronouncement. Jin heard the scrape of metal behind him—nervous hands tightening on spears, perhaps. Masanori’s jaw was clenched so hard it looked like it might shatter. “Grateful?” the captain echoed bitterly. “You expect us to thank—?”
Clatter. A spear tumbled from someone’s grip, striking the stones with an echoing clang. It was as if a spell had broken; Jin saw a flash of movement to his right—three soldiers suddenly lunging forward from the growing ring of onlookers. Their faces were masks of rage and fear, and they raised their weapons high with desperate cries.
“No!” Masanori roared, spinning toward his men with an outstretched hand. “Stand down!” But adrenaline had already overtaken reason. With a furious shout, the trio of soldiers charged straight at Reika, the points of their spears glinting in the smoky sunlight.
Jin’s heart seized. “Stop!” he yelled reflexively, throwing out an arm as if he could halt them. Time seemed to slow in that heartbeat of chaos. He saw the nearest attacker’s eyes, wild with grief, saw the man’s boots slamming over blood-stained ground toward Reika’s slim form. It was suicide—Jin knew it, Masanori knew it, and a half-second later, the charging soldiers knew it too.
Reika moved faster than blinking. She didn’t bother to step aside; instead, she flicked her sleeve with an annoyed little hiss. From the long black drape of her kimono, tendrils of midnight energy whipped forth. They writhed like living snakes, coiling around the soldiers’ arms and legs in the space between one breath and the next.
The men barely had time to gasp. One moment they were mid-sprint, weapons raised; the next they were yanked off their feet, bound by impossibly strong coils of darkness. A spear clattered to the stones. One soldier gave a strangled scream as he was hoisted upside-down, armor plates sliding toward his neck. Another dangled by one arm, sword dropping from numb fingers. They hung suspended in the air a few feet off the ground, kicking uselessly like insects caught in a web.
Reika clicked her tongue in open displeasure. “Tsk, how rude,” she said, pouting as if scolding unruly children. “I hate being interrupted.”
Jin stood transfixed, blood pounding in his ears. It was over in an instant, and thank the gods—she hadn’t outright killed them. But the sight of the three soldiers struggling helplessly against those black bindings turned his stomach. This was exactly the sort of incident he’d feared. Now everyone was on a knife’s edge.
Masanori had drawn his blade, teeth bared in frustration, but he too froze at the scene, clearly understanding that one wrong move could mean those three men’s lives. “Let them go,” he demanded, voice low and shaking with barely restrained fury. “They acted rashly, but—”
Reika didn’t even grant him a glance. Her attention was wholly on the men wriggling in midair. She gave a small, theatrical sigh. “I did promise not to kill today,” she mused, loud enough for all to hear, “but you three…” Trailing off, she tilted her head as if considering squashing a trio of bugs. The bound soldiers groaned as the dark tendrils tightened just enough to make them struggle for breath.
“Please!” one of them gasped, eyes bulging in panic.
Reika’s lips curved into a too-sweet smile. “Interrupting our conversation was very impolite.” Her tone remained almost cheerful, but Jin caught the glint in her eyes—a warning ember. “Don’t you think you owe someone an apology?”
She turned her gaze to Jin, and suddenly he was the focus of all those terrified eyes. Jin felt his blood run cold.
“I… I—” one soldier stammered, choking as the binding coiled tighter around his chest.
“Shh.” Reika raised a finger to her lips. “Not me,” she cooed. “Him.” With a casual nod, she indicated Jin. “Jin here is the only reason you’re not a smear of blood beneath my feet. You owe him your lives. So, show some gratitude.” Her voice was honeyed poison.
Jin’s heart plummeted. Oh no… please no. “Reika, don’t—” he began, but she ignored him.
The hovering men gaped in horror and confusion. They looked at Jin with something like despair; the notion that he was the one staying her hand seemed to break them more thoroughly than any physical blow.
Reika’s patience appeared to wear thin. The coils constricted another fraction, drawing pained wheezes from the soldiers. Her eyes flashed. “Say it,” she ordered, a razor edge beneath the silkiness. “Takahashi-sama, thank you for sparing us.”
Takahashi-sama. Hearing his family name with that exalted honorific made Jin want to crawl into the rubble and disappear. He shook his head at the men, mouth opening to protest that they didn’t have to, that he wasn’t… I’m not your lord, he wanted to scream. But it was too late.
Hanging like marionettes in a demon’s grip, the three soldiers hurriedly bobbed their heads. “Th-thank you, Takahashi-sama!” one cried hoarsely. “Thank you… thank you, Takahashi-sama!” The others echoed the phrase in desperate chorus. Their voices cracked with pain and humiliation, and Jin felt each word strike him like a blow.
Reika beamed, satisfied. With a flick of her wrist, the dark tendrils dissipated, dumping the soldiers to the ground in an undignified heap. They collapsed, coughing and scrambling away on hands and knees. Free of her magic, the men retreated behind Masanori’s legs, dragging their fallen weapons with shaking hands.
Jin stood rooted in place, horror and shame warred inside him. His ears burned at being called “-sama,” and bile rose in his throat. There was nothing noble about their thanks; it was wrenched out at the end of a threat. And Reika had forced it in his name. He could feel Masanori’s eyes on him, and many others too—injured, frightened, angry eyes.
Masanori’s sword arm trembled. “What is this?” he snarled at Reika, voice thick with disgust. He stepped protectively in front of his men. “You want him to rule us next? Parade him around like a puppet king while you pull the strings from the shadows?”
Jin’s breath caught. Rule them? The idea was ridiculous—he could barely get a grip on his own fate, let alone rule a city. “No—I would never—” he stuttered, but Reika’s laughter drowned him out.
She laughed lightly, genuinely amused by Masanori’s accusation. “Why does everything need to be a grand conspiracy with you humans?” she sighed, placing a hand on her hip. “Although…” Her eyes flickered toward Jin thoughtfully for a split second, as if pondering the notion. “Not a terrible idea, now that you mention it.”
Jin shot her an alarmed look, and Masanori bristled, but Reika waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, Captain. That’s not why I’m here.” Her voice turned breezy again. “He’s just mine, that’s all.”
The declaration was simple, possessive, and it sent a jolt through Jin. Just mine. She said it as casually as one might claim a found trinket, yet it carried an intimacy that made his face go hot. Jin’s hands curled into fists at his sides, a mix of embarrassment and anger swirling in his chest. He could see Masanori’s jaw tighten at her words—there was disgust there, and perhaps a flicker of pity for Jin.
Reika seemed content to leave it at that. With a flourish of dark silk, she turned her back on Masanori, facing the city beyond the gates. “Come along, Jin,” she commanded, beckoning him forward as if nothing at all were amiss. “The city awaits. It’s about time someone made it interesting.”
Jin hesitated. His pulse was still hammering from the confrontation, and his knees felt unsteady. He glanced back at Masanori, an apology in his eyes. The captain stood rigid, sword still in hand, watching them with a helpless, simmering rage. Jin wanted to say something—anything—to reassure him, but nothing came. What reassurance could he give? That he had things under control? It would be a transparent lie. So Jin just lowered his eyes in shame and gratitude that Masanori hadn’t gotten himself killed defending him.
There was no choice. Steeling himself, Jin moved to Reika’s side. The two of them began to walk, stepping through the shattered gates into the streets of Kagetora beyond.
