Chapter 5

Fuko—

The cat's entire body went rigid at the mention of the name. His green eyes widened.

"The holy relic said to extend a person's lifespan if they impale themselves in the heart? That knife?" Kuro's voice trembled with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. His tail had stopped its usual swishing, held perfectly still in the air like a question mark made flesh.

I kept walking, my boots scraping softly against the cobblestones slick with the day's grime. The alley walls pressed close on either side, their surfaces mottled with shadows that seemed to shift and breathe in the dimming light. "Who knows," I said, my voice deliberately flat. "It's a made-up fairy tale. The kind of story drunks tell in taverns to make themselves sound important."

But even as the words left my mouth, I knew I didn't believe them. Fairy tales didn't leave bodies in their wake. Fairy tales didn't make children disappear in the night.

The black cat

Kuro, as he'd introduced himself

scrambled to keep pace with me. His small paws made almost no sound against the stone, just the faintest whisper of movement. For a creature so verbose, he moved with surprising grace.

I picked my route carefully, staying away from the main thoroughfares where torchlight spilled from windows and guards made their rounds. The back alleys were safer,

darker, yes, and they reeked of things best left unexamined, but the shadows here were friends. They'd kept me alive this long.

The alley opened ahead, branching into a narrow T-intersection. I started to turn left when voices drifted around the corner, clear as bell chimes in the evening air.

"Did you hear? The new prisoner just escaped."

My body moved before my mind caught up. I pressed myself flat against the wall, feeling the rough stone dig into my shoulder blades through my torn shirt. The cold seeped through the fabric, but I welcomed it. It kept me sharp. I edged forward just enough to peek around the corner, keeping most of my body hidden in the darkness.

Two knights strode past, not twenty paces away. Their armor caught the light from a distant torch, polished metal gleaming like liquid silver. The plates were immaculate,

not a scratch or dent visible. These weren't battle-worn soldiers. These were castle guards, men who spent more time standing at attention than actually fighting.

"I heard he has black hair and red eyes," the first knight said. His voice was young, uncertain. New to the job, probably. Still believed in the stories they told about honor and duty.

The second knight's laugh was harsh and grating. "Aren't those kinds of bad omens?" He spat on the ground for emphasis. "Those kinds shouldn't even be alive. Do you think we'll get a reward if we bring his head?"

They spoke about me—

about my death

with the casual ease of men discussing the weather. Just another task to complete. Just another body to add to whatever pile.

Their voices faded as they continued down the street, boots striking the cobblestones in matched rhythm. Another day at work. Another hunt for another victim?

My hand moved unconsciously to my face, fingers grazing the skin beneath my right eye. I couldn't see the color, not in this light, but I knew what was there. Red as fresh blood. Red as guilt. Red was all the things people in this kingdom feared and hated.

A sudden weight landed on my shoulder, breaking my reverie. I turned my head slowly, expecting trouble, and found Kuro perched there like some kind of tiny, judgmental gargoyle. He was also peering around the corner, watching the knights disappear into the distance.

"You know," he said, his whiskers twitching, "if I had to take a guess, they were talking about you."

I didn't respond. What was there to say?

Kuro's tail swished once, twice, brushing against the back of my neck. "I've never met anyone with black hair. Well, you know, besides you and me." He waved one paw through his own midnight fur, as if presenting evidence. The gesture was clearly meant to lighten the mood, to ease the tension that had settled over me like a burial shroud.

It didn't work.

"Anyway," Kuro continued when I remained silent, "back to the topic at hand."

I pushed away from the wall and turned, heading deeper into the maze of alleys. The cat remained on my shoulder, his claws pricking slightly through the fabric to keep his balance. I'd grown used to the small discomfort. It was nothing compared to everything else.

The knife of a thousand souls. The angel who spoke to the lord. The children are being dragged.

All of it connected. All of it leading back to that castle whose towers loomed over this rotting kingdom like the fingers of a corpse reaching for the sky.

And I was going to walk right into its heart.

I walked a little bit more, getting closer and closer to where I was heading. 

“What do you mean? Everyone knows the story about that knife.” Kuro is trying to continue the conversation. 

“I don’t care about the knife, all I care about is—“ before I could finish 

Kuro suddenly cuts me off, “It all began a hundred years ago—”

Interrupting him, “I said I didn’t care about the stor—” cutting me off yet again, pressing a paw against my lips.

A soft paw pressed firmly against my lips, cutting off my protest mid-word. For something so small and covered in fur, it was surprisingly effective at silencing me. I stopped walking and turned my head to stare at the cat perched on my shoulder.

Kuro met my gaze without flinching, his green eyes gleaming with determination. "Just listen," he said, his voice dropping to something more serious, more urgent. "Trust me. You need to hear this."

I considered pushing him off my shoulder. I considered walking away. But something in his tone made me pause. With a resigned sigh, I leaned against the alley wall and crossed my arms. "Fine. Make it quick."

Kuro's tail swished once in satisfaction before he settled more comfortably on my shoulder, curling his tail around himself like a storyteller preparing for a long tale.

"A lord," he began, his voice taking on the cadence of old legends, "young and healthy, lived in a grand castle with a loving wife and two children. The lord loved his family, his people, and those who served him. He treated them well, ruled fairly. But that all changed one day."

The cat paused, and I could almost see him gathering the threads of the story in his mind.

"A slave fortuneteller was passing through the town—part of a merchant caravan, perhaps, or simply wandering. However she arrived, word reached the castle of her gift for seeing the future. The lord, whether out of curiosity or some deeper concern, summoned her to read his fortune."

Kuro's voice dropped lower, more ominous. "She came before him in his private study. Candlelight flickered across her face as she gazed into whatever mystics gaze into

tea leaves, palm lines, the stars themselves. And then she saw it. His death. Coming soon."

I felt a chill run down my spine despite myself.

"The lord's reaction was immediate," Kuro continued. "Not grief. Not acceptance. Rage. How dare this slave, this worthless creature, speak of his death? How dare she predict the end of his rule, his life, his legacy?" The cat's claws kneaded slightly into my shoulder, emphasizing the words. "In his anger and paranoia, he sentenced her to death on the spot. For the crime of telling him what he didn't want to hear."

"That's—" I started, but Kuro's tail flicked against my mouth.

"The fortuneteller fell to her knees, begging for her life. She pleaded, wept, and promised anything. And then, in her desperation, she spoke words that would doom this entire kingdom." Kuro's voice became barely more than a whisper. "She told him there was a way. A way to cheat death itself."

The alley seemed darker now, the shadows pressing closer.

"The lord stopped. Listened. The fortuneteller, trembling, revealed how to summon angelic

beings of power who existed beyond mortal understanding. She gave him the ritual, the words, the method. Everything. Hoping, praying it would save her life."

"Did it?" I found myself asking despite my earlier disinterest. "Did the fortuneteller survive?"