When you finally reunite with someone you've longed for—are you meeting the person you missed, or the version of them that only lived in your memory?
Steam drifted lazily from the surface of the hot spring, curling into the cool night air. The faint scent of minerals mixed with the laughter of three figures basking in the glow of nearby lanterns. The village lay quiet beyond the walls, its roofs painted silver by moonlight, but within this small, secluded spring—warmth reigned.
Aoi sat with her back turned to the others, her violet hair damp and sticking faintly to her nape. Her composure never truly left her, even when she allowed herself to relax. Chika splashed gently beside her, giggling as the water rippled in bright arcs that caught the lantern light.
And then there was Kizutoro—loud, unapologetic, and utterly incapable of respecting tranquility.
"Hey, Aoi! You're sitting too still! The whole point of a hot spring is to enjoy it!" he barked, his grin wide as his arms stirred the water like a restless beast.
Aoi's calm reply came without even turning her head.
"Your definition of enjoyment is remarkably disruptive."
"Ha! That's the nicest way someone's ever told me to shut up," Kizutoro laughed, splashing water in Chika's direction, earning a delighted squeal.
Kiome stood a little ways off, leaning against the wooden railing outside the spring. The lanternlight painted his features in soft gold. He wasn't avoiding them—but rather, quietly preserving the image before him.
Their laughter, the steam, the flicker of orange light against serene faces—
It was rare.
Precious.
He had seen too much silence born from grief, too many smiles wilt beneath duty. Yet here they were—smiling freely, unguarded.
Footsteps approached him.
"Wait," Kizutoro's voice cut through the warmth, sharp and teasing, "don't tell me you wanna go in too?"
Kiome blinked, slightly caught off guard. "…You can go," he replied after a beat, tone calm as always. "I won't stop you."
Kizutoro smirked, scratching the back of his head. "Heh. You sure? I thought you were gonna give me that 'be responsible' talk again."
"I don't think you'd listen, even if I did," Kiome murmured.
A pause—and then Kizutoro grinned wider, stepping forward. "Fair enough."
With a careless motion, he stripped off his outer clothes, revealing a dark swimsuit already beneath. "You said it, so I'm takin' that as permission!"
Before Kiome could respond, Kizutoro launched himself into the spring with a loud splash, water erupting around him like a sudden storm.
"Kizutoro!" Aoi's voice cracked like a whip.
"Worth it!" he shouted back, laughing as Chika burst into laughter too, unable to contain her amusement.
Kiome exhaled softly, the corner of his mouth curving in faint amusement. The chaos somehow fit them perfectly.
And then, as the steam thickened and the laughter blurred into gentle echoes, Kiome's eyes softened.
Tatsuya… if you could see this…
He stared into the glowing water, his reflection wavering between the ripples.
You'd probably make some sarcastic remark. Pretend you didn't care. But I know you'd feel it—the warmth in moments like this. The kind that makes you forget how cold the world can be.
He folded his arms, leaning against the railing. The stars shimmered faintly above the distant roofs of the village.
I wonder where you are now. After leaving the Corps… are you safe? Are you smiling like this?
For a long while, he didn't move. The laughter continued, bright and alive behind him, but his heart was somewhere else—chasing the shadow of a friend who had walked another path.
Steam brushed his cheek like a sigh, and Kiome whispered under his breath, unheard by the others—
"Wherever you are… I hope you find warmth too."
The sound of Kizutoro's next cannonball broke the quiet, and Chika's delighted scream echoed through the night, scattering Kiome's melancholy into a fond, fleeting smile.
He heard Chika giggling again. "Kizutoro! Stop, you're splashing Aoi too much!"
"Hey, I'm cleaning her sword arm for her!" he shot back, laughing, his voice echoing against the rock walls.
Aoi exhaled—half sigh, half restraint. "If you're this loud again, I'll silence you myself."
Their banter danced over the steam like a small campfire flickering in the darkness.
