The forest was thick with the scent of damp earth and blood. Rain pattered against the canopy, a steady, rhythmic drum masking their presence in the darkened undergrowth. Steam rose faintly from the bodies, heat battling against the cold of Amegakure's endless downpour.
Amatsu sat against the rough bark of an ancient tree, his breath slow, measured. Blood seeped through the fabric of his cloak, staining the ground beneath him. His injuries were deep but not fatal. He had survived. Again.
Higanbana was silent beside him, small hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her long black hair clung to her pale face, soaked from both sweat and rain. She did not move, but her trembling fingers betrayed her.
Across from them, Ryojin leaned against a jagged boulder, his golden eyes unreadable beneath a damp curtain of red hair.
For a time, none of them spoke. The only sound was the rain.
Higanbana's thoughts swirled, a violent, suffocating storm.
Amatsu had ordered her to run. Ordered her to leave him behind.
She had obeyed.
She had left him to fight alone, surrounded, outnumbered.
And she had run.
A tremor shot through her spine. Her vision blurred, the weight of her emotions crushing her chest, and then—
She broke.
Her knees buckled. She collapsed against him, arms clutching his cloak so tightly her fingers ached. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
All she knew was the terror of almost losing him.
"You— You told me to—" Her voice cracked. "Run. I— I thought—"
The words broke apart, lost between choking sobs.
"You were— I—"
Her small frame trembled violently, her body heaving with the weight of her shattered emotions. She buried her face into his shoulder, her fingers clawing desperately at the fabric of his kimono.
She couldn't let go.
She wouldn't.
Her small frame shook against him. Amatsu did not react, did not move, but she didn't care. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, her breath hitching as she buried her face into his shoulder, his scent—blood, steel, rain—filling her senses.
"I thought I lost you… Amatsu… I don't want to be alone…"
Her voice faltered into sobs.
Her fingers trembled as they fisted into his, her body weak, fragile against him.
And she waited.
For warmth. For reassurance. For anything.
But he remained still. Cold. Distant.
As if her tears meant nothing.
She wanted him to say something. Anything.
Even if it was cruel.
But he only exhaled, his breath steady, unmoved.
As if she wasn't breaking apart against him.
Amatsu's sharp eyes lowered slightly, observing the fragile weight pressed against him. Weakness. Emotion. Attachments. All things he had long since discarded.
He should push her away.
And yet—he did not.
His arms remained at his sides, his body unyielding, but he let her cling to him. Let her shake. Let her sob.
Why?
There was no logic to it. No advantage gained. If anything, it was a liability. This was the very thing he had sworn to reject—the desperate clinging to something fragile, something temporary.
He knew better than anyone that sentimentality was useless. That emotions meant nothing in the face of power.
And yet, for a single moment, he allowed it.
A contradiction. An irrational, fleeting thing.
But the moment passed.
His fingers twitched. Almost moved.
A strange, foreign instinct rose—something distant, something nameless. A ghost of something long buried, long rejected.
Comfort.
No.
His jaw tightened. Useless. Sentimentality had no place here. It had never saved him before, and it wouldn't now.
The moment passed. His fingers stilled. His body remained a wall of indifference.
He exhaled slowly, dismissing the thought as easily as it came.
This was nothing. A meaningless act.
But he would not dwell on it.
Weakness, he thought again.
"Tch."
Ryojin scoffed from the side, arms crossed. "Crying won't change anything."
His words were harsh, but his tone was subdued. He had been watching Amatsu too, the same unspoken tension gripping him.
He had seen plenty die. He had expected Amatsu to be one of them.
But Amatsu survived.
And now this moment, this raw display of emotion, lay between them like something foreign. Something neither of them fully understood.
Even as her sobs quieted, she couldn't pull away.
Her fingers stayed clenched in his cloak, unwilling—unable—to let go.
If she let go, he might disappear.
Her breath still hitched, her chest still ached.
Even as silence crept back in, the weight of it pressed down, thick and unbearable.
Amatsu exhaled. Finally, he moved. One hand lifted, hesitating only a fraction before resting briefly on her head. A single fleeting touch, the barest acknowledgment, before it was gone.
His voice, when he spoke, was low, unreadable. "It was necessary."
Higanbana pulled back slightly, looking up at him with crimson eyes still glistening with tears.
He met her gaze, his expression empty, but there was something there—something small, something fleeting. Something unreadable.
She sniffled, shoulders still quaking.
Amatsu shifted, pressing his palm against the damp earth as he pushed himself upright. A sharp, dull ache rippled through his side—deep, biting, ignored. His muscles protested, the wounds tearing open beneath his bloodstained cloak, but he did not react.
Pain was expected. Pain was inevitable.
Pain was irrelevant.
He exhaled, slow and measured, forcing his body to obey. The cold rain seeped into his skin, washing away the blood but doing nothing for the damage beneath. Standing was an effort, but weakness was not an option.
He glanced down at Higanbana, still gripping his Kimono, her red eyes puffy with tears.
"Enough," he said, his voice as steady as ever. "We have no time for this."
The world did not wait for sentiment. Neither would he.
His body throbbed with each movement, but his steps did not falter. Survival did not wait for pain to pass.
The moment shattered. The rain continued to fall.
Higanbana slowly released him, her hands lingering for just a second longer before pulling away.
Ryojin turned, stretching with a grunt. "We need to move. This place won't stay safe for long."
Amatsu stood.
Higanbana wiped her eyes, her hands still shaking, but she followed.
The moment was over.
The path ahead awaited.