The trees thinned without warning.
The trees thinned without warning.
One moment, they were threading through mist-thick vines and roots that shimmered like veins under skin. The next—the jungle sighed.
Exhaled them.
Not with relief.
But with indifference. Like it was finished remembering something too heavy to carry any further.
One moment they were threading through thickets of mist-cloaked vines and silver-lit roots, and the next the jungle sighed—opened—like it had finally exhaled them into something not entirely wilderness.
The canopy tore away to reveal a sky choked in low-hanging smoke. Hills of stone and overgrown ruins sloped downward, giving way to what should've been a village—but what stood now was something between aftermath and afterthought. A civilization that still wore the shape of its former life, but none of the soul. Hills sloped downward, pocked with fractured stone and the carcasses of ruins. What should've been a village stretched below—but what remained was something between aftermath and afterthought.
A place that remembered being human, but not why
Dilapidated shrines leaned into crooked angles. The few thatched rooftops still standing looked like they had held hands with fire. Water troughs were overturned, market stalls snapped in half, and every corner bore the scent of warped Ka'ro—like something once pure had bloated, soured, then rotted in the veins of the world.
Everything smelled of soured Ka'ro—not corrupted, but bloating, like something holy had rotted slowly in the earth.
"Charming," Mazanka muttered, brushing a leaf from his shoulder.
"Looks like something sneezed on a village," Shugoh said. His voice was bright—but just a little off, like he was warming up to it again.
"With blood," Rakan added grimly.
"Maybe it was a polite sneeze," Shugoh replied. "Some of the stalls still have signs."
Teruko stepped ahead, gaze slicing through the street like a blade half-drawn. Her Ka'ro rippled at her ankles like smoke given orders.
"Stay alert," she said. "Something happened here. Something big."
The group moved cautiously through the ruins. What had once been a market lay fractured—fruit crushed underfoot, stalls shattered as if by blast or brute. No bodies. No blood. But the kind of stillness that made death feel implied.
The tension woven in the jungle still clung to their backs like wet cloth.
Even in sunlight.
Even here.
The Rift's pulse hadn't left them.
It just moved with them.
Rakan led through the wreckage in silence, Teruko just behind. Her Ka'ro curled at her feet in slow spirals, like it wasn't sure if it was defending or mourning.
Then—
A muffled cough.
A voice. "Over here—"
They moved as one.
Inside a half-collapsed shrine, buried beneath rubble and a warding glyph now cracked down the center, sat two injured Kenshiki.
One leaned heavily against the wall, breathing in shallow bursts. The other sat cross-legged beside him, arms bound with woven spirit-rope etched with Ka'ro runes. Neither looked relieved to see them.
The upright one's eyes flared in recognition—sharp, suspicious.
"Well, well," he hissed. "Didn't expect the traitor squad."
"How many damn posters did they put out?" Mazanka asked, not moving.
"Enough for your face to ruin every mission I've had this month," the man growled. "Mazanka. Teruko Shidō. Just amazing."
"Charmed," Mazanka said, flatly.
The second figure coughed again. "You here to finish the job?"
Teruko's blade was already half-drawn.
"We're not your enemy."
"Sure looks like you are from down here. Or maybe it's just the air. Doubt it. "
Rakan stepped forward, tense.
"We're not here to fight. You're injured. Let us help."
"I'd rather die on my feet than be touched by—"
Before the argument could erupt, a voice cut clean through the tension like a trumpet played in a library:
"HEY!"
The shout cut through them all like a thrown pebble into sacred silence.
Shugoh.
He had kicked aside part of the binding glyph with his foot and stood in the center of the sigil-circle like he'd just discovered dinner.
"You guys look awful!" he beamed. "But still alive. That's progress!"
One of the Kenshiki blinked.
"Shugoh…?"
"AHA!" Shugoh pointed dramatically. "Nishira! I knew that forehead anywhere! And Tanzeki, you look like a noodle that got caught in a lightning storm. Good to see you!"
The boy in question looked up, squinting, before scowling.
"Oh, this is just great."
"Tanzeki! I thought that was your dramatic scowl!"
"Shugoh, why are you with fugitives—"
"I'm rescuing you, obviously."
"Yeah, right," Tanzeki scoffing, nodding toward Mazanka, Teruko, and Rakan. "Some rescuing company you—"
"Legends!" Shugoh cut him off, loudly. "This is my good friend… uh… Rako? Ramen?"