Kiome's gaze lowered.
He had almost forgotten what laughter sounded like after a day of "work."
Work.
The word itself tasted like rust.
A voice behind him broke the thought.
"Still standing guard, Kiome?"
It was Aoi. She had stepped out of the spring, her damp hair cascading over the towel draped across her shoulders. Even in the haze of heat, her poise didn't waver.
Kiome tilted his head slightly, meeting her violet eyes with a small, polite smile. "Force of habit, I suppose. Old instincts don't fade easily."
She walked closer, standing beside him by the railing. "We're not in a battlefield tonight," she said softly. "You can rest."
"I know." He looked toward the steaming pool again, his voice lowering. "But resting almost feels… undeserved."
Aoi's gaze lingered on him for a moment, silent. She didn't need to ask why.
Because they both knew.
The Swordsman Corps had called it a "reassignment."
But they knew what it really was.
"Dirty work," Kiome murmured, his tone quiet, resigned. "That's what they call it, isn't it?"
Aoi's lips pressed into a faint line. "…Yes."
He continued, eyes fixed on the glow of the water.
"Jobs the main corps doesn't want. Purging magic waste. Guarding isolated towns. Hunting beasts born from experiments they'd rather pretend never happened. That's us now."
The bitterness in his voice wasn't anger. It was tired understanding.
He exhaled. "After what we did for Tatsuya… I suppose this was merciful."
Aoi's eyes flickered—just a faint glint of emotion behind her calm.
"It was mercy. Barely."
Kiome nodded. "You bargained for it. I remember the way they looked at us after the council meeting. We weren't soldiers anymore. Just the stain that helped him escape."
His words dissolved into the night, carried off by the whisper of steam.
For a long time, neither spoke. Only the bubbling of the water filled the silence.
Then Chika's laughter echoed again, bright and innocent—like she refused to let punishment define her. Kizutoro's voice followed, teasing her about splashing too weakly, and soon the two were at it again, noise spilling into joy.
Kiome allowed himself a faint chuckle. "And yet… they still find something to smile about."
"That's why I keep them close," Aoi said, her tone softening. "Because they still can."
Kiome's smile faded, his eyes growing distant. "Sometimes, I wonder if that's what Tatsuya wanted for us. Not to be forgiven—but to keep moving. Even in places like this."
He let out a slow breath. "We're out here purifying corrupted springs and cleaning up their filth, but somehow… it feels freer than the walls of the Corps ever did."
Aoi's gaze followed his. "Freedom and exile share the same silence, Kiome. It only depends on whether you can live with it."
He nodded slightly, her words sinking deep.
Then, after a long pause, he said quietly, "Still, I wish he could see this."
Aoi turned her head slightly. "See what?"
Kiome smiled faintly, almost sadly. "Them. Laughing. You letting yourself breathe, even for a moment. Us, still here—together."
The steam swirled between them, catching the moonlight in fleeting patterns.
"I don't know where Tatsuya is now," Kiome whispered, his voice barely audible. "But I hope he's found something like this. Even if it's small."
Kizutoro's boisterous splash shattered the stillness again, sending waves across the water and Chika's squeal into the air.
Aoi sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Kizutoro…"
"Hey, I'm keeping morale up!" he laughed.
Kiome smiled quietly, shaking his head. "And he's succeeding, in his own way."
Aoi's expression softened. "Then let's allow them this moment. We'll have more dirty work waiting for us tomorrow."
Kiome looked at her, then back at the others. "Right. But for tonight… we'll let the warmth reach where the cold couldn't."
Steam curled upward again, swallowing the stars above.
Their laughter echoed softly in the distance—fragile, fleeting, and real.
Even in punishment, there was still something that refused to die.
The warmth of being together.
Part 2
The night had quieted.
The laughter from the hot spring still lingered faintly behind her—muffled by the wooden walls of the inn—but outside, the village was a different world entirely.
