Echoes of the Storm

Chapter One — Violet Eyes

The screaming started before he could see.

High-pitched. Childlike. Layered over itself until it became something that shouldn’t exist—a sound that made his essence recoil, that tasted like metal shavings on his tongue.

Then the fire came.

Black fire.

It didn’t burn. It consumed. It ate through light itself, leaving holes in reality that bled darkness. Taizo couldn’t move—his limbs wouldn’t respond, as if invisible hands had pinned every part of him in place. The air turned solid in his lungs. Copper. Ozone. The sickly-sweet rot of something divine dying.

Eyes.

Violet eyes, gleaming through the smoke. They glowed like infected wounds—when they moved, they left trails in the air, as if reality itself couldn’t keep up with where they were looking.

The trails didn’t fade. They pulsed. Breathing. Watching.

Laughing.

The laughter came from everywhere and nowhere—a sound that bypassed his ears entirely and carved itself directly into his core. It giggled. It shrieked. It whispered his name in voices he almost recognized.

Something grasped at him.

Not hands. Worse. Invisible hooks sinking into his essence, finding seams he didn’t know existed and pulling. Threads unraveled from his being—he could feel them snapping one by one, each break sending shockwaves of wrongness through him. He was coming apart. Unweaving.

He tried to scream but his voice shattered into thunder that wasn’t his—someone else’s power, someone else’s agony pouring through his throat.

No—not again—please not again—

Light erupted.

Blinding. Searing. But wrong—so fundamentally wrong that his divine core convulsed trying to reject it. This wasn’t holy light. This was light that had been infected, corrupted, turned inside-out until it burned with the color of rot and fever-dreams. It pulsed in sickly waves, each one making his essence scream.

The shockwave hit like a physical blow.

Bodies flew backward—shapes he couldn’t focus on, their forms distorting as they tumbled through smoke. Screaming. Shrieking. The sound of bones breaking, of something vital being torn away. The ground beneath him split open, cracks spreading like lightning, and he was falling—

No. Not falling.

Watching.

Watching as a figure collapsed in the center of the devastation. White hair spilling across scorched earth like spilled milk. Blood—so much blood—pooling beneath a body that wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.

Two graves materialized beside the fallen figure. Fresh dirt. Stone markers already weathered, already crumbling, as if they’d been there for centuries and seconds simultaneously.

The body fell between them.

Still.

Silent.

Gone.

“No—no, not him—not like this—”

The violet eyes turned. Slowly. Deliberately. They found him through the smoke, through the fire, through the screaming—and they saw him. Really saw him. Knew him.

A voice spoke—not from the eyes, but from inside his own head, burrowing into the spaces between his thoughts:

“You cannot save what is already broken, little storm.”

The words wrapped around his core like wire, tightening, cutting—

“You were never meant to survive this.”

The world didn’t just shatter—

—it inverted, folding in on itself, reality collapsing like wet paper, and suddenly he was the one lying in the dirt, he was the one between the graves, he was the one with white hair and blood and violet eyes staring down at his own corpse—

—and Taizo jolted awake.

His scream tore through the pools—raw, animal, terrified. Lightning detonated from his body in wild arcs, scorching the ground, sending ripples cascading violently across the crystalline water. His hands clawed at his chest, his throat, his face—checking, needing to confirm he was still whole, still real, still here.

For three heartbeats, he didn’t know where he was.

The shimmer of his pools looked like smoke. The glow of his tree looked like fire. The soft hum of his realm sounded like screaming.

He swayed violently, nearly pitching forward off the root where he’d been sleeping. His palm slammed against the trunk—bark solid and real beneath his fingers—and he clung to it like a drowning man, gasping, shaking, electricity still crackling wildly across his skin.

'A dream,' he choked out, voice breaking. 'Just a dream. Just a—'

But his chest ached. A phantom pain so deep it felt like something had been carved out of him. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling. And the taste—gods, the taste—copper and ash and rot still coating his tongue, still real, still there.

And those eyes.

Those violet eyes were still burned into his vision, still watching from the darkness behind his eyelids.

You cannot save what is already broken.

The voice echoed in his skull, and he realized with creeping, nauseating horror:

It wasn’t just a dream.

It was a memory.

One his mind had tried to bury. One his body remembered even when his thoughts couldn’t hold it. One that had happened—was still happening—somewhere in the fractured spaces of time he couldn’t reach.

His host had died.