Masanori did not follow. Jin could feel his glare on his back, and the weight of all the other stares too. The silence they left behind was thick; even the wind had stilled, as if the city was holding its breath. I’m sorry, Jin thought, though he could not voice it. And then he crossed fully into the city, matching Reika’s pace.
Reika walked as if she owned the ground under her feet. Jin kept a half-step behind, watching her out of the corner of his eye. In her mind—he suspected—she did own this place, the same way a storm believes it owns the sky. She moved with supreme confidence, the tatters of fear and chaos around her seemingly beneath notice.
As they advanced down the main thoroughfare, Jin realized the normal sounds of city life were absent. No merchants haggling or children playing. Only their footsteps echoed—tap, tap—on the stone road. In the distance, a temple bell tolled forlornly, but nearby an eerie hush prevailed.
Whispers began to spread around them like wildfire in dry grass. People were peeking out from alleys and broken doorways, drawn by the confrontation at the gate and now by the sight of Reika strolling within the walls. Jin’s senses sharpened with dread; every rustle and breath felt magnified.
“That’s her…” came a hushed voice from a half-collapsed doorway.
“The Demon Queen,” someone whispered, the title quivering in the air before being swallowed by silence.
“Run. Don’t look. Don’t look,” a frantic muttering followed, and Jin saw a flash of movement as a figure pulled back out of sight.
Wherever Jin’s gaze flickered, he caught the same reactions. A mother on a stoop quickly pushed her young daughter behind her skirts, covering the child’s eyes. An older man hauling a sack of rice took one look at Reika and stumbled off the road entirely, nearly tripping over rubble in his haste to get away. Even the wounded—men and women resting against walls or under makeshift tents—instinctively recoiled as Reika passed. Jin saw one injured soldier, face bandaged and arm in a sling, struggle to shrink back further into the shadow of a cart. It was as if a predator prowled the streets and every living soul felt the primal urge to bow their heads and make themselves small.
Through it all, Reika glided onward, apparently oblivious. Or perhaps she noticed every tremble and simply relished it; with her, Jin couldn’t always tell. Her expression remained placid, even faintly amused, as if she were out for a pleasant afternoon walk. She wore her human disguise like a piece of theater, each gesture precise and poised. The long black furisode kimono she had donned was pristine despite the dusty air, its hem and wide sleeves embroidered with sinuous patterns of gold thread. As it trailed behind her, it gave the illusion that she floated just above the earth. A storm wrapped in silk, Jin thought, recalling how effortlessly she had subjugated everyone in her path. Even reduced to human scale, Reika’s presence was seismic—the very ground felt charged by her steps.
Jin had to admit she was breathtaking to behold. That fact only made her more terrifying. She was too beautiful, too perfect—like a finely crafted doll with a wild spirit trapped inside. Her skin glowed with an ivory warmth, unblemished by the grime around them. Strands of her dark hair occasionally drifted forward over her face, and she would idly tuck them back without breaking stride, the simple motion carrying an uncanny grace. But it was her eyes that ensnared Jin whenever he inadvertently met them. Those luminous amethyst eyes held a gleam that was both divine and deranged—the gaze of a playful deity who could bless or destroy on a whim. When she glanced toward Jin now, offering him a little smile as if to say Isn’t this fun?, he felt a lurch in his stomach. It was like the whole city tilted around her for that.
They rounded a corner near a crumbling public fountain. Here, the street opened into a small square that must once have been lively. Now, it was half-filled with debris and the injured from yesterday’s attack. Jin’s eyes were drawn to a group of perhaps five or six soldiers huddled by a collapsed section of wall. These men had removed parts of their armor and were tending to wounds. Blood-stained bandages and rough splints attested to hurried battlefield medicine. One man leaned heavily on a shattered spear shaft he was using as a crutch; another sat on a piece of fallen timber, staring vacantly at the ground, a fresh line of stitches running along his jaw and cheek. All of them looked utterly exhausted, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that blurred the line between sleep and waking.
Jin slowed to a stop without realizing it. His throat tightened at the sight of their condition—bandages soaked through with blood, faces gray with fatigue and shock. These were the survivors. The lucky ones, if such a word even applied. He wondered how many of their comrades lay in those rows of bodies he’d seen outside the gate.
Reika noticed Jin pausing and followed his gaze. She, too, came to a halt, surveying the wounded men at the wall. “Oh,” she murmured, her voice low and almost musical. “Look at that.” There was a strange inflection in her tone, something between mild curiosity and feigned pity.
Every muscle in Jin’s body tensed. He recognized that particular lilt in her voice—a hint of mischief, of interest. It was the way she sounded when something caught her attention in a dangerous way. “Reika—” he began under his breath, a warning that was also a plea. Please, just keep walking.
But Reika either didn’t hear him or chose not to. Without another word, she altered course and drifted toward the cluster of injured soldiers.
Jin’s heart jolted. He quickly stepped after her. Ahead, the soldiers had not yet noticed her approach; most were facing away, one man was busy tightening a bandage around his thigh. They were completely unaware that the very woman who had injured them now closed in like a ghost.
Her approach was eerily silent. The only sound was the soft shuffle of her sandals on stone. At the last moment, one man—the one using the spear as a crutch—glanced up to adjust his grip…and froze. Jin saw the man’s face drain to a sheet-white mask. The soldier beside him followed his gaze, then let out a choked yelp and fumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet.
In seconds, the wounded men devolved into panic. Those who could move scrambled, some dropping to their knees automatically as if in prayer, others simply collapsing where they sat with terror. One soldier squeezed his eyes shut tight, lips moving soundlessly; another pressed his forehead to the dirt, shivering violently. The atmosphere of fear was so intense, Jin swore he could feel it on his skin like a cold sweat.
Reika stepped among them with the serene grace of a priestess floating through her temple. She regarded the cowering men and sighed gently. “You all look so broken,” she said, almost tenderly. Her voice was soft and sympathetic on the surface, but Jin heard the undertone—mockery. “Poor little things.”
It was a disturbingly intimate scene: the Demon Queen towering over her injured victims, hands folded demurely at her waist as she observed their suffering. To anyone else, it might have looked like a goddess descending from on high to bless the wretched. Jin knew better. His mouth had gone dry. Don’t do it, he begged silently. Don’t hurt them anymore. They’ve had enough.
One man couldn’t hold back a whimper. The sound cracked the silence, and Reika’s eyes flicked to him—he immediately pressed his face harder against the ground as if hoping she might lose interest.
Slowly, Reika lowered herself into a crouch. The move was unhurried, deliberate, and her elegant kimono fanned out around her, pooling like black ink on the dusty street. Even crouched, she was imposing—as tall as the kneeling men. She looked for all the world like some dark empress granting audience to her subjects.
One soldier sat petrified directly in front of her, his arm bound in a filthy sling. Jin guessed his shoulder or collarbone was broken by the way he hunched protectively. The man’s eyes were glassy with terror, fixed on Reika’s face which was now only inches from his own. He was shaking so badly that Jin thought he might faint.
Reika tilted her head and offered the man a gentle smile. With two fingers, she reached out and brushed aside a matted lock of hair stuck to his forehead. It was an oddly intimate, almost caring gesture. The soldier let out a hitched breath but didn’t dare pull away.
“What’s your name?” Reika asked, her tone disarmingly kind.
The man’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. No answer came; perhaps he was too terrified to remember his own name, or perhaps fear had simply stolen his voice.
