The tension in the tavern was suffocating.
Reika had not killed a single one of them, and yet the very air felt like a graveyard, thick with the kind of fear that rooted itself in the bones.
She tilted her head slightly, her long shes lowering as she took a slow sip from the sake cup. The liquid barely touched her lips before she set it down with deliberate grace.
Then she spoke.
"You will prepare rooms for the four of us."
Her voice was soft, yet absolute, rolling through the air like a silk-draped bde.
The tavern master, an older man with graying hair and shaking hands, swallowed hard.
"A—A room, my dy?" he stammered.
Reika’s amethyst gaze lifted.
The silence was deafening.
She didn’t repeat herself.
Because she didn’t have to.
The man’s entire body locked up in sheer terror—the understanding clear in his wide, desperate eyes. If he denied her, if he even so much as hesitated too long, then the next moment would be his st.
"O-of course!" he rushed out, bowing so quickly his forehead almost hit the wooden counter. "Right away, my dy!"
Around the tavern, the men who had dared to challenge her moments ago were still frozen, unable to speak, unable to breathe.
One of them—the younger warrior from before, now pale and shaking—stumbled toward the door.
"W-we have to tell the castle—" he gasped to his remaining allies.
Reika barely gnced in his direction.
"Go ahead," she murmured.
The man froze mid-step, turning toward her in confusion.
"You… you’re letting me?"
A small, zy smile ghosted her lips, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her sake cup.
"It's not as if they could do anything to me anyway."
The man hesitated, then bolted out the door.
No one followed him.
No one dared.
Because deep down, they already knew the truth.
If the castle heard, if the shogunate prepared their best men, if every warrior in Kosei rallied against her—
It still wouldn’t change anything.
Reika was beyond them all.
The Call of the Night
Later that night, after the uneasy silence in the tavern had settled, we finally had a room—small, but suitable enough.
Masanori and Rin, still worn from the events of the past few days, had already retreated to their own futons, exhaustion pulling them into sleep.
I, however, was still awake.
And Reika knew.
She stood by the open window, her silky bck kimono illuminated by the dim moonlight, the golden embroidery shimmering softly as she gazed toward the night sky.
Then, without turning, she murmured—
"Come."
I hesitated only for a moment before stepping toward her.
Before I could say anything, she moved.
Her elegant fingers lifted, and the space around her warped ever so slightly—
And then she was no longer the woman beside me.
She was her true self once more.
A towering, divine force—a being who did not belong in this fragile world, whose very existence dwarfed the nd itself.
She knelt, lowering her hand toward me—her palm open, waiting.
"Get on," she murmured.
I hesitated.
Not because I feared her.
But because even now, even knowing her for so long, even standing in the presence of her immense, overwhelming form—
She still left me breathless.
Finally, I stepped onto her hand.
The moment my feet touched her cool, smooth skin, she curled her fingers ever so slightly, cradling me gently as she lifted me upward.
Higher.
Higher.
Until I was nestled against her chest, the rhythmic hum of her breath calm and steady beneath me.
Then, with slow, deliberate ease, she walked.
A View Beyond the Mortal World
She took me to a cliffside, a pce where the nd sloped downward toward a wide, open valley bathed in the silver glow of the moon.
It was beautiful.
Peaceful.
A pce untouched by the bloodshed we had witnessed.
She stood still for a moment, gazing at the ndscape, her long shes lowering slightly, as if she were committing it to memory.
"Do you miss it?" I asked softly.
Her eyes flickered downward, meeting mine in her palm.
"Miss what?"
"Tokyo."
For a moment, she didn’t answer.
Then, she sighed, lowering herself so that she could gently set me down on her knee, letting me rest against the smooth fabric of her kimono.
"It’s strange," she murmured, her voice quiet, distant. "At first, I tried to go back. I searched, I tore this world apart looking for an answer. And when I found nothing, I raged."
Her fingers curled slightly, as if remembering the destruction she had once caused.
"Then I stopped."
She tilted her head, gazing toward the sky.
"After a while, the memory of Tokyo felt… detached. Like a dream I had once woken from."
I swallowed. "And now?"
Her lips curved slightly, her amethyst gaze dropping back to me.
"Now, I wonder if I even belong there anymore."
The words sent a strange pang through my chest.
I looked up at her, at the woman who had once been my closest friend, now sitting here like a forgotten goddess, both beautiful and terrifying, both intimate and untouchable.
"You feel… different," she murmured suddenly.
I blinked. "What?"
"You’re the only thing in this world that doesn’t feel small to me."
The words hung in the air, heavy, quiet, ced with something I couldn’t quite pce.
Then—her fingers lifted, brushing against my back.
I barely had time to react before she tilted me forward, pressing me lightly against her chest.
Not forcefully.
Not possessively.
Just holding me there—as if grounding herself to something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
"Meeting you again," she murmured, "has made me remember what it was like to feel human."
I let out a slow breath, resting my forehead against her skin.
"Maybe," I whispered, "you never stopped being one."
Her hand tightened slightly around me, her breath steady but deep.
We didn’t speak for a while after that.
We didn’t need to.
We just sat there, the moon above us, the world below, and the weight of something long-forgotten settling between us.
Something not quite defined.
Something only the two of us could ever understand.