The village of Kurotsuki nestled itself within the valley, surrounded by woodlands and knife-sharp mountains standing guard in silence. Its thatched straw roofs and winding earthen roads were a testament to austerity, far removed from the tradition and strife of Yamaoka. To Hakari, however, it was but a stepping stone for him. For his dark path.

  He observed the villagers along the border of the forest as they went about with their activities. Farmers ploughed the lands, their laughs carried in the wind as they exchanged gossip and jokes. Kids played within the curvy routes, their uproarious weepings that dominated the ambiance. Merchants barked goods around the marketplace center, the fragrance of baking bread carried over alongside the fragrance of wild flowers growing at the boundary of the village.

  Hakari’s corrupted arm twitched at his side, the runes pulsing faintly. His hand brushed the mask at his belt, its presence cold and heavy.

  “This place looks so peaceful,” he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain. “But peace doesn’t last long... Peace cannot born. Not in a world like this..”

  He came out from among the shadows of the trees, his boots crunching gently on the dirt path as he approached the village. His black cloak fluttered slightly in the breeze, covering up the runes on his arm and the mask at his hip. He had spent weeks here, surviving on the edge, observing the villagers' arrivals and departures.

  He was not here for their quiet lives or fleeting happiness. He was here for something else—something that would unlock the Immortal Mask's potential.

  Within the small tavern in the center of the village, Hakari sat in the corner table, hood forward over his head. The glow of lanterns played across the weathered wood walls, the hum of voices echoing through the room as villagers gathered to swap drinks and news.

  Hakari nodded silently, ears perked up catching here and there snippets of conversation.

  "The bandits have not been making much noise of late," one man replied, his voice tired and raspy. "Too quiet, if you ask me. Makes me think they're planning something big time."

  Another villager, a woman with a creased face, nodded her head gravely. "They've been congregating near the eastern pass. Saw their campfires a few nights back."

  "Even more reason to fortify the village," another voice cut in. "We need to prepare ourselves if they attack..."

  Hakari leaned back in his chair, gloved hands drumming on the table. Bandits. Rude, undisciplined, but effective. They'll do.

  He finished his drink in silence before disappearing out of the tavern, cool night wind rushing over his face. The streets were vacant now, the majority of the villagers having retired. Hakari moved through the darkness, his footsteps quiet as he moved toward the eastern rim of the village.

  From the hill of the valley, he saw the far-off light of campfires, their flickering flames an unmistakable sign of the camp of bandits.

  The mask on his belt hummed faintly, as if it could feel his brain.

  Hakari's hand hovered over it, his fingers tracing its coldness.

  "You're starving, aren't you?" he breathed, his voice low. "You hunger for blood. Power. You hunger for me to wield you."

  The mask did not say anything, but its weight felt heavier, crushing.

  Hakari grinned, his corrupted arm glowing with faint light as the runes pulsed to his heartbeat. "Soon," he said, his voice even. "Soon you'll get what you want. And so will I."

  He walked back towards the village, his dark cape flowing behind him as he disappeared into the night.

  ---

  Over the next few days, Hakari continued to guard the village. He observed how the farmers reinforced their fences, how the blacksmith made them crude weapons to be used by those who would defend their homes, and how the children sat together and spun stories of the masked man who had emerged on the edge of the forest.

  But Hakari was not interested in helping them. He was not their hero. He was here. Just to stay. No more than that. If anything happened here, he was their shadow, lying just beyond grasp for the day to attack.

  He was attracted to the eastern pass, where the bandits were gathering. They were growing in numbers, their confidence fuelled by the fear they caused in the surrounding villages. Hakari watched their movements, their routines, the way they secured their camp.

  And he waited.

  Let them come, he thought, the mask at his side almost vibrating with anticipation. Let them bring their chaos. Just for satisfy his mask.

  For Hakari, this village was more than a hiding place. It was the beginning of something far greater. And as the days passed, the hunger in his chest grew, matching the pulse of the mask at his belt.

  The sun was only just rising, bathing the village of Kurotsuki in a warm soft light. Activity in the morning had begun, with villagers traveling to the fields and market square, their voices ringing in the air in a muffled thrum of activity.

