The ground changed beneath our feet.
One moment, it was void. The next—thread.
Woven lines of gold and black spiraled underfoot, tightening with each step like a loom snapping into place.
Then they faded.
And the world reformed.
Not all at once.
First came the smell—pine and soot and wet earth. Then came color—ashen reds, storm-grey blues, gold like lantern light reflected in water.
Then sound.
Distant. Echoing.
Steel.
We stepped onto a battlefield made of memory.
Half of it was the garden from Rin's estate. The other half, the pine clearing from Genzo's training. Fragments of Shuji's broken shop rose behind us. A fallen torii split the sky above, crooked and burning faintly from one side.
The edges of the world curved upward.
As if we stood inside the bottom of a cracked bowl.
And around the rim—they descended.
Shikigami.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Masks glowing. Limbs folding in unnatural rhythms. Each one formed from a fracture, a wound, a forgotten path.
***
In the center, they stood waiting.
Rin. Shuji. Tatsuya. Sayo.
Backs to one another.
Breathing hard. Faces bloodied. But still standing.
They didn't look surprised to see us.
Just relieved.
Rin turned first. "You took your time."
I stepped beside her.
Genzo moved to Tatsuya's side.
The younger man nodded, breath shallow. "You fight?"
"I protect," Genzo said, drawing his blade.
***
Above us, the sky pulsed once.
A hole tore through the clouds—not fire. Not shadow.
But unthreading.
And from that tear—
She descended.
Not with wings.
Not with force.
Just presence.
The woman in indigo robes.
Still masked. Still silent.
But this time, we all felt it.
Something deep in our blood turned cold.
The shikigami parted around her, circling us like hounds held back by leash and command.
Her hand rose.
Not to speak.
But to judge.
And the army charged.