Where they touched her, Sora's skin turned gray as ash.
"NO!" Kenta's katana blazed through three mist-maidens at once, but they reformed instantly, their laughter like wind through broken windows. Sora screamed—not in pain, but in something worse. Recognition. Memory. As if their touch was pulling something out of her she'd buried deep.
Taro grabbed her arm, trying to pull her back, but his hand passed through mist-flesh and found nothing solid. The maidens were dragging her forward, toward the lead figure with the rotted robes and hungry smile.
"Your amulet remembers us," the lead maiden whispered, close enough now that Taro could see through her translucent face to the cliff beyond. "It was meant for one of us first. Before you. Before your temple chose you to carry what we failed to protect."
"I don't understand—" Sora's voice cracked.
"Then let me show you."
The maiden pressed her forehead against Sora's, and the world broke.
Taro saw it too—all of them did—images flooding through the amulet's green light like a nightmare given form:
A temple. Burning. Dozens of shrine maidens running with jade amulets clutched to their chests, screaming as cultists in red cords cut them down one by one. The Flame Bearers, decades younger, stealing the fragments. Scattering them across Japan. And one maiden—the one standing before them now—throwing herself off a cliff rather than let them take hers, the amulet shattering on the rocks below.
Fast forward. The fragments being gathered again. Slowly. Carefully. A ritual to reassemble what was broken. But the maidens who died protecting them couldn't rest. Their spirits lingered, drawn to the very power they'd failed to save, becoming something twisted. Something hungry.
The Collector was born—not one ghost, but dozens merged together, bound by failure and rage and an eternity of watching other vessels walk the road they'd died on.
The vision snapped off like a cut cord. Taro stumbled, bile rising in his throat. Beside him, Mika was on her hands and knees, retching. Jiro had gone bone-white, prayer beads slipping through nerveless fingers.
"You see now," the lead maiden said softly. "We're not your enemy. We're your future. Every vessel fails eventually. The road is too long, the trials too cruel. And when you fail—" She gestured at the dozens of mist-figures surrounding them. "—you'll join us. Add your power to ours. Become part of the Collector. At least then your death will mean something."
"That's not going to happen." Sora's voice was steady despite the gray spreading up her arms. "I'm not failing."
"They all say that." The maiden's smile turned sad. "We said it too. Right up until the moment we died."
"Difference is—" Sora's hand moved to her amulet. "—I'm not alone."
The jade blazed so bright Taro had to shield his eyes. But it wasn't Sora's power—not entirely. The amulet was pulling from all of them. Taro felt something drain from his chest, like blood being siphoned. Heard Kenta gasp. Mika cry out. Jiro's prayers turn to screams.
The light exploded outward, and the mist-maidens shrieked—not in pain, but in hunger. They rushed forward like a breaking dam, dozens of translucent hands clawing for the amulet's power.
And Sora let them take it.
"What are you doing?!" Taro lunged for her, but Kenta held him back.
"Wait," the samurai breathed. "Look."
The mist-maidens were absorbing the light, drinking it down like starving animals. But as they did, something changed. The hunger in their faces flickered. Confusion replaced it. Then... clarity.
"What is this?" The lead maiden stared at her hands as color began to seep back into them. Real color. Real substance. "This power—it's not just divine essence. It's—"
"Life," Sora finished, swaying on her feet. "The amulet doesn't just absorb spiritual energy. It absorbs living energy. Bonds. Loyalty. Trust." She looked at Taro, at Kenta, at all of them with eyes too tired to hold hope. "Everything they've given me on this road. Every moment of protection, every sacrifice, every choice to keep walking when running made more sense. That's what makes a vessel strong. Not the divine power—the human connections."
The mist-maidens were solidifying now, becoming flesh and bone and weight. The lead maiden dropped to her knees, and tears—real tears—cut tracks down her face.
"We had no one," she whispered. "We walked alone. Died alone. Failed because we thought strength meant carrying the burden ourselves." She looked up at Sora. "You're not stronger than us. You're just... less alone."
"I know." Sora's legs gave out. Kenta caught her before she hit the ground. "And that's why I'll make it when you couldn't. Because I learned what you never got the chance to."
The maiden reached out—solid hand now, warm and real—and touched Sora's face gently. "Then take our blessing, sister. Take what we learned in death and use it in life." She glanced at her fellow maidens, now fully corporeal, their jade fragments glowing softly. "We can't rest. Not yet. The Collector is part of us now, and it doesn't die easily. But we can give you what we earned through failure."
"Which is?"
"Knowledge of what's ahead." The maiden's expression turned grim. "The trials get worse. Much worse. What you faced in the bamboo grove was mercy compared to what's coming. The mountain is testing more than your strength now—it's testing whether you'll stay human while wielding divine power. Whether you'll remember who you are when the kami offers to make you something greater."
"I don't understand."
"You will." The maiden stood, and her form began to fade again—but slower this time, more controlled. "Three more trials before the temple. The first is the Bridge of Reflection. Don't cross it at night. The second is the Village That Shouldn't Exist. Don't eat their food, no matter how hungry you are. And the third—" Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "—the third is the Guardian. And it will offer you everything you want in exchange for everything you are. Say no."
"What if I can't?"
"Then you become us. Another ghost haunting this road, warning the next vessel to make better choices." The maiden was almost transparent now. "And the Flame Bearers win. They get the amulet, complete their ritual, and unleash something this world isn't ready for."
"What ritual?" Taro demanded. "What are they really trying to do?"
But the maiden was gone. All of them were—dissolving back into mist, but cleaner now. Lighter. As if Sora's gift had eased something in them even if it couldn't free them entirely.
The mist itself lifted, revealing the path ahead bathed in late afternoon sun. Behind them, the torches of their pursuers had vanished. Either the Collector had dealt with them, or the bandits had finally given up the chase.
Taro didn't care which. He was too busy watching Sora collapse completely, the amulet around her neck now shot through with veins of silver and gold alongside the green. More pieces added. More power absorbed. And more of whatever she'd been slowly draining away with each trial.
"How much more can she take?" Mika's voice was small, scared in a way Taro had never heard from her.
"I don't know." Kenta cradled Sora against his chest. "But we need shelter. Real shelter. And food. We've been running on nothing for two days."
"There." Jiro pointed ahead where the path widened into something resembling actual road. "Smoke. Maybe a village."
Taro's stomach clenched. The Village That Shouldn't Exist. Don't eat their food.
But they had no choice. Sora needed rest. They all did. And the mountain wasn't going to wait for them to be ready for the next trial.
"We check it out," he decided. "Carefully. No one eats anything without checking with Jiro first. No one accepts any hospitality that seems too good. And we sleep in shifts."
"You think it's the village the ghost warned us about?" Kenta asked.
"Only one way to find out." Taro started walking, every muscle protesting, his sword feeling heavier with each step. "And if it is, we'll deal with it the same way we've dealt with everything else on this gods-damned road."
"By nearly dying?" Mika's sarcasm was back, which Taro took as a good sign.
"By surviving anyway." He managed a grin that felt like breaking glass. "We're the Twilight Band. That's what we do."
They walked toward the smoke, toward whatever waited in a village that might or might not exist, carrying a shrine maiden who was becoming less human with each trial and more something else entirely.
Behind them, the mist lingered at the cliff's edge like a held breath. Watching. Waiting. And in its depths, barely visible, dozens of translucent faces tracked their progress with expressions caught between hope and warning.
The Collector wasn't done with them yet.
But for now, it had let them pass.
And on this road, Taro was learning, sometimes that was the best you could hope for.