The work cycle bell chimed.
At that exact moment, a knock came at the door.
Kuro was already on his feet before the sound had finished echoing. He'd been waiting.
He moved to the door in silence and opened it.
A tall man stood on the other side.
He was built like a soldier—broad shoulders, dense frame, posture straight without trying. Middle-aged, fair-skinned, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that looked like it had been cut from stone. His black hair was tied neatly at the back, and his dark eyes didn't waver as they met Kuro's.
He wore a plain black uniform.
No sigils. No clan markings. No medals. Nothing that gave away rank, allegiance, or history. Just clean, well-fitted black. Not ceremonial. Not casual. Intentional. Even the sword at his hip was sheathed in a plain scabbard, no ornamentation to speak of.
There was nothing to recognise.
And that, in itself, told Kuro everything he needed to know.
"Kuro Yamihana?" the man asked, his voice firm but low.
Kuro nodded once.
The man gave no bow, no greeting. "I'm Hida. You'll follow me. Speak only when spoken to."
Before turning, he gave Kuro a full inspection.
His eyes moved first—assessing posture, balance, readiness.
Then his hands came forward.
Without a word, Hida reached out and checked the strap on Redfang's wrapping, then gestured for the pack.
Kuro handed it over without hesitation.
Hida unfastened it, pulled through every item with quick, methodical care. The blade was half-unwrapped and tested for balance in his palm before being sheathed again. The manual was flipped open and closed. The coin pouch was weighed, then inspected for anything hidden beneath the false bottom. Even the clothes were unrolled, sleeves shaken out. The food—simple dried pieces wrapped in cloth—was sniffed and broken apart, checked for anything concealed. Satisfied, he packed everything back as it had been.
Then he stepped closer.
Kuro lifted his arms slightly, knowing what came next.
Hida checked him personally. Arms, sleeves, waistline. The hem of his tunic. The soles of his feet. The back of his neck. His body was clean. No hidden charms, no papers, no stray metals tucked away. The entire process was done with the same cold precision—neither cruel nor kind. Just thorough.
When it was done, Hida handed back the pack.
"Acceptable," he said simply.
Kuro slung it over his shoulder again.
Hida turned without another word and began walking.
Kuro followed, silent and steady.
The hallway outside was still . The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable—just heavy, like the kind that settled before something permanent. The building around them didn't seem to notice their passing.
There stood a simple horse carriage and two men of similar build to Hida on its either side .
Hida gestured for Kuro to enter the carriage.
Kuro did so without hesitation. As he entered the carriage, a sudden chill ran through him, sharp and cold, as though the air inside had turned to ice. It prickled his skin, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
But as he continued to move into the carriage, the chill was replaced by a strange warmth that spread over his body. It wasn't a soothing warmth, but one that seemed to settle the tightness in his chest, grounding him in the moment.
0
He took a deep breath as the warmth settled around him, calming his nerves.
Hida followed him in and the door clicked shut behind him. Kuro glanced back, but the two men who had been outside were no longer visible. The carriage began to move, its motion smooth and steady, and Kuro focused on the rhythmic sound of the wheels as they rolled over the road. The warmth inside the carriage remained, an almost suffocating presence as the journey began.
Quite some time had passed since they left the clan's outer ring. Kuro couldn't hear the bell chimes anymore, so he couldn't tell how much time had passed. The road had become rougher, narrower, and the carriage bounced with each bump.
The silence around him was thick. No wind, no rustling leaves. It was as though the world had fallen into complete stillness.
He hadn't eaten since before the journey began. At first, it hadn't mattered. But now, his stomach ached. A thin layer of sweat had formed along his back. Hunger and the stillness made the ride heavier than it needed to be.
He sat on the rear-facing seat, letting his gaze drift sideways through the window, catching glimpses of the forest as it blurred by. Every so often, he shifted, just enough to glimpse the opposite seat.
Hida sat there, unmoving. Not a word had been spoken since they departed. He hadn't adjusted his posture once. His face was turned slightly toward the window beside him.
The carriage rocked again, this time with more force as the wheels rolled over uneven ground. The narrow road had thinned into something rougher, more jagged, barely maintained. They were deep into the forest now.
Kuro shifted slightly, then finally reached for the small bundle he'd packed.
Dried root slices, half a rice wrap, a few preserved greens.
It wasn't much, but it was all he had.
He ate slowly, chewing with measured bites, eyes still drifting between the blur of trees and the silent figure opposite him. Hida hadn't moved. Hadn't even acknowledged the motion. Just sat there, as steady and expressionless as he'd been since the beginning.
Then, without warning, the carriage came to a halt.
Kuro felt the shift before he registered it, the steady rhythm of movement breaking into stillness.
Hida turned to him. For the first time since the journey began, his gaze met Kuro's again. No words. Just a look.
He gestured with his hand, a simple motion for Kuro to follow.
Kuro stood, gathered his things, and stepped out. The air outside was cooler, heavier with the scent of soil and bark. Behind him, the carriage started moving again, slowly rolling away down the road without them.
The other two men were nowhere in sight.
Hida had already started walking. Kuro followed.
They moved in silence, stepping off the dirt path and into the undergrowth. The forest was denser here—untouched.
Then, as they pressed on, Hida's right hand began to glow.
Dim. Faint at first. A pale light, spreading across the skin in narrow patterns.
He kept walking.
then, as if a curtain were being pulled from the world itself, Hida reached forward and brushed his glowing hand through empty air.
A ripple spread outward—silent, seamless.
And in the next breath, something appeared.
There stood an old building.
Above the main entrance, partially obscured by creeping vines and years of dust, hung a thick wooden name board. The paint had long since faded, but the carved letters remained clear under the grime:
"Lower Sector 13"
The script was old Yamihana style—curved strokes with heavy ends, etched deep into the grain. Functional. Unadorned. It wasn't made to impress, only to inform.
The walls stretched out on both sides, disappearing beyond his view, leaving him unable to take in the full scale of the structure at once.