The night air met Ranmaru as he stepped out, heavy with smoke, sake, and song. The village had turned its ruin into celebration—laughter spilling from cracked doorways, music rising freely for all to hear.
Someone shoved a cup into his hand before he could protest, and he drank, the burn of sake washing away the taste of ash.
The hunters were loud, loud enough to drown out thoughts. They clashed cups, slapped shoulders, and told tales that grew wilder with each retelling. Ranmaru even let out a rare grin when one of the younger hunters tried to juggle his blades and nearly lost a toe. For a little while, he let himself sink into it—the firelight, the heat of "comrades" at his side, and the fleeting sense that victories could be celebrated without cost.
By dawn the village lay quiet again, save for the crows. Horses were saddled, packs tightened, and farewells muttered. The villagers, weary-eyed but grateful, bowed low as the yokai hunters prepared to depart.
And then—barefoot, hair hastily tied back—Chiyo appeared at the edge of the crowd. She carried something wrapped in a cloth bundle, clutching it as though it might fall apart if she loosened her grip. Her eyes were red but dry.
She stopped before him, pressing the bundle into his hands. The scent of char lingered in the air as he unwrapped it: burnt onigiri, lopsided and blackened at the edges.
Her lips quirked in a trembling smile. "Don't laugh. It's all I can make. Just… eat it, and think of me."
Ranmaru's throat tightened, but before he could answer, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his scarred cheek. A fleeting touch, gone almost before it landed, yet it carried more weight than silver or steel.
"I'll be waiting," she whispered, pulling back, voice breaking but proud. "So don't you dare forget me, idiot hunter."
The troop's captain barked for the men to move out. The horses shifted, hooves striking the dirt. Ranmaru mounted without a word, but his gaze lingered on her until the road swallowed the village behind them.
Chiyo stood rooted in place, watching until they were nothing but shadows against the morning haze. Her hand went to her lips, then fell uselessly to her side. The moment they were gone, she sank to her knees in the dust, laughter bubbling up through her tears.
"What a fool," she choked, pressing her palms against her face. "Falling so fast… for someone like him."
The burnt onigiri scent clung to the air, mingling with the faint smoke of celebration long faded.