He’d felt their soul unravel, watched their tree burn from within—and somehow, impossibly, he’d buried the memory so deep even he couldn’t find it.

Taizo pressed his forehead against the bark of his tree, its pulse slow and mournful beneath his touch. 'What happened to us?' he whispered. 'Why can’t I remember?'

The tree offered no answer. Only that same sorrowful hum, like the echo of a question that had been asked too many times.

He stayed there, clutching the trunk, until his breathing steadied. Until the lingering taste of ash faded from his tongue and the violet afterimages finally stopped burning behind his eyelids.

Then, slowly, he stood.

And began to pace.

He paced for hours, circling the radiant pools until the sound of his own footsteps blurred into the low hum of the realm. The air shimmered faintly with the static pulse of his unease. Thoughts sparked and vanished like lightning—bright, meaningless flashes gone before he could grasp them.

White hair. Graves. Those eyes.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the images. His tree pulsed weakly behind him, and guilt twisted through his chest. ‘I should stay,’ he thought. ‘Guard it. Rest.’

But restlessness clawed at him. The pools felt too small, too confining—like a cage he’d forgotten he was trapped in.

His gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the edges of his realm stretched into shimmer and mist. He’d never explored the full boundaries of his domain. Perhaps now was the time. The air stirred as he walked. Flowers bent toward him, and ripples of faint electrical light followed his steps. His domain responded to him as though eager to fill the silence.

Then—movement.

No. Not movement. A tear. It hung in the air like a wound—thin, vertical, leaking faint silver mist that shimmered like starlight. The edges rippled gently, as though breathing.

Taizo stopped, tilting his head. 'Oh...' he breathed. 'Where does this lead, I wonder?'

He shouldn’t. Every instinct whispered caution. But curiosity—old, and reckless—won. He stepped through.

The world inverted.

Wind returned first—the cold rush of it. Then the smell of damp earth, pine sap, and something faintly metallic. His eyes adjusted to dim green light filtering through leaves.

Taizo looked down at himself—his form translucent, energy flickering through his veins like captured lightning.

A small, relieved chuckle escaped him. 'Still spirit. Good.'

He turned in a slow circle, taking in the vastness of an ancient forest. This was the mortal plane. The living realm. It had been lifetimes since he’d seen it.

His lips curved into a faint grin. 'I can explore.'

He walked for what felt like hours. The forest thinned gradually, giving way to open air. Beyond the trees, a settlement sprawled across the valley—a compound alive with motion. Fields and gardens spread wide; the metallic glint of armor shimmered along its borders.

From the shadows, Taizo crouched and watched.

Children laughed in the fields, their joy cutting through the quiet hum of mortal life. Men and women worked in rhythm, tending earth and beasts. Warriors stood at the perimeter, their postures alert.

And beyond them stood a house—large, refined, built against a sheer wall of stone. Power radiated from it. Ancestral. Deep.

'Someone of lineage,' he thought.

The ache of familiarity coiled through him, but the details remained frustratingly out of reach. He settled in silence, watching until the sun dipped low. Torches flickered to life. The songs of day gave way to the hush of night.

Then—movement again.

Two figures, small and pale, walked along a narrow path between the fields. Their white robes brushed the dust. Their voices were melodic, echoing faintly across the darkening air.

At first, he thought them children. Then he felt it.

That creeping, suffocating dread. The weight pressing against his very core. The unmistakable pull of their power—the same presence that had torn through his host’s soul, that had burned through the tree and left him screaming in the pools. He couldn’t remember the details, couldn’t grasp the name or the face, but his body remembered. Every fiber of his being recognized this feeling—the sensation of a soul unraveling from the inside out.

And then he saw their eyes.

Violet. Gleaming in the torchlight.

His breath stopped. Recognition slammed into him like a fist to the chest.

Those eyes. The same eyes from the nightmare—the ones that left trails when they moved, that glowed with light that didn’t behave.

The twins stopped walking. Their heads turned in unison.

Their eyes swept across the shadows. And even from this distance, Taizo saw it—the faint violet smear they left in the air, reality struggling to catch up.

'It wasn’t a dream,' he realized, horror crawling up his spine like ice. 'They did this to me. They—'

They shouldn’t have been able to see him. No mortal or demon should. And yet, their gazes locked on the shadow where he crouched.

Slowly, they began to move toward him.

The air grew colder with each step. Thick. Suffocating. The grass beneath their feet withered to ash, spreading outward in a creeping circle of death. Their white robes didn’t move with the wind—they hung too still, too perfect, like they existed outside the natural order of things.

