The white figures did not attack all at once.
That was the first thing that worried Hina.
They did not move like animals.
They did not move like remnants.
They moved like people waiting for an order.
The clearing was growing darker. Some candles were still lit, but their light was not enough to separate the bodies from the shadows. The white robes appeared and disappeared among the trees, slow, silent, forming an imperfect circle around her.
Hina kept the axe raised.
Large.
Heavy.
Ready.
Not to win.
To resist.
Ten minutes.
That was all.
Ten minutes until Mei came back.
Ten minutes until Yūta and Ishida woke up.
Ten minutes could be nothing in a conversation.
In a trap, they could be an entire lifetime.
The man in red remained at the center of the clearing, still beside the stained stone. He did not seem rushed. He did not seem worried. He did not even seem to be giving orders.
That made it worse.
The white figures looked at him without looking.
As if they did not need to hear his voice to know what he wanted.
One of them took a step toward Hina.
Then another.
Then another.
Hina retreated until she felt the trunk against her back.
Good.
At least they could not reach her from behind.
Not all of them.
"They're not hunters," Hina said.
The man in red tilted his head slightly.
"No."
"They're not remnants either."
"No."
Hina clenched her teeth.
"Then what are they?"
A white figure lunged from the right.
Hina turned the axe and blocked with the handle. The blow sent a vibration through the wood and into her arms. It was not clean strength. It was not technique. It was mana pushing a body that did not know how to use it.
The figure bounced back, stumbled, and dropped to its knees.
Hina could have struck its head.
She did not.
She shoved it with the end of the handle and knocked it to the ground.
The figure began getting up almost immediately.
"They are people," said the man in red.
Another figure attacked from the left.
Hina lowered her body and let the blow pass over her. Then she turned on one foot and struck the attacker's side with the flat of the axe.
The sound was dry.
Human.
Too human.
The figure crashed against a stone, bent in an uncomfortable shape.
Hina felt her stomach close.
If they were remnants, it would have been easier.
If they were monsters, too.
But beneath those cloths were human hands.
Human breaths.
Bodies that would bleed if she cut them.
And Hina did not know how much of them was still awake.
The white figure placed one hand on the ground.
Its fingers trembled.
Then it stood again.
"People doesn't explain this," Hina said.
The man in red opened his arms slightly.
"New people."
Hina looked at him.
"What?"
"People who left behind their old way of seeing."
One of the white figures murmured something.
Hina could not make it out.
Then another repeated it, closer.
"Eyes only open once."
The sentence froze the back of her neck.
The same note.
The same idea.
The same bullshit spoken in another voice.
A third white figure spoke from among the trees.
"Eyes only open once."
Hina raised the axe.
"I don't like how that sounds."
"No one enjoys being born the first time," said the man in red. "That is why they cry."
Hina felt rage rise into her throat.
"Don't compare birth to kidnapping a girl in a forest."
"We did not kidnap her."
"Do you really want to argue that part?"
"She came."
Hina took one step toward him.
Two white figures moved instantly, stepping in between.
Hina stopped.
The man in red continued.
"She came with the book. She came with the note. She came with the right question inside her mouth, even if she still did not know how to say it."
"And when she wanted to leave, you grabbed her."
"When a child is born, it screams too."
Hina expanded the edge a little more.
The metal creaked under the weight of her mana.
"Say something like that about my sister again, and I'll split that mask open."
The man in red fell silent.
Then he laughed.
"Blood always believes it protects better than truth."
Another white figure advanced.
This one did not run.
It walked straight toward her, arms hanging at its sides, head tilted.
Hina waited.
The figure raised one hand.
It did not look like an attacking stance.
That made her hesitate.
The mistake lasted less than a second.
The hand opened, and a clumsy burst of mana shot toward her.
Hina barely managed to place the axe in front of herself.
The discharge struck the metal and exploded in a pale light that burned her eyes. It was not strong like a hunter's technique. It had no shape, no direction, no control.