Reika’s smile lingered. “No matter,” she cooed when it became clear he wouldn’t answer. Her eyes drifted over the man’s trembling form. “You know,” she continued softly, “I could heal you.” She raised her voice just enough for all the nearby soldiers to hear. “Fix every little crack and tear. Good as new.” Her fingers trailed lightly down the man’s injured arm, almost a caress. Jin saw the soldier bite down on his lip, tears of fright welling in his eyes.
A hopeful murmur fluttered through a couple of the men at those words—heal you—but Reika’s smile took on a cruel tilt as she finished, “But maybe you deserve to stay this way. As a reminder of how fragile you really are.”
The wounded soldier’s face crumpled in despair. A soft sob escaped him. Reika’s fingertip rested under his chin now, tilting his head up so he had no choice but to meet her gaze.
“You were screaming yesterday, weren’t you?” she asked, almost conversationally. “I remember that sound.” She narrowed her eyes in feigned thought. “Or was that a different one of you? The one who tried to stab my heel?”
She gave a light, airy laugh as if mixing them up was an innocent mistake.
A couple of the soldiers made broken sounds—half-formed pleas or denials, Jin wasn’t sure. He couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped forward, heart thudding. “Reika,” he said urgently, finding his voice at last. “Please. Don’t.” His words trembled in the air.
Slowly, Reika turned her head just enough to acknowledge Jin standing behind her. She looked at him over her shoulder, eyes wide with an exaggerated Who, me? innocence. “Don’t what?” she asked calmly. “I’m only asking if I should help them.”
Jin took another step closer, hands raised in a pacifying gesture. His pulse was roaring in his ears, but he managed to speak more firmly. “Not like this,” he implored. “Don’t toy with them.” Each second of this cruel charade was torture for these men—and for Jin too. He felt sick to his stomach seeing their suffering drawn out for Reika’s amusement.
Reika heaved a sigh and rose to her full height in one fluid motion. She dusted off her sleeves, as if brushing away Jin’s words. “Honestly, Jin,” she said, looking down at him with a pout, “you’re more cruel than I am.”
Jin blinked in astonishment. “What?” How could she possibly—
She cut him off, voice lilting with false sorrow. “I was going to help them, you know. But you—you don’t even want me to put them out of their misery.” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in mock disapproval. “Are you really so heartless?”
For a moment, Jin forgot to breathe. He opened his mouth to protest—to insist that was not what he meant at all—but under Reika’s mischievous grin, his objection died. She was twisting his plea not to torment them into an accusation that he was denying mercy. It was absurd, yet delivered with such feigned disappointment that an outside observer might almost believe it.
Jin realized in that instant that arguing was pointless. Reika would spin things however she liked. He could only grit his teeth and hope this encounter wouldn’t end in more pain.
Reika’s attention shifted back to the injured group. They cowered and watched her warily, clearly unsure whether they were about to be slaughtered or saved or something in between. With a delicate motion, Reika lifted her right hand. Jin braced himself, uncertain what she intended—another burst of dark magic? Something worse?
A soft radiance began to glow from her palm. Jin’s eyes widened. This wasn’t the usual crackling violet energy or inky darkness he’d come to associate with her power. It was warm and golden, like a miniature sun blooming in her hand. The light cast gentle beams across the grimy wall and the terrified faces. It felt… comforting.
Reika waved her hand in a slow arc. The golden light cascaded outward in a shimmering veil, washing over the huddled soldiers. They flinched collectively, a few crying out—expecting agony. But none came. Instead, where the light touched, wounds began to mend themselves. Jin watched in astonishment as angry red gashes knit closed. A swollen, purpled ankle straightened as bone and sinew realigned. Even the deep stitched cut on the man’s jaw faded to smooth, unbroken skin. The soldiers looked down at their bodies in disbelief.
One man gingerly probed his side where moments before a jagged piece of shrapnel had torn him. Now there was nothing but clean skin beneath a torn shirt. “I…I don’t hurt anymore,” he whispered, voice trembling.
“My arm,” gasped another, the one who’d been in a sling. He lifted his arm—perfectly whole—and flexed his fingers as if it might all be a cruel trick. Disbelief and awe dawned on their faces in equal measure.
Jin exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. This was divine power—healing, restoration—the antithesis of the destruction Reika had unleashed before. For a heartbeat, he could almost see her as that benevolent goddess that frightened villagers prayed to for miracles.
Reika let them bask in that hope for only a moment. She watched their stunned expressions with a slight smile, then spoke in a honeyed whisper: “Don’t forget who spared you.” She surveyed the men with eyes suddenly cold. “It wasn’t me.”
The newly healed soldiers froze, joy and relief draining from their features as her meaning sank in. They turned uncertainly towards Jin, who stood a few steps behind Reika, looking as shocked as they were.
Reika arched an eyebrow and made a lazy gesture toward Jin, as one might present a benefactor. “If you’re grateful,” she said sweetly, “then say so. To him. Takahashi-sama.” Her tone dripped polite mockery. “He’s the reason you’re still breathing, after all.” Then her smile sharpened at the edges. “And if you’re not grateful…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. The threat hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine.
One by one, the soldiers scrambled to bow toward Jin. Their movements were awkward—some still unsteady on newly mended legs, others simply quivering with residual fear. “Th-thank you, Takahashi-sama,” one managed, voice cracking. “Thank you… thank you,” echoed the others hoarsely. They looked utterly bewildered, as if they themselves couldn’t fathom whether they were actually thankful or just terrified out of their wits.
Jin could barely stand to watch. His face burned with shame. He wanted to shout at them to stop, to never call him sama again, but Reika was already straightening up and turning away, clearly finished with this little episode. With a satisfied nod, she murmured, “They’re learning some manners. That’s nice.”
Jin stood rooted, heart heavy as stone. His eyes met those of one soldier—a young man with blood still spattered on his cheeks from the battle. The look the man gave him was impossible to untangle: part gratitude, he did feel alive and pain-free after all, part confusion, and part utter terror. Jin felt a hot prick of tears at the corners of his own eyes. He didn’t want their thanks under these circumstances. He wanted their forgiveness, perhaps, or their understanding that he wasn’t their enemy. But this forced reverence? It was like he’d been made complicit in Reika’s tyranny.
Reika drifted back to Jin’s side, humming lightly to herself. She seemed immensely pleased, as though she’d just performed a charitable deed. Jin finally unclenched his fists. “You… you didn’t have to make them thank me,” he muttered under his breath, anger and embarrassment warring in his tone.
Her response was a soft chuckle. “I didn’t make them do anything,” she said, eyes dancing with mischief. “I simply told them who to thank. That’s different.”
Jin bit back a retort. There was no point. Reika reached out and, with a gentle touch, brushed a bit of plaster dust off Jin’s shoulder. The gesture was oddly affectionate and proprietary at once, and Jin stiffened in surprise.
“Try not to look so guilty,” she said, voice lilting just for him. “You’re the reason they’re alive.”
The statement struck Jin deeply. A part of him knew it was true—if not for his presence, Reika might have slaughtered those men or left them broken. He had saved them, indirectly. But another part of him rebelled: they wouldn’t have needed saving at all if not for Reika’s actions. And what of the ones he couldn’t save yesterday? The ones lying cold and lifeless under white sheets now? Jin did feel guilty—more than she could possibly know.
He turned away, blinking hard, and fell into step with Reika as she continued out of the square. Behind them, the healed soldiers remained kneeling on the ground, watching in stunned silence as the Demon Queen and the young man she claimed as hers walked on.