Taizo’s instincts screamed.

He turned, half-phasing into the forest, his form flickering between solid and translucent as he forced himself to move faster, deeper into the dark. Branches passed through him. Roots blurred beneath his feet. The old fear returned—not the fear of pain or injury, but something far worse. The primal terror of knowing the enemy that once devoured you is hunting again. The kind of fear that gnawed even at divine beings, that made gods remember they could be unmade.

He didn’t look back. Couldn’t. If he looked back, he’d see how close they were. He’d see those eyes—those wrong eyes—and he’d freeze.

Not until the trees thinned did he dare glance ahead.

The portal shimmered in the distance, trembling like water disturbed by breath. A thin vertical tear in reality, leaking silver mist that caught the moonlight.

Taizo lunged for it.

His fingers grazed the edge just as the air behind him split with a sound—soft, high, echoing.

A giggle.

Light, sound, and fear vanished in an instant.

He stumbled through the rift and crashed onto soft grass, momentum sending him sprawling forward. The air shifted—warm, electric, humming with the pulse of his own domain. His heart raced—gods, he had a heartbeat here—and thunder still crackled wildly under his skin, arcing between his fingers in jagged bursts.

'Gods…' he gasped, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. 'Did they actually see me?'

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Terrifying.

He forced himself to his feet, legs shaking, and looked around. The pools stretched endlessly in every direction—radiant waters reflecting a sky that wasn’t quite real, flowers that glowed with their own light, pathways of luminescent stone winding through impossible distances. Beautiful. Vast. And right now, far too exposed.

His tree. He needed to reach his tree.

Taizo broke into a run.

His form flickered as he moved, half-solid, electricity trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. The pools blurred past—crystalline waters, gardens of light, ancient stones he’d never bothered to explore. The realm responded to his panic, flowers bending away, ripples spreading across every surface as though the domain itself could feel his fear.

He ran until his lungs burned, until the false sun overhead dimmed and the air grew thick with the scent of ozone and old wood.

There.

The tree stood in a clearing surrounded by still water, its branches reaching toward a sky that pulsed with soft violet light. But even from a distance, he could see it—the way its glow flickered weakly, the way its leaves trembled.

Taizo skidded to a stop at its base, chest heaving, and pressed his palm against the trunk.

The tree pulsed violently beneath his touch, light flaring bright in distress. The rhythm was erratic, panicked, like a heart struggling to keep beating.

'Shh. I’m here,' he murmured, voice still shaking. The bark was warm beneath his palm, but fragile. Brittle. The hum of its pulse steadied slowly, reluctantly, settling into a rhythm that was slow and weak but alive.

He sank down at its base, closing his eyes. His legs wouldn’t hold him anymore.

'They’re still out there,' he whispered. 'Still hunting.'

Silence.

Then a faint, mournful pulse from the tree.

'Yeah,' he muttered, leaning his head back against the bark. 'I thought so too.'

Exhaustion settled over him like a heavy blanket. The air of the pools dimmed to twilight, the false sun fading into violet hues that bled across the sky. The flowers around him folded inward, their glow softening to embers.

As his eyes grew heavy, flashes began to return—fragmented and distant. A voice he couldn’t quite place, calling out in warning. The surge of light. The crack of thunder splitting the world in two.

And somewhere beyond the veil—two girls laughing.

The laughter didn’t fade this time. It lingered—soft and taunting, echoing through the heart of the storm that never truly ended.

The pull hit him like a hook driven straight into his core.

Taizo jerked forward, startled, the thunder inside him stirring so violently that the pools rippled outward in concentric rings of light. His eyes snapped open. 'Wh—what…?'

The pull only ever came for one reason. A host was ready.

He rose too fast, swaying, disoriented. His tree seemed to laugh—a warm, musical pulse that shook its branches in smug amusement.

'Laugh it up,' he grumbled, brushing dust from his white pants. 'You could have warned me.'

The tree pulsed again—teasing, unhelpful.

With a sigh, Taizo approached the shimmering portal where all his host’s pools resided. A strange sense of déjà vu prickled at him. Something was missing. Something important. But the tug toward his destined host overwhelmed every other thought.

He stepped through—

—and the light died.

Endless night swallowed him whole. Above, stars shimmered like scattered diamonds across a vast cosmos, their light cold and distant. The air here was different—heavier, intimate, primal. This wasn’t his realm of radiant pools and false sunlight.