But it was enough to push her against the tree.
Her back slammed into the bark.
Her breath cut off.
The white figure kept advancing.
Hina clenched her teeth, turned the axe downward, and swept the attacker's legs with the handle.
The figure fell.
Before it hit the ground, another was already on top of her.
They did not fight well.
That was the problem.
A trained hunter had rhythm.
Intent.
A center of gravity.
A remnant had instinct, hunger, pattern.
They did not.
They attacked with enormous openings.
With badly placed steps.
With strength where it was not needed, and weakness where it was.
But they did not stop.
They did not hesitate.
They were not afraid of breaking.
And Hina was afraid of breaking them.
That was a disadvantage.
A very bad one.
The second figure tried to grab the arm holding the axe.
Hina turned her wrist and struck its shoulder with the end of the handle. She felt something give.
The figure did not scream.
It only stepped back once.
Its arm hung strangely.
Then it advanced again.
Hina's eyes widened.
"They're injured."
"Yes."
"Then stop this."
"Why?"
"Because they don't know what they're doing."
The man in red tilted his mask.
"On the contrary."
A white figure, the one with the hanging arm, murmured:
"We see."
Another answered from the other side.
"We see."
The third:
"We see."
Hina felt the word pass through the clearing like a cold current.
It was not normal obedience.
It was not someone repeating an order out of fear.
It was deeper.
Sicker.
As if the phrase had found a new place inside them and settled there.
"You don't control them," Hina said, half understanding.
The man in red remained still.
"No."
"Then what?"
"I call them."
"That's the same thing."
"No."
For the first time, his voice changed slightly.
He did not get angry.
He did not raise his tone.
But something beneath it hardened.
"To control is to force someone to move against their desire. I do not do that."
Hina let out a bitter laugh.
"Right. You're a saint."
"I open."
"You break them."
"I awaken them."
"You smear blood on their faces while they're held down against a stone."
"Because the first breath always hurts."
Hina did not answer.
Not because she had no answer.
Because another pressure brushed her forehead.
Stronger this time.
Not like a finger.
Like a nail resting directly between her eyes.
Trying to get in.
Hina raised the axe sharply.
The metal shone.
The pressure retreated.
It did not vanish completely.
The man in red tilted his head.
"Your door is well closed."
Hina breathed hard.
"Keep trying."
"But it is not empty."
The sentence passed through her.
Not because of fear.
Because of certainty.
He was not looking at her face.
Not completely.
He was looking at something behind it.
Something inside.
"In your sister," he said, "there was a room full of questions."
Hina felt her fingers tense around the handle.
"Shut up."
"In you, there is a room full of doors you opened for others and closed for her."
"Shut up."
"It is a beautiful form of guilt."
Hina advanced.
Again without thinking.
Again too fast.
The white figures moved at the same time.
One threw itself at her legs.
Another went for the arm holding the axe.
Another straight at her chest.
Hina stopped the first attack with one knee, pushed the second away with the handle, and took the third from the side. The impact forced a grunt out of her.
She stepped back.
The trunk struck her spine.
A white hand grabbed her wrist.
Hina felt human fingers.
Warm.
Alive.
That stopped her for a fraction of a second.
The figure raised its face.
Beneath the cloth, Hina managed to see one eye.
Only one.
Open.
Bloodshot.
But full of tears.
The figure whispered:
"Thank you."
Hina froze.
The figure tried to drive something into her side.
Hina reacted by instinct.
She struck with her elbow.
Then with the handle.
The figure fell back, disappearing among the shadows.
Hina breathed unevenly.
"What did you do to them…"
The man in red answered calmly.
"I took away their fear of what they already were."
"No."
Hina shook her head.
"You took away their ability to choose."
"They chose to come."
"And after?"
The silence was minimal.
Enough.
Hina noticed.
"After that, they can't choose anymore, can they?"
The man in red did not answer.
Hina smiled without humor.
"There it is."
