Kyōgai did not breathe—it brooded.
It clung to skin like a fever and pressed into lungs like fog stitched from old ghosts. The light, what little of it made it through the canopy, slanted in bruised green shafts, bending between crooked branches and vines that curled like grasping fingers from the shadows. Every sound was a question. Every footstep was answered by silence.
They walked in a triangle—Teruko leading, deliberate and wary; Rakan just behind, Ka'ro trembling faintly at his fingertips; and Mazanka trailing, arms folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded, a loose grin playing at his mouth like he was humming along to danger.
"We're being watched," Teruko said without turning.
Her voice wasn't alarmed. Just sure.
"Yeah," Rakan muttered. "The Ka'ro. It's stretched thin—too thin. Like it's waiting to snap."
Mazanka exhaled through his nose, kicking a stone off the path.
"Not a snap," he said. "A ripple. Something in this forest knows how to stay just quiet enough to not trigger panic. That's worse."
"You sound like you've been here before," Teruko replied.
"I've been hunted here before."
The trees pulled in tighter, gnarled limbs arched overhead like ancient ribs, caging them in amber-stained gloom. The air grew thick with Ka'ro—low and trembling, like a beast coiled beneath the dirt, exhaling sleep through the roots.
Then the path ended. Abruptly. As if the earth itself had changed its mind about letting anyone pass.
A clearing opened before them, jagged and wild. Broken shrine-stones jutted from the moss like forgotten bones. Vines hung limp over half-swallowed carvings. There were no birds. No insects. Just a silence that felt wrong. Not empty—but listening.
And in the center of it—
A figure stood.
He stood on a broken marker, barefoot, balanced with the grace of someone who had either trained obsessively… or had simply never been taught how to fall. His robes were a patchwork of wear and stubbornness—half-torn, sleeves rolled unevenly, belt hanging off to one side. A long wooden stick rested against his shoulder, carved with faint Ka'ro script that glowed ever so faintly in the underlight.
He was young—about their age, maybe older—but he carried himself like someone older than the sky. His curls were wild, and his skin sun-brushed and dirt-marked, but his eyes—
His eyes were sharp.
Bright gold. Unblinking. Eyes that didn't just look at you, but through you—measuring, reading, divining the shape of your footsteps by the way your shadow bent.
He hadn't noticed them yet.
He was talking to himself.
Or maybe the forest.
"Mosquitoes are spies. Ka'ro likes to hitch rides on tiny wings. Don't trust anything with more than four legs. Or anything with none."
The group slowed.
Rakan raised his hand.
"Do we… say something?"
"He's Kenshiki," Teruko murmured. "Don't you feel that?"
They all did.
The Ka'ro around the figure was bent. Not corrupted, not wild—just… sideways. Like it had learned the rules, then rewritten them for fun.
Teruko's hand slipped toward her weapon.
Mazanka narrowed his eyes.
"He's not a threat," he said.
"How do you know?" Rakan asked.
"Because I can feel him trying to figure out if we are."
And then, the boy stopped muttering.
He turned his head slowly. And with a stillness that didn't belong to something human, he stepped down from the shrine stone and walked forward—stick loose in his grip, shoulders relaxed, but his Ka'ro suddenly bloomed.
No chant.
No glyph.
Just presence.
Immediate. Immense. Precise.
It flared in a slow spiral from his core, wrapping around him like mist, coiling at his wrists, tightening in his gaze.
"No closer," he said.
His voice wasn't loud. But it carried.
"Your steps are too cautious. Your Ka'ro smells like guilt, and the wind tells me you're armed. So either declare yourselves or start bleeding."
Teruko stopped cold.
Rakan held his breath.
Mazanka scratched the back of his neck.
"Well," he said, "that's a bit dramatic."
"Says potty-pie that sings of misdeed."
Mazanka blinked.
"Okay, now I'm interested."
