"Still no signs of any traps or yokai nests," Isamu muttered.
"Too quiet," Ren said, his tone low. "Not even the birds. It’s like the whole forest’s holding its breath."
Shisui glanced back with an amused smirk. "That’s because you’re breathing for it, loudmouth."
Ren scowled. "Keep talking, bone-bangle. I’ll let you walk into the next one."
They reached a clearing—and the world shifted.
Carved into the earth before them was a pit. A circular depression surrounded by ancient stone obelisks, their surfaces etched with sigils that pulsed faintly under the moonlight. In the center stood a dais, half-collapsed, but still exuding power. The stone glimmered faintly with hues of violet and indigo.
"This wasn’t on any map," Isamu muttered, stepping cautiously toward the edge.
"It wouldn't be," Shisui said. "This place predates your cities. It predates your gods."
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Ren stepped closer, a strange pull tugging at his chest. The sigils carved into the obelisks shimmered when he approached—responding to his presence.
Shisui noticed. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re connected to this.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
She stepped forward, lifting her hand. As her palm neared one of the glowing glyphs, it too responded—this time with a softer, darker pulse.
Then something happened.
Their shadows moved.
Not naturally. Not with the light. They stretched toward each other—intertwining—melding like they were two halves of a single broken glyph.
The center of the dais flared.
A deep hum filled the air.
And a whisper, old and thick with pain, curled from the stone:
“Two bearers. One echo.”
Ren jerked back. “What the hell was that?”
Shisui staggered. “That... That voice. I’ve heard it before. In my sleep.”
Isamu remained stone-faced. “We need to report this.”
“No,” Shisui said quickly. “You bring this to the Guild, you bring the Rengoku with it. This place will vanish before they let outsiders see it. Whatever’s buried here—they’ve been hiding it.”
Ren’s eyes darkened.
And then, the sigils shifted.
A gate—formed from pure darkness—cracked open in the center of the dais. From within, something stirred. Slow. Intentional.
A roar echoed from deep inside.
Not bestial. Not animalistic.
But full of sorrow.
Human.
“Welp,” Ren muttered. “Looks like we opened a trauma closet.”
Shisui pulled her curved blade from her side. “It’s your fault. You triggered it.”
“We triggered it,” he shot back.
Isamu drew his blade next. “Doesn’t matter who did. If it’s waking up, we kill it before it finishes stretching.”
From the darkness, a figure began to emerge—shackled, writhing, yet still crawling forward.
The ancient glyphs reacted violently.
And their own shadows began moving without them.