A white figure ran toward her.
Hina dodged and struck it in the back with the flat of the axe. The figure fell face-first into the dirt.
"That's what you don't say."
Another attacked.
Hina blocked.
"You let them in."
Another.
A strike.
"You open them."
Another.
A dodge.
"And then they stay like this."
The figure with the hanging arm stood again.
Hina saw it.
Its legs were trembling.
The body was begging to stop.
The head was not.
"Obedient," Hina said.
The man in red spoke more softly.
"Reborn."
"Obedient."
"Free from the lies that confined them."
"Obedient to you."
The red mask did not move.
But the clearing seemed to grow colder.
"The newborn searches for a voice," he said. "That is not slavery. It is trust."
"That's disgusting."
"That is human."
Hina spat on the ground.
"Don't use that word."
The next attack came from two sides.
Hina could not block both.
She deflected the first with the edge, not cutting, only pushing. The second struck her shoulder. She felt pain run down her arm.
The axe grew heavier.
Bad sign.
She breathed.
Ten minutes.
How long had passed?
Three?
Five?
One?
The forest had no clock.
Neither did the man in red.
The white figures moved again.
Hina changed her stance.
The axe was too large for so many enemies at close range.
She reduced it.
The metal compressed with a dry sound until it became a medium-sized version, faster, less intimidating.
A white figure leapt at her.
Hina caught it with the handle in the abdomen.
The figure folded.
Hina shoved it into another.
Both fell.
That opened a minimal path toward the exit.
Hina saw it.
She also saw the man in red raise two fingers.
The path disappeared.
Two figures stepped into the way.
They did not run.
They received no verbal order.
They simply knew.
Hina felt a chill.
"You don't control them, but they obey you anyway."
"The heart does not control the blood either," he said. "It only beats."
"How convenient, always being the heart."
"Someone must be."
Hina turned the axe.
"Then let's see if it beats without a mask."
She advanced.
This time, it was not pure rage.
It was decision.
She struck the ground with the edge and released a short wave of mana. It was not a large technique. It was not meant to destroy. Only to raise dirt, kill light, break formation.
It worked halfway.
Three figures stepped back.
Two fell.
One kept coming.
The man in red disappeared behind the dust.
Hina lunged toward him.
A white hand emerged from the clouded ground and grabbed her ankle.
Hina fell to her knees.
Another figure appeared in front of her.
She did not have time to raise the axe.
A blow crossed her cheek.
The world tilted.
Hina braced one hand against the earth.
Blood in her mouth.
The axe shrank a little more.
She breathed.
Not win.
Resist.
A white voice murmured near her ear:
"The door opens once."
Hina turned and struck with her forehead.
The blow was clumsy.
Desperate.
Human.
The figure staggered back.
Hina half rose and drove her shoulder into another coming straight at her. The white body fell against a candle, snuffing it out.
Another flame died.
Then another.
The clearing was closing in black.
Hina could see less and less.
But those in white seemed to move better that way.
Or maybe it was fear making them seem closer.
The man in red appeared again through the dust.
There was no dirt on him.
Not a mark.
That enraged her in an absurd way.
"You are tiring," he said.
"You talk too much."
"It is an observation."
"So is mine."
He stopped a few meters away.
Too close.
The white figures formed a semicircle behind Hina.
The exit path was on the other side.
Far away.
"Your sister awakened incomplete," said the man in red.
Hina tightened her grip on the handle.
"Don't talk about her."
"She was interrupted."
"She was saved."
"She was closed."
"She was saved."
The man in red slowly raised a hand.
"And yet, part of her still listens."
Hina felt her chest empty.
"Lie."
"Calling her now would be cruel."
"Lie."
"But possible."
Hina did not move.
That was the real blow.
Not the bodies.
Not the clumsy discharges.
Not the blood in her mouth.
That.
The idea of Mio, in the house, trying to breathe, trying to become herself again, and still having something of that man inside her.