They entered a marketplace boulevard. Under normal times, this street would be bustling with vendors and townsfolk buying, selling, gossiping. Jin remembered passing here just yesterday , the air rich with the smell of grilled fish and sweet bean cakes. Now, that memory felt like it belonged to another lifetime.
As Reika and Jin proceeded, a hush fell across the marketplace like a heavy curtain. People who had begun creeping back out, drawn by curiosity, now scattered like mice sensing a hawk. Jin saw motion all around: shopkeepers hastily pulling shut their sliding doors, merchants abandoning their stalls with goods still laid out, laborers ducking behind half-wrecked carts. Within moments, the lively market street became a ghost town. A dropped basket of green onions lay strewn across the dirt, its owner nowhere to be seen. Farther ahead, a painted signboard swung lazily on one hinge, creaking in the silence.
Reika appeared utterly at ease. She strolled with that same unhurried gait, her kimono whispering around her ankles. If she noticed the abrupt emptiness around her, she gave no sign beyond a faint, knowing smile. In fact, her eyes roamed the deserted market stalls with a kind of detached curiosity, as if she were admiring quaint storefronts on a holiday outing.
Jin walked beside her, tense and silent. He didn’t know where to look—meeting the eyes of the terrified townsfolk made him feel complicit and cruel; staring straight ahead made him feel like a false king leading a conqueror on parade. He settled for glancing occasionally at Reika, gauging her mood, while trying to project as non-threatening a presence as possible to anyone watching. Not that it mattered—standing next to her, he probably looked like a pet or a trophy.
As they passed a fruit vendor’s stand in the heart of the square, Reika suddenly spoke, breaking the silence. “This place hasn’t changed much,” she observed brightly. Her tone was almost conversational, as if commenting on the weather. “Even after I stepped on part of it.”
Jin nearly choked. He shot her a sharp look. Did she really just say that? Reika’s lips curved in a teasing smile, and Jin realized she absolutely did—and with relish. That was her idea of humor.
“That’s… not a comforting way to start a tour,” Jin said under his breath, choosing his words carefully. He tried to keep his voice low enough that the few bystanders wouldn’t catch it. The last thing he wanted was to remind everyone that this elegant woman was also the giant monster who had literally stepped on their city.
Reika gave a soft chuckle. “But it’s true, no?” she replied, tilting her head at him with an amused glint in her eyes. She seemed to enjoy Jin’s flustered reaction.
Before he could respond, Reika drifted toward a nearby produce stall. The merchant behind it—a stout, middle-aged man with a wispy gray beard—stood as still as a stone statue. His eyes were huge, fixed on Reika as she approached his display of fruits. Jin could see the man’s throat bobbing, but no sound came out; it was as if fear had paralyzed him entirely.
Reika paid no mind to the man’s petrified state. She leaned over the wooden counter, examining the neatly arranged fruits with interest. With a graceful hand, she plucked a single golden-yellow plum from a basket and held it up to the light. The fruit was ripe and juicy-looking, its skin catching the sun’s glow.
“These are lovely,” Reika commented. She turned the plum slowly between her fingers, as if admiring a precious gem. “Do you grow them yourself?” she inquired, her voice polite and sweet.
The merchant opened his mouth, but at first no coherent sound emerged—just a croak. At Reika’s expectant gaze, he finally managed a stuttering reply. “Y-yes… yes, m-my family has an orchard just outside the south gate,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Reika smiled, and for a moment the man seemed mesmerized by the gentle curve of her lips. “How quaint,” she said. She continued to roll the plum between her fingertips. “And how much for this one?”
The poor merchant blinked in astonishment. He glanced from the plum to Reika, visibly trembling. “N-no charge, o-of course,” he blurted out. “It’s yours, I insist—p-please, take it, free of charge.” He bowed repeatedly, his hands fumbling to offer the entire basket.
Reika’s eyes flashed, and her pleasant smile took on a razor edge. “Oh?” she said, voice dangerously soft. “You mean it’s worthless?”
The man froze mid-bow, confused terror on his face. “No, not worthless! I only meant—”
“It’s not worth charging for then?” Reika continued, and now there was a distinct chill in her tone. She tapped the plum lightly against her lower lip. “I wonder what does that say about your fruit… or about me?”
“N-no, I–I didn’t mean it that way,” the vendor stammered. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “The fruit is very good! It’s just—”
Reika placed the plum back onto the pile with deliberate care. Then she fixed the merchant with a smile so bright it made Jin uneasy. “Then charge me properly,” she said
. “I find it insulting when people assume I can’t pay.” The words dropped like silk hiding a dagger.
Jin saw the fruit-seller’s hands shake as he fumbled for a coin pouch at his belt. The man’s fingers were clumsy in his panic; a few coins spilled to the ground with soft clinks. Jin couldn’t watch this continue. He stepped forward, gently putting a hand on Reika’s arm. “Reika, it’s fine,” he interjected with a strained smile. “He’s just scared.”
Reika turned to Jin with feigned surprise. “Scared? Of me?” She placed a hand on her chest as if wounded by the thought. Her eyes danced with playful wickedness. “That’s very rude. I’ve been perfectly polite, haven’t I?”
Jin gave her a pointed look that he hoped conveyed Please, drop it. Reika only shrugged lightly and stepped aside, giving Jin clear access to the stall. “Tell you what,” she said, addressing the merchant in a tone one might use to calm a spooked animal. “Why don’t we make this simple? Let my friend Jin here pick out something he likes. And you can charge him a fair price. Okay?” She paused, then added with an airy menace, “Or…shall I assume it’s all worthless refuse not even fit for a demon queen’s palate?”
The fruit-seller bobbed his head so fast Jin worried the man might faint. “Yes, yes, a fair price! P-please, Jin-sama, anything you’d like,” he babbled, clutching the coin pouch with both hands as if it were a lifeline.
Jin cringed at the honorific “-sama” again, but he forced a gentle smile at the merchant. He scanned the stall quickly and grabbed the first thing that looked decent—a ripe peach with rosy skin. “This is fine,” Jin said reassuringly. He pulled a couple of crumpled bills from his pocket—human currency he still had from before—and set it on the counter. His hands trembled slightly. “Thank you.”
The merchant shakily reached out to take the money. “T-thank you, kind sir,” he managed, though he kept one eye nervously on Reika.
Jin bit into the peach, hoping to diffuse the tension. Juice, sweet and golden, flooded his mouth. It was perfectly ripe. “It’s good,” he said after swallowing. He gave Reika a nod. “Really sweet.”
Reika watched him with a bemused expression. She leaned one hip against the stall casually. “You’re lucky,” she said to the vendor with a wink that somehow still held a hint of threat. “He likes it.”
The fruit-seller let out a breath of relief so profound that his shoulders sagged. Jin felt a pang of pity for the man—he looked as though he’d just survived an encounter with a tiger.
Reika and Jin moved on, leaving the bewildered merchant clutching his coin pouch. As they stepped away, Jin noticed movement at the next stall over—a woman who had been selling grilled rice dumplings on skewers was frantically trying to pack up her cart. Her hands shook so badly that one skewer plopped onto the ground, dumplings scattering. The woman abandoned it and edged backward, intending to flee down a side street.
Before she could vanish, Reika caught her eye. Jin saw Reika give the woman a tiny, conspiratorial wink. It was such a small gesture, but the effect was immediate—the poor vendor let out a squeak of terror, dropped the rest of her wares, and bolted without looking back.
