The great audience hall fell into a hush of awe and terror as Tachibana Reika stepped over the threshold. One by one, every member of the court dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed to the polished wood. Jin followed half a step behind her, heart hammering in his chest. He watched in disbelief as even Shogun Hoshikawa Takahiro – the most powerful man in Kagetora – slid from his raised dais and bowed deeply at Reika’s approach. The silence was absolute, broken only by the whisper of Reika’s footsteps on the lacquered floor.
Jin swallowed hard. Just yesterday this hall had rung with the shogun’s commands; now its air was heavy with dread and forced deference. Sunlight streamed in from a jagged hole in the high ceiling – a crude skylight torn open during Reika’s rampage the day before. Dust motes danced in that beam of light above the kneeling courtiers, illuminating the scene like a twisted stage play. Jin could feel the tension in the room as palpable as a hand on his back.
Reika paused before the assembled court, allowing the moment to stretch. She was human-sized now, but no less intimidating: taller than any man in the room by almost a head, yet infinitely more imposing. She wore a flowing black furisode kimono trimmed with gold, its long sleeves and hem trailing elegantly behind her like ink spilling over the floor. The silk caught glints of daylight, each thread of gold shimmering against the midnight fabric. Her shoulder-length hair – glossy and black – framed a face that was deceptively young and radiant. And her eyes… Jin dared a glance at them and almost forgot to breathe. Amethyst light danced in those irises, a playful gleam overlaying something ancient and cruel.
She surveyed the hall with a faint smile, her purple gaze sweeping over the prostrate figures as if inspecting a garden of bowed heads. Jin stood tense at her side, feeling profoundly out of place in the sea of kneeling courtiers. Only he and Reika remained standing. He caught sight of Masanori a short distance away – the captain was apparently back from the outer wall and now on one knee, head lowered, jaw clenched so tight that a vein stood out in his neck. Nearby knelt Asakusa Rin, the onmyōji, her white-and-crimson robes splayed around her on the floor. Rin’s head was bowed like the others, but Jin noticed her right hand hidden in her sleeve, fingers curled so fiercely that her knuckles blanched around the paper charms she held. She’s ready to strike, Jin realized with alarm. A single incantation from her could unleash a spiritual attack – one that would be utterly hopeless, but born of desperation nonetheless.
Before Jin could think what to do, Shogun Hoshikawa lifted his head from his deep bow. He dared not rise fully, but he straightened to a kneeling seat and faced Reika with eyes lowered in respect. Jin had seen this man only once before – stern, proud, every inch a warlord – but today Hoshikawa’s broad shoulders were slumped ever so slightly. Still, he fought to maintain composure.
“Tachibana-sama,” the Shogun intoned, his voice measured and reverential. “Welcome to our humble palace. We are… honored by your presence.” He spoke loudly enough for all to hear, but Jin caught the tremor beneath the polished politeness. Hoshikawa kept his gaze down on the floor in front of Reika’s sandaled feet. “On behalf of Kagetora, I thank you for sparing our city further harm.”
A strained silence followed his words. Dozens of courtiers remained rigid in their bows, awaiting the Demon Queen’s response. Jin felt a drip of sweat trickle down his back. He couldn’t help but remember how, just a day ago, Reika had held this same man aloft like a toy, squeezing the air from his lungs with a single hand. The memory of that moment flickered in Hoshikawa’s eyes too – Jin saw the flicker of shame and fear that crossed the Shogun’s face as he knelt before the very woman who had dangled him like a doll.
Reika’s lips curved in a pleased smile. She took one unhurried step forward, closing the distance between herself and Hoshikawa. The Shogun visibly tensed, but did not dare to flinch away. Reika’s shadow fell over him, a slender silhouette that nonetheless seemed to swallow his presence. She regarded the kneeling warlord with a delighted little tilt of her head.
“Honored, are we?” Reika repeated softly. Her voice was light and sweet – a mocking melody that carried through the cavernous hall. “My, what a change from our last meeting.” She raised a hand languidly to her lips, as if hiding a giggle. “Shogun Hoshikawa, wasn’t it? I recall holding you in my hand just yesterday… you were so adorably small.”
A ripple of unease passed through the gathered courtiers. Some pressed their foreheads even harder to the floor, as if hoping to disappear into it. Jin’s breath caught. Reika was toying with him – with all of them. She let her hand drift outwards, hovering it just above Hoshikawa’s bowed head. The Shogun dared a glance upward, and immediately she closed her fingers in a gentle, deliberate motion – miming a closing fist inches from his face.
Hoshikawa blanched, his complexion going ashen. Reika’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Yes… about this size,” she mused, as if reminiscing fondly. “I could practically wrap my fingers around your waist.” She chuckled under her breath. “I trust you remember it as clearly as I do. You made the cutest little noise when I squeezed.”
Jin saw the Shogun’s shoulders jerk in a reflex of remembered pain. A low murmur of dread swept the edges of the hall; someone stifled a whimper. Reika, delighted by the fear, lowered her hand and smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Ah, forgive me,” she said, in a tone entirely devoid of apology. “I shouldn’t tease. You’ve been very polite so far.”
Hoshikawa exhaled unsteadily, visibly forcing himself not to recoil at her casually cruel reminder. He bowed his head again. “We only wish to atone for any discourtesy, Tachibana-sama,” he said, voice tight. “Please… allow us to properly host you and your… companion.” His eyes flickered to Jin for the briefest moment before returning to the floor. “If I may be so bold—what are your intentions here, so that we might better serve your wishes?”
At that, Jin felt every gaze in the room shift, however subtly, toward Reika. It was the question trembling on every tongue: Why is she here? Just yesterday she had left their city in shambles and vanished. Now she returned, walking calmly through their streets. Had she come to demand their surrender? Tribute? Or something worse? Political tension coiled in the silence as all awaited her answer.
Reika gave a soft, lilting hum. She turned from the Shogun and drifted a few steps away, as if admiring the tapestries that hung, half-torn, along the walls. Her golden embroidery sparkled with each step. When she spoke, her tone was almost airy. “My intentions… Must there be some grand design?” She glanced over her shoulder, amethyst eyes bright with mischief. “Truth be told, I have no lofty plans for your ‘humble’ little city today.”
Behind her, Hoshikawa lifted his head slightly, confusion crossing his features. Jin could almost feel the collective bewilderment in the hall. No plan? The uncertainty of her answer was itself unnerving. Reika smiled, a cat playing with trapped mice. “I’m simply here to show Jin what this world has to offer.”
She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. A stunned hush followed. Jin’s face went hot in an instant, a mix of embarrassment and alarm. Dozens of eyes darted toward him, the strange outsider now standing at the right hand of this terrifying woman. Jin’s tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. Has to offer? He wanted to protest that he had never asked for any of this, that this was not his idea of fun, but the words died in his throat. He could practically hear the unspoken questions in the courtiers’ minds: All this… for him?
Hoshikawa’s brow furrowed, as if uncertain he’d heard correctly. Slowly, keeping his voice even, he ventured, “T-Tachibana-sama… by ‘offering’…?” He trailed off, clearly at a loss.
Reika pivoted gracefully to face the Shogun again. “Oh, nothing complicated, Lord Hoshikawa,” she chimed. “You see my dear Jin just arrived in this world and didn’t get to enjoy your city properly on his last visit.” Her eyes slid to Jin, sparkling with a teasing light. “So I thought I’d give him a tour. A bit of entertainment, some local delights… a taste of what your people have to offer.” She gave a slight shrug, the silky sleeve of her kimono slipping off her wrist in a cascade of black and gold. “Is that so wrong?”
She asked it with a pout of feigned innocence. No one dared respond. Jin’s pulse thundered in his ears. The way she was framing this – as if this were a casual outing for his sake – made him feel both mortified and horribly guilty. He could sense resentful stares from some of the bolder samurai present, the ones still smarting from defeat, but they were far too afraid to speak out. And beyond those, Jin caught Masanori’s gaze flickering toward him, unreadable beneath a furrowed brow.
The Shogun’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. Perhaps he realized that any “good time” for Jin was one they would be forced to provide at their own peril. Nonetheless, he bowed his head in acquiescence. “Of course… We are at your service,” he said carefully. “Whatever you desire.”
As he spoke, his attention shifted briefly to Jin. “Takahashi Jin,” Hoshikawa addressed him directly, the words reverberating in the hush. “I see you are… in good health.” There was a peculiar strain to the Shogun’s tone – part acknowledgement, part restrained astonishment. The last time they met, Jin had been a lone drifter at the mercy of the court. Now he stood as the chosen guest of a demon queen.
Jin felt all the blood rush to his face. He bowed his head quickly to Hoshikawa, unsure of the proper etiquette when one’s host was kneeling to his companion. “Y-yes, my lord. I—” He grappled for something to say. “I apologize for the trouble I caused last time we met.” The apology slipped out on reflex. His voice sounded too loud in the oppressive quiet.
Reika’s eyebrow arched. She shifted her gaze between Jin and the Shogun. “Last time you met?” she repeated, feigning surprise. “Jin, darling… you never told me you were acquainted with Lord Hoshikawa.” A playful scold colored her voice. “Keeping secrets, hmm?”
Jin winced. “It wasn’t a secret,” he blurted, taking a half-step forward. Every kneeling guard within a few feet tensed at his sudden movement, wary of displeasing the giantess in human form. Jin hastily stilled himself and spoke more calmly. “I-I only met the Shogun briefly, Reika. When I first arrived in this world. I didn’t even know who he was at first…”
Reika’s lips curled into a sly grin. “Is that so? And here I was introducing you to new people, when you’d already rubbed shoulders with the Shogun himself.” She gave a soft laugh that made Jin’s cheeks burn hotter. Was she genuinely amused or laying on another layer of mockery? Perhaps both.
She turned her attention back to Hoshikawa, eyes alight. “Tell me, how was he?” she asked conversationally, as if Jin weren’t standing right there. “My Jin. Did he make a good impression on your court?”
Hoshikawa’s throat bobbed – he clearly struggled to find a safe answer. “Takahashi-dono appeared in our territory without warning, Tachibana-sama,” he answered diplomatically. “Given the war, we were… cautious. Captain Masanori found him and brought him to me for questioning.”
At that, Reika let out a delighted little oh? and cast an amused glance at Jin. He felt himself shrink under her gaze. He remembered that interrogation all too well – the Shogun’s cold scrutiny, the threat of execution implied. It was only thanks to Masanori’s intervention that Jin hadn’t been cast off a cliff as a suspicious vagrant. And now those same people knelt at his friend’s feet. The irony would almost be funny if it weren’t terrifying.
Reika chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that filled the hall. “Questioning? Cautious? Of sweet Jin?” She lifted a sleeve to hide a smirk. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. He does have a habit of wandering into trouble.” Her eyes gleamed as they flicked to Jin, full of fond teasing. “I used to have to keep an eye on him back in our world too, you know. Always finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
A few of the courtiers dared to raise their heads just enough to steal glances at Jin, curiosity piqued by any scrap of information about this stranger and his relationship with the Demon Queen. Jin felt like an insect pinned under glass. He wanted to object – to remind Reika quietly that none of this was his idea – but he bit his tongue. Any protest might come off as ingratitude or could provoke her in unpredictable ways.
Reika, meanwhile, seemed to revel in Jin’s embarrassment. She clapped her hands lightly, as if concluding a trivial matter. “In any case, Shogun, I’m pleased you took some care of my friend when he stumbled into your lands.” Her tone turned subtly sharp on the word “care,” alluding to the fact that Jin’s welcome in Kagetora had been far from warm. Hoshikawa’s jaw tightened. He surely recalled how close he’d been to expelling or executing Jin. Now that misstep dangled over him; if Reika chose to take offense at Jin’s initial treatment, who knew what she’d do?
Jin quickly shook his head, wanting to extinguish that line of thought. “Reika, they—they didn’t harm me,” he interjected softly. “In fact, Captain Masanori saved my life.” He glanced over to Masanori, whose steely eyes met his for a flicker of a second. The captain’s face was neutral, but Jin hoped the acknowledgment might earn him some goodwill now. “And Lord Hoshikawa gave orders to house me safely.”
At this, Reika gave a low hum and cast Masanori a considering look. “Masanori… yes, we met at the gate, didn’t we?” she purred. The captain did not lift his head, but Jin saw his hand subtly flex at his side, perhaps recalling how Reika’s mere presence had forced him back earlier. “You have my gratitude for protecting Jin at our first meeting,” Reika continued. Though her words were polite, her smile showed a hint of teeth. “It would have been such a pity if something happened to him before I arrived.”
