The morning air was sharp, cutting through the layered coats of Akira and Hinata as they trudged through the deep snow.
Their boots crunched against the frozen ground, the sound swallowed by the howling wind that swept down from the peaks above.
The temple, Stood with its dark wooden beams dusted with frost, its sloping roof laden with thick, undisturbed snow.
Flickering lanterns hung at the entrance, their dim golden glow offering little warmth against the morning chill. The scent of incense drifted through the air subtle, yet grounding, mixing with the crisp bite of ice and stone.
Akira and Hinata stepped forward, their breath visible in the frigid air. When Akira entered, the priest stepped forward and embraced him.
Akira stiffened for a moment before allowing himself the brief solace of the embrace.
With a farewell, they turned away from the temple and descended back to their temporary base.
The wind had picked up, whipping their coats and scattering loose snow in swirling eddies around their feet.
Hinata broke the silence first.
“Have you thought about kids?”
Akira didn’t hesitate.
“I want to be a father.”
His voice was steady, certain.
Hinata spoke again.
“You won’t be like your father, right?”
Akira stopped. His entire body stiffened as if he had been struck.
He jerked to face her. A fire ignited in his crimson eyes,
“What do you mean I won’t be like my father?”
His jaw clenched.
“My father is the best father in the world. Please don’t ever say that.”
“Don’t ever go there.”
There was no warmth in his tone.
Akira exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the frigid air. He turned, stepping forward as if to leave
the conversation behind.
“No… that’s not what I meant---”
Stolen novel; please report.
Then, stopping mid-stride, he spoke again, softer this time, but no less firm.
“Hinata, you can ask me anything.”
His voice held an edge of restrained emotion.
“Anything dirty. Whether I check out other women. Whether I’ve done drugs. Anything.”
He turned slightly.
“And I’ll always give you an honest answer.”
A pause.
“But not this.”
The finality in his voice was like a closing door.
Hinata moved before she could think. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her
forehead against his back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
For a long moment, Akira didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned.
“Hinata…”
He held her gaze.
“I will never betray you.”
As the words left his lips, the air shifted. A presence loomed.
Garuda descended from the sky, his enormous wings beating slowly and deliberately. The golden-
feathered eagle landed with a thud, his sharp talons sinking into the dirt. His beak, smeared with
frozen blood, gleamed under the pale moonlight, remnants of his hunt dripping onto the snow.
His piercing golden eyes locked onto Akira’s red ones.
…
Hoshizora, Year - 1363
Three dark red carriages rolled to a halt in front of a towering three-story building.
Their polished surfaces gleamed under the dim streetlights, the metal rims grinding softly against the cobblestone street. The night air hung heavy, thick with the scent of damp stone and distant rain.
The doors opened in near-perfect unison. Eleven men stepped out—tall, imposing figures, each one a specter of violence waiting to unfold.
First came Akira. He moved with slow, deliberate precision, His long, shoulder-length black hair swayed slightly as he stepped forward. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and with a flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminated his sharp features. His dark blue suit hugged his broad frame, tailored to perfection. Smoke curled from his lips as he scanned the area. The streets were quiet, too quiet. Almost no crowd.
One by one, the others emerged.
The humans three of them were the smallest of the group, though that was a deceptive comparison. Each stood well over two meters, their builds varying from lean, wiry muscle to broad, solid frames. Scarred hands, weathered skin, the quiet deadliness of men who had long since crossed the threshold of violence.
The four Fishmen followed, their presence even more intimidating. Webbed fingers, thick muscles, and skin that glistened slightly under the streetlights.
Their features varied two bore the sharp, predatory visage of a hammerhead, another two had the thick, powerful build of a tiger shark. Their gills flared slightly, adjusting to the dry air.
Then came the Minks. Three lion-men, their golden manes partially hidden beneath black suits, moving with a predator’s grace. They were taller than the rest, even one nearing three meters, their fur rippling under their clothing as they walked. Their tails swayed, tension coiling in their movements, their sharp fangs briefly flashing under the city’s dull glow.
All of them wore black glasses, their reflections casting back the streetlights like empty voids.
Akira took a final drag from his cigarette before flicking it aside. The ember flared briefly on the stone before dying.
He exhaled slowly.
Then they moved.
One carriage held their weapons. The doors swung open, revealing the dark steel of their shotguns, neatly lined, waiting. One by one, each man stepped forward, reaching in, and pulling out their weapon with practiced ease. Fingers checked the barrels, the weight, the balance of silent rituals they learned to kill.
Then, as a single unit, they turned toward the building.
A lion Mink let out a low growl, his voice a deep, rumbling vibration in the still air. “Why are we taking the entrance?”
Akira didn’t look back. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit and rolled his shoulders before speaking.
“To take him by surprise.”
A cold breeze swept through the street as, in perfect synchronicity, each of them reached up and removed their glasses.
Eleven pairs of red eyes gleamed in the darkness.
Predators had come to collect their due.
