The peace of Tsukuyomi’s sanctuary did not last.

Aiko awoke to the scent of burning incense—only it was wrong, tainted. A bitter stench curled through the temple halls, thick with something unnatural. Then came the distant clash of steel, the hurried shouts of monks roused from their meditation.

The Onibane had come.

Ryou was already armed when he stormed into her chamber. His hair was slightly tousled, his breathing steady but urgent. “We have to go. Now.”

She threw off the blanket, reaching for her weapons. “The monks—”

“They’re fighting, but it won’t be enough.”

Mei appeared in the doorway, her violet eyes sharper than usual. “They didn’t come for the temple. They came for you.”

Aiko’s stomach tightened, but there was no time to dwell on it. She followed them into the courtyard, where chaos had already taken root. The Onibane moved like wraiths, their blades whispering through the air, cutting down anything in their path. Among them stood a masked warrior, his presence warping the space around him like heat on desert sand.

Aiko’s fire flared instinctively. She raised her hands, calling forth blue foxfire, sending it hurtling toward the invaders. The flames seared through the darkness, forcing them back. But the masked warrior did not move. He merely lifted a hand, and with a single flick of his wrist, her fire died.

The cold realization seeped into her bones.

Then he spoke.

“You cannot run from what you are, Aiko.”

His voice—deep, steady—wrapped around her like a noose. Something about it pulled at her, like a thread yanked too hard, threatening to unravel everything she had carefully tried to piece together.

A flash of golden eyes. Smoke rising into the sky. A hand reaching for hers—

A sharp pain at her wrist snapped her back.

“Stay with me,” Ryou’s voice grounded her. She hadn’t realized she was shaking. His grip was firm, his touch warmer than she expected. “We’re leaving.”

She barely nodded before the masked warrior took a step forward.

“Who are you?” she forced out, her breath unsteady.

The warrior tilted his head, as if amused. “The truth will find you soon enough.”

The shadows behind him surged, a writhing mass of black swallowing everything in its path. The temple’s defenses buckled.

Aiko hesitated. “Master Genzo—”

Ryou’s hand tightened around hers. “Aiko.” His voice was low, urgent, almost pleading. “If we stay, we die.”

Something in his expression made her breath hitch. It wasn’t just fear—it was something deeper. He refused to leave her behind.

“Come on!” Mei urged.

With a final glance at the temple, Aiko turned and ran, her heart pounding against her ribs—not just from the battle, but from the warmth of Ryou’s fingers still laced with hers.

They didn’t stop until the temple was nothing but smoke on the horizon.

Aiko’s lungs burned, her mind reeling. She should have been thinking about the attack, about the masked warrior, about what his words meant.

But instead, all she could think about was the way Ryou had held on to her—like letting go was never an option.

Master Genzo’s final words echoed in her chest.

“The answers lie where the Kyūbi’s tale began.”

For the first time, Aiko wasn’t sure if she was ready to know the truth.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure what scared her more—the past waiting to be uncovered… or the future she was running toward, hand in hand with Ryou.