Masanori bowed his head further. “I did only what was right,” he answered stiffly. Jin could tell it pained the proud warrior to interact with Reika at all, but he kept his composure.
Reika’s smile lingered a moment, then she turned away, apparently losing interest in the formalities. Her gaze drifted across the kneeling ranks and the ruined hall around them. Jin followed her line of sight. The audience chamber was a grand space – or had been, before Reika’s colossal form had torn through it. Cracks webbed the stone pillars, and through the jagged hole overhead he could see a patch of the midday sky. The court had cleaned the debris, but the scars remained: a visible testament to her power. Servants and nobles knelt in those very scars, heads bowed, as if worshiping at a shrine of destruction.
Jin’s eyes found Rin again in the semi-circle of retainers. She had lifted her face just enough to watch Reika from beneath her lashes. There was fire in Rin’s dark eyes – an anger barely leashed by fear. Jin followed the subtle movement of her right hand, still tucked in her wide sleeve. He knew those sleeves concealed dozens of ofuda – paper talismans inscribed with holy incantations. Right now, her fingers were undoubtedly gripping one so tightly it might tear.
A bead of sweat rolled down Rin’s temple. Jin realized with a spike of panic that she might actually attempt to strike if provoked further – a suicidal effort to protect her Shogun’s honor, or avenge the dead. Rin’s lips were moving in silence, perhaps a prayer or a spell hovering on the edge of being spoken.
No. Jin caught her eye as best he could and gave a tiny shake of his head. It was an almost imperceptible gesture – Jin barely tilted his chin, eyes widening in warning. Rin’s gaze met his. He could see the frustration in her furrowed brow, the helpless rage at being made to kneel. For a heartbeat Jin feared she would ignore him. But then Rin exhaled and lowered her eyes, the tension in her shoulders easing by a fraction. Her white-knuckled grip on the hidden charm slackened. The thin strip of paper slipped from her fingers and drifted soundlessly to the floor by her knee. Rin pressed her palms flat to the ground once more, forcing herself into a deeper bow. Jin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Disaster averted – for now.
If Reika noticed this brief silent exchange, she gave no sign. She appeared utterly at ease, as if presiding over a normal royal audience. That might have been the most unsettling thing of all: her nonchalance. She clasped her hands calmly at her waist, surveying the fearful faces around her. When she spoke again, her voice was bright and breezy, cutting through the tension like a knife through silk.
“This palace is lovely,” Reika declared, pivoting slowly on her heel to take it in. Her kimono swirled with the movement, gold threads catching the light. “A bit drafty now, I’m afraid—” she glanced up at the gaping hole in the ceiling with an amused smirk, “—but still, lovely.” She breathed in deeply, as if savoring the scent of incense that still lingered in the air. All around, no one dared to move a muscle until her next words fell. “However, there’s something missing… Ah!” She tapped her chin theatrically. “Entertainment.”
Hoshikawa looked up in puzzlement. Reika met his eyes directly for the first time, and the Shogun visibly recoiled at the intensity of her violet stare. She smiled sweetly. “Yes, it’s far too quiet in here. Don’t you agree, Jin?”
Jin started, caught off guard. “I… suppose it is quiet,” he answered carefully. His voice sounded painfully small compared to hers. The truth was, the quiet was a relief to him – a fragile respite from violence. But he could already sense where Reika was going, and his stomach twisted.
Reika turned back to Hoshikawa, her smile widening with childlike excitement. “I was hoping to experience a true Kagetora welcome. Music, dance… perhaps a display of your culture’s finest arts.” She spread her hands in an elegant gesture, as if envisioning a grand performance. “Surely a Shogun’s court is not without skilled entertainers? And,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “we’re famished. All this touring and reminiscing has worked up an appetite.” She gave a light laugh. “Isn’t that right, Jin?”
Jin forced a nod, though in truth his appetite was nonexistent. His nerves were wound too tightly. He dared not contradict her in public, however. The thought of food made his throat tighten – how could he eat under so many fearful stares, knowing the people serving him did so out of sheer terror?
Shogun Hoshikawa blinked, clearly relieved that her request was something so mundane. If the Demon Queen wanted music and food instead of blood, it was a concession he would happily seize. He bowed low once more. “Of course. It would be our privilege to provide such… entertainment and refreshment.” He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers at a cluster of attendants by the wall. Though his gesture was subtle, the urgency behind it was clear. “We shall arrange a banquet at once, Tachibana-sama, with our finest cuisine,” Hoshikawa declared. “And I will summon musicians and dancers immediately for your enjoyment.”
There was not a hint of resistance in the Shogun’s compliance – only a tight, wary eagerness to appease. Jin realized he had been holding his breath again. It struck him then: this was the price of their continued survival, of the fragile peace Reika had granted them today. They would cater to her every whim, become actors in a play she directed, sacrificing pride and dignity to keep her satisfied. A day ago they were prepared to die fighting her; now they would sing and dance to please her. The thought filled Jin with a profound disquiet.
At the Shogun’s signal, the hall stirred to life. Servants scurried into motion, some nearly tripping in their haste. Orders were whispered, and a line of household staff began to file out to fulfill Reika’s demands. A trio of court musicians, who had been cowering behind a pillar, shuffled forward with their instruments practically clutched to their chests. They set up in the corner, hands shaking as they tuned a shamisen and koto with trembling fingers. Armored guards who moments ago would have sooner drawn steel now moved to slide open screens and fetch cushions, transforming the audience chamber into an impromptu venue for feasting.
Reika watched this scramble with a glitter of satisfaction in her eyes. She glided back to Jin’s side, unconcerned by the frightened flurry she’d caused. Without warning, she looped her arm through his in a familiar, almost intimate manner. Jin stiffened as he felt her slender arm entwine with his own, her sleeve brushing against him. Reika leaned in and whispered, “See? They remember how to be hospitable.” Her tone was light, but Jin did not miss the razor edge beneath it.
He forced a reply past the tightness in his throat. “You… you didn’t have to frighten them more,” he murmured, voice low so only she could hear. In truth, he felt relief that violence had been averted, but guilt gnawed at him. Everywhere he looked he saw faces drawn taut with fear – and it was for him, in a way. Because she wanted him to have a “good time,” these people were being driven to humiliation.
Reika gave a tiny shrug, her arm still linked with his. “Frighten? I merely made a request.” She spoke innocently, but the smirk tugging at her lips told another story. Louder, for all to hear, she said, “Come, Jin. Let’s sit. We should be comfortable while our hosts prepare their spectacle.”
Hoshikawa immediately barked a soft command, and two attendants rushed forward carrying a lavishly embroidered floor cushion and a low table. They placed them at the center of the hall – a place of honor – then scurried back, bowing so deeply their noses nearly touched the floor. Within seconds, a spot for Reika had been arranged where the Shogun’s own seat traditionally would be for ceremonies. Jin noticed the Shogun’s ornate chair, knocked askew and cracked from yesterday’s chaos, had been quietly removed; no one even considered asking Reika to use it. Instead, they brought silk cushions as if for an empress.
Reika released Jin’s arm and settled onto the cushion in one smooth motion. She moved with such grace that it was easy to forget moments like this that she could level a city at will. Folding her legs beneath her, she arranged her kimono elegantly around herself. Even sitting on the floor, she managed to exude the aura of a queen upon a throne. With a light pat on the cushion beside her, she looked up at Jin expectantly. “Sit with me,” she offered. Though phrased kindly, it was clearly not a request he could refuse.
Jin hesitated only a heartbeat before complying. He lowered himself onto a second cushion that a servant hastily shoved behind him. The surface was plush and welcoming, at odds with the rigidity in his muscles. He was keenly aware of the dozens of eyes stealing glances at him – a few from the court were daring to look up now as the initial shock settled. Jin felt his cheeks burn as he sat next to Reika at the center of the hall, elevated in status by her whim. How many of these people had lost loved ones or comrades in yesterday’s carnage? And now they were forced to watch their tormentor lounge comfortably, the very picture of contentment, with the cause of her visit (him) at her side.
The musicians in the corner received a nod from one of the senior retainers. Taking that as their cue, they began to play. A tentative melody from the shamisen trembled into the air, joined by the gentle plucking of the koto’s strings. It was a nostalgic tune, likely a local folk song meant to soothe and welcome. But under the circumstances, it sounded thin and haunted. Every note was careful, measured to not displease. Jin could see the sweat on the shamisen player’s brow as he concentrated on not erring on a single note.
Reika closed her eyes for a moment, swaying just slightly as if absorbing the music. A soft smile graced her lips. “How lovely,” she sighed. “And here I thought this city had only war cries and screams to offer.” Hoshikawa tensed at that comment, but Reika didn’t bother to look at him. Instead, she lifted a hand and snapped her fingers lightly. “Food,” she reminded sweetly. “Don’t forget the food.”
“Coming at once, Lady Tachibana,” stammered a servant from the sidelines. The double doors at the far end of the hall flung open, admitting a procession of attendants bearing trays. They moved quickly but quietly, laying out dish after dish on the low table before Reika and Jin. The aromas of grilled fish, miso, and fresh rice wafted up, the scents mingling with the lingering incense in the hall. Normally such a spread would awaken Jin’s hunger, but right now his stomach was fluttering with anxiety.
Still, the sight of something so normal – steaming bowls of soup, neatly arranged pickled vegetables, fine porcelain cups for tea – in the midst of this tense standoff was almost surreal. Jin’s fingers twitched, uncertain where to rest. He managed a polite nod to the servant who poured tea for him, the young man’s hands visibly shaking as he set the cup down. “Th-thank you, Jin-sama,” the servant whispered, eyes averted. Jin’s chest tightened at the honorific. Not long ago, that same youth would never have called him “-sama.” They were terrified, all of them, of offending the one person who held their fate.
Reika seemed to find endless amusement in the delicate care everyone took. As another attendant poured sake into a shallow cup for her, a single drop splashed onto the table. The man froze, the color draining from his face. Reika clicked her tongue softly, and he nearly flinched out of his skin. “Steady now,” she cooed, lifting the cup with a steady hand. Her purple gaze flicked to the trembling servant. “Such good sake shouldn’t go to waste.”
The man pressed his forehead to the floor. “F-forgive me, Tachibana-sama,” he begged in a tiny voice. “My hands—”
“Shhh.” Reika waved her hand, cutting him off. “It’s fine.” She took a slow sip of the sake, her gaze never leaving the servant. The man stayed prone, clearly afraid to even breathe. After an agonizing pause, Reika giggled. “Delicious.” Then, as if granting a boon, she said, “You may go.” The servant scurried backward on hands and knees, bowing profusely before practically crawling out of the hall.
in shifted in his seat, his discomfort growing as he watched the event unfold. “They keep calling us sama,” Jin said, unable to hold back the unease in his voice. “It’s a bit... Off.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of the title pressing on him. He wasn’t a lord, he wasn’t royalty—he was just Jin.
Reika chuckled softly, her gaze never leaving the fight as the samurai clashed. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, her voice light, though with a note of something darker behind it. “I did.” Her fingers grazed the rim of her wine cup thoughtfully. “Back in the days, they called me Tachibana Reika no Mikoto,” she added with a casual air, as if it were no more than a passing memory. “Mikoto means something like ‘goddess’ or ‘revered one,’ you know. It used to feel...” She paused, a slight wrinkle of distaste forming on her brow as she watched the fight. “It felt grand at the time. But now? It feels cringe.” She let out a little laugh, more to herself than to Jin. “That’s why I don’t allow humans to call me that anymore. It’s too much.”
Jin remained silent, unsure how to respond. His mind was preoccupied with the awkwardness of the situation, the tension between the formalities and the underlying reality of their relationship—one where he was constantly caught between Reika’s world and his own, each moment of interaction like walking through a fog of expectations he didn’t quite understand.
At one point, the Shogun himself was directed to oversee a performance for her. Hoshikawa clapped twice, summoning two court dancers who entered nervously in silk costumes. These were likely entertainers kept for festivals or honored guests – never in their darkest dreams would they have expected to perform under circumstances like these. Pale and petrified, the two dancers began a traditional piece, their fans fluttering in practiced movements. The music swelled just enough to accommodate the soft pad of their feet on the wooden floor.
Reika watched with the keen interest of a girl at her first play. She leaned forward slightly, eyes shining as the dancers spun and twirled. Jin could sense the entire room holding its collective breath, praying silently that she found this pleasing. Halfway through the dance, one of the women faltered – her ankle wobbled in a turn. Perhaps she had stepped on a loose floorboard damaged in the destruction. She caught herself, but not before the slight stumble was noticed. A sharp intake of breath came from the court onlookers. The shamisen player nearly missed a note, horror in his eyes.