The boy adjusted his grip on the stick—elegant and relaxed, but firm. His Ka'ro pulsed again, like a heartbeat made of mirrors.
Teruko shifted her stance.
"That's not a typical form," she whispered.
"Because it's not a form," Mazanka muttered. "It's something else."
Then—
A pause.
A narrowing of the eyes.
The golden irises flicked to Teruko.
Stared.
Then widened.
A beat.
Two.
And then, suddenly, the Ka'ro dropped. Like a curtain falling.
The boy gasped.
"NO. WAY."
The words tore from the boy's throat like he'd just seen a god walk out of an alley.
His Ka'ro dropped in an instant—vanished like mist caught in wind—and the stick he'd been holding so defensively clattered to the mossy ground. One hand slapped over his chest like he needed to keep his heart from leaping out of it.
He stared directly at Teruko.
Eyes wide.
Mouth wider.
"You're—You're TERUKO SHIDO!"
He staggered forward a few steps before tripping over his own feet, catching himself, and spinning it into an awkward bow with a flourish that looked both rehearsed and accidental.
"Unbreakable edge! Crimson fury! The Phantom Bloom of the Kaisen Glade! I studied you!"
Teruko took a half-step back. Her shoulders tightened like someone had thrown a compliment at her face.
"What the hell—"
"You don't understand," the boy continued, flailing his arms in excitement, "I wrote a thesis—a thesis—on your duel against Master Kirashi in the Spiral Gallery Trials. Your footwork in that match? Devastating. You moved like regret with a sword!"
Rakan stared, blinking.
Mazanka raised a brow and leaned in to whisper.
"Did he say regret with a sword?"
"He did," Rakan replied flatly.
"That's oddly poetic. I'm stealing it."
The boy clapped his hands together as if in prayer, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"This is a historic moment. I mean, obviously, there's the illegal trespassing and possible treason implications depending on where we are—but you're real! I thought maybe you were a symbol. Like the concept of rest."
Teruko, still half-frozen in place, finally managed words.
"Who… are you?"
The boy straightened instantly.
"Ah! Apologies! Shugoh Burami. Kenshiki. Same year as you, though slightly more infamous due to… erm, well… unauthorized Ka'ro experiments, emotionally charged metaphors, and an incident with a flaming soup pot that we no longer speak of."
He gave a proud little bow.
"Student of Master Senga! Though he insists I'm not allowed to tell people that unless they're blind, deaf, and out of punching range."
Teruko squinted.
"I know, I know," he said dreamily. "He has so much rage in such a small frame."
Mazanka let out a short bark of a laugh, trying not to choke.
"Gods. That is Senga."
Shugoh turned toward the voice—and froze again.
His eyes traveled up from the boots, over the relaxed posture, past the crooked bandage over one eye and the faintest trace of smugness bleeding from a half-lidded stare.
His mouth slowly opened.
"Wait. Waitwaitwait."
He squinted. Took a step closer.
Then gasped.
"No. No. Are you—ARE YOU—"
He dropped his stick again, dramatically falling to his knees.
"YOU'RE THE GREAT MAZANKA!"
Mazanka blinked. Rakan's brow twitched. Teruko's face dropped into a scowl.
"Guess I am."
"I didn't recognize you! You're taller than the underground posters!"
"I am?"
"But also shorter than I imagined."
"That checks out."
And just like that, the air changed.
The tension bled out of the clearing like old blood from a wound finally lanced. Shugoh, grinning so wide it looked like it might tear his cheeks, immediately attempted to shake Mazanka's hand, bow to Teruko again, and pat Rakan on the back all at once.
He failed at two of those.
Rakan caught his balance.
Teruko stepped back, eyes still narrowed, but less out of hostility now—more disbelief.
Mazanka just smirked.
"You always this loud?" he asked.
"Only when I'm not being hunted," Shugoh said brightly.
"We're fugitives," Teruko said bluntly.
"Aha! Fate!"