  Hakari sat at the corner of this tiny tavern, his black cloak over his arm. His hood lay down now, revealing his pointed features and the faint glow of the runes along his tainted arm, half-covered by his sleeve. He sipped his drink slowly, his gaze distant, as though the world's troubles were but a soft wind.

  The tavern was quiet this early, but there were scattered patrons already—farmers who needed a hot meal before heading out to work and merchants discussing trade routes in mugs of ale. Hakari did not give them much attention, his thoughts elsewhere with the distant bandit camp and the magic that rested there.

  He did not notice the band of villagers making their way to him until one of them cleared his throat.

  "Excuse me," a nervous voice speak.

  Hakari's eyes flicked up, his expression calm but unyielding. In front of him were three villagers—a thin man dressed in a leather apron, a burly farmer with calloused palms, and a young woman with a basket clutched in her hand. They appeared restless, shifting back on their heels as if unsure of what to do next.

  "What do you want?" Hakari asked, his voice level and firm.

  The man, aproned and wringing his hands, came forward. "You're. new in the village," he said. "We've seen you around. Hanging around. And, uh..." He glanced at the others for encouragement.

  The woman went on after him, her voice trembling. "You don't seem afraid. Of the bandits, that is. Most are. But you." She hesitated, glancing up at the runes on Hakari's arm. "You're... Like you didn't afraid of them..."

  Hakari raised an eyebrow, setting his cup down slowly. “And?”

  The burly farmer stepped forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “We need help,” he said bluntly. “The bandits are planning something. We’ve seen their numbers growin’, their campfires closer every night. The guards in this village aren’t enough, from strength and the count... and if they attack.” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

  Hakari shifted back in his chair, expression blank. "And you hope to have my help?"

  The three stared at one another in confusion.

  "You have power," the woman went on, her words soft but commanding. "We can feel it. And calm, even with everything happening. Please. if you can help us, we'll do whatever we can to repay you.".

  Hakari’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied them. Their desperation was palpable, their fear etched into every line of their faces. These were people clinging to hope, searching for a savior.

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  But Hakari wasn’t a savior.

  He smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You think I’m strong?”

  The burly farmer nodded. “Stronger than anyone else here.”

  Hakari's smile expanded, though it contained no warmth. "And you believe I'll put myself in harm's way for your little village? For strangers? Individuals who would not help much as move a finger to rescue me if our positions reversed?"

  The three of them flinched at his tone, their spirits dying.

  "We'll pay you," the apron-wearing man exclaimed hastily. "We don't have much, but—

  "I don't want your coin, you think coin can pay soul?" Hakari interrupted, his voice cold.

  The air was thick with the silence of no one breathing.

  The woman stepped forward again, her hands wrapped tightly around the wicker of the basket. "Please," she implored. "If the bandits attack, they'll destroy everything. A-and they will kill us! They will kill our families as well. You can prevent it. You can save us please."

  Hakari's gaze fell on her for a moment, and there flared up a light—a distant one, beyond the edge of vision.

  "I could," he answered finally, his tone softer but no less lethal. "But tell me this—why should I?"

  The villagers exchanged fearful glances, desperation and fear on their faces.

  Hakari rose from his chair slowly, looming over them. He approached his cloak and flung it over his shoulders as he made a move for the door.

  "You're afraid of the bandits," he said to them as he walked past. "But you would do better to be in more fear of what comes about when one like I becomes involved.

  The villagers remained where they were, frozen, as Hakari stepped out into the brightness of the morning, his dark cloak billowing behind him.

  Outside, he paused at the edge of the tavern, his corrupted arm pulsing faintly as he brushed his hand against the mask at his belt.

  “They’ll learn soon enough,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “When the bandits come, I’ll give them something far worse to fear.”

  Hakari slowly rose from his chair, towering over them. He reached out to take hold of his cloak and wrap it about his shoulders as he approached the door. His dark figure loomed, etched by the golden light streaming through the open doorway of the tavern.

  "You're frightened of the bandits," he informed them, his tone even and cold. "But you ought to be afraid of what happens when a person such as myself is attracted into the picture."

