The scent of incense was constant.
It clung to the air like mist—thin, sweet, and ancient. Every breath Wolf took since waking in this strange Kyoto shrine carried a weight of prayer. Not the fevered chants of desperate monks or the bloodied rites of Ashina's war priests. These were different.
Older. Calmer.
Still dangerous.
He sat beneath the sloping eaves of a wooden corridor, the kind with paper-thin walls and polished floorboards. His legs folded neatly beneath him, hands resting lightly in his lap, body motionless as stone. A posture he had practiced in countless dojos. A stillness he had once used before death came for him.
Now, he simply waited.
Not for battle.
Not for orders.
Just… to understand.
The shrine's courtyard was peaceful, framed by weeping cherry trees and stone lanterns whose danced with flame . A few youkai servants padded softly through the grounds—long-eared beasts and robed attendants with furred faces and graceful steps. They kept their distance, casting furtive glances at the silent shinobi with the sword he never set down.
None approached.
None dared.
Only Yasaka did.
She walked with the ease of a lord, yet her presence carried no arrogance. Just quiet certainty. Her golden eyes, observed Wolf with the same caution he offered her. She had not spoken to him since the night prior. Not after the warning. Not after granting him a place to sleep beneath the shrine's roof.
That alone had surprised him.
Trust was earned through blood and silence in his world. Here, it was given—however provisionally—with grace.
He did not understand it. And so he remained still.
He did not remove the Mortal Blade. Not even while resting. It stayed by his side, its scarlet hilt wrapped tightly in cord, its spirit-slicing edge hidden from sight.
When he did sleep, it was shallow. Restless. The kind of half-sleep that a shinobi knew well: alert to the faintest change in wind or footstep. He heard the laughter of spirits beyond the shrine walls. He heard the river flowing just past the torii gates.
---
Morning light filtered through rice-paper walls, painting soft patterns on the floorboards. Wolf rose before the sun fully crested the eastern ridges. His steps were near silent, his breath steady. He walked the perimeter of the shrine slowly, mapping it in his mind.
Three entrances. Six servant quarters. Two inner sanctums. A well.
He noted every loose board. Every cracked tile. Every sound the building made when the wind moved through it.
He was not planning an escape.
it just out of habit that he honed as shinobi
Yasaka found him kneeling beside a stone basin, dipping his hands into water that was impossibly cold despite the warm spring air.
"You're not used to stillness without purpose," she said behind him.
He didn't turn.
"Stillness is purpose."
"Spoken like a warrior," she replied. "But here, you may find other meanings."
He finally looked at her. The sun lit her silhouette from behind, catching in her tails like flame through silk.
"You spoke of spirits. Of balance. But this world… it does not feel balanced."
"Because it isn't."
Her honesty was sharp. He respected that.
"You know I will not stay forever," he said.
"I didn't think you would," Yasaka replied softly. "But something brought you here, shinobi. You may want answers, even if you don't yet admit it."
He didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
---
The day passed slowly. Wolf was not idle.
He practiced his forms in the inner courtyard, silent katas beneath the blooming trees. with shinai in his hand he moved like wind over water—swift, clean, deadly. The shrine servants gathered at a distance, whispering, watching. without his katana given by lord kuro he only could train with this shinai
Yasaka watched too, from the veranda.
She said nothing.
But when he stopped, her gaze lingered.
"You were trained in death," she said. "But not in cruelty."
"Death is not cruel," he replied. "It is the task."
She stepped down from the platform, walking across the stone path to him.
"Would you kill me ?"
He looked at her, unblinking.
"I do not kill without cause."
"And if I become cause?"
A long silence.
Yasaka smiled—not warmly, but knowingly.
"You're honest. Rare, for a shinobi."
"I am tired of lies."
---
Later, she offered him food.
Simple rice. Miso. Pickled vegetables.
He accepted in silence, eating sparingly, moving with the formal grace of a monk. She noticed he avoided sake. He drank only water.
"You don't trust me," she said.
"I don't trust anyone."
"Not even yourself?"
He paused.
"Especially not myself."
That answer seemed to amuse her. Or perhaps concern her. It was hard to tell. Yasaka was not like the nobles or lords he had served. She carried power without pride. Her shrine breathed with her aura—calm, commanding, ancient.
And yet, she was alone.
No guards. No child. No consort.
A powerful priestess without a court.
He respected that.
But he did not understand it.
---
Night fell again.
The shrine grew quieter. Spirits moved like mist through the trees. And something stirred beneath the earth.
Wolf stood atop the torii gate, one knee bent, eyes scanning the forest.
Yasaka joined him—not by climbing, but by appearing, tails flickering like flame in the wind.
"You feel it too," she said.
He nodded.
"Something dark."
"Something waking," she agreed. "This land is old. But lately… things beneath the surface have begun to twist."
He looked at her.
"And you think I brought it?"
"I don't know what you brought. But your presence… it broke something open."
The wind shifted.
Far in the distance, a shrine bell rang once.
Low. Hollow.
Wolf did not speak.
He only watched.
And waited.