This was his host.

The water stretched out before him like black glass—perfectly still, reflective as a mirror, dark as the void between stars. In the center, a single island rose from the depths, and upon it stood one tree. His host’s tree of life. Alone. Waiting.

And there, submerged in the black water just beyond the shore, floated a boy—peaceful, suspended, as though cradled by the night itself.

Taizo stepped into the water.

The moment his foot broke the surface, his breath caught. The bond snapped into place like a thread pulled taut—sudden, inevitable, right. A surge of pressure slammed into him, heavy and ancient and achingly familiar. His whole body lit with soft pink glow as raw power flooded through him, the essence of his new host awakening and reaching for him across the void.

'Gods—!' He buckled, clutching his chest, barely staying upright. This energy… It wasn’t from any host he remembered. Someone else—another host—lingered in the gaps he could not recall.

Fragments stirred. Heat. Light. A tree burning. A scream.

He forced air into his lungs.

'What is this…?' he whispered, but no answer came.

Narrowing his eyes, Taizo turned toward the boy’s soul-tree. If anything could restore his memories, it would be touching the new host’s line.

He stepped onto the solid ground and laid his hand against the trunk.

A sharp crack jolted him—the tree had shocked him.

'OUCH! You little shit!' he snapped, yanking his hand back. 'I am his spirit!'

The tree pulsed apologetically, leaves trembling like laughter.

'Hmph.' Taizo pressed his hand to the bark again—this time prepared. Power surged down his arm, and in the waters behind him, the boy lurched, coughing as the connection awakened fully.

Taizo inhaled sharply, adjusting to the bond as a voice behind him said, “Wow. This is so cool.”

Taizo turned.

A young boy stood dripping in the water, rubbing sleep from his eyes, smiling with open warmth.

'Good morning,' Taizo wheezed.

“Hello,” the boy said brightly.

Once Taizo caught his breath, he stepped forward. 'What is your name?'

“Kazuki.”

'Is that the name your mother gave you or your adult name?' Taizo asked, curious. He had no idea how he knew the custom. The tree must have given him something.

Kazuki scrunched his nose. “My mother gave me this name. I don’t like the new name.”

'Fair enough.' Taizo smirked. 'Best that you wake. I trust you have much to do.'

Kazuki shook his head. “Not really. I don’t start my training until next year.”

Taizo raised a brow. 'You don’t start training right after waking your inner spirit?'

“No. Sometimes we don’t get training at all—some people just get assigned other duties.”

'Interesting…'

A lie. A strange lie. Something deep inside him whispered that this was wrong, but he couldn’t place why.

Kazuki continued, “My father was surprised you called me. He said that hasn’t happened since the Great Yōkai War.”

Taizo froze. He remembered… flashes, but nothing clear. He remembered dying light. Screams. 'Really? What else did he tell you?'

Kazuki perked up. “Well, after the Yōkai War, everyone’s inner spirits went into deep hibernation. The only ones with magic now are the clan leaders.”

'It isn’t magic,' Taizo scoffed. 'Those are divine abilities channeled through us. Through me.'

Kazuki shrugged. “The only ones who need that power are Lord Genjiro and Princess Haruka. And maybe a few guards.”

The name hit him like poison.

Genjiro.

Taizo’s stomach turned. Something inside him recoiled—memories clawing to the surface then slipped away. Genjiro. Why do I hate that name?

Kazuki tilted his head. “Were you asleep or something?”

'In a manner of speaking,' Taizo muttered. 'It seems I have missed… many years.'

Kazuki sat in the water, splashing idly. “Well, my father said that with the twins’ help, all spirits were sent into a soul well to sleep. The twins keep the well running.”

Taizo stiffened. The twins. He tasted fear. The pools flashed faintly. 'So… the soul well is managed by the twins?' His voice thinned.

“Yeah. I don’t know their names. They’re weird. See things no one else sees.”

Taizo’s pulse thundered in his ears.

He had NEVER been in a soul well. He had always awakened in his own pools.

Something was deeply wrong.

'Tell me about your family,' Taizo said gently, probing.

“I have four brothers and two sisters,” Kazuki said. “And my parents.”

Taizo blinked. 'Large family. What about your grandparents?'

Kazuki shrugged.

'And the clan before Genjiro?'

“Mitchi…something. I don’t remember.”

Hisato. The name hovered on the edge of Taizo’s mind—and vanished like smoke.