  The villagers stood stock still, their hearts shattered by his harsh words. With no second glance, Hakari stepped out into the darkness, the quiet rustle of his cloak the only sound breaking the stillness.

  The village was quieter now, the morning hum of activity fading into silence as Hakari headed towards the woods. He needed to be alone, a place where the whisperings of the mask would guide him. His fingers lay upon its face as he walked, the cursed thing shuddering very slightly in resistance.

  He did not realize the shadow was still following him until it addressed him.

  "Yo, Hakari."

  The voice was calm but resolute, with a seriousness that made Hakari freeze in his tracks. His eyes furrowed as he whirled around, his corrupted arm twitch.

  A figure stood at the edge of the forest whom he thought he'd never see again.

  "Rinne?" Hakari breathed, incredulously, his voice little more than a whisper.

  The man himself stepped into the light, moving with the same peaceful and uncompromising gestures that Hakari remembered. His robes, battered and frayed, bore the slight line of red flowers sewn into the fabric. His black hair spilled down around his shoulders in untidy disarray, and his chill blue eyes looked at Hakari with peaceful fervor.

  "Impossible," Hakari snarled, his hand instinctively reaching for the mask on his belt. "You're dead! I saw you use the Red Blossom Technique. No one survives that."

  Rinne did not answer immediately. He took another step forward, this time slowly. There was something unnatural about him now, an otherworldly presence that clung to his body like the dying sparks of a dying star.

  "Ahh... So you are watching us fighting that hollow queen... Such observer.... Hmm... Perhaps I should have died," Rinne said finally, his tone laced with a strange calm. "But death did not claim me as it should."

  Hakari's grip on the mask tightened. "What are you doing here?"

  Rinne shifted forward a fraction, his gaze fixed on Hakari's face. "I could ask you the same. Right?"

  Hakari spat, his poisoned arm burning faintly. "I'm not in the mood for your riddles, Rinne. You shouldn't be here."

  "And still, here I am," Rinne said, voice calm. "Just as you are here, removed from Yamaoka, with a mask that was not supposed to awaken."

  Hakari's teeth were gritted, his gaze angling. "Don't act like you understand me. You don't know anything about why I came here or what I'm doing."

  "Don't I?" Rinne replied, his expression remain calm. "You've abandoned your family, abandoned everything you were taught. And for what? Power? Revenge? To awaken something that will kill your humanity? Oh dear Hakari. The immortal mask bearer. Is your life really that cheap?"

  "Enough!" Hakari snarled, his corrupted arm snapping with malevolent energy. "You don't get to lecture me, Rinne. You have no idea what I've gone through. What I've had to do."

  Rinne did not flinch, his calm eyes meeting Hakari's anger. "I know more than you think," he spoke softly. "And I know where this path will lead you, Hakari."

  Hakari drew closer, his corrupted energy building. "And what path are you on, Rinne? Ghost? Memory? You should have stayed dead."

  For the first time, a flicker of emotion flashed on Rinne's face—pity. "Perhaps I should have," he breathed. "But I'm here. And I won't let you fall into the darkness you're running into."

  "—talking about path, Rinne? The one you took? The one that left you a ghost?"

  Rinne didn’t answer right away. His expression remained placid, but there was something in his gaze—something that made Hakari feel as if he were being seen through, dissected, and laid bare.

  "I did what I had to," Rinne finally said. "Just as you are doing now. But tell me, Hakari—when the time comes, will you still believe it was worth it?"

  Hakari scoffed, his corrupted arm pulsing. "Spare me the philosophy. You're nothing but a relic, clinging to old ideals. You talk about paths, but you don't even walk one anymore, aren't you?"

  Rinne exhaled slowly, almost disappointed. "Then tell me—where does your path lead, Hakari? To power? To control? Or does it only lead to an abyss, waiting to swallow you whole?" Rinne chuckles calmly. "Hakari... Let me tell you. You are not walking into strength. Nor control. But your own destruction."

  Hakari’s fingers curled around the mask at his belt, its weight suddenly unbearable. He wanted to strike. To end this conversation. But something held him back.

  Rinne turned away, his silhouette illuminated by the creeping dawn. "You'll see soon enough," he said quietly. "And when you do, I wonder—will you still recognize yourself?"