The dancer immediately dropped to her knees, bowing until her forehead touched the floorboards. “Forgive me, Tachibana-sama!” she gasped out, voice cracking with terror. “Please forgive my clumsiness!”
The music died instantly as the musicians halted, uncertain whether to continue. The second dancer froze in mid-pose, trembling. For a long, awful moment, no one moved. Jin felt his heart in his throat as Reika tilted her head, considering the young woman prostrated before her. The girl’s delicate shoulders shook; Jin thought he heard a muffled sob.
Reika set down her cup of sake with deliberate care. The clink of porcelain on wood was deafening. Jin had seen that look on her face before – the slow blink, the unreadable mask of calm that could precede either mercy or malevolence. He had to do something. If Reika’s whim flipped toward cruelty now, she might undo her promise of no bloodshed.
Before he lost his nerve, Jin gently touched the back of Reika’s hand with his fingers. It was a small, instinctive gesture – an attempt to anchor her attention. Her skin was cool and smooth under his touch. “Reika,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear over the rapid thumping of his own pulse. “It was an accident.”
Her amethyst eyes slid to him, brows raising in surprise. For a moment, the hall itself seemed to teeter on a knife’s edge. Murmurs rippled through the court – the audacity of Jin speaking to her, touching her, so familiarly in public, left many gaping. Masanori looked like he was bracing for an explosion.
But Reika did not explode. Instead, a slow smile crept across her face – a genuine one, reaching her eyes with a glimmer of warmth. She turned her hand beneath Jin’s so that her fingers briefly entwined with his. It was a quick squeeze – a reassuring pressure that sent a jolt of confusion through Jin’s chest. Then she released him and rose smoothly to her feet.
The abrupt movement made everyone flinch. The kneeling dancer flung herself even lower, babbling apologies. Reika glided toward the girl, stopping just in front of her. Silence fell again, broken only by the soft rustle of Reika’s kimono. Jin watched, tense but hopeful that his intervention had nudged her toward mercy.
Reika gazed down at the dancer who quivered at her feet. A long moment passed. Then the Demon Queen did something no one expected: she knelt. Reika knelt down on the floor, bringing herself to the young dancer’s eye level. The woman dared a confused glance up, tears clinging to her lashes. Reika’s posture was relaxed, her expression almost gentle.
“What’s your name?” Reika asked softly.
The dancer’s breath hitched. “A-Aoi, Your Excellency,” she managed, voice trembling.
“Aoi,” Reika repeated, with a hint of a smile. “Raise your head, Aoi.”
The girl obeyed hesitantly, lifting herself upright. She was clearly struggling not to shrink away. Reika delicately took one of Aoi’s hands in her own. The sight was almost tender – a demon goddess holding a mortal’s hand like a concerned friend. Jin watched in astonishment as Reika brushed a tear from the girl’s cheek with the pad of her thumb.
“You dance beautifully,” Reika said, loud enough that all could hear the surprising praise. “Truly. I was enjoying it.” She tilted her head playfully. “I stood up because I thought perhaps I should join you.”
Aoi’s eyes went wide in disbelief. “J-join… me?” she echoed, uncertain.
Reika laughed lightly, the sound ringing without malice. “Why not? It looked fun.” She released Aoi’s hand and rose to her full height again. “But I suppose I’d need a partner who isn’t so frightened.” A fleeting pout touched her lips. She turned to the second dancer, who had remained kneeling a few paces away. “You.” Reika beckoned with a graceful flick of her fingers. “Come here.”
The other dancer – a young man not much older than Jin – practically fell over himself scrambling forward. He knelt where Reika pointed, beside Aoi, trembling from head to toe. Reika’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she studied the pair of performers cowering before her. Jin realized the entire court was collectively holding its breath, unsure what game Reika was playing now.
Then Reika did something even more shocking – she extended both hands, one to each dancer. “Stand up,” she instructed calmly.
Aoi and the young man exchanged terrified glances but obeyed, allowing Reika to help pull them to their feet. They wobbled, clearly more weak-kneed from fear than any physical strain. Reika maintained a light hold on their hands. Her smile returned, radiant and unnervingly genuine. “Let’s finish the dance,” she said simply.
The lead musician gaped at the scene, unsure if he should resume. Hoshikawa himself looked utterly baffled, his mouth slightly open as he watched from his knees. Jin could only stare. Reika stood in the center of the hall now, flanked by the two dancers, holding their hands as if they were old friends about to skip through a field. It was absurd, incredible… and yet here it was happening.
Reika tilted her head toward the musicians. “Well? Play,” she commanded, with a hint of laughter in her voice.
The musicians jolted and immediately struck up the tune again, hurriedly finding the rhythm. Reika nodded to the dancers. Though still visibly frightened, they moved by instinct to the music, attempting to continue the routine. And Reika – the Demon Queen – began to dance with them.
A collective gasp swept the hall. Jin half-rose from his cushion before catching himself. He watched, mouth agape, as Reika mimicked the dancers’ steps. She lifted her arms gracefully, turning in time with Aoi and the young man. Her kimono sleeves fluttered like raven’s wings. She was a little off-beat, a hair slower than the trained performers, but it didn’t matter – every eye was on her alone.
There was a strange beauty to it. Reika’s face lit up with delight as she spun gently, guiding the dancers through their fear. To their credit, Aoi and her partner managed to continue the routine, incorporating Reika into their formations as best they could. The young man even remembered to unfurl his fan in a wide arc behind Reika, as he would have behind Aoi during a solo flourish. Reika laughed in surprise at that, clearly tickled to be part of the choreography.
Jin felt a knot in his chest loosen slightly. This was bizarre, yes – entirely bizarre – but it was not carnage. The courtiers looked on in stunned silence, and Jin could read the confusion on their faces: they did not know whether to be relieved, terrified, or both. The Demon Queen toyed with lives, yes – but now she also twirled in a dance, laughing as a child might. The unpredictability of it all was its own kind of horror. And yet, watching Reika's genuine laughter as she nearly tripped on an overly long sleeve (an event that made the audience flinch, then realize she was laughing at herself), Jin felt a faint spark of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, this meant the night would pass without more blood.
The song concluded with a final strum of the shamisen. Reika ended the dance by mirroring the dancers’ ending pose: one arm raised, one folded across her midriff, head bowed elegantly. The two dancers flanking her were panting, flushed with adrenaline and disbelief. The hall was so quiet that Jin swore he could hear the echoes of the last note fading away.
No one clapped. Applause was a forgotten concept in this atmosphere. Instead, there was a collective exhale as Reika straightened and released the dancers’ hands. “Exquisite,” she pronounced, beaming at Aoi and the young man. “You both were marvelous.” The praise left them wide-eyed. They sunk into low bows once more, but this time it was out of genuine gratitude and overwhelming relief.
Reika waved them off kindly. “Go, rest. You’ve earned it.” They needed no further urging; both dancers backed away, bowing repeatedly, then nearly collapsed behind the safety of a column, where their peers gathered around in astonishment.
With the performance over, Reika returned to her seat beside Jin. She moved with a buoyant energy, clearly invigorated. Jin looked up at her, a thousand emotions wrestling in his heart. There was awe (how effortlessly she dominated every scene), fear (how capricious her moods could be), and, undeniably, a trace of fascination. In that dance, he had seen a flicker of the Reika he once knew – the playful university girl who loved to drag him to summer festivals and watch street performers for hours. For a moment, she had been almost human. Almost.
Reika caught Jin’s eye and winked, as if they shared a private joke. Jin managed a faint, shaky smile in return. He wasn’t sure what to think or feel anymore. Conflicted didn’t begin to describe it. This whole situation was monstrous and surreal – people terrorized into providing feasts and dances – yet by intervening gently, Reika had stopped punishing a frightened girl and instead joined a dance. Was that mercy? Or just another layer of her cruelty, toying with their minds? Jin didn’t know. But he knew the relief in the hall was real; he could practically taste it in the air.
Shogun Hoshikawa rose from his throne, eyes alight in the aftermath of Reika’s mesmerizing dance. The hall was hushed, every gaze drawn to the dark-haired woman at the center who had so effortlessly commanded their attention. Hoshikawa cleared his throat, a formal smile pasted on his lips to mask his unease. “Tachibana-sama,” he proclaimed, voice echoing off the stone pillars, “your performance has honored us. Please—ask anything you desire as a reward.”
Reika’s violet eyes flickered with amusement. She stepped forward without a hint of hesitation, the silken folds of her black furisode kimono whispering over the floor. “Anything?” she repeated, as if tasting the word. A dozen of Kagetora’s highest-ranking leaders sat in anxious silence around the edges of the room. Jin could feel the tension coiling in the air, everyone waiting to see what whim might seize their mercurial guest. Reika let them wait a moment longer, a slow smile curling her lips. “Well, since you offer…” she said lightly, “I find myself in the mood for something a bit more thrilling than music and dance. How about a duel? A demonstration of your samurai’s skill.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered leadership. Jin’s pulse kicked up. A duel? He wasn’t sure what answer he’d expected from Reika, but it certainly wasn’t that. Hoshikawa hesitated only a heartbeat before bowing. “Of course,” he replied, voice tight. “If it pleases you, we can arrange a match at once.”
Moments later, the scene shifted to one of the palace’s smaller courtyards just beyond the banquet hall. Night had fully fallen, and bronze lanterns cast trembling pools of light across the flagstones. The scent of night-blooming jasmine drifted on the breeze. About a dozen of Kagetora’s key figures formed a loose circle around the sparring ground—among them Shogun Hoshikawa and his closest generals, the onmyōji Rin in her crimson and white robes, Captain Masanori and a few of his samurai, and Jin himself at the Shogun’s side. They were an intimate audience to an unprecedented spectacle.
Two veteran samurai stepped forward first to perform for Reika’s entertainment. They were seasoned warriors—Jin recognized one as the captain of the guard who had been stationed by the main gate, and the other as a palace sword instructor. Neither looked happy about this, but they moved with stoic resolve, each bowing first to Reika (whose presence demanded that courtesy now) and then to each other.
Courtiers and servants scurried back to give the duelists room. A nervous energy crackled in the air as the two men drew their blades with a ring of steel. The captain of the guard—tall, with a hawkish face—adopted a low stance, sword outstretched. His opponent, a broad-shouldered instructor with graying hair, tightened both hands on his katana’s hilt.
Jin’s stomach churned. These men were comrades, forced into this barbaric display. He shot a pleading glance at Reika, hoping she might yet change her mind. But she only leaned forward with bright-eyed anticipation, chin propped on her hand. She noticed Jin’s look and in response gave him a tiny wink, as if to say, Watch closely.
“Begin,” Hoshikawa commanded quietly.
For a heartbeat, neither samurai moved. Then, with a shout, the instructor lunged. Their blades met in a flash of sparks. The hall rang with the clash of steel, the sharp crack as sword struck sword. Several courtiers flinched at the sound. Jin watched in both awe and dismay—he had never seen an actual samurai duel before. The closest had been choreographed movie fights back home. But this was real: swift, violent, and deadly serious.
The two fighters circled, testing each other with lightning slashes. The captain parried a fierce overhead blow, muscles straining under lamellar armor, then countered with a diagonal strike that the instructor barely dodged. Their feet slid across polished wood, each movement precise. Despite the circumstances, their warrior training took over. In that moment, they fought not as friends or enemies, but as professionals upholding their honor.
Reika watched with a faint smile playing on her lips. To her, this was all a little game. Jin could see it in her relaxed posture and the way her eyes tracked every stroke—not with concern for who might die, but purely for the drama of it. She even laughed softly when the instructor stumbled over a discarded fan on the floor from Aoi’s dance, calling out, “Careful now!” as if mocking his misstep. Jin felt a pang of nausea at her lighthearted cruelty.
Steel met steel again in a flurry of strikes. The captain pressed forward aggressively, driving the older instructor back towards a pillar. Their swords locked, faces mere inches apart as they struggled. With a grunt, the captain shoved the other man off balance. In two swift moves, he disarmed him—the instructor’s katana skittered across the floor—and brought his own blade up to the man’s throat.
It was over. The entire hall seemed to exhale. The defeated instructor knelt, chest heaving, awaiting whatever came next. The victor held his pose, though his sword trembled slightly in his grip. Would Reika demand death? Mercy? No one could guess.