Kazuki added, “I thought maybe you were my father’s spirit, but Dad’s still alive, so that wouldn’t make sense.”

Taizo’s chest constricted.

Who had he belonged to? Why could he not remember?

Kazuki continued, “My parents were surprised when I pulsed at my coming of age. No one else has. Now I feel weird. I think everyone’s going to make fun of me.”

Taizo replied, pushing through the tightness in his chest. 'We’ll try to avoid that. I’ll stay hidden.'

Kazuki grinned. “Can we still talk?”

'Of course. Just think toward me. I can hear your thoughts.'

Kazuki grinned wider. 'Like this?'

'Exactly.'

Kazuki stood, stretching. “My father will ask questions. I’ll ask him about his father and grandfather.”

Taizo nodded. 'I appreciate it. I… am missing memories. Many memories.'

Kazuki frowned sympathetically. “Maybe you just slept too long. Two thousand years is a long time.”

Taizo nearly choked. 'Two… thousand…'

“Yep.” Kazuki hopped out of the pool. “Well, day’s starting. I guess I should wake up now.”

Taizo remained quiet, staring into the water.

Two thousand years. A missing host. A war he could only half-remember. A name that filled him with dread—Genjiro. And the twins… always watching.

In his chest, thunder trembled faintly—memory threatening, yet refusing to return.

Taizo watched through the thin veil of the pools as his new host jolted awake.

Kazuki’s eyes fluttered open to find both his parents leaning over him, their faces tight with worry and anticipation. The air in the small room was thick with held breath.

“So?” Okimoto blurted, unable to stop himself. “Was it what we thought? Did your inner spirit make contact with you? Did you speak to him?”

Kazuki groaned, lifting a hand to his forehead. “Give me a minute,” he muttered.

Chuya chuckled softly, her teasing tone easing the tension. “Your father has been sitting here like a caged animal for hours, Kazuki. Indulge him a little.”

“Hours?” Kazuki blinked. “It felt like… a few minutes.”

'Uh, yeah… that tends to happen when you’re in spiritual form,' Taizo said, a wry edge to his voice. 'Not exactly something I can control.'

Kazuki’s mouth twitched. “So weird,” he murmured, pushing himself upright.

Okimoto leaned forward, barely containing his excitement. “Well?”

“Yes,” Kazuki said at last. “He called me. I talked to him.”

Okimoto’s eyes shone. He clapped his hands together once in sheer, boyish delight. “I can’t even remember what it felt like, having mine awake and speaking. It’s been that long.”

Kazuki scrubbed at his eyes, letting his feet slide to the floor. “He… asked about your father and grandfather,” he added.

Okimoto’s brows shot up. “Did he now?”

“He said there are gaps in his memory,” Kazuki said with a shrug.

Okimoto fell quiet, finger tapping thoughtfully against his chin. “If memory serves… my grandfather’s name was Hisato.”

The name slammed into Taizo like a spear.

'Oh, Gods…'

The pools around him shuddered with the echo of it. His knees threatened to give out as a wave of grief and rage tore through his core.

'Hisato—'

Images tried to claw their way through the fog. A valley. Laughter. Stormlight dancing in a young man’s hands. Twin sons. The stink of blood. Lightning folding inward, collapsing upon a soul-tree as two small figures reached greedily into the roots—

Then, nothing.

A ripped thread.

A scream that never finished.

He could not remember the end.

Outside, Okimoto continued, oblivious to the storm raging in Taizo’s chest. “My father was Hiromitsu. He died in the Yōkai War. Grandfather Hisato helped establish this place with Lord Mitchitaro and Lord Genjiro. Then he fell ill and died a hundred years after.” His mouth tightened. “Lord Mitchitaro even asked the twins for help, but they could do nothing.”

Taizo’s lips curled into a snarl no one could see. 'He was perfectly healthy,' he growled.

Kazuki flinched. “He said he wasn’t sick.”

Okimoto frowned. “You said he has gaps in his memory, didn’t you? Perhaps he’s forgotten the illness. Spirits… change, in the soul well.”

'I wasn’t in their cursed soul well,' Taizo thought darkly. 'I woke in my own pools. Someone tampered with that thread…'

Chuya rose with a sigh and smoothed Kazuki’s hair back. “Questions can wait. The day won’t stop because your spirit woke. Up. Chores don’t do themselves.”

Kazuki hesitated. “Can we keep it between us?” he said quietly. “At least for now. No one else has had their spirits awake since the war. I’d prefer if just us know.”