Silence and mist ruled here.
Chika's sandals crunched softly against the gravel path as she stepped out into the cool air. Her damp hair stuck to her neck, the warmth of the spring fading too quickly against the mountain breeze. Lanterns flickered dimly along the path, their light stretching long, trembling shadows across the narrow road that wound through the sleeping village.
She clutched a small charm in her hand—a faintly glowing talisman etched with the sigil of purification. It pulsed like a heartbeat, faint but steady. It was part of the reason she'd stepped outside in the first place.
Earlier that evening, the village elder had mentioned strange disturbances near the edge of the spring—small animals disappearing, and sometimes, a thin mist rising even when the water was cold. It wasn't in their official orders, but Chika's gentle curiosity wouldn't let it rest.
So she went to check. Alone.
Her white robe fluttered softly as she walked down the path toward the outskirts.
Her usual swordsman corps uniform had been taken with the lady of the inn to get a much needed wash.
Her kitsune mask also still rested in her room, the only thing or things she did took with her were her katana's.
Although it was something completely harmless she was doing. She wasn't too foolish to go unarmed.
The sash around her waist barely held the two swords together.
She had been here long enough to recognize each face, each home. The village was so small that even a single unfamiliar voice stood out. So she wouldn't get lost.
And then—she saw her.
A girl.
Standing at the far end of the street, half-shrouded in the mist.
Chika stopped, her breath catching faintly. She knew that face. She had seen her earlier—just this morning, by the market. A quiet, pale-faced girl who sold herbs near the shrine. The one with soft gray eyes and hands always stained faintly green.
But something about her was different now.
The girl wasn't carrying her basket, nor wearing her usual shawl. Instead, she stood barefoot on the cold path, her detached sleeved kimono fluttering faintly in the wind.
She must be freezing? She thought. It's wasn't that warm tonight.
Her gaze was fixed somewhere distant—past Chika, past the village—toward the forest line.
Chika hesitated. "…Hello?" she called softly.
The girl didn't move.
The wind shifted, and the mist thickened, curling around her ankles like smoke.
Chika took a step forward. "It's late… you shouldn't be out here."
No response.
And yet… curiosity tugged at her heart stronger than fear.
She followed.
The girl turned slowly, as if noticing Chika for the first time, and began to walk—silent, unhurried, down a narrow alley that cut behind the village homes.
"Wait—" Chika called softly, jogging a few steps after her. The charm in her hand pulsed once, brighter, like it could feel what she was following.
The girl didn't look back.
Her white figure slipped through the mist, passing between the lantern lights until she reached the last house at the edge of the village—the small cottage near the withered shrine tree.
Chika slowed. She'd passed that house many times before. It was old, its wood gray and splintered, but there was always smoke rising from the chimney. Someone lived there.
The girl pushed the door open and disappeared inside.
Chika stood still for a moment, her heart beginning to thrum faster. The charm in her hand pulsed again—three steady beats, then dimmed.
"…What are you doing?" she whispered under her breath. "Who are you?"
Her curiosity overcame her hesitation.
She reached for the door.
The wood was cold under her fingers—too cold, like touching stone left in moonlight.
She pushed it open.
The door creaked softly… then stopped halfway, blocked by something.
The smell hit her first.
Metallic, sharp, like smelling a copper coin.
Her hand trembled as she pushed the door wider.
The lantern inside had long gone out, but the faint light from outside spilled through, revealing—
—shapes.
The floor was wet. A thin sheen of dark liquid reflected the pale moonlight.
Her bare toes brushed it, and she froze.
It was warm.
Her breath hitched. She stepped further in. The walls… they were covered in faint streaks, as if something had splashed—then been wiped away halfheartedly.
Her eyes followed the marks—upward—until she saw the table.
A wooden table in the center of the room, its surface warped with water stains.
And upon it—
The girl she had followed stood in front of it. Back turned to her.
Chika stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth.
"No…"