The Black Dragon Fang slipped from Jin's trembling hand and hit the ground with a dull clang. Its dark blade still pulsed faintly, the residual energy flickering like embers in dying coals.
Jin's body swayed, and for a moment he thought the world was tilting beneath him—until he realized it was his knees giving out. Every breath scraped his throat like sandpaper.
"Pick up the sword," he muttered, his voice hoarse but still carrying that familiar defiant tone. "All this pain… was for it. Don't let it go to waste."
Hina, her face streaked with soot and tears, blinked rapidly to clear her vision. "Got it." She crouched, fingers brushing the blade's hilt. It was warm—alive. Even wounded, it seemed to hum faintly in her grip. She took one step back, then another, before the Moon Step lifted her from the shattered stone.
The world blurred. The crater below was still smoking, the wind carrying the bitter scent of burnt earth. When she landed on the ridge where Makino and Kuina waited, both women gasped at the sight of Jin's condition.
Makino dropped to her knees beside him, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh god… Jin…" Her voice broke as tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. "How could you—how could this happen…"
Jin barely managed a smirk. "Guess the heavens didn't like me making my own thunder."
His joke made Makino cry harder. Kuina, usually composed and sharp-eyed, stood frozen for several seconds. Her knuckles were white around the hilt of her sword, and then—without a word—she ripped off her outer robe and wrapped it gently around Jin's bleeding torso.
"Take it easy," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Jin coughed, crimson flecks spraying the dirt. "I'd… like to, believe me."
"Your medicine," he said suddenly, his mind still running on cold instinct. "Kuina. The one I gave you—the golden pills. Two of them. Now."
Kuina's eyes widened. She fumbled for the small vial at her belt, popped the cork, and pressed two round pills between his lips. He swallowed them dry, throat working painfully.
Hina landed beside them again, holding the Black Dragon Fang by its wrapped hilt. She crouched, her voice soft but urgent. "He's burning up. We have to move him, Makino."
Makino nodded through her tears. "Right… right. I'll—I'll get the herbal bath ready. The red jade vial in the black chest, that's what he said before."
Her voice broke again, but Kuina steadied her with a touch to the shoulder. "Go. We'll get him home."
Makino hesitated, brushed a hand through Jin's blood-matted hair, then turned and sprinted toward the village.
The walk—or what should have been a short descent—felt endless.
Jin leaned heavily against Hina's back, each breath a sharp reminder that he was still alive. His entire body felt like it had been shattered and pieced back together with molten metal. Every crack in his skin pulsed faintly with light, as if the thunder still lingered beneath.
"Still breathing back there?" Hina asked, voice forcedly casual, though her hands were trembling as they supported his legs.
He chuckled weakly. "Barely. First time being carried by a woman. Didn't think it'd hurt this much."
"Stop talking."
"I'm serious," he muttered against her neck. "If I die, this'll make a great last memory."
"Say that again and I'll drop you right here," she hissed—but her voice cracked halfway through, and he felt a tear fall against his arm.
For once, Jin didn't reply. The exhaustion crept in like fog, and soon he was half-conscious by the time they reached the lower slope.
When Makino saw them approaching, she froze mid-run, her eyes wide with horror. Jin's body looked worse in the light—his upper skin was dark red and black, split with jagged lines that glowed faintly like magma fissures.
Makino's knees nearly gave out. She rushed to them, hands fluttering uselessly before she finally grabbed his face in her palms. "You're burning up… your skin—it's…"
"Still attached," Jin rasped, forcing a grin. "That's the important part."
"Don't joke," she snapped, tears spilling freely now. "You could've—"
"Died?" He coughed, then smiled faintly. "Wouldn't be the first time I've pissed off the heavens."
Makino's hands trembled, anger and heartbreak twisting inside her chest. "You think that's funny?"
He tried to shake his head, but the pain stopped him halfway. "No. But it's easier than seeing you cry."
That simple sentence silenced her.
Behind them, Kuina's voice broke through, steady and controlled despite her red-rimmed eyes. "We need to get him inside. His body won't hold much longer."
Makino nodded and led the way, Hina carrying Jin through the forge's broken doorway. Inside, the smell of smoke and iron still hung thick.