Dumplings rolled lazily across the street. Reika stepped over one and, with a curious look, picked up the fallen skewer the woman had left behind. It was still warm and brushed with sweet soy glaze, smelling delicious despite being dropped. Reika brought it to her nose and inhaled. “Coward,” she murmured, not loudly, but Jin heard the disappointment in her voice as she eyed the direction the vendor had fled. “This smells excellent.”
Jin, still nibbling his peach, felt a surge of conflicting feelings. The scene was surreal: strolling through a half-destroyed marketplace with the Demon Queen sampling local treats as if on holiday. Watching Reika toy with these people’s fear—letting some off lightly, terrifying others in passing—was enough to make his head spin. Yet he couldn’t deny the truth of what he’d seen: she wasn’t unleashing indiscriminate cruelty. In fact, aside from the initial violence with the soldiers (who attacked first) and the psychological torment, she hadn’t hurt anyone here. She had even healed those men by the wall.
It was madness. She was madness. But Jin was starting to discern a pattern in Reika’s behavior, a warped set of rules. She treated this like a game or a performance. As long as everyone played along—showing deference, fear, or whatever reaction pleased her—she seemed content to remain oddly benevolent. Benevolent like a lazy predator: a thunderstorm cloud that rumbled threateningly but hadn’t decided to strike yet.
Jin finished the peach, wiping the juice from his chin with the back of his hand. His mind was a maelstrom. Why is she doing this? he wondered. Was this all just amusement for her? Some demonstration of power? Or something else entirely? He remembered Reika back in Tokyo—how she’d loved to “people-watch” from the steps of the university library, inventing little stories about strangers passing by. This felt like a grotesque extension of that habit: she was making these people dance on strings of fear and fascination, and watching intently to see what they’d do.
As they walked further, Jin noticed that after the initial panic, a few curious souls were beginning to trail at a safe distance behind them. Whispers drifted through the air, fragments of confusion and gossip that grew with each step.
“Is that really her? The giant woman from yesterday?”
“She’s with that man… the one she carried off.”
“Who is he? Why is he walking next to that?”
“Why is she… smiling?”
Jin’s cheeks burned hearing those snippets. He kept his eyes forward, pretending not to notice the small crowd shadowing them at the edge of the street. It took all his willpower not to break into a run or slink away. But he knew leaving Reika’s side was not an option. Like it or not, he was part of this spectacle.
Reika eventually paused at a stall displaying ornamental hair combs and carved hairpins. The stand’s young proprietress, barely in her late teens by the look of her, was pale as death. She kept her hands rigidly at her sides to hide their shaking, and her eyes were glued downward in a submissive gaze.
Reika picked up a delicate silver hairpin etched with cranes taking flight. She held it up against her dark hair, as if trying to envision how it would look. “What do you think?” she asked Jin lightly, turning toward him. “Would this suit me?”
Jin’s brain stumbled. Of all the questions… Reika watched him, one eyebrow arched and lips curved in a teasing smile, clearly savoring his discomfort. Jin cleared his throat. “I…well, you don’t really need any hairpin to look good,” he began, scrambling for a safe answer. “You already look—”
“Careful,” Reika interrupted, an edge of laughter in her voice. The warning in that single word was playful, but Jin heeded it. Complimenting her looks too earnestly might imply a familiarity or affection he wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal in front of all these people (and Reika herself could twist it however she liked).
He swallowed and tried again, feeling heat creep up his neck. “I was going to say it looks great,” he finished lamely. “The pin, I mean. It… suits you.”
“Liar,” Reika purred, clearly amused by his fluster. “But I’ll take it anyway.”
She set the hairpin back down on the velvet-lined tray and looked at the young vendor. The girl was staring at a spot on the ground as if wishing it would swallow her up.
“Put it on for me,” Reika said, her tone gentle but leaving no room for refusal.
The girl jerked as though startled. She risked a glance up into Reika’s eyes and quickly regretted it, flinching. “Y-yes, ma’am,” she whispered. With trembling fingers, the girl picked up the silver crane pin. She reached up toward Reika’s head—she had to stretch on her toes, given Reika’s height. Carefully, she gathered a lock of Reika’s silky black hair and slid the pin into place, securing the strand behind Reika’s ear. The hairpin’s delicate design gleamed in contrast to Reika’s dark tresses.
Reika leaned down slightly as the girl finished, bringing her face uncomfortably close to the vendor’s. Jin couldn’t hear what Reika whispered, but he saw the girl’s eyes widen in alarm. The girl nodded frantically at whatever was said, and when Reika straightened, the teenager recoiled a step, looking ready to faint.
Jin frowned. What did she tell her? He could only imagine—likely some subtle threat or a disturbingly intimate comment. Reika’s expression gave nothing away as she walked on, swaying her hips slightly, the new hairpin catching the light.
“You’re enjoying this,” Jin muttered under his breath once they were out of the girl’s earshot. It wasn’t really a question—he knew she was.
“Of course I am,” Reika chimed, clasping her hands behind her back in a girlish manner. “I always loved people-watching in Tokyo, remember? This is just a more… participatory version.”
Jin grimaced. He did remember—the countless afternoons she would convince him to skip studying and instead sit on a bench with bubble tea, making up wild backstories for passersby. That innocent pastime was worlds away from this scenario, but perversely, he could see the thread of similarity. Here, too, she was toying with people’s lives, nudging them to see how they’d react. It was as if all of Kagetora had become her stage.
“Is this… is this why you wanted to come here?” Jin asked quietly. The question had been burning inside him. Did she drag him along just to put on this twisted show?
Reika didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes drifted upward, toward the rooftops adorned with charred banners and prayer flags fluttering in the breeze. She seemed to be considering his question, or perhaps she was distracted by a distant thought. A soft hum escaped her lips, an almost musical note that hung in the air. They walked slowly, nearly drifting to a stop as Reika gazed around with a peculiar, faraway smile.
Jin found himself glancing at her profile. Even in the middle of this wrecked street, she looked unearthly—taller than anyone else, poised and dreamy, like she hadn’t a care in the world. Strands of her hair danced gently, catching motes of dust in the light. Her expression was calm, yet her eyes glinted with some private delight, as if she were listening to a song only she could hear.
Finally, Reika spoke, her voice softening to something almost wistful. “I just felt like walking,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve wandered through a place with people in it.”
Jin heard a subtle undercurrent in her words—loneliness? Nostalgia? The casual statement hung between them. He remembered that before all this, she had lived among humans as one of them. Perhaps, in her own strange way, she missed this mundane aspect of life: strolling through a market, interacting (albeit cruelly) with ordinary folks. The realization made Jin’s heart ache a little. Reika… what are you now? he wondered. Are you still that girl who shared vending machine sandwiches with me? Or have you become something completely different?
Reika’s eyes flickered, coming back into focus. She turned to Jin with a sudden playful grin. “And it’s kind of like a date back in our old world, isn’t it, Jin?” she added slyly. “A bit of sightseeing. That’s what you called it, right?”
Jin’s breath caught, and he felt heat rush to his face. A date? The audacity of her teasing left him momentarily speechless. She was referencing when he had half-jokingly suggested they sightsee together in Tokyo—the conversation from what felt like ages ago. That she would recall it now, here, of all places, threw him off balance. He opened his mouth, an automatic denial or retort on his tongue, but nothing came out. What could he say? Her ability to fluster him was as strong as ever, Demon Queen or not.