“Hmm.” Reika tapped her chin with one lacquered fingernail, pretending to deliberate. “Acceptable, I suppose. You win.” She nodded lazily at the captain. “Congratulations.”
The captain of the guard withdrew his blade from his comrade’s throat and bowed stiffly to Reika. Relief flickered across his face; clearly, he hadn’t wanted to kill his fellow outright. The older samurai retrieved his sword with as much dignity as he could, bowing as well, though he avoided looking at Reika directly.
Polite applause started from a few officials, uncertain and short-lived. Reika arched an eyebrow. “Better than nothing,” she remarked, sighing through her nose. “But I did say finest samurai. Are those truly the best in your service, Hoshikawa?”
The Shogun flared his nostrils at the slight against his men, but kept his head bowed. “They are skilled, Tachibana-sama,” he answered carefully. “Kagetora’s finest.”
Reika gave a soft scoff. “If you say so.” She straightened, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward in the throne-like seat. A dangerous restlessness seemed to come over her, like a cat that had watched mice play and now craved to toy with one herself. “Perhaps,” she continued, “the duel would be more exciting if I take part.”
A stunned silence fell. Jin’s blood ran cold. She wants to duel? His eyes darted to Reika’s face. There was a spark there—a reckless gleam he remembered from their school days, when Reika would leap headfirst into some crazy idea. But here and now, it carried a deadly edge.
Hoshikawa lifted his head in alarm. “As you wish… of course,” he said hoarsely. “But there is no opponent—”
“Oh, I’ll choose one,” Reika purred, rising from the chair in a single fluid motion. She stepped down from the dais, and the crowd recoiled slightly as she passed, like grass parting from a gust of wind. Reika strolled onto the dueling floor, the midnight hem of her coat sweeping the ground behind her. “Let’s see…”
Her gaze flickered among the armored guards and samurai who lined the edges of the hall. Dozens of men who, moments ago, had survived a battle against demons now tensed in fresh terror at the thought of being picked. Jin could practically hear their thoughts: Not me. Please not me.
Reika tapped her lower lip, pretending to consider. Then her face lit with a wicked grin. “Ah. You.” She lifted an arm and pointed directly to the Shogun’s right. “Masanori.”
Jin’s heart lurched. Taketsune Masanori stood there in his dark armor, eyes widening at being singled out. He was the captain of Hoshikawa’s personal guard—and the very man who had saved Jin’s life when he first arrived in this world. Masanori’s jaw clenched. He stepped forward with measured calm, though Jin saw the way his fists tightened.
A few of the courtiers exchanged nervous glances. Masanori himself showed no outward surprise. He stepped forward into the lantern light and bowed smoothly. “If it pleases you, Lady Tachibana,” he replied, voice deep and steady, “I will duel on your command.” Ever the picture of samurai discipline, Masanori drew his sword and held it upright. The steel gleamed as he saluted her in formal challenge.
Reika’s lips curved into a teasing smile, but her gaze remained serious as she met Masanori’s eyes. “I do hope you won’t hold back on my account,” she said softly, the amusement in her tone clear despite the gravity of her words. “After all, I’m a guest of honor here, aren’t I? It would be rude for me to not experience the full strength of Kagetora’s finest.” Her voice had a playful edge, but there was something sharper behind it, as if daring him to test the limits of his discipline.
Jin stood frozen at the edge of the circle, his stomach tightening. This is ridiculous, he thought, unable to stop himself from feeling a pang of frustration. Reika, who could destroy cities with a thought, asking Masanori to fight her as if it were some kind of game? Did she truly need to prove herself in a duel with him? The thought of it made his heart race, and he could feel the tension already thickening in the air. Reika was already invincible—was this just another way to amuse herself? The others, too, must be questioning her intentions now, as they watched her with a mixture of awe, fear, and uncertainty.
But Masanori said nothing, only tightening his grip on his katana as he squared his stance in front of her, all discipline and resolve. Despite Jin’s discomfort, there was no turning back now. The duel was set, and everyone—Reika included—knew the rules: there would be no stopping her once she set her mind to something.
Reika glided over to the weapon rack that had been brought out to the courtyard. Her fingers danced over the displayed blades until she selected a katana with a midnight-black lacquered sheath. Jin saw Masanori’s eyes narrow slightly at Reika’s casual one-handed grip and careless stance—she held the sword like one unaccustomed to its weight. Indeed, as she unsheathed the blade with a metallic hiss, Reika grasped it a tad awkwardly, her slender fingers more used to fans and shadows than hilts and steel.
A tense hush fell. Masanori dipped his head in a show of respect and acceptance. The only sound was the distant chirr of insects in the night. From the corner of his eye, Jin saw Rin fidget with a paper talisman at her belt, worry etched on her delicate features. Everyone sensed this fight would not be a typical sparring match.
With a swift movement, Reika lunged forward. Her strike was slow—far slower than it should have been, and her form was clearly that of an amateur. The sword slashed wide, her body too tense, her legs not properly aligned. Masanori blocked with ease, his katana a fluid extension of his own practiced strength.
Reika laughed, a low, amused sound. “You’re good. But I’m not giving up just yet.”
Again, she swung, but it was clear from the way she moved that she had little understanding of the intricacies of katana combat. Her stance was clumsy, and her grip—far too tight. It didn’t matter. The katana she wielded wasn’t a weapon in her hands—it was a toy. Still, every swing felt dangerous, her speed more from the tension of her presence than from any true skill.
Masanori, with his calm and fluid precision, parried easily. Again, and again, he blocked her strikes, each one slower than the last. Reika was not fast, nor was she exceptionally strong. Her strikes lacked the power they should have had, and Masanori’s blade continued to meet hers with practiced ease.
But then something strange happened.
Reika’s sword missed him once again, and the clash rang out as his katana struck her across the shoulder. A hit that would have left any other man crippled—but to Reika, it was nothing. The blade never even cut her skin. She smiled wickedly, her eyes gleaming.
Masanori stepped back, sensing something was amiss. But before he could react, Reika’s hand shot out, her off-hand gripping his blade in mid-swing.
“I got you,” she whispered, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. Her voice was light, almost too casual for what was happening.
In one smooth motion, Reika twisted the katana in her hand, sending it sweeping toward Masanori’s arm—the arm holding the katana. His grip slipped as the force of her movement made him lose his hold, and his sword clattered to the floor.
Reika twirled the katana once in her hand, then—without ceremony—tossed it back to Masanori. The blade arced through the air with casual elegance, and Masanori caught it in one clean motion, resetting his stance with fluid precision. His expression remained composed, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes now—caution, or perhaps fatigue already setting in.
Reika’s smile lingered, but something in her manner had shifted. She wasn’t laughing anymore.
She stepped forward.
Her next swing came faster. Still clumsy in form, her stance slightly off, her grip unconventional—but the speed and force were no longer laughable. She struck again. And again. Each blow carried more weight than the last, an unnatural strength building in her movements like pressure behind a dam.
Masanori met her strikes, his muscles burning as he parried, adjusted, retreated. She was relentless. Though she lacked the finesse of a true swordswoman, she was adapting—growing more confident, more aggressive. Her swings were sharper now, the arcs wider, her balance surer.
She wasn’t improving in technique. She was simply deciding to hit harder.
Masanori’s breath grew heavier with each exchange. His body, honed from years of war, was being tested not by skill, but by endurance. He had landed countless blows—deep cuts across her side, shoulder, arms—any one of them would have dropped another warrior. But her flesh didn’t yield. His blade didn’t even draw blood. The only thing wounded was the illusion that she could be hurt.
Another strike—he blocked it.
Another—his foot slipped.
Another—her blade collided with his so hard the impact rattled through his bones.
And then—crack.
Her katana came down with a sharp, brutal arc, and with a shriek of splintered steel, Masanori’s blade snapped in half. The top half of his katana flew across the hall and clattered uselessly against the far wall.
The force of the blow knocked Masanori clean off his feet. He hit the ground hard, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. His broken sword dropped from his hand.
Before he could recover, she was on him.
Reika stepped forward in a single, casual motion, her heels clicking against the stone floor with a sound that felt impossibly loud in the silent court. She bent down, and with her off hand, lifted Masanori by the throat as though he were a child.
Reika regarded Masanori with a lazy smile. She was barely breathing hard, rosy-cheeked from exertion but composed. “That was fun,” she purred, her tone as light as if they had merely finished a pleasant dance. Masanori made a strangled noise. His face was turning an alarming shade of red.
Jin’s own throat felt tight as he watched Reika hold the man aloft. She’s not going to…? He took a step forward, mind racing. Reika had promised to behave—relatively speaking—in front of these people, but sometimes her idea of restraint was dubious. Masanori’s life hung literally in her hand now.
Reika leaned in, bringing her face within a handspan of the struggling samurai’s. Her voice dropped to a playful whisper, easily audible in the shocked silence. “Now, what to do with you…” she mused. “Should I break something? You did swing rather hard at me.” She clucked softly, as if scolding a reckless child. “Or perhaps…”
“Enough!” The shout cleaved the silence of the courtyard. A young woman pushed herself to her feet among the kneeling courtiers, fists trembling at her sides. Rin’s face was flushed with anger and despair. She could no longer bite back her outrage at the spectacle before her. “Stop this!” she cried, voice cracking. “Haven’t you done enough? Unhand him!”
Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd. The Shogun’s eyes widened in horror at Rin’s outburst, and a few attendants reached as if to pull her back, then thought better of it. Masanori, still dangling in Reika’s grasp, managed a weak shake of his head – don’t – but no sound came from his crushed throat. All eyes turned to Reika. The towering woman slowly shifted her violet gaze toward the interruption, one elegant eyebrow arched in curiosity.
Reika’s lips curved into a faint, amused smile. Oh? In her left hand, she still held Masanori aloft by the throat. Now she loosened her fingers and let the battered samurai slip from her grasp. His body hit the stone ground with a dull thud, and he collapsed to his knees, coughing for breath. Reika stepped over him as if he were a discarded doll, her focus entirely on the defiant onmyōji who had dared raise her voice.
“And who,” Reika asked lightly, “are you to give me orders?” Her tone was calm, almost sweet, but under it lurked a dangerous edge. She peered at Rin with an intense interest, head tilted like a curious cat. The afternoon light caught on Reika’s silhouette—tall and regal in her midnight-black kimono—making her look otherworldly. A hush fell; even the breeze dared not stir. Rin’s heart pounded, but she did not flinch.
“Asakusa Rin, onmyōji of Kagetora,” the young woman declared, stepping forward. Her knees threatened to quake, but she kept her chin high. She was clad in a white haori embroidered with protective sigils—the garb of Kagetora’s onmyōji. A few stray locks of her raven hair had come loose from her ribbon, framing eyes bright with furious tears. “What you’ve done here is a disgrace. This—” she gestured at Masanori’s crumpled form and the circle of stunned samurai, “—this is cruelty, not entertainment. You demean us all.” Her voice shook with righteous anger. “You may be powerful, but you have no honor.”
A collective intake of breath—Rin’s words bordered on blasphemy. Several courtiers paled; one servant clasped a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob. The Shogun was frozen in place, a sheen of cold sweat on his brow as he stared at Rin in disbelief. Jin, standing off to the side, felt his stomach twist. He admired Rin’s courage, but he knew Reika far too well—this confrontation could turn deadly in a heartbeat.
For a long moment, Reika said nothing. She regarded Rin in silence, violet eyes unreadable. The air itself seemed to thicken between them. Then Reika’s smile broadened, revealing a flash of white teeth. A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “No honor…?” she repeated, as if tasting the words and finding them novel. Her voice was low and melodious, carrying easily across the courtyard. “Little onmyōji, you speak of honor to me?”
Reika took a single step forward, and instinctively a few guards moved to shield Rin—but Reika simply laughed, a sound like tinkling glass. With a faint gesture of her hand, she waved the guards off. They recoiled as if pushed by an invisible force, stumbling back into the crowd. “Stay where you are,” she commanded lightly. “All of you.” The authority in her tone was absolute; no one dared disobey.
Now only a few paces separated Reika and Rin. Masanori groaned and tried to stand, but slumped back down, his strength spent. Reika barely paid him any mind. She was studying Rin, eyes alight with amusement and something like anticipation. “You have spirit,” Reika purred. “Such fire in you… Rin.” She lingered on the name knowingly. “I can feel it—your power.” Her nostrils flared slightly, as if she could smell Rin’s anger and fear. “Onmyōji of Kagetora, is it? So, you wish to protect your precious samurai’s honor?”