"Rakan," Rakan hissed through his teeth.
"Isn't that what I said?"
"No."
"Close enough! And this"—he swung an arm between Mazanka and Terumi—"this is Mazanka the Glitter-Eyed Rogue Hero of the two worlds. And I'm sure you both recognise my hero, inspiration, muse, TERUKO SHIDŌ!"
Mazanka bowed deeply. "Pleasure."
Teruko acted like he didn't exist.
Tanzeki's brow twitched. "This is a nightmare."
The other Kenshiki, a woman with striking silver rings in her ears and a jagged tattoo under her eye, tilted her head.
"This explains so much," she said dryly. "We get abandoned and cursed by Ka'ro in the same week."
"Nishira!" Shugoh grinned. "Your sarcasm still sparkles!"
"Please untie us before I say something regrettable."
Rakan watched, baffled.
"They know him."
"Apparently," Teruko muttered.
"Why does it feel like they wish they didn't?"
Mazanka snorted. "Because they do."
"We've been stuck here for days. Trapped after the ambush. Sazuri went off alone, said he had a plan."
"Let me guess," Mazanka said. "Your teammate didn't tell anyone what it was?"
"He said if he freed us, the whole cover would be blown. Wanted to take down whoever was behind this before they realized we were gone."
"That's…" Rakan began.
"Very Sazuri," Nishira finished with a sigh. "Self-righteous, emotionally constipated, and always two steps from martyrdom."
"He means well," Shugoh said brightly.
The group turned to him with blank stares.
"You know him?"
Shugoh blinked.
"Oh, we're best friends!"
Pause.
Long pause.
Tanzeki cleared his throat, mumbling something which closely resembled the words: 'Yeah fucking right'.
"Didn't think Sazuri's number-one fanboy would be the one to get us out of this mess," said Nishira.
Her gaze drifted to Shugoh, who was now humming while casually repairing part of the broken glyph with his foot.
"That asshole must've been clairvoyant; he'd rather face a whole army than spend ten minutes alone with you."
"You know he respects me," Shugoh said, obliviously.
"Sazuri once broke a tree in half because you offered to braid his hair."
"Which was a sign of trust!"
"He said he'd rather be devoured by the rift's corrupt than spend a minute alone with you."
"He's shy."
"He tried to poison your tea at the Summit."
"Because he trusts my taste!"
"He told the council you were the reason he developed a stress twitch."
"Which is how Kenshiki bond!"
"He wrote a scroll titled, 'Shugoh: A Case Study in Persistent Agony.'"
"And I proofread it!"
Tanzeki turned to Mazanka.
"You know you've got a basket case tagging along with you, right?"
Mazanka grinned, arms folded.
"Oh, absolutely. That's why we love him."
Teruko sighed. "This is going to be a long day."
"Shugoh," the Nishira finally muttered, her voice low and irritated. "Think you can untie us now or what?"
"Oh!" he said, startled. "Right. Binding glyphs. So rude!"
He crouched and began dragging his fingers over the markings with reckless enthusiasm, tracing odd curves and spirals, completely ignoring formal techniques.
Rakan stepped forward, cautious. "Shugoh—are you sure you should—"
"This is Improvised Ka'ro Dismantling Technique #14: Spiral Hug Revision!" he declared.
"That's not real," Teruko muttered.
"It is now!"
The glyphs flared. Then popped—literally snapped apart like someone pulling loose threads from a shirt. The Kenshiki were released with a surge of displaced Ka'ro and an offended humph from the bindings themselves.
Mazanka raised an eyebrow.
"You just bullied the glyphs into letting go."
"Some people negotiate with violence. I offer charm."
As two Kenshiki rose shakily to their feet, still clearly bruised, they eyed the rest of the group warily.
The shrine was still groaning as if it remembered fire. Its roof sagged above them like the weight of what had happened hadn't quite let go. Outside, the wind began to pick up—soft at first, then sharper, threading itself between broken windows and half-collapsed rafters, like it wanted to listen.
Inside, tension burned from the past introductions and accusations.
Tanzeki now sat on the edge of a splintered altar, arms crossed, head tilted with narrowed, suspicious eyes. A thin, vertical scar ran from the bridge of his nose to the left side of his lip—not jagged, but clean, almost surgical. His hair was jet black, shaved on one side, and braided down the other. His Ka'ro had a silvery tint to it, like fractured glass—not flaring, but always present, like a heartbeat that didn't like being watched.