The man in red knew it.
"There is your crack."
The pressure returned.
This time, it did not touch her forehead.
It entered through the guilt.
It was not an image.
Not exactly.
It was the feeling of a door left half-open.
Mio sitting in the kitchen, smaller, watching Hina leave.
Mio following her a few steps down the road.
Mio asking why you and not me.
Mio in the forest.
Mio on the stone.
Mio saying no.
Hina felt the axe tremble in her hands.
"No."
The man in red lowered his voice.
"Not all eyes open with blood."
The pressure deepened.
"Some only need someone to look where they have always avoided looking."
Hina drove the axe into the earth.
"I said no."
Mana rose through her arms.
Not clean.
Not elegant.
Furious.
The blade expanded all at once, more than it should have in such a closed space. The metal struck two white figures and hurled them aside. A candle burst in wax and a small flash of fire. The ground opened in a short line.
The pressure cut off.
Hina breathed as if she had surfaced from water.
The man in red was silent.
Then he spoke softly.
"What a shame."
Hina raised her gaze.
"What?"
"You had a beautiful door."
A white figure struck her from behind.
The trunk was no longer there to cover her.
Hina had advanced too far.
The impact buckled her knees.
Another figure grabbed her arm.
Another her shoulder.
Hina turned the axe, but the weapon was too large now. The edge caught against a stone. She lost half a second freeing it.
Half a second was enough.
A white hand took her face.
The fingers pressed against her forehead.
They were not the man in red's fingers.
But the sensation was the same.
Worse.
Because it came from someone who did not understand what they were doing.
Hina saw an eye beneath the cloth.
Crying.
Smiling.
Empty.
"We see," the figure whispered.
Hina broke its nose with the handle.
The figure fell.
She almost fell too.
The axe returned to a smaller size for an instant.
The pain in her shoulder ran down to her fingers.
Bad.
Very bad.
The man in red took his first step.
Only one.
The clearing seemed to hold its breath.
"You won't last until they come back."
Hina raised the small axe.
"Then you'll have to get bored quickly."
"I don't want to kill you."
"What a relief."
"I want to understand you."
"That sounds worse."
He took another step.
The white figures parted slightly, as if the forest itself were making room for him.
Hina tried to step back.
She could not.
There were bodies behind her.
Shadows.
Breaths.
An almost closed circle.
The man in red extended his hand.
Not toward the axe.
Toward her face.
Hina gathered mana in the weapon.
Little.
What she could.
The blade answered, but late.
A white figure leapt from the left.
Hina saw it.
She also saw the man in red's hand approaching.
She could not cover both.
She turned toward the hand.
The white figure arrived first.
Hina understood she would not make it.
Then the blow never landed.
A cut of wind tore through the space between them.
The white robe split from shoulder to chest, and the figure fell backward, dragging its feet through the dirt.
Hina looked up.
Mei stood among the trees, her fans open and her expression ice-cold.
"I told you not to go alone."
Hina breathed once.
It hurt.
"You're late."
"I had to wake two idiots."
A mana chain passed over Mei's shoulder and closed around the arm of a white figure trying to stand.
The figure pulled.
The chain did not give.
Ishida appeared behind Mei, his face serious, his eyes fixed on the clearing.
"They don't look like remnants," he said.
"They're not," Hina answered.
One step farther back, Yūta emerged from between the trees.
His hair was still messy from sleep.
But his eyes were completely awake.
He looked at the robes.
The candles.
The stained stone.
At Hina bleeding.
And then at the man in red.
"Well," he said, raising his hands with mana barely visible around his fingers. "This definitely wasn't in the plan for a quiet night."
The man in red observed the three newcomers.
Then he looked at Hina.
Beneath the mask, his voice sounded almost pleased.
"More eyes."
The white figures began to move again.
Mei opened her fans wider.
Ishida tightened the chains.
Yūta took one step forward.
Hina adjusted her grip on the axe.
She was no longer alone.