The stew was gone before Rin even realized he'd finished it.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, sighing in satisfaction — the first real warmth he'd felt in weeks.
Rokuro sat across from him, stirring what remained in the pot with quiet patience. The air between them felt heavy yet calm — like standing before an ocean that never moved.
"So, Rin," Rokuro began softly, "you live in that wasteland outside the market quarter?"
"If you can call it living," Rin replied. "Mostly starving and trying not to get stabbed."
Rokuro chuckled faintly. "You sound almost proud."
Rin shrugged. "When you've got nothing left, pride's the last thing that keeps you human."
The old sage nodded slowly, gazing into the moonlight filtering through the cracks of the cabin wall. "Perhaps. But sometimes pride blinds the eyes meant to see truth."
Rin frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You fight with rhythm," Rokuro said. "Your movements aren't learned — they're remembered. You carry a pulse in your spirit, a resonance I haven't felt in centuries."
"Resonance?" Rin scoffed. "You talk like I'm some kind of spirit."
Rokuro's eyes shimmered silver. "Half right."
The words hit like thunder.
Before Rin could speak, the ground trembled. A low, grinding roar echoed outside — like metal twisting in agony.
Rokuro stood, his expression sharpening. "They've found me sooner than expected."
Outside The Cabin
The night had turned red around the edges of the moon. Shadows moved beyond the trees — heavy steps, glinting armor, and faint embers burning behind slitted visors.
Rin peered through the cracked window.
"What the hell are those things?"
"Kurogane," Rokuro murmured. "Iron Wraiths. What's left of humans who traded their souls for strength during the Moonfall War. Their hearts beat with molten steel now — no emotion, no restraint."
Rin's fists clenched. "And they're here for you?"
"No." Rokuro's tone darkened. "They're here for you."
Rin stepped back, his chest tightening. "Me? I'm just a street rat—"
"A street rat who wields moonlight," Rokuro interrupted. "You think I didn't notice that shimmer when you attacked me?"
Rin blinked. "That wasn't moonlight — that was just—"
"Emotion given form," Rokuro finished. "The mark of the Tsukiren."
The name lingered like a memory Rin didn't know he had.
The Assault
The cabin door burst open, splinters scattering like stars. Three Kurogane entered — armored shadows with eyes of burning rust. Their leader, a massive figure with one arm made entirely of black steel, raised his voice.
"Rokuro Hiranuma. The Tsukiren relic. The Lunar Council demands your surrender."
Rokuro smiled faintly. "Tell your Council they've already lost what they seek."
His hand brushed the floor — a ripple of silver light expanded outward, turning dust into glass. The Kurogane froze as their reflections stared back at them — warped, trembling, almost human.
"Reflections…" one hissed. "Illusions won't save you, old spirit."
Rokuro whispered, "They're not for me."
The glass shimmered — and from behind the Kurogane, Rin moved.
Moonlight rippled under his feet. His steps blurred like water disturbed by rain. The first strike wasn't speed — it was timing.
Each motion flowed, reacting to the metal giants before thought could catch up.
He ducked beneath a gauntlet, his palm striking the warrior's knee — a soft ripple of light flaring on impact. The Kurogane stumbled, disoriented, as if gravity had forgotten its rules.
"Moonstep… Weave," Rokuro murmured, almost proud. "He's remembering."
Aftermath
When the last Kurogane fell, the moonlight dimmed. Rin stood panting, his eyes reflecting silver tides. The ground shimmered where he'd moved — faint crescents of light dissolving into the dirt.
He looked down at his hands, shaking not from fear, but from recognition.
"What… what am I?"
Rokuro approached, laying a calm hand on his shoulder.
"A child of the reflecting moon. A bridge between human chaos and Tsukiren stillness."
Rin's gaze lifted. "And what happens if I can't handle it?"
Rokuro's expression softened — pity, and something older.
"Then the moon will devour its own light."
Later That Night
Rin couldn't sleep. He stepped outside, the world silent except for the whisper of the tide — faint waves licking at the edge of the slum. In the mist, he saw faint figures — translucent, drifting, their shapes half-solid, half-fog.
Eyes of silver mist looked back.
"You… you can see us?" one voice murmured, soft as vapor.
Rin froze. "Who—"
"Aenari," the voice said. "Dream-walkers. We feed on emotion… and yours burns bright."
The fog twisted, forming faint silhouettes around him. They weren't hostile — curious, drawn to his awakening power.
Rokuro appeared behind him, silent as moonlight. "Ignore them. They feed on what you can't control."
Rin glanced back, uneasy. "What else is out there, old man?"
Rokuro smiled faintly. "More than you can imagine. The Kurogane in the mountains. The Aenari in the mist. And in the south seas, the Sōryun — dragon-blooded tribes who still honor the moon you've forgotten."
He gazed toward the fractured moon above them.
"And somewhere among all this… is your reflection waiting to wake."