Morning came slow. The rain had thinned to a light drizzle, soft as breath on the skin. Mist crawled through the streets of the ruined town, curling around fallen beams and scorched walls. What had once been a market square was now a graveyard of silence and wet stone.
Rin stood at the temple's entrance, his haori heavy with damp. The storm had washed away the soot from his blade, but not the weight in his chest. Kaito stood a few paces behind, his eyes tracing the faded carvings on the torii gate half swallowed by the earth.
Neither spoke. The world felt too fragile for words.
When they finally descended the cracked steps, the town stretched before them, hollow, empty, yet alive in the way abandoned places sometimes are. Birds perched on broken rooftops, water dripped from blackened tiles, and the smell of wet ash clung to everything.
They passed the remains of what had once been a teahouse. The roof was gone, the sign half burned. Inside, cups still sat on the shelves, filled only with rainwater.
Kaito exhaled slowly. "Hard to believe people laughed here once."
Rin's gaze lingered on the charred floorboards. "The world doesn't forget laughter. It just buries it."
Kaito tilted his head, half-smiling. "You always talk like that?"
"Only when silence isn't enough."
They walked in silence again. The drizzle turned the dirt into black mud, their footprints shallow and uncertain. Somewhere in the distance, a crow called, not the harsh cry of hunger, but something softer, like memory.
Then voices.
Faint at first, carried by the mist. Footsteps too, several pairs, steady, unhurried. Rin stopped instantly, his hand on his sword's hilt. Kaito mirrored him, eyes narrowing toward the sound.
Shapes emerged from the haze, four figures moving cautiously through the wreckage, wrapped in travel-worn cloaks. The one at the front carried a naginata across her back, her hair bound tight in a cord of black silk. The others wore mismatched armor, scavenged, but kept clean.
When they saw Rin and Kaito, they halted.
The woman raised a hand, palm open. "You two, don't move." Her voice was calm but edged.
Kaito muttered under his breath, "Friendly, huh?"
Rin didn't respond. He watched their formation, how they spread slightly, how one of them checked the rooftops. Not bandits. Soldiers, or former ones.
The woman stepped closer. "We thought this place was empty."
"It is," Rin said. His tone was low, even. "You're late."
She frowned. "Late?"
He gestured toward the ruins. "Whatever you came looking for burned with the rest."
The woman's gaze hardened, then softened again. "Maybe. But we're not here to loot corpses. We're looking for survivors."
That word survivors hung heavy in the air.
Kaito stepped forward slightly, his usual defiance dimmed by exhaustion. "Then you've found two."
The woman studied him. Mud caked his robes, his hand wrapped in blood-stained cloth. She nodded once. "Name's Ayame. We're the Ash Walkers."
Rin's expression didn't change, but the title lingered. "Ash Walkers?"
"Those who walk what the flames leave behind," she said quietly. "We find what's still alive."
Behind her, one of her men an older fighter with a missing ear glanced at Rin's blade. "That sword… Arinaga steel, isn't it?"
Kaito tensed, but Rin's reply was calm. "It was."
Ayame's eyes flicked with recognition, but no accusation. "You were with them?"
"Once."
She didn't press. Instead, she stepped past him, surveying the ruined square. "Then you've seen what the Red Serpent leaves in its wake."
Rin said nothing.
Ayame turned back. "We've been tracking them. Not for vengeance, not like most but because they're heading north. Toward the border. Toward the mines."
Kaito frowned. "What's in the mines?"
"Iron," Ayame said. "Enough to arm three armies. They've taken every forge along the northern spine conscripting blacksmiths, melting down old clan weapons. Whatever the Red Serpent once was, it's becoming something bigger."
"An empire," Rin said quietly.
"No," Ayame replied. "A graveyard wearing an empire's skin."
The mist shuddered as thunder rolled in the distance not a storm, but cannonfire somewhere far away.
Kaito's eyes darkened. "Then we're already too late."
"Maybe not," Ayame said. "Not if someone remembers what they took from us."
A silence followed, broken only by the rain pattering against stone. Then Ayame sheathed her naginata. "You look like you've been through hell. Come with us. We've got a camp nearby, fire, food, and dry clothes, if that still matters to you."
Kaito blinked, caught off guard by the softness in her tone. "You're… offering help?"
Ayame's mouth curved into a small, weary smile. "Only to those who haven't forgotten what it means to be human."
Rin's hand relaxed slightly on his sword. He glanced at Kaito, who gave a small shrug that said, why not?
The two followed her through the ruined streets, the rest of the group falling into step behind. As they moved, the mist thickened again, swallowing the town in a pale shroud.
Their camp sat in what had once been a merchant's courtyard. A single fire burned beneath a broken archway, its smoke curling into the gray sky. Bedrolls were laid out beneath what little shelter remained, and dried rations hung from a beam.
The warmth of the fire felt almost foreign. Rin sat near it in silence, letting the heat seep into his bones. Kaito devoured the rice ball handed to him without hesitation, eyes bright with hunger.
Ayame watched them both. "You don't talk much," she said to Rin.
He looked at the fire. "Talk fills the air. Steel clears it."
That made her laugh, not mockingly, but with genuine amusement. "Then I suppose the air around you is always clear."
Kaito glanced up, half-smiling. "Trust me, he's worse when he's quiet."
Ayame's expression softened. "Then you're good for each other."
For a long while, no one spoke. The rain had finally stopped. Only the crackle of fire and the quiet drip of water from broken eaves filled the night.
Rin sat back slightly, gaze distant. His reflection flickered in the flames, fractured and unsteady. Across from him, Ayame poured a small cup of sake and set it before him.
"Drink," she said. "For the dead. And for those who keep walking."
Rin stared at it, then lifted the cup, his voice barely a whisper. "To those who don't stop."
Kaito raised his own, more earnest. "To those who don't break."
The three of them drank, quiet, deliberate, like a promise none of them dared speak aloud.
Above them, the mist began to lift. The moon broke through the clouds, pale and distant, washing the ruined town in silver light.
The rain eased by the time the group made camp in the courtyard. Steam rose from the cracked stones, curling like ghosts from the old temple's breath. Ayame sat by the fire sharpening her blade, the rasp of steel a slow rhythm beneath the patter of drizzle.
Kaito leaned against a broken pillar, watching the flicker of light dance across Rin's face. The calm mask was there again, but something in his eyes was different now. Not softer. Just… aware.
"You two fought the Serpent near the western ridge?" Ayame asked.
"We did," Rin said.
"Then you've seen the new banners."
Rin nodded slowly. Red cloth over black steel the mark of the newly unified divisions. The Red Serpent wasn't splintered warbands anymore, it was becoming something else. Something organized.
"They're consolidating," Ayame murmured. "Every old commander from the clans, anyone who remembers how the wars really started, they're being erased. Either bought, or burned."
She flicked the whetstone aside, letting it sink into the mud.
"The ones who fought for honor are gone. What's left are butchers with medals."
The silence that followed carried the weight of graves.
Kaito finally spoke, his voice low but edged with anger.
"So that's it, then? They win by burying the truth?"
"Truth doesn't matter," Rin said, staring into the flames. "Only who's left to tell it."
Ayame studied him through the smoke.
"Then maybe that's why you're still breathing, swordsman. Someone has to remember."
The fire cracked, scattering embers across the wet stone. None of them moved to stamp them out.