  Hakari's corrupted arm twitched violently, but he didn't move. He only watched as Rinne faded into the mist, his presence vanishing like a whisper.

  For the first time in a long while, Hakari felt something unfamiliar.

  Doubt.

  Hakari's corrupted arm pulsed feebly, the runes twisting under his skin like living things. His breath was steady, but a storm brewed behind his eyes, precariously held at bay. Rinne stood before him, calm, composed, infuriatingly impassive—just as he always was.

  Hakari expelled a harsh breath, baring his teeth. "Tch." No more, he turned on his heel, his black cloak streaming behind him as he strode away into the trees.

  He had taken precisely three steps before Rinne's voice, as smooth as ever, came after him.

  "Leaving already?" The sarcasm was palpable. "I thought we were catching up. You know, reminiscing about the past. Maybe even sharing our darkest regrets around a campfire over tea."

  "We never did that."

  "Oh that was the reason we should. We never did that."

  Hakari's footsteps didn't falter, but his fingers did twitch. Rinne was always like this—infuriatingly calm, impossibly composed, and irritatingly smug in the worst possible way.

  Rinne continued, strolling casually behind him, hands in his sleeves. "Oh, come on, Hakari. You can't be seriously going to walk away. Not after a reunion that was so emotionally stirring. I traveled so far, risked life and limb getting out from that red blossom seal with that hollow queen—though, to be honest, I'm not certain how many limbs I have left to risk—in order to catch up with you." He sighed dramatically. "And here you are, taking flight. It's really quite rude. You know rude right? Rude meaning harsh and harsh-"

  "I'm not running," Hakari cut, not even looking back.

  "Ah, so it's purposefully walking away. Sorry," Rinne mused, nodding as if he'd found something profound and insightful. "Naturally, I understand. Very brooding. Very mysterious. But tell me—do you practice that walk, or is it natural?"

  Hakari gritted his teeth, picking up his pace.

  "And the cape? Oh, the way it flows so naturally. It's really impressive, you know. Do you time your movements with the wind, or does it just know when to make you look even more dramatic?"

  Hakari spun around, his corrupted arm gleaming in the light as his patience wore thin. "Do you ever shut up?"

  Rinne tapped his chin, as though to consider it. "Mmm… No, I don't think so."

  Hakari groaned and turned back once more, deeper into the forest.

  "You sure you don't want to at least attempt to have fun?" Rinne yelled after him. "I mean, how often does an old friend come back from the dead just to harass you?"

  Hakari had no reply.

  "Ah," Rinne continued, his voice carrying with ease through the trees, "I'll just take this as your way of celebrating, then. Very stoic. Very edgy. But just so you know, I am behind you."

  Hakari didn't respond. He just kept walking, boots crunching against the dirt path, his patience unraveling with every step.

  Rinne, of course, followed without a care, hands still tucked into his sleeves, the picture of casual amusement. "You know, this reminds me of the old days," he mused. "Me, talking. You, ignoring me. Except back then, you didn't have that whole brooding, corrupted warrior aesthetic going on. It's a good look, by the way. Very tragic. Very fallen hero."

  Hakari's grip on his arm tightened, the runes pulsing brighter. "Keep talking, and I'll show you exactly how tragic I can get."

  Rinne chuckled. "Ah, see? There it is. That famous Hakari temper." He sighed dramatically. "I missed this. Well, not you specifically, but more the general vibe. You know, the rage, the violence, just like your fath-"

  A deep, glowing crack splintered the ground just behind Rinne, Hakari's corrupted energy searing through the dirt. Rinne stopped mid-sentence, blinking down at the scorched earth.

  Then, he looked up, grinning. "Oh? Was that a warning shot?"

  Hakari kept walking.

  Rinne shook his head in mock disappointment. "Ah, so dramatic. Fine, fine. I'll give you some space. For now." His smirk lingered. "But don't worry, I'll back again easily at your side."

  The wind rustled the trees as Hakari disappeared into the shadows of the forest, his figure swallowed by the night. And behind him, standing in the dim glow of the dying embers, Rinne simply smiled.

  After all, the game had only just begun.