He looked to Rakan again, eyes curious.
"You're a half-human?"
Rakan cleared his throat. "Yeah."
"Fascinating. You radiate like a Ka'ro foghorn trying to whisper. I love it."
"Thanks…?"
"You're welcome! I like your whole vibe. Very 'lost prince trying not to be noticed.' I sense deep internal conflict. Big fan."
Rakan slowly turned to Mazanka and said quietly:
"Can we lose him?"
"Absolutely not," Mazanka said, grinning wider.
Shugoh turned back toward the jungle as if remembering something.
"I've been out here for days. My unit got separated when we investigated Rift interference near the collapsed border shrine. Ka'ro started acting wrong—like it had forgotten what shape to hold. Been living off root paste and poorly judged optimism."
"Why didn't you return to the main post?" Teruko asked.
"The roads were… odd. Wrong. I felt something following me—couldn't track it. My Ka'ro kept misfiring like it didn't want me found."
A brief pause.
His voice dropped, just a little.
"Didn't want anyone to find me, maybe."
Mazanka's face flickered. Just once.
Then Shugoh spun around, arms wide.
"But clearly the universe sent me something better than rescue—legendary outlaws! Ahahah! I'm honored. And I humbly request to travel with you on account of being hungry, vaguely cursed, and full of social potential."
Mazanka raised a hand.
"I vote yes."
Rakan sighed.
Teruko groaned.
Shugoh beamed.
"Fantastic. This'll be fun. When do we spar?"
Night descended like whispered silk across the jungle. The heavy canopy above let in only shards of starlight—sharp, pricked fragments of silver that fell like scattered promises upon the mossy ground. In a clearing at the edge of crumbling ruins, the group gathered near a low, crackling fire. The flames burned with an amber glow, its light dancing upon their faces as if teasing out secrets from deep within.
Mazanka reclined against a time-worn stone column, his eyes half-closed in reflection as he sipped from a battered cup. Rakan sat cross-legged at the fire's edge, absently tracing patterns in the swirling smoke, his expression somewhere between wonder and worry. Teruko kept a watchful vigil on one side, her gaze hard yet thoughtful. And Shugoh—the wild spirit—flitted about between them with a buoyant energy that belied the underlying tension of their journey.
The fire's gentle crackle wove itself into the background, mingling with the low chorus of night insects and the rustle of leaves. For a moment, time was unhurried, each heartbeat echoing with ancient secrets whispered by the forest.
Shugoh broke the silence, his voice mischievous and odd, reminiscent of a mischievous child reciting an epic ballad. "I once tried to dance with a fallen tree spirit—and ended up choreographing its lament!" he exclaimed, arms sweeping wide as if to capture the very essence of the twilight. His words were both a jest and a declaration, drawing a reluctant laugh from Rakan and a rolling of the eyes from Teruko.
Mazanka offered a gentle chuckle, the kind that resonated with bittersweet memories. "That's the sort of nonsense you need to survive out here," he said, his tone warm with familiarity. "But remember: even the wildest cadence must yield to the rhythm of truth."
Rakan shifted, squinting into the flames. "Truth can be frightening," he murmured, tracing a line in the soot on his calloused hand. "Sometimes it burns through our defenses, leaving us raw."
Teruko's gaze, normally as sharp as a drawn blade, softened for a brief moment. "I know," she whispered. "I fear the day my own Ka'ro betrays me and turns to ruin everything."
There was a palpable pause, the words hanging between them like fragile glass sculptures destined to shatter under the first errant breath of wind.
Shugoh, perched on a low rock and balancing the battered spoon he'd earlier attempted to juggle, leapt to his feet with a sudden, theatrical flourish. "Enough of that dreary talk!" he declared, voice rising in a hopeful crescendo. "Let's have a dance—one that doesn't break, but mends! A sparring of souls and limbs, where we forge new legends from old scars!"