Okimoto nodded immediately. “That’s wise. If word spreads, it will stir tension we don’t need. The last thing we want is jittery lords and fearful neighbors.”

Kazuki’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Father.”

Okimoto stood, stretching out stiff legs. “You’re on field duty today. Help with the grain harvest. I’ve already sent Kihachi and Isami to the fishing pond to bring back dinner.”

Kazuki groaned. “I was going to go fishing today.”

“Oh, sure,” Chuya snorted. “Last time you managed to fall into the pond and come home smelling like a swamp.”

Okimoto pointed a firm finger at him. “You have more stamina than your brothers. You’ll be more useful in the fields.”

Kazuki’s expression soured, but he inclined his head. “Yes, Father.”

Taizo slipped away the moment Kazuki left the house, withdrawing from his host’s senses and returning through the rift to his own pools. The light here felt harsher now, as if it knew what he had remembered—but not remembered—of Hisato.

He stalked toward his tree, jaw tight. 'Did you know?' he demanded.

The tree pulsed, soft and mournful.

Taizo folded his arms. 'How do we break a thread of fate if my host has already passed?'

Silence. Only the steady thrum of their shared existence.

'I can’t fully anchor myself to Kazuki while that thread still exists,' he hissed. 'Hisato and I never severed our bond. We couldn’t. Something—someone—cut us apart.'

He began pacing, fury rolling through him like thunder building behind distant clouds. With Okimoto’s words, faces and names had rushed back—Hisato’s determined gaze, Hiromitsu’s quiet strength, Nene’s white hair whipping in the wind, the twins’ malicious smiles in reflected stormlight—but the final moments remained veiled. A forced forgetting.

It felt… deliberate.

'If I’m still tied to Hisato, how much of my power can Kazuki even wield? What happens if we try to merge? Do we tear the thread… or tear him?'

He lashed out without thinking, boot striking a loose stone.

Pain shot sharp and sudden up his leg.

Outside, Kazuki yelped aloud. “Ow!”

Taizo froze. 'Whoops. Sorry. That was me.'

'That was you?' Kazuki hissed. 'What did you do—kick a mountain?'

'...A rock,' Taizo muttered.

He felt Kazuki roll his eyes in silent exasperation as he hefted another sack of grain.

Taizo turned back to his tree, unsettled. 'So. Even with the old thread intact… a new bond forms.'

The tree hummed, neither denying nor confirming, its answer layered with time and patience.

'Are there any records left?' he asked, shifting his focus back to Kazuki. 'Journals. Histories from the Yōkai War. Anything your family kept.'

'There’s a library in the main house,' Kazuki replied. 'But only lords and their chosen can go there. Common folk don’t set foot inside.'

Taizo sighed. 'Of course. Locked away in the stone palace of a man whose name makes my skin crawl.'

'I can ask Father,' Kazuki offered. 'I don’t know if Manami can access the journals there, but he works in the main house. And he’s one of Lord Genjiro’s guards.'

'Ask only if it doesn’t put you at risk,' Taizo cautioned. 'I’d rather keep my head attached to yours, if it’s all the same.'

'I’ll be careful,' Kazuki promised. 'Anyway, I’ve only got one more sack to carry before we’re done here. Then dinner.'

Taizo smirked faintly. Time here flowed oddly—long stretches of thought collapsing into a handful of breaths.

A heartbeat later, Kazuki cursed.

'What is it?' Taizo asked, already moving toward the rift.

'I tore my bag. Grain everywhere…'

Taizo slipped through, sliding back into Kazuki’s pools. The world snapped into focus through his host’s eyes: spilled grain, a fraying woven sack, the ache of tired muscles.

He watched quietly as Kazuki scooped the fallen grain back into the ragged bag, muttering under his breath, then hauled it to the grain silo. The sky had already deepened to indigo when he finally trudged toward home.

The village was still faintly alive—soft voices, distant laughter, lamps glimmering like fireflies along the paths. As Kazuki ducked into his house, Taizo barely had time to register the warmth of the interior before—

Someone slammed into his new host.

They tumbled backward in a tangle of limbs and curses, rolling right out of the doorway.

“Get off me, Kihachi!” Kazuki snarled at his older brother, kicking.

“Oh, will you two STOP?” Chuya’s sharp voice cut across the scuffle. She emerged with a wooden spoon, waving it like a weapon. “You’ll crush my planters again!”

Kihachi barked a laugh, untangling himself as he scrambled up. He extended a hand—only for Kazuki to smack it away with a growl.

