The sky above Kyōgai rippled with soft indigo, a wash of violet blue stirred gently by drifting cloud trails that wandered like they had nowhere else to be. The sun had dipped low behind the Temple Ridge, casting gold across the highest spires, while the lower quarters were already bathed in that brief hush between day and night.
Mazanka lay on the gently sloped hill just beyond the Outer Sanctum's gardens, arms folded behind his head, one-eye cloak tossed to the side. The grass here was soft, thick, untouched by the weight of too many footsteps. It smelled faintly of summer and wind.
Beside him, Arashi lay with one leg bent, her hands tucked beneath her head, her gaze lost to the slow-moving clouds above.
They hadn't spoken in a while—not since they'd come up here after leaving the training hall. They didn't need to.
Here, words came only when they felt necessary.
Mazanka exhaled slowly, letting the wind pass through him. "I still can't believe he did it."
Arashi hummed softly. "You can't believe Ryozenji, of all people,did it?"
He glanced over at her. She was smiling faintly, though her eyes remained on the sky.
"You remember what he used to say," she added. "'The only rules that matter are the ones you'll break for someone else.'"
Mazanka scoffed, tilting his head back. "He said that right after we almost got suspended for stealing Kurosawa's entire sake stash."
"And we only got caught because you tripped over your own smugness."
Mazanka snorted. "I tripped over the box. Ryozenji was the smug one."
Arashi smiled again. Her voice quieted. "He always was the reckless one. But never for himself."
Mazanka was silent for a moment, then said, more quietly, "But a human, Arashi."
"Mm."
He sat up a little, resting on his elbows. "You don't think that's insane? That he chose a human—someone weak and fleeting—over all of this? Over us?"
Arashi's eyes closed, lashes brushing against her skin like the shadows of wings. Her voice, when it came, was soft as falling petals.
"I think… the world we've built is full of order. Full of honor. Of sacrifice. Of expectations that bleed you dry before you even learn who you are."
Mazanka looked at her, expression unreadable.
She went on, her tone more thoughtful now. "If he found something that made him feel alive, something that made him choose—not obey, not serve, not endure—but choose… then maybe it's not insanity. Maybe it's the first real decision he's ever made."
Mazanka looked back up at the sky. The clouds had shifted, forming a soft, half-broken arc like an unfinished bridge. He said nothing, but her words folded into the quiet of him, curling deep beneath his ribs.
He thought of Ryozenji's face the last time he'd seen him—worn, yes, but peaceful. Like someone who had finally stopped running.
Mazanka swallowed. "I guess...If it were me… if you were you," he said without looking at her, but the rest of his words failed to find purchase as they died on his tongue.
Arashi didn't reply. But after a few heartbeats, her fingers brushed his. A simple touch. No weight. Just presence.
Mazanka didn't move away.
The breeze picked up, threading through the grass with a quiet hush. Somewhere nearby, the old temple bell rang once, its sound echoing like a stone dropped into a still lake.
Mazanka turned to her again, his voice lighter now. "You remember the others from our class?"
Arashi opened one eye. "You mean the three clowns?"
He grinned. "Yeah. Them."
"Of course," she laughed, the sound like wind chimes. "How could anyone forget an idiot like Itomei? He's probably asleep in a tree somewhere, mouth open, snoring like nothing matters."
"He used to sleep standing up. I thought he was a statue for two whole weeks."
Arashi chuckled. "He was probably just meditating."
"He once slept through an actual fire drill."
"I once saw him fall asleep mid-fight," she said, her grin wide now. "Didn't even dodge. Just let the blast push him over like a tree."
Mazanka laughed, his body shaking a little.
"And what about Mina?" she added. "Always optimistic. She reminded me of a little critter."
Mazanka sighed. "I heard she tried to befriend a corrupted being in the human world during her Kenshiki training."
"She named it. Said it looked lonely."
They both fell into laughter again, the sound loose, nostalgic.
"And Senga?" Arashi said, eyes dancing. "You two nearly killed each other every other week."
Mazanka rolled his eyes. "Because he was so full of himself. 'OhhhI've mastered this form, Mazanka. Do try and keep up.'"
"You were always trying to outdo him."
"I did outdo him," he said, smug. "That one time."
"That one time," she teased. "Now that you're both One-Eyes, why not give it another go?
"Nah," Mazanka groaned. "His still stuck up as ever, One-Eye or not. Trust me. He's still overcompensating. Probably giving lectures on sword form at some grand dinner party."
"You mean his 'Ten Sacred Steps of the ka'ro Slash'?"
"More like ten sacred stumbles."
A laugh.
"Eleven on a good day."
Mazanka's shoulders shook with laughter. "Remember how Kurosawa went ballistic after he actually tried to impress that exchange teacher with it? Even called his attack 'Perfect Karmic Justice attack' and just… faceplanted into the ground in front of her like an idiot after the old man was boasting to the lady about how great his students were."
Arashi snorted, covering her mouth. "Senga called it that?"
"Yes! And when Kurosawa walked by, he actually tried to sell it—like he was about to land a hit—but instead he tripped over his own feet, right into the dirt." Mazanka grinned, shaking his head. "That was when Kurosawa decided to 'teach' us all for a solid week. Did you hear him rant about how 'stupid children ruining his chance for a normal teaching career' ? He made sure we could never forget."
