The sky was still tinged with the first light of dawn when Reika turned to us, her amethyst gaze unreadable, her bck kimono shimmering slightly in the morning breeze.

  She stood at her smaller size, a little over two meters tall, but her presence was still impossible to ignore—the weight of her existence pressing against the very air around her.

  "This was fun," she murmured, brushing a strand of her medium-length bck hair behind her ear. "Traveling with you all, seeing these little human settlements, watching you struggle."

  Her lips curled slightly at that st part, teasing.

  Masanori scoffed. "Gd you were entertained."

  Reika ignored him.

  Her gaze settled on me, lingering just a second longer than I expected.

  "But I have other things to do."

  I hesitated. "You’re leaving?"

  "Of course." She stretched slightly, her kimono shifting with the movement. "I never intended to follow you forever. Besides…"

  She exhaled softly, tilting her head, her bored yet piercing stare locking onto mine.

  "I’ve indulged enough in this little nostalgia trip."

  Something about the way she said it made my chest tighten.

  "Will I see you again?" I asked before I could stop myself.

  Her lips twitched upward. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

  A pause.

  Then—she stepped forward and pced her cool fingers against my forehead, her touch as light as silk.

  "But if you ever need me…"

  Her fingers trailed away, and I knew what she meant.

  The bck gem she had given me still rested in my pocket, its weight heavier than it should have been.

  She stepped back, adjusting her sleeves.

  "Try not to get killed before then."

  And with that—she was gone.

  She didn’t vanish into smoke or light.

  She just walked away, her presence fading from our world like a receding tide.

  And somehow, despite everything—it felt strangely empty without her.

  A Stranger on the Road

  It had been two days since Reika left.

  We had continued our journey eastward, toward Kosei’s neighboring territory, where we hoped to warn other human factions of the rising demon threat.

  The days were long, filled with quiet conversations and the rhythmic sounds of our footsteps on dirt paths.

  It wasn’t until the third evening that we heard it.

  A scream—sharp, desperate, echoing through the woods.

  Masanori was the first to react, hand flying to his sword.

  "That was close," he muttered, eyes scanning the trees.

  Rin narrowed her gaze. "It came from just ahead."

  I didn't hesitate—I ran toward the sound.

  The clearing opened up before us.

  And there—pressed against the trunk of a broken tree, trembling, covered in scratches and dirt—was a woman.

  She was beautiful, but in a fragile, human way.

  Her long chestnut-brown hair was tangled and unkempt, her kimono torn and dirtied, and her soft brown eyes glistened with fear.

  And she was surrounded by three Oni.

  A New Companion

  We didn’t hesitate.

  Masanori charged in first, his bde fshing as he cut down the first Oni with a single, clean strike.

  Rin moved next, flinging a talisman forward—the paper igniting into a holy fme that wrapped around the second Oni, burning its flesh.

  The third tried to flee.

  I caught it before it could, driving my sword into its back, feeling the weight of its body colpse beneath me.

  And just like that, it was over.

  The woman was still shaking, her hands clutched at her torn kimono.

  I stepped forward carefully, lowering my weapon. "Are you alright?"

  She flinched slightly at first, then hesitated—her wide, trembling gaze locking onto mine.

  Then—she nodded.

  "Y-yes… thank you. I—I thought I was going to die."

  Masanori exhaled, sheathing his sword. "You were lucky we were passing through."

  Rin studied her, expression unreadable. "Who are you?"

  The woman swallowed hard, her shoulders still rising and falling unevenly.

  "My name is Akari," she whispered.

  "I… I was traveling from my vilge when they attacked me. My family—" her voice broke. "They killed them all. I ran, but… I didn’t think I’d escape."

  I clenched my jaw.

  Another victim of the demon war.

  Another life destroyed by forces too powerful to resist.

  "You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?" I asked softly.

  She hesitated.

  Then—slowly—she shook her head.

  I turned to Masanori and Rin. "We should bring her with us."

  Rin frowned. "Jin—"

  "She has no one else." I stepped closer to Akari, offering my hand. "You’ll be safer with us."

  For a long moment, she just stared at me.

  Then—she took my hand.

  "Thank you."

  And just like that, Akari joined our journey.

  The Days That Followed

  Akari fit into our group with an almost unnatural ease, and yet, something about her presence always felt… delicate.

  She was quiet, never speaking out of turn, always watching. Not in a suspicious way—at least, not at first—but in a way that made it seem like she was absorbing everything, tucking away every detail like it might be important ter.

  At night, when the fire crackled between us and the exhaustion of travel settled in, she would sometimes sit beside me, her hands folded neatly in her p. She never asked too much—never pried, never pushed—but her words were always ced with something thoughtful, deliberate.

  "You don’t carry yourself like the others," she said one evening, after Masanori had finished cleaning his sword.

  I gnced at her. "What do you mean?"

  She smiled faintly. "You’re not a warrior. Even when you move, even when you hold a bde—it’s different. Like it doesn’t quite belong in your hands."

  I exhaled. She wasn’t wrong.

  "I wasn’t meant to be a warrior," I admitted. "I didn’t grow up like Masanori, training with a sword. I wasn’t raised to fight demons or wield talismans like Rin."

  She tilted her head, her soft brown eyes reflecting the firelight.

  "Then what were you meant to be?"

  I hesitated. It wasn’t an easy question.

  "I don’t know anymore," I murmured, stretching out my hands toward the fmes.

  Akari watched me for a moment before speaking again, her voice gentle, measured.

  "You came from somewhere far away, didn’t you?"

  I tensed slightly, but she didn’t press.

  It wasn’t suspicious—not exactly. She had been listening, piecing things together, the way an observant traveler might. And yet, I could feel the weight of her curiosity just beneath the surface.