“You’re still too slow,” Kihachi said smugly.

“Ambushing someone in the doorway isn’t a fair test,” Kazuki snapped, climbing to his feet and brushing dirt from his clothes.

Footsteps approached from the road. Both brothers turned.

Manami, Kazuki’s eldest brother, stepped into the lantern light, tall and composed, long silver-white hair tied up in a high topknot. His armor caught the glow, plates brushed and polished to a dignified sheen. His broadsword hung at his side, worn but well cared for.

Behind him, the air itself seemed to straighten.

“Will Nanako be joining us tonight?” Chuya called, instantly softening.

Manami inclined his head. “She will. Her brothers as well.”

At that, Chuya vanished back into the house with a flurry of movement, already fussing over bowls and pots.

Manami strode past his younger brothers without so much as a glance. Kazuki and Kihachi exchanged a look and rolled their eyes in unison.

Once, Manami had laughed with them, wrestled in the dirt, stolen fish off their plates. Since taking station at the main house, everything about him had sharpened—his posture, his expression, his silence. Honor and duty weighed on him like invisible chains.

He had once warned Kazuki in a rare unguarded moment: If they ever offer you that position, refuse.

Okimoto entered the main room, eyes crinkling. “There are my boys,” he said warmly.

Manami unhooked his sword, resting it carefully against the wall. He clasped his father’s forearm, a tired smile briefly softening his features. “It’s good to be home.”

“How long this time?” Okimoto asked, already pouring rice wine into carved wooden cups.

“Two weeks. Hopefully.” Manami took a seat at the low table. “Unless Chijimatsu has another… incident.”

Kazuki’s brow lifted, but before he could ask, three more figures filled the doorway.

Masakuni and Masamichi stepped in first—identical twins save for the jagged scar running from Masakuni’s brow to his jaw. Their hair was icy silver threaded with faint blue, tied back in high styles suited for battle. Sweeping grey markings traced their cheeks and foreheads like ancient tattoos, fading to pale blue at the edges. Their gold eyes flicked briefly over the room, assessing it the way seasoned warriors always did.

Behind them walked Nanako, light on her feet, her long frost-silver hair braided neatly down her back. Her own markings mirrored her brothers’—though hers were more delicate, tracing her cheeks and brow with a refined elegance that softened what was fierce in her twin brothers.

“Chijimatsu always has a breakdown,” Masakuni snorted, grasping Okimoto’s hand in greeting. “He’s terrified of being left alone with decisions.”

Masamichi huffed a laugh. “He trembles if someone asks him to choose which tea to serve Lord Genjiro.”

Manami sighed, rubbing his temples. “He is… not suited for pressure.”

Taizo watched from within Kazuki, unease crawling along his spine. The names were familiar. The patterns, too. Lords at the center. Guards with power. A clan built on the bones of something older, something missing.

Somewhere beyond the village walls, in the distance of memory and time, lightning flashed against darkness.

And in the quiet beneath the laughter and family chatter, one thing threaded through it all like a barely-healed wound:

The twins had touched this place once.

And they were not finished.

Masamichi grinned as he settled at the table, the lamplight catching the silver-blue strands of his hair. “Well,” he drawled, “we can only hope Lord Genjiro lives long enough for Chijimatsu’s son to grow before he decides he’s had enough of ruling. The last thing we need is that… fragile man sitting on the throne.”

Masakuni snorted, lifting his cup. “He’s sharper than you give him credit for. Strange, yes. Unsettled, certainly. But not a fool.”

Okimoto waved the lot of them toward the cushions. “Concerns later. Sit. Eat.”

Manami muttered into his cup, “There are always concerns.”

Chuya clucked her tongue and smacked her ladle on the rim of the pot. “Enough talk of duties. You can all go outside and brood after dinner.”

Just then, the curtain at the doorway swept aside. Chuya brightened instantly. “My beautiful daughter!”

Chinami entered with a graceful smile, white hair braided neatly along both sides of her face. She embraced her mother before being nudged toward the table.

“Are you off duty as well?” Chuya asked, fussing.

“Only for tonight,” Chinami replied. “The Princess has no need of me until morning.”

Two more youngsters slipped through the back curtains. Both greeted their older siblings before sitting.

“Where is Hisashi?” Okimoto asked, looking around.

Manami snorted. “Not coming.”

Okimoto sighed heavily. “One day, I will have all my children under one roof again.”