He tossed the spoon aside with a careless flick that sent it clattering softly against stone, as if punctuating his challenge. "I propose a friendly bout! Let our Ka'ro sing its own improvisation, without the harsh cant of formality!"
With that, he bounded from his rocky seat toward Rakan and Teruko, who exchanged a look—both wary and amused. Mazanka only smirked, his eyes glinting with that mixture of exasperation and pride that came from seeing hope in chaos.
Rakan rose, meeting Shugoh's exuberance with a half-smile. "Alright," he said softly, voice trembling with anticipation, "show us what this—your Ka'ro—can truly do."
Shugoh's movements, first tentative, soon took on a life of their own. He began to move in a series of unpredictable, seemingly unscripted motions—a dance of sweeping, improvisational gestures. His footsteps were light as if carried on the laughter of leaves, his arms free and wild. Instead of reciting the customary chants of the Kenshiki, he allowed his body to speak directly to the Ka'ro that emanated from within him. It wasn't a structured form—no neatly etched glyphs or rigid seals—but a spontaneous outpouring of raw energy, as unpredictable and vibrant as a summer storm.
His Ka'ro flared in erratic swirls around his wrists, trailing sparks that shimmered like fragmented dreams—a mesmerizing pattern that no one, not even Teruko, could decipher. She frowned slightly, both in fascination and mild dismay.
"You're… dancing outside the rules," she said, her tone a mix of admiration and exasperation, as she mimicked a defensive stance. "That's not how it's supposed to be done."
Shugoh paused mid-step, a broad, mischievous grin lighting his face as he turned, almost playful despite the seriousness of the moment. "Rules are the cobwebs of complacency! What's life without a little chaos? My Ka'ro has its own rhythm—one that sings like a broken record that still plays beautifully if you listen closely enough."
Mazanka's gaze softened as he watched the young Kenshiki. "You're a walking contradiction, kid," he remarked with quiet mirth. "A testament to the possibility that beauty can emerge from unpredictability."
Rakan, still leaning against a stone where the fire's reflection danced on his face, added with a wry tone, "Yeah, real charming."
A spark ignited in Shugoh's eyes—a fierce, unburdened flame. "I may be the odd note in the symphony of chaos, but I promise you, it's one I wouldn't change for a thousand battles."
For several long minutes, they moved together in the clearing—sparring, laughing, and weaving a tapestry of sound and movement that felt simultaneously erratic and inevitable. The jungle's nocturne played out around them, every rustle of leaf and faint echo from the distance amplifying the rhythm of their struggle.
As the bout wound to an end, sweat glistening on their limbs and the fire's embers glowing like soft blessings, a gentle calm settled among them. Teruko's eyes, usually so scornful and controlled, now shone with reluctant admiration. Rakan's laughter had softened into quiet, thoughtful smiles. And Shugoh, still panting from his dance of defiance, looked up at the starry expanse, as if reading them for secret messages.
"Perhaps," Shugoh began, voice low and sincere, "this reckless dance of ours is what keeps the shadows at bay."
Rakan nodded slowly, lost in thought.
Mazanka, observing from the outskirts of their makeshift circle, simply said, "Even in chaos, there are moments of clarity."
And for that night—by the small fire, in the midst of the encroaching jungle—their disparate rhythms merged, forming a fragile, hopeful cadence—a promise that even the wildest hearts can beat in unison.
The fire had burned down to its coals—red and pulsing, like the last heartbeats of a long, weary day. Smoke rose in lazy curls, weaving itself into the leaves above as if whispering stories too ancient for human tongues. The jungle, lulled by the clash of wills and Ka'ro, seemed to exhale in response.
They had all scattered from the makeshift sparring ground, not like warriors defeated or victors triumphant, but simply as bodies that had nothing more to prove. Feet scraped over stone, joints popped in protest, and bruises bloomed like quiet confessions beneath layered clothing.
