Heavenly-Autumn's hands trembled as if winter had crawled into her bones. The thought of Norah's final moments left her numb in the wrong places and raw in the rest—like her heart had been peeled open and left to bleed in the air.
Every second dragged, sharp and endless, as if her own skin were being torn away in strips. She struck her chest, desperate to beat the pain out of herself, but the ache only swelled until it stole her breath.
Tears spilled hot and fast, streaking down her face. "Norah didn't deserve that!" she mumbled, voice breaking as her fingers clenched her shirt until the fabric wrinkled beneath her nails. "That little girl was the future—full of hopes, dreams, and unconditional love." She hit her chest again, harder, as if her body should be punished for still standing. "Why couldn't her parents love her? Why have more children like Nor is replaceable!"
Her heart felt too heavy to carry. Her tears blurred the world into a smeared haze, and even the air tasted bitter with grief.
She didn't know who she hated more—humans, demons, or the cruel thread of fate that had taken Norah—but somehow her anger always circled back and sank its teeth into her. It had to be her fault. It had to.
Every creak, every shift of wind, every whisper of movement behind her made her snap around with her bow raised. She loosed arrows on instinct—clean, precise, unwavering—yet she never dared to look back and confirm what she'd struck. Looking back meant seeing bodies again.
Then, through the blur, she spotted a demon and her hands moved before thought could catch them; the arrow was nocked, the string drawn tight, the shot poised to fly.
But her own words echoed in her mind—words she'd once said with certainty: If a demon is really hurt, like truly, I would risk my life to save it." Her breath hitched. She lowered her aim and, step by careful step, approached the large demon, remembering what Norah had told her in that small, earnest voice: "Demons love human blood. It makes them stronger and faster."
She knelt and saw the truth immediately—this demon was really hurt, torn open with wounds that mapped its body like violent writing. Blood darkened its skin, clotted in some places, fresh in others.
Her hand hovered, shaking, and she flinched when her fingers nearly brushed it—stopping only when its eyes snapped to hers, sharp with murderous intent even through the pain. The hunger in that stare made her stomach twist.
She couldn't bear to see another lifeless body. Not again. Swallowing hard, she slid off the top half of her kimono—the floral stitching trembling with her hands—baring her neck and shoulder to the cold air.
Her chest tightened as she closed her eyes, unprepared for what would happen next and yet forcing herself to stay still. The demon's fangs sank in between her neck and shoulder, and agony detonated through her like fire. Her eyes flew open, turning bloodshot red as she screamed, the sound ripping out of her throat.
She hadn't imagined pain like this; if she had, she would have never done it. But even as her scream echoed, he didn't stop. The pull only grew deeper, greedier, draining her until the world tipped and spun. Her vision shuddered, her eyes rolling back as strength left her limbs. And then, with the surge of blood leaving her body like a tide, Heavenly-Autumn lost consciousness and fell into darkness.
Heavenly-Autumn's eyes fluttered open to a world that felt too bright and too quiet. She lay underneath shelter she didn't recognize, her body heavy and sore—as if every muscle had been wrung out and left to ache. The moment she tried to move, a dull pain pulled through her shoulder and down her side, and her throat burned with dryness. For an instant, she reached for the memory of darkness, of fangs, of Norah's name—then her breath caught, and grief flooded back like a wave she couldn't outrun.
"M-Miss?" a little girl's voice called, close and careful, as if she was afraid Heavenly-Autumn might vanish again. A child with brown hair and wide brown eyes leaned into view; she was missing most of her front teeth, and the gap made her hopeful smile look even more earnest. "Lord Sesshomaru saved you from danger!" she blurted, words tumbling out in relief. "I… I can't believe you've been out for ten nights and ten days. Are you feeling okay?" As she spoke, she held tight to Heavenly-Autumn's straw bag, as though guarding it with her small hands. "My name is Rin," she added quickly, practically glowing at the chance to meet someone new. "What's your name, Miss?"
Man, this little girl is annoying!
Heavenly-Autumn's fingers twitched—then her gaze snapped to the bag, to the backpack, and her chest tightened as if a cord had been yanked around her heart. "Give me Normie." The words came out sharp and flat, edged with panic she didn't bother to hide.
Before the girl could react, Heavenly-Autumn lunged forward and tore the backpack from the little girl's grasp. She clutched it to herself like a shield, knuckles whitening as she held it close. Inside were Norah's ashes and the few belongings she had left—everything that remained of the little girl's warmth, her future, her unconditional love—and Heavenly-Autumn couldn't bear the thought of anyone else touching that fragile, sacred weight.