Masakuni and Masamichi exchanged a look over the rim of their cups. They knew exactly why Hisashi avoided home—knew far more than they could ever repeat aloud. Two thousand years in the royal house had taught them silence sharper than steel.

They also knew why Manami looked older than his four hundred years of service. The main house devoured its guards slowly.

Okimoto rubbed his hands together, grinning suddenly. “So. When am I getting my first grandson?”

Nanako flushed scarlet. Manami choked on his drink.

“Father!” he sputtered. “We’ve only been married a year.”

“Oh, please,” Okimoto huffed. “Your mother was pregnant with you in half that time—”

Chuya smacked him on the head with her spoon.

Masakuni roared with laughter. “I would like to be an uncle soon as well.”

Manami glared daggers. “Do not start.”

Masamichi leaned back and tilted his head at Kazuki. “That’s right—you were born on this day thirteen years ago. Another year older.”

Kazuki flushed as all attention shifted to him.

Manami leaned back, one brow raised. “So that explains why Father wanted everyone home tonight.” He smirked. “What duty were you assigned this year?”

Kazuki cleared his throat, trying to look anywhere except at the faces now watching him. “Father put me in the grain fields.”

Manami frowned. “You don’t want him training for the guard?”

Okimoto snorted. “Not for another year or two. Seitarou prefers his recruits at fifteen or older. Kazuki works the fields until then.”

Kazuki exhaled in relief as Kihachi clapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, little brother. Guard training isn’t as glorious as it looks.”

Isami, another of Kazuki’s brothers, pushed his long bangs back behind one tapered ear. “Field work isn’t so bad. At least you’re not getting thrown around by Seitarou yet.” He grinned at Kihachi. “Speaking of—how’s training with the Crimson Sentinels?”

The room paused.

Manami blinked. “Seitarou? Training you? That’s an honor most never receive.”

Okimoto practically glowed. “When did this happen?”

“Last week,” Kihachi mumbled. “And I’m far from earning a permanent post.”

“It’s still impressive,” Manami insisted.

Isami swallowed a mouthful of food and spoke quickly. “Hayato commands under Shinpachi now.”

Manami whistled low. “Shinpachi always unsettled me.”

Okimoto chuckled. “He unsettles everyone.”

Masamichi lifted his cup. “Captain of the Shadow Guard. That entire division moves like smoke.”

Chuya rose to fetch another platter. “Didn’t Hayato’s daughter get recruited as well?”

Manami blinked. “A girl? In the Shadow Guard? That’s rare.”

Nanako swatted his arm. “Females are as capable as any man.”

Manami lifted his hands in surrender.

Masamichi nodded. “Yes. Hayato’s daughter. She’s with them now.”

Taizo listened quietly, a smile tugging faintly at the corners of his presence within the pools. The warmth of the meal, the teasing, the closeness… it was a kind of peace he had forgotten existed.

A peace that made the silence in his memories ache sharper.

Masakuni finished his meal and refilled his cup. “I overheard something today.” His tone shifted. “Genjiro was discussing the return of the twins, Seiya and Seizou.”

Okimoto’s expression darkened. “For what purpose?”

Masakuni shrugged. “Many are coming of age this season.”

Manami scoffed. “We don’t need the twins for that. No one has woken an inner spirit in two thousand years.”

Okimoto frowned. “Is someone in the royal family struggling? The Princess? Genjiro?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” Masamichi replied. “If anything, perhaps Chijimatsu. He’s been… unpredictable.”

Manami waved that off. “He’s always been odd. But he’s fine. His wife is fine. His son is fine. There is no reason for the twins to interfere.”

Chinami crossed her arms. “I dislike when they come. They meddle too much.”

Okimoto sighed. “Whether we like it or not, we do not choose when they appear.”

Chuya shivered. “I’ve disliked them since the day our children came of age. It wouldn’t surprise me if they intend to check on Kazuki.”

Taizo’s energy spiked sharply—storm-light flaring within the pools.

Kazuki snorted. “Keep them away from me.”

Manami glanced over. “They only probe the mind to ensure your spirit is stable. It doesn’t hurt. Unpleasant, yes, but harmless.”

Taizo snarled deep within Kazuki’s soul—'There is nothing harmless about them.'

But he held his silence. Even as the phantom taste of copper bloomed across his senses. Even as his waters rippled with something that might have been memory or might have been warning. The twins were coming. And when they did, Taizo would finally learn whether he had survived them once—or if they had simply let him go.