Before Jin could gather his wits, a sudden thump interrupted the moment. A dull bouncing sound struck Reika’s shin, then something small rolled past Jin’s foot. Both of them looked down.
A little ball made of woven straw and cloth wobbled to a stop against the edge of a broken tile. It was clearly a child’s toy—faded red and blue fabric, stuffing peeking out of a seam that had come loose.
For a second, none of them moved. Reika stared at the ball by her sandal, then lifted her gaze to scan the open square they had entered.
On the far side of the square stood a boy, perhaps six or seven years old. He was half-hidden in the shadow of an alley, one foot still raised mid-kick—he had been chasing the ball when it escaped him. Now he stood frozen, eyes wide with innocent terror. The child’s face was streaked with dirt, his hair sticking up in messy tufts. In his small hands he clutched a crudely carved wooden toy sword, likely a comfort object. At the moment, he seemed to have forgotten he held it at all.
Jin’s heart lurched. Oh no. He could see where this was going: a child, too young to fully understand the danger, had stumbled into their deadly tableau.
Before Jin could speak or even fully process, a woman rushed out from behind the boy—a mother, by the way she immediately wrapped protectively around the child. She yanked the boy back, and in the same motion she threw herself to the ground, bowing so deeply her forehead smacked the stone pavement. “P-please!” the mother cried out, voice high and cracking with panic. “I’m sorry! M-my son didn’t mean to—” She was shaking, arms flung wide over the boy as if to shield him with her body. “Please, great Demon Queen, spare him! He’s just a child—he didn’t mean it!”
The square was deathly silent except for the mother’s pleading. Jin’s heart clenched painfully at the sight: the child peering out from under his mother’s arm, eyes huge and wet, not fully comprehending why his favorite ball had suddenly earned such a reaction. The mother’s voice had begun to break into sobs, her words tumbling over themselves in abject terror.
Reika remained where she was, the picture of poise, one hand resting lightly on her hip. She blinked down at the woman and child, her expression blank with confusion. “I wasn’t going to hurt him,” Reika said softly, almost to herself. There was genuine puzzlement in her tone—she sounded as if she truly didn’t understand why the mother assumed the worst.
The woman flinched as if struck, choking on her sobs. She dared not look up. Jin realized that, to these people, any contact with Reika could mean death. They had no way to know this situation might be different.
Reika bent down and picked up the little ball. It fit easily in her elegant hand. She bounced it once experimentally against the ground, and it sprang back with a gentle thump into her palm. “It hit me, that’s all,” she remarked, holding the toy up between finger and thumb. “It’s round. It bounces. That’s what it does, right?”
Her explanation hung in the air with almost comical simplicity. The mother risked raising her head just a fraction, tears streaking her face, utterly bewildered by Reika’s reaction.
Reika now looked directly at the boy huddled against his mother. The child was still trembling, face half-hidden in his mother’s sleeve. Reika’s voice softened into something that approached warmth. “Do you like playing with this?” she asked him, giving the ball a tiny toss in her hand.
The boy made a tiny hiccupping sound. He was too young to maintain the stoic silence of the adults; Jin saw his lower lip quiver. But he didn’t answer Reika’s question, either. Instead, he burrowed his face into his mother’s shoulder, as if hoping the scary lady would go away if he couldn’t see her.
Reika straightened to her full height and began to walk toward them. The mother let out a small terrified moan and clutched her son tighter, squeezing her eyes shut. Jin tensed, not sure what Reika intended. She had a certain look in her eye, not one of anger, but something else… an idea forming.
With one long stride, Reika was standing over the kneeling pair. Her shadow fell across them, and Jin could see the mother trembling like a leaf. Slowly, Reika lowered herself down again, kneeling on the stones so that she was more on the child’s level. Even that gesture, meant to be non-threatening, was intimidating by sheer virtue of her size and presence. Yet her posture was notably relaxed—she rested an elbow on one knee, the ball still in her hand, and offered what might have been a reassuring smile.
“Here,” Reika said gently. She extended the ball toward the boy. “Let’s play.”
The boy peeked out at her, eyes round as the toy she held. He didn’t move, perhaps uncertain if it was truly okay. His mother was utterly silent now, tears still glistening on her cheeks as she watched this unfold with a look of desperate uncertainty.
Reika gave the ball a soft toss in the boy’s direction. It bounced once on the ground between them and rolled to a stop a few feet away. The boy’s eyes followed it; he instinctively shifted as if to retrieve it, but his mother’s tight hold kept him in place. The child looked up at his mother, then back at Reika, clearly torn.
“He’s being shy,” Reika remarked, casting a glance back at Jin with a small pout on her lips. “Maybe I scared him.” There was a note of disappointment in her voice—like a child whose attempt to pet a stray kitten ended with it running away. It was one of the rare times Jin heard something almost vulnerable in her tone, and it left him unsure how to react.
Reika rose gracefully to her feet and took a few steps to retrieve the ball herself. She picked it up, brushed a bit of dust off the fabric, and then returned to the boy. This time, she did something that made Jin’s jaw nearly drop: she leaned forward and carefully placed the ball into the boy’s small hands. Her fingers briefly touched his as she did so, and the child flinched at the contact, a tiny gasp escaping him—but he didn’t pull away.
Kneeling again in front of him, Reika gave the faintest smile. “There,” she said softly. “Now you try.”
The boy looked at the ball now resting in his own palms. His little chest rose and fell rapidly. Jin could see the wheels turning in the child’s mind—this whole situation must be baffling to him. He looked to his mother for guidance. The woman, kneeling beside him, was frozen in place, unsure whether to cry or pray or both. Gathering every ounce of courage in his small body, the boy finally nodded at Reika.
He stood up on unsteady legs, the ball clutched in one hand. With his mother still kneeling at his side, the boy drew his arm back and threw the ball toward Reika. It was a weak toss—a child’s toss—and the ball arced only a short distance before bouncing against Reika’s shin once more.
There was a collective intake of breath from the few onlookers peering from the fringes of the square. Jin’s muscles tensed reflexively, but Reika’s reaction dispelled any fear of anger. She giggled—an actual, sincere giggle that transformed her face with delight. “I caught it with my leg!” she announced proudly, as if this were the most delightful outcome. She winked at the boy, and Jin could hardly believe this was the same woman who minutes ago had been terrorizing soldiers.
Reika picked up the ball and tossed it back with a tad more force. It sailed through the air and the boy’s eyes widened, but he raised his arms and caught it—stumbling back a step with the effort. A surprised grin broke across his face at his own successful catch.
Jin felt something ease in his chest, a strange warmth amidst the horror of the day. The boy gave the ball a tentative throw, and thus a simple game of catch began. Back and forth the ball went. Reika caught it each time with dramatic flair—once lifting a knee to bounce it off, another time deliberately letting it hit her forehead and feigning a dizzy spin, saying “Oof!” while laughing at herself. Each silly move drew a small, incrediulous chuckle from the boy. It was as if the square, for a brief moment, existed in a different reality—one where a monster could play ball with a child.
The boy started to laugh, a high, bright sound that echoed off the ruins. His mother was now watching, kneeling upright with hands pressed to her mouth, tears streaming down her face. But these were different from her earlier tears of terror—they were tears of profound relief and confusion at this impossible sight: the Demon Queen of Ruin playing as gently as any neighbor’s big sister with her son.
Jin became aware that others were creeping back to watch too. Heads peeked around corners, eyes wide in disbelief. No one dared step fully into the square, but a quiet crowd was gathering at its edges, witnessing this surreal truce.