"And then the next day," Arashi added, "he made us do push-ups while muttering under his breath about 'how much more peaceful life would be with just one student.'" She smiled, a soft laugh escaping her. "I think that was the moment he realized he couldn't get away from us."
Mazanka grinned, eyes twinkling with fondness. "We made his life interesting, that's for sure."
"I still don't think it was fair that he got to call the shots," Arashi said, a playful glint in her eyes. "You'd think a teacher would get tired of always being the 'adult,' but Kurosawa loved it. He got to make us miserable because of it."
Mazanka stretched lazily, his arms above his head. "He was never going to admit it, but I think he liked us more than he let on. Even if we did ruin his chances with that teacher."
"Oh yes, Senga ruining his chance to flirt. Poor Kurosawa," Arashi said, eyes gleaming. "He spent an entire day complaining about 'not being able to get through one normal day of class with all these loud idiots around him.' It was so obvious he was just trying to get laid."
Mazanka chuckled again, shaking his head. "He hated all of us. But secretly? I think he loved us too. We were his idiots, yeah, his problem children. And he wouldn't have had it any other way."
Arashi smiled softly, her eyes catching the last lingering rays of twilight. "Sometimes, I think we were better off in that chaos. At least it was our chaos."
"Yeah," Mazanka said, his voice a little softer now, a little deeper. "I miss those days. And I miss them. Even them—even the idiots who slept through every lesson. It was… simpler, you know?"
The silence stretched between them then, filled with memories and soft, distant thoughts. Arashi shifted slightly, her side brushing against his. The faintest heat pulsed from her skin, unnoticed by Mazanka, though it lingered between them, a quiet tension, an unsaid thing.
"I think it's okay to miss them," she said quietly, her voice drifting. "It's okay to want things to be like they were."
Mazanka didn't answer at first. Instead, his thoughts moved slowly, uneasily. "Yeah, but what if Ryozenji's the same? What if he stops being a part of our life…?"
Arashi turned to look at him, her eyes softening. "He'll come back. We always do. We have a way of finding our way home."
Mazanka turned his gaze to the sky again, thinking of Ryozenji, his friend, his bond. The air between them felt thick, warm with unspoken words. He wasn't sure what to say anymore, but when he finally spoke, it was almost like a whisper to himself.
"Yeah. Maybe he will."
And for a moment, everything felt right. A soft quiet settled over them, as they waited, side by side, for whatever was next.
They fell into silence again, both of them watching as the stars slowly began to emerge overhead. One by one, they blinked into the indigo like shy truths finding their voice.
Mazanka let the quiet stretch, then said, "I wonder what they're all doing now though."
"Living," Arashi whispered. "Somewhere. Maybe better. Maybe worse. But living."
Mazanka nodded slowly. "I think I envy them."
She turned to look at him. "You? The ever-proud One-Eye?"
"Maybe not Senga. His ideal life is probably snobby misery. And Mina's would probably be too much for me." He gave a small smile. "Maybe Itomei though. Haven't seen him in ages, nobody has. He's probably out there, hibernating in a tree and waiting for the next century to pass. I envy him, he got what he wanted. He doesn't have to carry this."
Arashi turned back to the sky. "Maybe. I could do with a long nap…but at least Itomei doesn't get to suffer the things we do in the Kenshiki. He doesn't get to see what we've seen. Or stay."
Mazanka didn't reply. But the ache in his chest softened.
The stars above them continued to spill into the sky, vast and humming. They watched together, two souls beneath a blanket of old light, stitched together by years, silence, shared sorrow, and that rare warmth that needed no naming.
He turned to her again, this time not hiding the way he looked at her.
And for just a second, when her gaze met his, something hung between them. Unsaid, but felt. Known, but unspoken.
She smiled softly.
And Mazanka knew—if it ever came down to choosing between his world and hers, he wouldn't hesitate.
He already knew his answer.
The quiet that followed wasn't empty. It was full of all the things that didn't need to be said.
Mazanka let his gaze drift back upward, where stars now pulsed like slow heartbeats. His voice came softer this time, thoughtful.
"Do you think our world's broken?"
Arashi took a breath. "No. Just… built in a way that forgets to leave space for softness. It asks for strength but punishes feeling."
He didn't answer.
She turned her head toward him, her voice gentler now. "But maybe that's why people like Ryozenji break it. To remind the world it can bend."
Mazanka was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "If the world bent for you… I wouldn't try to stop it."
The words hung between them like a held breath.
Arashi didn't move. But her voice, when it came, was like silk slipping from a ribbon. "That's not a small thing to say."
He gave a half-smile. "I didn't mean for it to be."
Stillness followed, but not the kind that felt hollow or waiting. This one was warm, thick with the breath of memory and possibility.
Mazanka turned toward her again, his face now openly soft, undone by the light, by her.
And still, he didn't say it.
But maybe—just maybe—he didn't have to.
Because in the gentle space between their hands, and the quiet way she smiled at him under the watching stars, it was already understood.