  "Yeah," I finally said. "Somewhere far enough that I sometimes wonder if it even exists anymore."

  She gave a small nod, as if she understood.

  We sat in silence for a while, the fire crackling between us, the stars overhead stretching infinitely into the night.

  Then, in a quiet voice, she asked, "Do you miss it?"

  I looked up at her.

  Her face was gentle, open—not prying, not demanding, but genuinely… interested.

  "I don’t know," I admitted. "Sometimes."

  Akari lowered her gaze, folding her hands in her p.

  "That makes sense," she murmured.

  And that was it.

  She never demanded to know more.

  Never tried to pull the words from me.

  But that was what made it so easy to talk to her.

  Because she let the silence do the work for her.

  She was patient.

  She was listening.

  And I had no idea that, even then, she was already learning everything she needed to know.

  The Days That Followed

  The fire crackled, filling the spaces where words did not.

  Akari’s gaze flickered toward the fmes, her expression unreadable, though there was something… distant about it. As if she were contempting something far beyond our little campsite.

  I watched her for a moment before speaking. "What about you?"

  She blinked, tilting her head slightly. "What about me?"

  "Do you miss your home?"

  For the first time, she hesitated.

  Not visibly—no dramatic pause, no sharp breath—but I felt it. A slight change in the air, a barely perceptible shift in the way she held herself.

  Then, she smiled.

  It was a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  "I don’t know if I would call it home anymore," she murmured.

  I frowned slightly. "Why?"

  She lowered her hands to the fabric of her torn kimono, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Because there’s nothing left of it."

  Silence.

  I hadn’t expected that.

  "I’m sorry," I said after a moment.

  She shook her head, still staring at the fmes. "It happens, doesn’t it? People lose things. Cities fall. Families… disappear." Her voice was light, almost conversational, but something dark lingered beneath it.

  I gnced at Masanori and Rin—both already asleep a few feet away, their breathing steady and slow.

  "You don’t have anyone left, then?" I asked.

  She smiled again, though this time it felt emptier.

  "Not anymore."

  A breeze rustled through the trees, shifting the firelight, casting long shadows across her face.

  "That’s why I’m grateful to you," she continued. "For letting me stay. For giving me somewhere to go."

  I rubbed the back of my neck. "It’s not much, but… I figured it was the least we could do."

  "Not many people would be so kind," she murmured, looking at me from beneath her shes. "Especially to someone they barely know."

  "Well," I said, leaning back slightly, "not many people deserve to be left behind just because fate decided they should."

  Akari’s gaze lingered on me.

  Then, after a long pause, she ughed softly.

  "You really are strange, Jin."

  I blinked. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  "You act like you don’t belong here."

  I exhaled, shaking my head. "Maybe because I don’t."

  "Maybe," she said, tapping her fingers lightly against her knee. "Or maybe… you’re just different from the others."

  There was something unspoken in her voice, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up—but before I could dwell on it, she looked away, resting her chin against her palm.

  "Either way," she murmured, "I think I like traveling with you."

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

  So I just watched as the fmes flickered between us, casting golden light across her soft features, her carefully crafted warmth—

  And I had no idea that, in that moment, she was studying me just as much as I was studying her.

  The Questions About Reika

  The fire burned low, casting flickering shadows across Akari’s face. She had been watching me for a while now—not in a way that felt intrusive, but in that same quiet, measured way she always did. Like she was listening to things I wasn’t saying.

  Then, after a stretch of silence, she spoke.

  "Reika," she said softly, her voice lilting, almost thoughtful. "That’s her name, isn’t it?"

  I tensed.

  Masanori and Rin must have mentioned her at some point.

  "Yeah," I said carefully. "You heard them talking about her?"

  She nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest. "They don’t like her much."

  "Most people don’t."

  Akari tilted her head, watching me closely. "But you do."

  I frowned. "It’s complicated."

  She hummed, as if turning that over in her mind.

  "They call her the Demon Queen," she mused. "But… you don’t call her that. Not once have you used that title."

  I blinked. I hadn’t even realized.

  "I guess I don’t," I admitted.

  She rested her chin on her arms, peering at me. "So… what is she to you?"

  I hesitated.

  It was a simple question, but one I had no simple answer for.

  "She used to be my friend," I said finally.

  "Used to be?"

  I sighed. "She still is. Maybe. It’s… hard to say. She’s different now."

  Akari's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Different how?"

  I gnced away, watching the dying embers of the fire.

  "She wasn’t always like this," I said quietly. "Before we came to this world, she was just… Reika. Just a normal person."

  "But she isn’t anymore."

  "No." I swallowed. "She’s something else now."

  Akari studied me for a long moment, her fingers idly tracing the fabric of her kimono.

  "You talk about her like she’s still that same person," she murmured.

  "Maybe she is," I admitted. "Somewhere deep down. I don’t know."

  She hummed again, tilting her head slightly. "And yet, she still kills people, doesn’t she?"

  I exhaled sharply. "Yeah."

  "And that doesn’t make you hate her?"

  The question hit harder than I expected.

  Did it?

  I should hate her. Any normal person would.

  But…

  "I don’t know," I said honestly. "I don’t think it’s that simple."

  Akari fell silent, her gaze flickering over me like she was pulling my words apart, dissecting them, studying what made me think the way I did.

  Then—she smiled.

  "I think I’d like to meet her someday," she said, almost offhandedly.

  I turned to her sharply.

  "You don’t want that," I muttered. "Trust me."

  She let out a small, airy ugh, stretching her legs out.

  "Maybe you’re right," she said lightly.

  But there was something in the way she said it, something that made my stomach twist.

  Something that felt like a lie.