Rin’s throat tightened. She hadn’t expected conversation; Reika’s playful tone was unnerving, a cat toying with a mouse. Still, she refused to be cowed. “Someone must,” she replied, voice hardening. “If our Shogun will not defend our people’s honor, then I will.” A tear finally spilled down her cheek, born of fury and helpless shame, but she brushed it aside. “I won’t let you continue this... this mockery.”
Reika’s eyes flickered to that tear, gleaming on Rin’s cheek. Something shifted in her expression—an instant of hunger, or excitement, gone as quickly as it came. She lifted her hands, palms outward in a careless shrug. “Continue? Why, whatever do you propose to do about it?” Reika’s smile sharpened. “Go on then. Stop me.”
Rin’s breath caught. For an instant she stood rooted, stunned by the audacity of the challenge. The courtyard had fallen so silent she could hear the distant trickle of the lotus pond beyond the walls. High above, a cloud drifted over the sun, throwing a pale shadow across the stones. Rin realized everyone was waiting for her next move—even Reika, standing there expectantly, arms now drifting lazily to her sides as if to present herself as a target.
“Show me,” Reika said, her tone almost gentle. She extended one elegant hand toward Rin in invitation. “Show me this honor you speak of. Show me your strength.” The words were a coaxing purr. Her violet eyes were fixed unblinking on the onmyōji, reflecting Rin’s own furious silhouette back at her. “Use whatever little magic you have. Your strongest spell. I’ll allow it.” She lifted her chin slightly, a queen granting a boon. “Give me everything, Rin.”
Rin’s jaw clenched. She realized Reika truly meant it—this wasn’t a trick. The woman before her was so confident in her own invincibility that she was offering Rin a free strike. Shame and anger warred in Rin’s heart. She thought of Masanori gasping for air, of the Shogun cowering speechless on his throne, of all the lives lost yesterday when this “goddess of ruin” tore through their city. If there was ever a moment to act, it was now.
Slowly, Rin nodded. “As you wish,” she hissed between her teeth. She stepped back and drew a deep breath, trying to steady the wild thundering of her heart. With deliberate calm, Rin reached into her sleeve and pulled out a stack of small rectangular ofuda talismans inscribed with vermilion characters. The sight of those charms made a few nearby samurai stir uneasily; they could sense the surge of spiritual energy coalescing around her.
Jin took an involuntary step forward, worry etched on his face. He had seen Reika’s power first hand—what hope did a single onmyōji’s spell have? Still, he watched with held breath.
Rin pressed her palms together, clutching the talismans between them, and began to chant under her breath. Ancient syllables tumbled from her lips, each word resonating with power. As she spoke, the air around her began to hum. The temperature dropped; a prickle of energy lifted the hairs on every neck. Reika stood patiently, hands folded now, watching with keen interest.
With a final cry, Rin flung the talismans toward Reika. “Bind and purify!” she shouted. The ofuda exploded into a flurry of incandescent shapes—paper turning to pure light. In an instant, five brilliant sigils ignited in the air around Reika, forming the points of a blazing hologram that caged her at the center. The crowd cried out in awe. Lines of searing white light connected the floating talismans, encircling Reika in a web of crackling spiritual energy. The very ground trembled as Rin poured every ounce of her strength into the spell. A howling wind whipped through the courtyard, tugging at robes and banners; dust and petals swirled upward in a luminous vortex around Reika.
At first, nothing could be seen within the blinding pillar of light and dust. The radiance was intense, as if a star had blossomed right there in the palace courtyard. Courtiers shielded their eyes, and several fell backward, scrambling away in fear that they’d be caught in whatever exorcism was unfolding. Jin raised an arm to cover his face, his coat flapping violently in the gale-force wind that Rin’s magic had summoned. The Shogun clung to a wooden post, mouth agape, as the raw power of the onmyōji’s spell sent vibrations rumbling through the stones underfoot. Even Masanori, half-conscious on the ground, squinted upward through the haze, a spark of hope kindling in his chest at the sight of Rin’s might.
The luminous inferno crackled and roared… then, with a thunderous crack, it collapsed inward on itself. The five blazing ofuda burst into ashes, and the courtyard was plunged abruptly back into stillness. Dust and shimmering embers drifted through the air. Everyone stared, eyes straining to make out what remained where Reika had stood.
As the veil of dust cleared, a dark figure emerged. Reika was still standing in exactly the same spot. Completely unharmed. The golden embroidery of her kimono glinted serenely; not a thread was out of place. One of the courtiers let out a small sob of despair. Rin’s spell—her very strongest—hadn’t left so much as a scratch. The scorch marks of the pentagram were charred into the stones around Reika’s feet, forming a black halo on the ground, but the woman herself appeared utterly unscathed. She was even still holding her hands together in that polite, patient fold, as if she had been simply waiting for a light rain to pass.
Rin felt a jolt of disbelief. Her chest heaved from the effort of the incantation, sweat beading on her temples. That spell should have struck down any demon or spirit foolish enough to stand in its center—its holy fire should have at least burned, or something. But Reika only tilted her head, inspecting the smoking ground with mild interest. A faint smile played on her lips.
“Beautiful,” Reika murmured. Her voice draped itself over the silence, soft and velvety. She stepped forward out of the ashen pentagram, brushing an errant speck of dust from her sleeve. “Truly beautiful. Such intensity… and those sigils were flawless.” There was genuine admiration in her tone, as if she were congratulating an artist on a well-crafted painting.
Rin staggered, nearly light-headed with exhaustion and shock. She stared at Reika, her mouth dry. That blast had taken almost everything she had; the strength in her limbs was waning. A despairing realization washed over her: she had failed. Utterly. A few tears of frustration gathered in her eyes, blurring the tall figure approaching her.
Reika closed the remaining distance in a single, unhurried stride. Before Rin could recoil, she felt cool fingers on her face. Reika cupped Rin’s cheek in her hand, wiping away a hot tear with her thumb. The onmyōji flinched at the contact—those fingers were strangely cold despite the warmth of the afternoon. She tried to pull back, but Reika gently shushed her.
“There now,” Reika whispered. She leaned down, bringing her face level with Rin’s. In contrast to the raw power she had just displayed, Reika’s touch was disarmingly tender. She cradled Rin’s chin with the lightest pressure, tilting it up until Rin had no choice but to meet her eyes. Up close, Reika’s features were ethereally beautiful—more goddess than human—framed by glossy ebony hair. Her expression was one of almost maternal concern, yet her eyes gleamed with a disquieting fervor.
“You have real talent, Rin,” Reika cooed. “Potential. Fire.” The words poured from her lips sweet and dark, like honey laced with poison. Rin’s breath hitched; the praise cut strangely deep, stirring an irrational spark of pride even through her fear. She hated that part of herself thrilled at Reika’s approval.
Reika’s smile inched wider, revealing a hint of satisfaction—as if she knew exactly the effect she was having. “I could use someone like you,” she continued, her tone intimate. It felt as if they were the only two people in the world, despite the dozens of onlookers holding their breath. “Why don’t you come with me, hm?” Reika’s voice was soft, coaxing. “I’ll make you the strongest onmyōji this world has ever seen. I could teach you arts your ancestors wouldn’t even dare whisper.”
Rin’s eyes widened. She could not have heard that right. Was this monster… recruiting her? Her heart slammed against her ribs. A mix of emotions churned inside: indignation, confusion, and, to her shame, a faint flicker of temptation. Reika’s offer was unthinkable—yet the promise of power from someone so powerful…
Reika let the silence linger tantalizingly, watching the turmoil in Rin’s face. The tall woman’s smile never faltered. If anything, it grew more ardent, like a predatory bloom unfurling. She swept a stray lock of hair behind Rin’s ear in an almost loving gesture. “You’d be much more interesting by my side than cooped up in this little court,” she murmured. Her thumb caressed Rin’s cheek with a slow, deliberate stroke. “Such passion as yours is wasted here.”
Rin couldn’t breathe. The entire courtyard seemed to spin around her; only Reika’s eyes held her steady, pinning her in place. The remaining tears spilled freely down Rin’s face now, dripping onto Reika’s pale hand. “I–” Rin choked, struggling to form words. Was there truly sincerity in Reika’s voice? The onmyōji’s mind screamed that this had to be another cruel joke, another way to twist the knife of humiliation. And yet, Reika’s tone was almost gentle, inviting Rin into the eye of the storm that was her existence.
Seeing Rin’s hesitation, Reika leaned even closer. Her lips nearly brushed the shell of Rin’s ear as she whispered, “I would take such good care of you. All that anger, all that longing to prove yourself… I’d nurture it. You’d never be powerless again.” A quiet, breathy laugh escaped her, and Rin shivered as she felt it against her skin. “You’d be so much more fun as a pet, don’t you think?”
At that, something in Rin snapped. A bolt of pure rage cut through her confusion. Pet. That single word ignited every last shred of pride she had left. Rin tore her face away from Reika’s hand, wrenching herself backward. Fresh shame scorched through her—shame at nearly being seduced by the pretty words of this creature who had just brutalized her people. Her hands balled into fists so tight her nails bit her palms. She glared up at Reika, tears of fury in her eyes.
“How dare you,” Rin rasped, voice trembling. “I am not an animal to be tamed.” Her whole body quaked as she forced the words out. “Do you think I would sell my soul to you after what you’ve done?” She straightened, drawing on a final reserve of courage born of absolute outrage. If Reika wanted her spirit, she would get it unbroken.
Rin met Reika’s gaze head-on, and in hers burned the last, defiant spark of dignity. “Do your worst, demon,” she spat, each word dripping with venom. “I would rather die than become your pet.”
A deathly stillness fell. The onlookers forgot to breathe. It was as if even the sunlight dimmed in anticipation of Reika’s response. Rin’s declaration hung in the air—reckless, brave, possibly suicidal. Jin felt his heart seize; he took a half-step forward, ready to intervene or plead if Reika lost her temper. Masanori, dizzy with pain, mustered enough strength to reach an arm toward Rin, his lips forming a silent No! The Shogun squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch what might come next.
Reika went very quiet. She stared at Rin, the two women mere inches apart: one towering and immaculate, the other small and disheveled and quaking with emotion. A single bead of sweat rolled down Rin’s neck as she braced for a fatal blow.
Then Reika did something unexpected—she threw back her head and laughed. A rich, melodic laugh, ringing with genuine delight. It was not the cruel cackle of a villain stung by insult, but the merry peal of someone who’d just been told a wonderful joke. The sound jarred against the tension of the moment, utterly surreal to everyone listening.
“Oh, how dramatic!” Reika purred at last, eyes dancing with glee. Rather than striking Rin, she reached out and patted the girl’s head, almost affectionately. Her fingers slid through Rin’s mussed hair in a patronizing little caress. “Such fire,” Reika mused, sighing in pleasure. “You mortals do know how to put on a show.”
Rin stood stock-still, stunned. The light touch on her hair was somehow more humiliating than a slap. Reika was treating her like a misbehaving kitten rather than a threat. Hot tears of helpless anger brimmed in Rin’s eyes anew, but she refused to let them fall now; she wouldn’t give Reika the satisfaction.
Reika bent slightly to look Rin in the eyes. Any trace of true anger in the tall woman was impossible to find—she seemed positively delighted. “Kill you? Why would I waste such a fiery little thing?” she murmured. “Besides…” She straightened and cast a languid glance over her shoulder, toward Jin. Her voice lifted playfully. “I did promise not to kill anyone today, didn’t I, Jin?”
Jin swallowed hard. He remembered: before entering the palace, he had wrung that promise from Reika as a condition of accompanying her. He gave a tight, nervous nod. “Y-yes,” he managed softly, his voice barely carrying. “You… you did.” His shoulders sagged with palpable relief.
Reika clapped her hands lightly, once, as if concluding a pleasant business meeting. “There. You see?” She flashed Rin a bright, incongruously girlish smile. “No one dies today. A bit of fun, a few bruises perhaps, but no deaths. I keep my word.”
Still smirking, Reika let her gaze sweep the courtyard. The assembled samurai and nobles stared back in stunned silence. Some looked away the moment her eyes met theirs. Satisfied, Reika returned her attention to Rin, who stood rigid, tears quietly spilling despite her attempts to master herself. Reika gently brushed a final tear from Rin’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Think about my offer, little one,” she said, almost kindly. “I don’t give such generous opportunities to just anyone.” Her tone was sugar-sweet, but Rin could hear the steel beneath it. “Whether you come willingly or not… well, perhaps I’ll leave that to fate.”
Rin bit her lip until she tasted blood, refusing to reply. What could she say? That she’d rather die? She already had. Instead, she stayed mute, her silent glare speaking volumes of defiance and heartbreak.