Rakan sat near the fire again, arms loosely wrapped around one knee, the other foot prodding the glowing embers as if they might answer the question he hadn't yet found the words for.
Shugoh lay sprawled on his back a few paces away, arms flung wide like he was being crucified by gravity, staring up at the fragmentary glyphs in the sky beyond the canopy.
"I think," he said to no one in particular, "my spine has decided to retire."
"Just your spine?" Mazanka asked from where he sat polishing a drinking gourd with the corner of his robe. "Mine quit three years ago. Now it just shows up to complain."
"Mine's forming a union," Rakan muttered.
"I support Ka'ro user unions," Shugoh mumbled, waving a limp hand. "We should get health benefits. And robes with actual pockets."
"You say that like it's a joke," Mazanka said, mock-serious. "But the lack of pockets is a war crime."
Teruko sat on a stone outcrop overlooking them, silent, arms folded, her usual scowl softened by fatigue. She had watched the entire sparring match unfold like someone trying to read a book written in spilled ink—and it unnerved her. Shugoh's Ka'ro shouldn't have worked. Not structurally. Not logically.
And yet it had.
It moved like intuition weaponized.
"You're unpredictable," she said aloud.
Shugoh raised a tired hand toward the sky.
"Thanks. I strive to disappoint expectations and confuse mentors."
"That's not a compliment."
"It is in my world."
Rakan turned toward him.
"How do you do it?" he asked. "Your Ka'ro… it doesn't follow any of the rules Teruko's taught me. Or the ones I've read. It's like—like watching someone try to speak in wind and somehow making it rhyme."
Shugoh didn't answer immediately.
When he finally did, his voice had shifted—quieter. Not somber, but real.
"I don't make it rhyme," he said. "It just sounds like it does because I stopped trying to make it sound like anything else."
He sat up slowly, brushing his palms over his pants, smearing dust and ash in strange, circular patterns.
"Ka'ro never liked me. Not at first. It felt me out, sniffed at my soul, then walked the other way. Said I didn't have the structure. Didn't have the order. And I… well, I agreed. For a while."
He looked over at the half-human boy.
"But then I realized… if Ka'ro is a reflection of what lives inside us—then maybe I didn't need to learn its language. Maybe I just needed to teach it mine."
There was a hush.
Not reverent.
Just listening.
Even the fire cracked more softly now, as though leaning closer.
Teruko blinked, her scowl deepening slightly—not in irritation, but thought.
Mazanka hummed low in his throat.
"What you're doing," he said, "is dangerous."
"So is waking up."
"Fair."
They fell into a kind of loose silence then. Not awkward, not cold. Just the quiet shared between people who weren't sure if they were friends yet—but knew, at least, they weren't enemies anymore.
Shugoh reached into his bag and pulled out a crooked, misshapen fruit.
"Anyone want some… probably-a-peach?"
"No," Rakan and Teruko said in unison, almost too quick.
Mazanka accepted it without looking up.
"Gods," Teruko muttered. "There's two of them."
"Technically," Shugoh said, mouth already full of something that crunched ominously, "there's three of us."
"He's not like you," she said, motioning to Mazanka. "You're irresponsible. He's unhinged."
"Difference being?" Mazanka asked, smiling with his teeth this time.
Much later, as the fire dimmed to embers and the night curled tighter around them, Mazanka stood up with a grunt, stretching his spine until it popped like a cracked floorboard. He glanced skyward—his eye catching on something distant and pale just beyond the edge of the canopy.
A flicker.
Barely noticeable.
Like the Ka'ro had exhaled.
He frowned.
"Did anyone feel that?"
Rakan looked up. "Yeah… I thought it was just me."
Teruko nodded once. "Something shifted. Not close. But not far enough."
Shugoh sat upright now too, posture straight despite the exhaustion.
"It felt like… like something important decided it was time to wake up."
Mazanka narrowed his eyes at the dark.
"It's just beginning."