After a few more exchanges, Reika slowed the game. She caught the final toss and instead of throwing it back, she simply rolled it along the ground. The ball came to a stop at the boy’s feet. He hesitated, then scooped it up. Reika rose to stand once again, towering over the child and his mother. She reached down and, with one finger, gently brushed the hair out of the boy’s eyes. The child gazed up at her in awe rather than fear now.
“You have a strong arm for your age,” Reika said kindly. “Keep practicing, okay? You’ll need it someday.”
With that, Reika turned and walked back toward Jin, her face returning to its usual serene composure. Jin stood there, still stunned at what he’d just witnessed. He followed her on autopilot as she moved past him, leaving the square behind. In her wake, the mother collapsed forward, hugging her son tightly as a few nearby villagers rushed to comfort them both.
Jin caught up to Reika, his mind racing. “You—why did you do that?” he asked, unable to keep the bewilderment out of his voice. Of all the things she might have done, starting a playful game with a random child was about the last he’d expected.
“Why not?” Reika replied lightly, giving him a half-smile. Her expression was unreadable again, the warm openness she’d shown the boy already sealed away behind that enigmatic gaze.
Jin struggled for words. “They… everyone is so afraid of you,” he said quietly. “And you… you just….” He trailed off, not sure how to articulate the jumble of emotions that moment had stirred in him: relief, hope, confusion, even a pang of longing for simpler times.
Reika looked ahead as they walked, her lips curving in a faint, almost sad smile. “They’re always afraid,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “So I figured… let’s try something different.”
She said it casually, as if trying a new seasoning in a recipe. The implication was clear enough: even she grew tired of constant fear and screaming. Perhaps, in that moment, she had wanted to feel something else from these humans—something other than terror.
Jin fell silent. That small act of kindness (or was it whimsy?) complicated how he saw her yet again. Reika’s unpredictability was part of what made her so terrifying—one moment cruelty, the next mercy, and one could never be sure which side of her coin would land face-up.
Behind them, the square was gradually coming back to life. Jin could hear the low buzz of amazed chatter. The crowd that had watched was beginning to move, people exhaling as though released from a spell.
Reika, meanwhile, was humming softly to herself as she walked onward. It was a cheerful little tune, at odds with the shattered buildings and scorched earth around. Jin recognized it faintly as a pop melody she used to love—she had once danced to it in his living room back in the human world, if he remembered correctly. The recollection made him almost smile despite everything. Almost.
The clatter of horse hooves on stone cut through the air, interrupting Reika’s tune. Jin’s head snapped up. They had ventured quite deep into the city now—this street led towards the administrative quarters and, eventually, the palace. And now a squad of mounted soldiers was rounding the bend ahead, their armor glinting.
Reika and Jin both stopped as the riders drew near. There were perhaps a dozen of them, forming a tight formation. At their front rode a man Jin recognized: General Daigo. Tall and powerfully built, Daigo sat astride his horse with a commanding presence, though Jin could see tension in the set of his shoulders. The general’s eyes were fixed on Reika, and even from a distance Jin could discern the grim determination and fear warring in them.
The hoofbeats slowed as the unit approached. Daigo raised a gauntleted hand, signaling his men to a halt several paces away from Reika and Jin. The horses snorted, uneasy—whether reacting to their riders’ nerves or sensing Reika’s aura, one couldn’t be sure. The soldiers formed a semicircle, lances and spears held upright but at the ready. Jin noticed how tightly they gripped their weapons, knuckles white. These were seasoned fighters, yet some avoided even glancing directly at Reika. One man’s lance tip quivered ever so slightly, betraying his trembling grip.
General Daigo swung down from his saddle with practiced ease. He handed his reins to a subordinate without taking his eyes off Reika. Jin had met the general a handful of times before—Daigo was a stern, disciplined man, known for his strategic mind and steady leadership. Seeing him now, Jin felt a pang of anxiety; if Daigo was afraid, that spoke volumes, but again how could you blame the man.
Daigo took a few steps forward and then, in a display of formal respect, he bowed deeply from the waist. The gesture was stiff, and Jin could tell it cost the proud general greatly to bow to the one who had wrought such destruction. When Daigo straightened, his jaw was tight, and he addressed Reika in a clear, controlled voice that only quavered slightly at the edges. “Tachibana-sama,” he said, using Reika’s surname with a respectful honorific. “The Shogun is aware of your… presence here in Kagetora.” Daigo chose his words with care, each syllable measured. “His Lordship wishes to extend an invitation to our humble palace, and to express thanks that you have… spared the rest of the city.”
Jin almost let out a breath of relief. An invitation to the palace—of course. The Shogun must be desperate to placate Reika, to get her under some semblance of diplomatic control rather than risking further havoc in the streets. It was a smart move: treat her like visiting royalty. It also meant this tense march through Kagetora might soon end.
Reika’s reaction, however, was unpredictable as ever. Instead of acknowledging the gravity of Daigo’s message, she broke into a bright, girlish giggle. The sound was startling in the solemn quiet. Several of the soldiers exchanged uncertain glances. To Jin, Reika’s laughter felt surreal—like she found this all amusingly quaint.
Reika turned to Jin with a delighted grin. “See, Jin?” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “Just like old times. Humans always treated me like a goddess once they realized what I was.” She gave a light shrug, as though embarrassed by the fuss. “Sometimes it takes a little destruction to jog their memory, but they remember eventually.”
Jin felt his face go pale. Old times. He started to imagine how she once was the legends of ancient days—when villages and cities would leave offerings to appease the towering yokai goddess. But hearing her speak so flippantly now made his stomach turn. He remembered too freshly the screams, the blood, her laughter as she had waded through troops like a child stomping on sandcastles. The phantom echo of that laughter fluttered in his ears and lodged beneath his ribs. Jin could not muster any reply; he stared at the ground, fighting the nausea that rose at the memory.
Reika didn’t seem to mind Jin’s silence. She was busy regarding General Daigo and his assembled men with a cheerful expression, as if they were simply her afternoon escort. “Well then!” she chimed. “Lead the way, General. I do so enjoy royal hospitality.”
She sounded as casual as someone accepting an invite to tea.
Daigo straightened, clearly relieved that Reika appeared amenable. He turned crisply and gestured for his soldiers to make way. The men parted, opening their formation to surround Reika and Jin in a loose, nervous procession. Daigo himself took the lead on foot, guiding them toward the Shogun’s palace.
As they walked, Jin found himself flanked by mounted guards a few steps back on either side. None of them spoke. He could hear only the clop of the horses, the creak of leather armor, and the distant sounds of a city trying to put itself back together. Hammers echoed from somewhere far off; the faint shouts of crews clearing debris rose and fell. Life was struggling to resume under the specter of yesterday’s nightmare.
They neared the inner sanctum of the city—the palace compound loomed ahead, a complex of high walls and ornate rooftops that had largely survived the battle. The great ironbound gates stood open, awaiting their arrival. Jin’s nerves jangled; inside those walls would be the Shogun and whatever plan he had to deal with Reika. Perhaps a trap? Or simply capitulation? Jin had no idea, but he braced himself for another charged encounter.
Reika, however, slowed her pace as they reached the broad plaza before the main gate. Without warning, she raised a hand. “Oh—stop,” she said, almost in a gasp.