Reika chuckled under her breath and released Rin from her touch. Standing to her full height once more, she cast one more amused look at the onmyōji trembling before her. Then she turned away, turning her focus back to the wider court. In the absence of her penetrating gaze, Rin’s knees nearly buckled with relief. The girl hugged herself, chest hitching as she fought back sobs, and took an unsteady step backward into the arms of an anxious lady-in-waiting who had rushed up to support her.
“Well!” Reika announced brightly, addressing everyone now. She lifted her arms in an almost theatrical flourish. “That was certainly more exciting than music and dance, wouldn’t you all agree?” Her voice flowed through the courtyard, warm and regal, as if she hadn’t just been threatened at spell-point. As if she hadn’t just dangled a man by the throat and shrugged off a blast of holy fire. The surreal contrast made more than one person shiver.
Not a soul dared to answer her. The courtiers and guards remained where they were—some standing in stupor, others still kneeling—staring at Reika in terror and awe. Most kept their eyes averted, unwilling to risk drawing her attention now. The only sounds were the rustling of a few charred leaves blowing across the stones and Rin’s quiet, stifled sniffles.
Reika did not seem to mind the silence. She inhaled deeply, as if savoring the aftermath. A satisfied smile played on her lips. “What a lovely afternoon,” she sighed contentedly. “So much emotion. So many surprises.” She glanced down at Masanori, who remained on his hands and knees catching his breath. “A splendid performance from you as well, warrior,” she added casually. Masanori managed to lift his head at her words; his eyes burned with shame at his defeat, but he gave a slow, respectful nod. Reika answered with a wink, as if they were co-conspirators in some grand joke. Masanori grimaced and looked away, his jaw tight.
At last, Reika turned toward her companion. “And you, Jin?” she called out, almost sweetly. She took a few leisurely steps toward him, each click of her wooden geta echoing in the courtyard. Jin stood very still, hands at his sides. He met Reika’s gaze with a mixture of fear and weary acceptance. “Tell me,” Reika purred, “are you not entertained?”
Jin opened his mouth, but no words came. What could he possibly say? His heart was pounding in the aftermath of what he’d just witnessed. He glanced around: Masanori bloodied and kneeling, Rin shaking with sobs, the mighty Shogun of Kagetora still as a stone in his terror. Jin felt cold sweat along his spine. Part of him wanted to shout at Reika, to scold her for taking things this far. Another part wanted to beg her to leave these people in peace. But he knew both impulses were futile. In the end, confronted by Reika’s expectant smile, Jin could only muster a faint shake of the head and a terse reply: “I… I have no words.” It was the safest answer he could give.
Reika regarded him for a moment, then gave a light, genuine laugh. “I thought so,” she said softly, clearly amused by Jin’s diplomatic evasion. For all her overwhelming presence, there was an odd fondness in her eyes when she looked at him, like a queen pleased with a favorite advisor. Jin released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Reika straightened from her relaxed posture, her eyes still sharp as they roamed over the scene. The courtyard, which had once been tense and crackling with energy, now seemed far too quiet, the sound of Masanori’s heavy breaths filling the space where clashing swords had just been. She let her gaze linger on him for a moment, her lips curling just enough to show the slightest hint of satisfaction. Her duel had been fun—entertaining, even—but now the thrill had faded, and there was only the calm left to settle in its place.
She tilted her head slightly, as if listening to the soft rustling of the trees in the distance. Then, with a smooth motion, she turned her attention to the Shogun, who stood at the far edge of the circle, watching her every movement with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. “I’m satisfied,” she said, her voice carrying the same casual calm she had worn throughout the duel. It was almost as if the excitement of the fight had never touched her. “But I think I’m quite tired now.” Her words dripped with a kind of lazy amusement, as though the effort required to spar with Masanori had barely touched her.
The Shogun, sensing that the night was winding to an end, bowed deeply. His expression, though still cloaked in formal respect, betrayed a hint of relief at her decision. “Of course, Tachibana-sama,” he replied, voice low and respectful. “We will prepare a chamber for you to rest. A private space, as you desire.”
Reika’s eyes sparkled briefly as she caught the subtext of his words. She knew full well the lengths he had gone to in order to accommodate her—she could see it in his stiff posture and the way his eyes flickered nervously between her and the rest of the room. They’ll do anything to keep me entertained, she thought with a quiet amusement that lingered on her lips.
Turning, she motioned for Jin to follow her. He didn’t hesitate, though his mind was still reeling from the intensity of the duel and the way Reika had handled herself—like an unstoppable force, both playful and terrifying. She walked with that same serene elegance she always carried, the weight of her presence heavy even in the softest of movements. As she passed the Shogun, she gave him one last glance, her gaze cool and almost imperceptible.
“Lead the way,” she murmured to the servant who had been waiting for her cue. “I need a moment to think... and a comfortable place to rest.” There was a teasing edge to her words, though they were spoken in the same disarming tone she used for everything else.
With a small bow, the servant quickly moved to lead her away, Jin trailing behind. Reika didn’t look back, but Jin couldn’t help but notice the way the courtiers around them subtly shrank away, as though the very air around her carried a weight they could hardly bear. She moved with that same quiet authority, as if the world bent around her, waiting to meet her demands.
The moment Reika disappeared through the inner gates, a collective exhale seemed to release. The oppressive weight that had gripped the air began to ease. Several people collapsed to the ground, weak with relief. Two samurai rushed to Masanori, gently supporting their commander under the arms. He nodded to them, accepting help to stand, though his legs trembled. Others cautiously approached Rin, who remained rooted in the same spot.
Rin was shaking uncontrollably now, the adrenaline ebbing and leaving cold devastation in its wake. She tried to step after Reika, perhaps on impulse, but her knees finally gave out. With a broken whimper, she sank to the ground. One of the ladies of the court immediately knelt beside her, draping an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Rin-sama… easy now,” the woman whispered, her own voice unsteady.
At the sound of her name spoken kindly, something in Rin unraveled. The last vestiges of her composure fell away, and she began to sob in earnest. She pressed her sleeve to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the sounds, but her slender frame shook with each ragged breath. Hot tears spilled from her eyes, tracing streaks down her cheeks and onto the dusty stones. All the humiliation, terror, and fury she had borne through the encounter came pouring out at last.
Masanori, bruised and aching, pushed away his attendants once he’d regained his footing. Clutching his bruised throat, he limped to Rin’s side and lowered himself to one knee with a pained grunt. “Rin…” he croaked, voice rough and weak. He reached out, laying a gauntleted hand gently on her back. She turned toward him, and upon seeing the apologetic sorrow in the veteran samurai’s eyes, Rin threw her arms around him. Masanori grimaced at the pain in his ribs but held her tightly as she wept into his shoulder. He murmured soft, hoarse reassurances: “It’s over… It’s over. I’m here.”
Around them, the courtiers and soldiers kept a respectful distance, heads bowed. Some looked on with pity; others with their own tears of sympathy. The sky above the courtyard was a deepening shade of gold and indigo, the late afternoon sun dipping toward evening, unaware of the drama that had unfolded below. In that courtyard, scorched by spells and stained with the day’s despair, the only sound now was Rin’s quiet, heartbroken sobbing.
Jin could still remember the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the second-floor windows of Shujin High. The air was warm and heavy with summer, dust motes drifting lazily in that honey-gold light. He was seventeen again, a student lingering by the open classroom door, when a scuffle of noise drew his attention down the hall.
Three senior boys had cornered a younger student against the lockers. The kid – a first-year by the looks of his shorter stature – clutched his backpack to his chest like a shield. Jin saw fear in the boy’s eyes as the bullies taunted him, one large kid snatching the backpack away and rummaging through it while the others jeered. A small crowd of onlookers hovered at a distance, uneasy but unwilling to intervene. Jin felt his stomach twist; he knew he should do something, but his feet were glued to the spot. The scene was all too common, yet every time it happened he felt the same anger and helplessness coil inside him.
Before Jin could summon his courage, a clear, female voice rang out from halfway down the corridor.
“Oiiii!” the voice lilted, brimming with dramatic reproach. “Just what do you think you’re doing? Rehearsing for a crime drama without a permit?”
Jin turned his head and saw Tachibana Reika striding towards the little gathering, her black ponytail swinging behind her and a fiery glint in her eyes. She was still in her uniform – navy blazer impeccable even in the heat – but there was a flair to the way she moved, as if she wore a cape rather than a school jacket. In one hand she brandished a rolled-up script (from theater club, no doubt) like a theatrical prop.
The bullies paused, momentarily taken aback. Reika marched right up to them, placing herself between the trio and the cowering first-year without a hint of hesitation. She cocked her head at the biggest boy and tapped her chin thoughtfully with the rolled papers.
“Hmm, this scene seems off,” she said loudly, projecting her voice as if to an audience. “Three brutish extras accosting a poor innocent—” She gave the younger student a quick conspiratorial wink, then continued, “—in broad daylight? Ugh, cliché. Overdone. Didn’t you get the memo? Bullying went out of style with flip phones.”
A few of the onlookers snickered. Jin felt a grin tug at his own lips, his heart starting to pound with something like excitement rather than fear. Reika had a way of commanding attention; even the bullies looked unsure, glancing at each other in confusion at her boldness. The leader – a tall brute named Segawa – sneered down at her, trying to regain control of the situation.
“Tachibana, mind your damn business,” Segawa growled. He jutted out his chin, attempting to tower over her, but Reika, though a head shorter, didn’t budge an inch. “Unless you want to be next, you’ll walk away. Now.” He tried to sound intimidating, but there was a quaver in his voice that betrayed him.
Reika responded by sighing dramatically. “Ah, the classic tough-guy lines. So boring.” She rolled her eyes, then suddenly leaned in with a bright, mocking smile. “Segawa-san, right? I heard you failed the math test again. What was it this time, 12 points?”
A ripple of laughter spread through the small crowd. Segawa’s face flushed a deep red. “Shut up!” he snapped, anger flashing. He grabbed Reika’s shoulder roughly, as if to shove her aside.
Jin tensed, instinctively stepping forward, but Reika was faster. In one swift motion, she twisted out of Segawa’s grip and snatched the front of his collar instead, all in the blink of an eye. With a flourish befitting a stage combat routine, Reika spun him around and slammed his back against the lockers. The metal rattled with a loud clang. Gasps echoed down the hall.
To Jin’s astonishment, Reika let out a theatrical tsk-tsk, wagging a finger inches from the bully’s nose. “Hands off, darling. Didn’t anyone teach you manners?” she chided. Her tone was sweet as poisoned honey, loud enough for everyone to hear. The other two bullies froze, unsure whether to rush to their friend’s aid or to run. Segawa, pinned by a deceptively strong grip, gave a strangled sound of protest.
Reika’s dark eyes narrowed, and for a moment, her playful demeanor hardened into something fiercely protective. “Picking on someone half your size?” she said, voice lower now, dripping with genuine contempt. “How very brave of you.” She pressed him a little harder against the locker. Segawa winced. “Here’s a suggestion: if you’re so eager for a fight, try someone your size for a change. Or better yet,” – she flashed an exaggerated grin – “take up a hobby that doesn’t involve being a complete waste of space.”
A smatter of laughter and “ooooh”s coursed through the onlookers. Jin could hardly believe what he was seeing. It was as if Reika had stepped into a spotlight, turned a tense situation into an impromptu performance, and completely flipped the power dynamic. And underlying her theatrics was an unmistakable determination – an anger on behalf of the terrified kid behind her.
The two other bullies finally snapped out of their shock and moved toward Reika. “Let him go!” one barked, though there was uncertainty in his voice. Reika glanced sideways at them and, with perfect timing, released Segawa’s collar. The sudden freedom caused the tall boy to stumble forward into his buddies. They almost collided in a heap. A ripple of amusement ran through the small crowd, and Jin felt a surge of triumph on Reika’s behalf.
“Oops,” Reika said lightly, one hand over her mouth in feigned apology. “Did I do that?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Segawa regained his balance, face contorted with humiliation and fury. “You little—” he snarled, raising a fist.
In a flash, Reika raised the rolled-up script like a microphone and proclaimed in a deep, sonorous voice: “And thus the beast reveals his true form!” She took a bold step forward, towards the trio, forcing Segawa to reflexively step back. “Behold, the tragic tale of three small-minded ogres, foiled by a high school heroine!” She swept her free arm out in a grand gesture toward the onlookers as if they were an audience in on the joke.
Laughter broke out fully now. Even the bullies’ few supporters were snickering. Jin found himself grinning ear to ear. He could see the fight draining out of the older boys – Reika had made them look ridiculous without even throwing a real punch.