Beside him, Nishira was picking broken shards of sigil-stone from her sleeves, lips pressed tight with irritation. She was broad-shouldered, slightly older than the others, with sharp silver eyes and Ka'ro that flowed like oil over steel. Her uniform was better preserved than Tanzeki's, but the way she rolled her shoulders suggested she was one wrong word from cracking someone in half.
"You're really traveling with him?" she muttered, nodding toward Shugoh, who was busy trying to roast something vaguely vegetable-shaped over a flame that refused to cooperate.
"He's grown on us," Rakan replied.
"Like moss," Teruko muttered.
"Like art," Shugoh corrected over his shoulder cheerfully. "Chaotic, misunderstood, hauntingly delicious."
Mazanka leaned against the far wall, arms folded, watching with a kind of sideways patience only he could muster.
"You're the ones who called him here, you know," he said, gesturing to Shugoh with his chin. "You made the mistake of surviving near him. That's basically a summoning ritual."
"He'd probably smell us from eleven miles away," Tanzeki deadpanned. "Like a little dog."
"I have an incredible nose," Shugoh added, ignoring the last remark. "And also an uncanny emotional radar."
"Yeah, whatever," Nishira grumbled.
"I felt the resentment in your bindings, my dear Nishira." A sneer was thrown his way at the endearment. "They weren't meant to contain your Ka'ro. They were made of abandonment. I related."
Tanzeki let out a slow sigh and rubbed his temples.
"You're exhausting."
"Which means I'm working," Shugoh beamed.
Rakan tried to cut through the rising absurdity.
"You said your teammate went off alone?"
Nishira's jaw tightened. Her answer was clipped.
"He slipped the moment the enemy turned their backs. Said he'd scout ahead. We told him—warned him—it was a trap. He said that he didn't care."
Tanzeki scoffed.
"What he meant was that he wanted a fight."
Mazanka raised an eyebrow.
"And let me guess. Strong opponent nearby. Ka'ro disturbance. Possible death. Perfect bait for a little, battle-hungry Kenshiki with a superiority complex."
"Exactly," Nishira muttered. "He thinks he can just break everything to prove he's stronger."
"He can't help it," Shugoh said, plopping down near them with a plate of steaming food of questionable origin. "He's very dramatic. It's how he expresses love."
Everyone looked at him.
"Sazuri would break your spine with one hand and call it justice," Tanzeki said.
"He's flamboyant," Shugoh said with a carefree shrug.
"No, he just hates you," Nishira growled.
"That's just how he makes friends."
"For goodness sake, you moron, he once dropped a tree on your tent and told the council it was a 'natural event.'"
"Which I took as a gesture of forgiveness."
"He won't talk to you, Shugoh."
"That's because we communicate through battle auras. It's a whole unspoken language."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Mazanka coughed into his fist to cover a laugh.
"You're the reason the word delusion exists in the Kenshiki lexicon."
"No," Shugoh said, very seriously. "I'm the reason we need hope."
Rakan stood, arms crossed, his gaze locked on the window where the light had begun to dim—unnaturally. The colors had changed, slightly skewed, as though something was bending them. The Ka'ro in the air thickened, no longer sharp, but coiled and warm, like breath exhaled over coals.
"Something's nearby."
Teruko joined him. Her eyes narrowed.
"Kenshiki?"
"No."
Mazanka was already moving toward the door.
"The people who left these three alive don't leave loose ends. If they're still nearby, they're watching. Waiting."
Nishira straightened. Tanzeki reached for his blade, then winced as his ribs reminded him of their recent betrayal.
"If Sazuri's picking fights again," Nishira muttered, "we're going to find a crater and a blood trail."
"He wouldn't lose," Tanzeki said reluctantly.
"No," Mazanka said. "But he could draw something far worse toward us if he keeps lighting beacons of Ka'ro."
Outside, the wind curled through broken rafters like breath pulled from lungs long emptied.
From the east—beyond the shattered rice terraces and half-crumbled wards—Ka'ro rang.
Not loud.
Not fast.
But heavy.
Rhythmic.
Measured.
Like footsteps.
Like challenge.
Like the world was counting its own heartbeat.
Mazanka tilted his head. His eye caught the horizon and narrowed.
"Guess your teammate found something."
Shugoh's face lit up, grin returning like a sunbeam through fog.
"THAT'S MY BUDDY!"
Everyone else collectively groaned.
But no one turned away.
Because whatever was coming—
It already knew they were here.