They lowered him gently onto a mat while Makino hurried to mix the medicine. Kuina knelt beside him, checking his pulse, her fingers cool against his burning skin. "Your heartbeat's erratic. You shouldn't even be conscious right now."
He smirked weakly. "Guess I don't do 'shouldn't.'"
"Idiot." Her voice cracked again, and she turned away quickly so he wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes.
When Makino returned, she'd prepared a large wooden tub filled with steaming crimson water. "The medicine's ready," she said softly. "It's going to hurt, but it'll start closing the external wounds."
Jin gave a faint laugh. "You all talk like I've got any unhurt spots left."
Hina crossed her arms, glaring down at him. "Good. Then you won't notice the new ones."
They lifted him carefully—each touch making him wince and bite down curses—and eased him into the water.
The hiss that escaped his mouth sounded like steel quenching in fire.
"Holy—shit—!"
Makino flinched, kneeling at the edge of the tub. "It's working. Just breathe."
"Can't… feels like my skin's melting again!"
Kuina folded her arms. "If you can still complain, you're fine."
That earned a weak grin through the pain. "Now I remember why I keep you all around. So supportive."
Makino dabbed a wet cloth across his forehead, her touch tender. The heat beneath her palm was alarming, but gradually, his body began to cool. The glowing fissures along his arms faded, turning to faint scars before closing entirely.
As the minutes stretched on, Jin's eyes slowly drifted closed. His breathing steadied. The crimson water dulled into murky brown, filled with burned flakes of skin and faint trails of blood.
When the silence settled, only the sound of crackling firewood filled the room.
Hina stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the smoke curl through the evening light. "He'll make it," she murmured. "He has to."
Kuina nodded faintly. "He always does. It's… infuriating."
Makino sat beside the tub, her hand never leaving Jin's shoulder. "He's still an idiot," she said softly, her voice a mix of anger and affection. "But he's our idiot."
Later that night, after the others had gone to fetch food and bandages, Makino stayed behind to keep watch. Jin stirred faintly in the water, his lips moving as if caught in a dream.
"Makino…" he murmured.
She leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "I'm here."
His eyes opened slightly—tired, but still glowing faintly with that indomitable fire. "You cried again," he whispered.
"Of course I did, you fool."
He smiled weakly. "Then I'm sorry… for making you worry."
Makino didn't answer. She dipped a cloth into the water and gently wiped the blood from his cheek. Then, almost without realizing, she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his.
"You scare me, Jin Akasa," she whispered, voice shaking. "Every time you chase the impossible, I wonder if you'll ever come back."
For a long moment, neither moved. The world outside was silent—the storm gone, the sea calm once more.
Jin's lips curled faintly. "Don't worry… still got too many things left to do."
"Liar," she murmured.
His chuckle was weak but warm. "You know me too well."
"Unfortunately," she said, smiling through her tears.
Their closeness lingered—a quiet, fragile warmth born not of passion but of shared fear, relief, and something deeper that neither dared name. When she finally pulled back, Jin was already asleep, his breathing even.
Makino sat in silence, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the faint steam still curling around them.
Outside, the villagers had finally stopped their prayers. The night sky was clear, stars glimmering over the calm sea. Bellemere stood at the edge of the road, arms crossed, watching the distant glow from Jin's forge.
Beside her, Nami clutched her hand. "He'll be okay, right?"
Bellemere smiled faintly, though worry clouded her eyes. "That man's too stubborn to die. The sky itself couldn't kill him."
Nami looked up at the stars, her young eyes shining. "He's like a hero in one of those stories."
Bellemere chuckled softly. "Maybe. But even heroes bleed, kid."
Hours later, the storm's last whisper faded beyond the horizon. The forge, though half-collapsed, glowed faintly with the warmth of recovery.
Inside, Jin slept peacefully in the half-cooled bath. The cracks across his skin had sealed, leaving faint silver lines like lightning scars. Makino rested her head on her folded arms beside him, finally dozing off.
The Black Dragon Fang rested nearby, its once-raging aura now silent—obedient, almost reverent.
The blade that defied heaven.
The man who forged it with his own blood.
Together, they had survived the wrath of the sky.
And when the dawn finally came, its light fell first upon Jin Akasa—
the man who dared to challenge the gods, and lived.
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T/N :
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