A teacher’s voice suddenly echoed from down the corridor: “What’s going on here?” The crowd quickly began to disperse – no one wanted to be caught out of class. The two flunkies took the chance to tug at Segawa’s sleeve anxiously. “We should go,” one muttered. Segawa spat a curse under his breath, giving Reika one last hateful glare. But Reika simply arched an eyebrow, utterly unimpressed, and shoed them off with an airy wave of her hand.
Muttering threats about “next time,” Segawa and his cronies slunk away in the opposite direction before the teacher arrived. The hallway emptied out, students scattering like leaves, until only Jin, Reika, and the shaken first-year remained.
Reika exhaled and turned to the younger student, her expression melting from victorious smirk to gentle concern. “Hey, you alright?” she asked softly. She knelt down a little to look him in the eye. The boy was trembling, eyes shiny with unshed tears. Slowly, he nodded. Reika smiled and picked up the fallen backpack, dusting it off before handing it back to him. “They won’t bother you again,” she promised, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “But if they do, you come find me. Okay?”
The boy clutched his backpack and managed a shaky smile. “Th-thank you, senpai,” he mumbled.
Reika’s face lit with encouragement. “Anytime. And chin up – those jerks don’t get to decide who you are. Alright?” She straightened the collar of his uniform neatly, almost like a caring big sister. The boy nodded again, a bit more firmly this time. With a final grateful glance, he hurried off to catch up with his class.
Jin watched Reika as she stood there for a moment, watching the kid depart. There was a faraway look on her face, and then she sighed, seemingly satisfied that the crisis was over. She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and turned, finally noticing Jin standing a few steps away.
“Oh!” She blinked in surprise, then a playful grin curled her lips. “How long have you been lurking there, Jin?”
Jin felt heat rush to his cheeks at being caught staring. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Lurking? I wasn’t… I mean, I got here just a bit ago.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “Pretty impressive, Tachibana. You sent them running.”
Reika laughed lightly, twirling her rolled-up script once. “All in a day’s work for the resident theater nerd.” She gave an over-dramatic bow, as if acknowledging applause, then winked. “Honestly, though, someone had to do something. Those idiots were asking for it.”
Jin nodded, his admiration evident in his eyes. “You were incredible,” he said earnestly. “I don’t think they’ll mess with him – or anyone – for a long time.”
Her posture relaxed at his praise, and for just a second, Reika looked almost shy, ducking her head. “I just can’t stand bullies,” she murmured, voice quiet but firm. “It’s not right.” Then, recovering her usual brightness, she nudged Jin’s arm. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late for rehearsal. I need you to run lines with me before Mr. Hayashi shows up and starts yelling.”
As they walked down the hall together, Jin cast a sideways glance at Reika. The last rays of afternoon sun caught in her hair, outlining her in a soft halo. She was humming some tune under her breath, spinning that script in her fingers. Jin realized his heart was still thumping, adrenaline and admiration mingling in his veins. She’s amazing, he thought. Brave, sharp-tongued, a little dramatic – okay, very dramatic – but so good at her core. Reika had stood up for what was right without a second’s doubt.
Jin had admired her before that day – they were friends, partners in crime sneaking off to ghost-hunt in old shrines or catch midnight movies. But that afternoon solidified something in him. Watching her defend someone defenseless, seeing her moral compass in action, had etched an indelible image in Jin’s mind: Tachibana Reika, the fearless heroine. It was a memory he clung to, even now… especially now.
Jin was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t realize they had arrived at their quarters until Reika stopped abruptly. The two maids slid open a set of shoji doors, bowing deeply. “Takahashi-sama, Tachibana-sama,” one murmured respectfully, eyes to the floor, “we have prepared everything as requested.”
Jin flinched again at the honorific -sama attached to his name, but said nothing yet. Reika dismissed the maids with a casual flutter of her fingers. “That will be all.” The women hurried away, leaving Jin and Reika alone in what appeared to be a lavishly appointed guest chamber.
It was a spacious room with polished cedar floors and walls decorated by painted screens depicting cranes in flight. In the center, a low table had been set with platters of food: grilled fish, steaming rice, bowls of miso, and an assortment of pickled vegetables and sweets. A carafe of sake and two cups waited beside a lacquer tray. Off to one side of the room, a door presumably led to a bathing area or sleeping quarters. The air was perfumed with a subtle scent of cherry blossoms, probably from incense burning in a corner.
Reika sighed contentedly and rolled her shoulders as she stepped inside. “Finally, some peace and quiet,” she murmured, stretching her arms above her head. Jin lingered by the door, unsure what to do or say. Reika shot him a sideways glance. “Don’t just stand there, Jin. Make yourself comfortable. We’ve had a long day.”
A long day. That was one way to describe the nightmare they’d just lived through. Jin entered warily, removing his shoes at the entrance out of habit. The tatami mats felt cool under his socked feet. Reika had already thrown herself onto a plush pile of silk cushions by the table, lounging in a characteristically feline manner. She looked completely at ease, as if she hadn’t a single worry in the world.
Jin’s temper, held in check all evening, stirred dangerously. How could she be so nonchalant after everything? He thought of Masanori being carried away on a stretcher, Rin’s tears, the terror on everyone’s faces. He thought of the soldiers outside the walls earlier, obliterated by Reika’s powers. A hot mix of anger and sorrow churned inside him.
He lowered himself to the cushions opposite her, conscious of the gulf between them in more ways than one. As Reika poured herself a saucer of sake with relaxed grace, Jin finally broke the silence. “Reika…,” he began quietly, “what happened back there… you nearly—” He trailed off, struggling to find words that wouldn’t immediately provoke her. He knew accusing her outright could make her shut him out. He had to appeal to the part of her he’d just remembered: the girl who cared beneath the bravado.
Reika sipped her sake and let out a pleased sigh. “Mmm, not bad,” she commented, ignoring his start. “Hoshikawa’s personal stock, perhaps. At least the man has good taste in drink.” She offered Jin the other cup, pouring for him. Jin stared at the clear liquid. His mouth was dry, but he didn’t trust himself to drink. He needed a clear head. He gently pushed the cup aside.
This made Reika arch an elegant eyebrow. “No? Ah, I forget—you’re not much of a drinker.” She shrugged and took another sip from her own cup. “So, what were you saying? Something about ‘back there’?” She gave a lazy smile. “I assume you mean my little duel and such. Did you enjoy the show?”
Her flippant tone lit the fuse of Jin’s pent-up emotions. “Enjoy it?!” he burst out, incredulous. He kept his voice low but the intensity was clear. “Reika, you nearly killed Masanori! And Rin—” He clenched his hands on his knees. “They’re people, not playthings. How could you…?” His voice faltered, the raw hurt bleeding through. “How could you be so cruel?”
Reika’s eyes flashed dangerously for an instant at the word cruel, and Jin braced himself, heart thudding. But instead of lashing out, she slowly set her sake cup down. The smile faded from her lips, replaced by a guarded expression. “Cruel,” she repeated, tasting the word. “Is that what you think I am?”
Jin swallowed. In the quiet of the chamber, with no audience and no underlings to impress, Reika’s voice sounded less theatrical and more… human. He pressed on gently, “Reika… the girl I knew would never have done what happened today. The Reika I remember always stood up for others, protected them. You saved that kid from bullies at school. You saved me countless times from myself.” His voice thickened. “This world… it’s changed you. I’m afraid it’s burning away all the goodness in you.”
Reika’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She turned her face slightly, her gaze drifting to the painted screen on the wall instead of Jin. “Goodness,” she echoed, her tone flat. “Goodness doesn’t survive here, Jin.”
Jin hesitated, then reached across the table, daring to place his hand softly atop hers. Her skin was warm, unnaturally so, humming with that latent power, but he held on. “You’re wrong,” he said softly. “It can survive. You can survive without… without becoming this.” He didn’t say monster out loud, but the word hung in the air between them.
Reika slowly turned her hand under Jin’s, until their palms touched. For a moment, Jin thought she might squeeze his hand gently in acknowledgment. But instead, she slid her hand free and picked up a sweet bean cake from one of the trays. She examined it as she spoke, her tone cool and musing. “Do you know how long I wandered this world alone after I arrived?” she said, not directly answering him. “I looked for you at first. For months, maybe years. I thought you might have fallen through with me. But you didn’t. Or maybe I just stopped believing you had.””
Jin nodded faintly, recalling the chaos. He and Reika had been separated soon after the shrine incident—Jin had been found by Hoshikawa’s men, while Reika… he still didn’t know all that had happened to her while they were apart. “I remember searching for you,” he said quietly. “As soon as I got here.”
Reika smiled a little at that, but it was a sad smile. “I know. I was searching for you too. And in the process, I made the mistake of trusting someone here.” She placed the uneaten mochi back down, appetite apparently gone. Her eyes lost focus, as if looking into a faraway place. “Jin, let me tell you a story. Once, there was a foolish girl who thought strength alone was enough, but also believed in the fundamental good of people.”
Jin listened intently; he knew she was really telling him about herself. Reika continued, voice quiet and strangely vulnerable under the casual phrasing. “This girl met some locals who seemed kind, wise even. A young man, an onmyōji master, a venerable man who offered guidance. A clan of humans who said they’d help her find what she sought—perhaps a way home, perhaps answers about the power stirring inside her.” She gave a bitter chuckle. “She thought she’d found allies in this harsh world.”
Jin felt a chill as he recalled snippets he’d heard. Rin had recognized Reika’s name as a legend; clearly things had happened that he wasn’t present for. “What did they do?” he asked softly.
Reika’s eyes hardened, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “They betrayed her. They tricked her into a ritual, sealed her away like one seals a monster in a jar.” She held up a hand and clenched it into a fist. “Imagine it, Jin: one moment you think you’re among friends, and the next you’re bound in chains of light, drained of power, entombed in darkness.” Her fist trembled. “She trusted them—and they used her. They feared her, or rather what she might become, so they acted preemptively. Smiling faces turned to stone-cold jailers in an instant.”
Jin’s heart ached at the pain in Reika’s voice, thinly veiled though it was. He had to consciously unclench his own jaw. “How… how did you escape?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Reika released her fist and inspected her nails as if telling a casual tale, but her voice was thick with suppressed emotion. “Oh, that girl… she was not so easily contained. It took time—weeks, maybe months. Time feels… strange when you’re sealed. But anger can be a wonderful fuel. Eventually, her power grew beyond what their pathetic wards could hold. She broke free.” Reika’s lips curved in a cold smile that made Jin shiver. “The people who sealed her thought they were containing a demon. In truth, by betraying her, by treating her like a monster… they created one.”
Jin’s mind flashed to something Rin had said earlier on the battlefield: “This is what a demon queen is… cruelty without limit.” And to the aftermath he’d glimpsed: scorched earth and terrified whispers of Reika’s name. He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. “Reika… I’m so sorry,” he said, and he meant it with all his heart. “No one should have to go through that. But please, listen to what you just said: They created a monster. You don’t have to be that monster. You’re choosing to continue on this path.”
At that, Reika’s eyes flashed angrily. “Choosing? Do you think I want to be mistrustful? To be…” she gestured vaguely at herself, “this?” She stood abruptly, unable to sit still. Jin tensed, but she only moved a few steps away, wrapping her arms around herself as she paced to the window. Beyond, the night sky of this world was a deep indigo with twin moons hanging low, casting an eerie glow on the palace gardens. Reika’s silhouette against that alien sky looked lonely.
She spoke without turning to him. “When I broke out, I was… different. I had tapped into something dark to free myself. The orb we found, the power it gave me—it fully awakened then. I was angry, Jin. Enraged. I wanted to make them pay. And I did.” Her reflection in the window glass showed a distant, haunted expression. “That onmyōji and the others— I gave them a taste of fear. I didn’t kill them, not all… but I made sure they’d never hold me again. Perhaps I went too far.” She pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane, voice dropping. “But in that moment, it felt justified.”
Jin rose and walked to her side. He longed to comfort her, but sensed she was still a hair-trigger of emotions. He stood close enough that their shoulders nearly touched as they both gazed out into the night. “Maybe it was,” he said carefully. “They wronged you terribly. They paid for it. But how long must everyone pay for what they did, Reika?” He turned to face her, earnestness in his eyes. “Not everyone will betray you. Masanori didn’t. Rin didn’t—they fought you because you were hurting people they swore to protect. They’re not like those who trapped you.”