At once, Daigo halted and the soldiers froze in place. Tension spiked—Jin could feel it ripple through the air. Reika stepped away from Jin and the others, drifting a few paces off the center of the road. Jin followed her line of sight and realized what had caught her attention.
There, just before the palace gates, the stone pavement was marred by a massive crater. It was a nearly perfect circular impression in the ground, clean-edged and deep enough that its bottom formed a shallow pit. The diameter was enormous—easily large enough to fit a carriage or several. But it was unmistakably the shape of a footprint. The arch, the shape of toes—pressed a good meter into solid rock. It was as though a giant’s foot had stepped in soft mud that then hardened to stone.
Jin felt a chill. He knew this mark. He had seen it happen. When Reika first arrived in Kagetora in her full glory, she had come down right at these gates, one colossal bare foot crashing onto the road with the force of a meteor. That moment was seared into Jin’s mind: the impact that shook the city, the sight of soldiers thrown like dolls. And now here lay the permanent scar of that event.
Reika moved to the edge of the crater, her wooden sandals clicking lightly on the stone until they met the broken edge. The afternoon breeze played with the loose strands of her hair as she stood, looking down into the footprint. Her expression was one of exaggerated wonder, eyes wide and lips parted as if she’d stumbled upon a marvel of nature. “Is that from me?” she asked aloud, sounding for all the world like an innocent girl surprised by her own mischief. She pressed a hand to her cheek in mock astonishment. “Goodness… I must’ve been massive!”
Behind her, the assembled guards and Daigo remained silent, watching her warily. No one dared respond. Jin was close enough to hear Reika let out a soft giggle. She pointed down at the giant footprint with one lacquered nail. “Just look at it! If something that big came walking toward me, I’d be terrified too.” She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes twinkling with faux sincerity. “I really do understand now.”
An uneasy rustle swept through the soldiers. A few cast their eyes aside in shame or anger at her taunting; others simply stared, faces blank, refusing to take the bait. Jin’s face burned on their behalf. Reika clasped her hands together lightly, tilting her head with an expression of almost comical sympathy. “No wonder you all screamed so much yesterday,” she sighed. “Poor things.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. It seemed even the wind had died at that moment. Jin’s entire body tensed with secondhand embarrassment and dread. He wished she hadn’t done that—hadn’t rubbed their noses in it. It was cruel, even if no one was physically hurt by her teasing. Couldn’t she let them maintain a shred of dignity? He lowered his eyes, unable to meet the gaze of any soldier around. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daigo’s jaw working, the muscle feathering as he ground his teeth.
Finally, General Daigo inhaled deeply and stepped forward. “You have… made your point, Tachibana-sama,” he said carefully. His voice was tight, each word clearly weighed. He bowed again, though much more shallowly this time—perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to a full bow after that humiliation. “Shall we proceed to the palace?”
Reika let the tension hang a heartbeat longer, then she pivoted away from the crater with a bright smile. “Yes, yes. Let’s not keep your lord waiting,” she trilled pleasantly. She glided back towards Jin and the waiting escort, giving a final satisfied look at her monumental footprint as she passed it. Jin noticed the way her eyes lingered on the crater’s edges, a spark of pride in her gaze—as if she were admiring a piece of art she’d created.
Jin quietly fell into step behind Reika as they moved under the palace gate. He tried not to look at the massive imprint, but it loomed in his peripheral vision—a stark reminder of the sheer scale of her true form. Even suppressed now to human size, she was beyond anything this world was meant to hold. The crater was her signature, a promise written in stone of what she was capable of.
They entered the cool shadow of the palace’s outer wall. Reika walked ahead with the confidence of someone arriving at her own home, while General Daigo and the guards stayed a respectful few paces behind, as if escorting a visiting dignitary rather than a hostage-taking invader.
Jin’s thoughts swirled chaotically. The events of the day replayed in his mind—the fear in people’s eyes, Reika’s mercurial kindness and cruelty, the way she set the entire city on edge with a smile. He still couldn’t fully process the strange mix of horror and tenderness she’d shown. One thing was certain: Kagetora would never forget this day. For better or worse, Reika had etched herself into the city’s memory, as indelibly as that crater in the ground.
As they moved deeper into the palace grounds, Reika glanced sideways at Jin, her expression one of contented mischief. Jin mustered a faint, weary smile in return. He had survived another ordeal by her side—physically unharmed, yet emotionally drained. And it wasn’t over yet. The palace—and the Shogun—awaited.
Reika lifted her chin, the silver crane hairpin glinting amidst her dark locks, and flashed Jin a grin that made his heart skip for a moment. Was it excitement he saw in her eyes? Anticipation? He couldn’t tell.
With a soft chuckle, Reika leaned toward Jin and whispered playfully, “Mind your step, Jin. Wouldn’t want to fall into any more of my footprints.” Her tone was light as a feather, clearly teasing. Ahead of them, Daigo stiffened; he had overheard, and his ears went red at the reminder of the crater.
Jin huffed a breath that was almost a laugh—despite himself. Leave it to Reika to crack a joke at a time like this. He shook his head slightly. “I’ll be careful,” he murmured back.
Reika straightened, pleased. As she did, she addressed General Daigo once more, loud enough for all to hear: “Lead on, General. I can’t wait to meet your Shogun. I do hope he’s more entertaining this time around.” Her words carried a veiled bite—everyone remembered that the previous lord of this city had met a gruesome end under her heel.
Daigo dipped his head in acknowledgment, wisely choosing not to comment on her provocation. He motioned forward, and the procession continued, winding through the manicured palace gardens now oddly empty of staff or guards (cleared out of caution, no doubt).
Reika walked a step ahead of Jin, radiating confidence. Jin followed, trying to calm the tumult inside him. Beautiful, terrifying, unpredictable Reika. He realized with a mix of fear and reluctant admiration that she truly held this city hostage without a single chain or prison wall—her presence alone was enough. And now they were heading straight into the lion’s den of authority.
As they crossed a polished stone courtyard toward the inner palace, Reika looked back at the distant gate and the faint outline of the crater visible beyond. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips. Jin noticed Daigo watching her carefully, his posture stiff but resigned.
Reika caught the general’s eye and gave him a lilting, knowing remark: “That little decoration by your gate really adds character to the palace entrance, don’t you think? Perhaps I’ll autograph it later.”
Daigo flushed and managed a tight nod, clearly at a loss for how to reply to her taunt. “As… as you say, Tachibana-sama,” he murmured.
Jin bit back a grimace. Reika’s sense of humor was going to give someone a heart attack, if not an aneurysm. But as inappropriate as it was, it also eased some of Jin’s tension. Her playful mood meant she wasn’t angry—at least not for now. And that was something to be grateful for.
With that thought, Jin squared his shoulders and stepped through the doors that servants hurried to slide open. Whatever awaited inside, he would face it head-on. After all, he had faced a day of walking with a goddess of destruction and lived; a meeting in a palace was unlikely to be worse.
Reika glided beside him, and as they entered the grand hall, she leaned in one last time and whispered, “Chin up, Jin. You’re with me.” There was pride in her voice, as if she were promising to show him something amazing. Or perhaps promising to protect him—though from who, when she was the greatest threat, Jin wasn’t sure.
Jin drew in a steadying breath. Conflicted as he was, he nodded. With her, he thought. For now, that was the reality. In the ruins of Kagetora, he walked with the Demon Queen who held a city in the palm of her hand—beautiful, merciful, merciless. The hostage of her whim, and yet somehow, still the friend she claimed as hers.