Reika closed her eyes, and a soft, humorless laugh escaped her. “Jin, you’re such an optimist. It’s adorable.” She finally looked at him, lifting her head from the glass. Her face was inches from his now, and he could see the turmoil in her eyes up close—like violet storms. “there are threats in this world far worse than me. You've heard me speak of the other Demon Queens, haven't you? Kaida, whose armies have razed entire regions, burning everything in their path, or Mayume, whose illusions can steal your mind and leave you begging for a death that won't come. And even if you somehow avoided them, do you think the humans here would embrace you? You've seen only glimpses—Tenshu's fanatics burning entire villages just to cleanse the so-called corruption, Kosei’s scholars using innocent lives as playthings in twisted magical experiments. This world isn't built for kindness, Jin. The sooner you understand that, the better your chance of surviving." Her voice softened, carrying the faintest hint of regret. "I learned that lesson long ago."
Jin was quiet, turning her words over slowly in his mind. He thought back to his first glimpses of this strange land—the oppressive suspicion of Kagetora's guards, Masanori's wary hostility, and the hushed rumors of unspeakable acts from Tenshu and Kosei. He imagined demon queens even more ruthless than Reika, beings who razed cities without pause, humans who sacrificed their own people to twisted ideologies. It wasn't like Tokyo, where kindness, however strained, still meant something. Here, it seemed kindness was a quick path to becoming prey. Jin shuddered inwardly.
“I—I had no idea,” he stammered. “Rin told me… they called you the Goddess of Ruin, a legend. I didn’t know what to think.” He gently took her hand, and this time she let him, their fingers interlacing. “Reika, I was afraid of what you’d become, but I never stopped caring. I never will.”
She looked down at their joined hands and gave a self-deprecating snort. “Careful, Jin. Kindness like that can be fatal here.” Yet she squeezed his hand ever so slightly, betraying how much his words moved her.
“Kindness isn’t fatal,” Jin argued softly. “It’s what makes us who we are. It’s what made you who you are… or were.” He dared to press, “Do you really want to prove those betrayers right by becoming the monster they feared? You’re better than that, Reika.”
Reika’s eyes clouded. When she spoke, her voice was raw, the barest hint of a tremble in it. “I used to think so. But after what happened… I realized being ‘better’ didn’t matter. I was naive, Jin. I came here and assumed the rules of fairness and decency still applied. They don’t.” She withdrew her hand from his and gestured broadly out at the night. “This world runs on a different law. I didn’t make it that way, but I’ll be damned if I fall victim to it.”
She turned fully to him, and for the first time that night, Jin saw tears glimmering in her eyes, though none fell. Reika’s voice hardened, but it was a defense against the hurt. “Kindness, trust, love… they’re weaknesses here. They’re weapons that others will use to stab you in the back. I won’t… I can’t let that happen to me again. Or to you.”
Jin felt a tear spill down his own cheek. He hadn’t realized it, but hearing her speak so bluntly of forsaking love and trust wounded him deeply. “Reika,” he whispered, “you haven’t lost me. You never will. But if you shut out everything good, what’s the point of surviving? What will be left of you?”
She looked at him, startled by his tears. For a moment, her terrifying aura dropped entirely and she was just Reika, a girl who had been hurt and was scared of being hurt again. Gently, almost hesitantly, she reached up and brushed the tear from Jin’s face with her thumb. “Don’t cry,” she murmured, an ironic half-smile on her lips. “You always were too soft.”
Jin caught her hand and held it to his cheek, leaning into her touch. “And you were always stronger than me,” he replied. “Strong enough to protect others and yourself. You don’t have to lose your heart to keep yourself safe. Please… promise me you’ll at least try to remember who you were. Who you are.”
Reika’s eyes searched his face for a long moment. The silence was heavy with unsaid feelings. At length, she sighed and pulled her hand away, though not unkindly. “I remember everything, Jin,” she said softly. “But remembering and reverting are different things.” She stepped back toward the table and picked up the sake cup once more. She downed the rest in one gulp and winced slightly at the burn. “Enough serious talk. We’re both exhausted.” Her tone had a note of finality; she was clearly done exposing her vulnerabilities.
Jin realized he might have pushed as far as he safely could tonight. At least now he understood her better—the cracks in her armor, the reason behind her cruelty. He didn’t agree with her conclusions, but he felt closer to her than he had since they reunited. Perhaps that was enough for one day.
As Reika placed the empty cup down, a soft knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, a servant slid the door open just a few inches and spoke timidly through the gap. “Pardon the intrusion… I b-brought fresh linens for the night.” A folded stack of bedding was visible in the servant’s arms. “May I enter, Takahashi-sama, Tachibana-sama?”
Jin cringed at the honorific applied to him. Sama, as if he were some lord. Before he could respond, Reika strode to the door and opened it fully. The servant, an elderly woman, kept her eyes averted and shuffled in to lay out the futons. Reika watched her for a moment, then said, “Thank you. That will be all.”
The woman bowed repeatedly as she backed out. “Good night, Takahashi-sama. Good night, Tachibana-sama.” The door slid shut again.
Jin rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “I wish they wouldn’t call me -sama,” he muttered. “I’m not… anyone important.” He’d been addressed as “Takahashi-sama” ever since Reika had effectively taken control of the palace. It made him intensely uncomfortable, as if he were complicit in her tyranny just by association.
Reika turned to him with a sly grin, clearly eager to steer the mood back to lighter waters. “Not a fan of the fancy title, hm? Would you prefer ‘Jin-kun’?” she teased, using the casual, affectionate suffix from their school days. “Or maybe ‘Jin-sama’ is more appropriate now that you’re my honored guest?”
Jin flushed and shook his head vehemently. “Please, just Jin. I’d settle for hey you at this point,” he joked weakly. “All this formality… it doesn’t suit me.”
Reika sauntered over, an amused glint in her eye. “You think it suits me?” She struck a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip and the other raised regally as if bestowing a blessing. In an exaggerated, haughty voice she proclaimed, “Behold, for I am Tachibana Reika no Mikoto, she who strides between worlds, the revered one whom all must bow to!” Then she cracked up laughing, dropping the pose. “Gods, it was rather cringey, wasn’t it?”
Jin couldn’t help but smile, a small laugh escaping him. The absurdity of hearing her mock her own lofty title was a relief. “Reika no Mikoto… that’s what they called you?” he asked. He recalled Rin’s awe and the officials’ deference. Mikoto was a suffix reserved for deities in classical speech—roughly meaning “honorable revered one.”
Reika rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh yes. At first, I confess, I encouraged it.” She wagged a finger. “After I made my, ah, power known, some fools started worshipping me like a deity. So I thought, why not play along? It was useful to command that level of obedience.” She flipped her hair off her shoulder and smirked. “I had them eating out of the palm of my hand. ‘Reika no Mikoto, Reika no Mikoto,’” she mimicked in a singsong voice.
Then she sighed, the smirk fading. “But after a while, it got… old. Empty. I realized they didn’t see me at all, just the power. They feared me, or idolized some idea of me, but they didn’t know me.” Her eyes flicked to Jin. “Not like you do. And honestly, hearing strangers chant my name like I was Amaterasu reborn… it made my skin crawl eventually.”
“So you told them to stop?” Jin asked, tilting his head. This was new information—the mighty “Goddess of Ruin” being uncomfortable with being treated as a goddess.
Reika grinned, a genuine, lopsided grin. “I did. One day I just snapped and said ‘Oh, cut that out. I’m done with the Mikoto nonsense.’ You should have seen their faces.” She giggled, recalling the scene. “One particularly poetic retainer insisted on calling me ‘Havoc Incarnate’ instead. Also vetoed.” She rubbed her temples mock-wearily. “The titles these people come up with… So now I’ve banned humans from calling me anything but Tachibana-sama. If they slip up, I give them the death glare.”
Jin couldn’t suppress a laugh at her comedic exasperation. It felt incredibly good to laugh with her, like a slice of normalcy amidst the chaos. “I’m sure that’s effective.”
“Oh, it is,” Reika said airily. She then gave him a sly nudge. “So, Takahashi-sama, shall I issue a decree that you too despise honorifics? Perhaps have them call you ‘Jin-dono’ instead?” Her eyes danced with mirth.
Jin groaned at the suggestion of another honorific (though -dono, meaning “lord,” wasn’t much better). “Please no. Let’s just skip to Jin.” He paused, then added with a soft smile, “I think I’d rather earn respect on my own terms, not just because I’m standing next to the Queen of Havoc Incarnate.”
Reika blinked, then gave a wry chuckle. “Fair enough.” She grew a touch more serious, reaching out to straighten the collar of Jin’s travel-worn jacket in a fond gesture. “For what it’s worth, they’re only treating you with reverence because they know you matter to me. I… may have made a bit of a scene retrieving you, after all.”
Jin thought of Kagetora’s shattered gates and walls, of Reika’s rampage when she found him among the soldiers. A bit of a scene indeed. “I noticed,” he said, gently sarcastic. “Remind me never to get kidnapped by an evil warlord—I’m afraid of the collateral damage you’d cause rescuing me.”
Reika laughed—a genuine, warm sound that crinkled her eyes. For a moment, Jin saw the high school girl from his memories shining through without darkness. She playfully poked his forehead. “Then don’t get kidnapped. Simple.”
They stood there in comfortable closeness, the earlier strain eased by humor and camaraderie. Outside, the strange night was deepening, one of the moons dipping lower. The palace had grown quiet as most everyone likely hid away in their quarters, recovering from the day’s ordeal.
Reika’s face grew gentle as she looked at Jin. “We should rest,” she said softly. “Tomorrow… who knows what it will bring. And I probably owe you a less violent form of entertainment than today's.” Her lips quirked. “Maybe I’ll take you to see the Obsidian Falls in Kokuyo or the Lake of the Crimson lotus near the border of Goen. The water’s great, if you don’t mind the occasional fire geiser.” It was hard to tell if she was joking or serious. Probably a mix of both.
Jin mustered a smile. “That sounds… oddly nice, actually.” A hot spring visit in a demon realm? Ridiculous. And yet, if it was with Reika when she was in this lighter mood, he’d take it.
She nodded, then unexpectedly stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Jin in a loose, almost lazy hug. Jin’s breath caught—she hadn’t initiated a hug since before all this, back when they were just friends studying for exams and goofing off at cafes. He immediately returned the embrace, letting himself hold her. Reika was warm and smelled faintly of night-blooming flowers and a hint of iron. The scent of power clung to her, but beneath it he found the note of her familiar shampoo from the old world, as if even conquering realms hadn’t entirely erased the ordinary girl beneath.
“I know you’re worried about me,” Reika murmured near his ear. Her tone was simultaneously teasing and tender. “Your big, scary demon queen friend.” She squeezed him a little tighter. “But don’t be. I’m fine. I’m doing what I have to do.” A pause. “Still… it means a lot that you’re here. That you care. You’re probably the only one who really does in this place.”
Jin closed his eyes, absorbing her words and the steady beating of her heart against him. In that embrace, he felt the truth: despite everything, they still had each other. “Always, Reika,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He felt her nod against his shoulder. They stayed like that for a few precious seconds before Reika gently pulled back, her hands lingering on his arms. Her eyes were dry now, and calmer. “Good. Otherwise I really would have to tear apart another city to find you,” she quipped softly.
Jin managed a small laugh. “Noted. For the sake of the architecture, I’ll stick around.”
Reika smirked and gave him a light push toward one of the futons the servant had laid out. “Alright, hero. Time for bed. We both need sleep.”
As Jin settled onto the plush futon, he watched Reika gracefully lower herself onto the other. She extinguished the nearby lantern with a snap of her fingers—another casual use of magic that still fascinated Jin. In the dimness, illuminated only by faint moonlight seeping through the window, Reika looked over at him. “Sweet dreams, Jin.” Her voice was hushed, almost vulnerable in the dark.
“You too, Reika,” he replied gently. For the first time since they’d reunited, he dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, he could help his friend find her way back from the abyss she’d been cast into. It would be a long road, no doubt filled with struggle—both within her and against the dangers of this world—but tonight had shown him cracks of light in her dark exterior. The fact she could still laugh, could still hold him and speak sincerely, meant the Reika he loved as a friend was not lost. Merely buried, waiting for the right moment to reemerge.
As he closed his eyes, Jin sent a silent promise into the night: I won’t give up on you, Reika. No matter how deep the shadows, I’ll keep searching for the light in you. Outside, one of the moons slipped behind a cloud, and in the quiet chamber the only sound was the soft, even breathing of two souls from another world—bound together against the darkness, and perhaps, slowly finding their way toward the dawn.