The wind carried the scent of pine and ash as Rin and Kaito pressed forward through the narrow trail that wound toward the mountains. The air was thinner here, colder, older, as if even the clouds hesitated to drift too close to the jagged peaks. Every step sank into the soaked earth, and with each step, Rin felt the weight of memory return.
Days had passed since the river, since blood washed down its current like a crimson whisper of their failure. The wounds on his arms had long stopped bleeding, but his thoughts hadn't. Every strike, every face, Ayame's fading eyes, Shun's final breath, returned in the stillness between footsteps.
Kaito walked ahead, quiet, scanning the ridgelines. The faint clatter of his spear against his back echoed in the silence. "We're close," he murmured. "You said the mountains would rise in three spires. That's them, right?"
Rin nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. There, rising like the bones of gods, stood the three peaks, silent, colossal, wrapped in rolling fog. The center peak caught a shard of sunlight through the haze, glinting like a blade.
"That's them," Rin said. His voice was quiet, reverent, as if saying the words might disturb something sacred. "He told me… if we were ever separated, I'd find him there. He said the mountain doesn't forget its own."
Kaito glanced back at him. "You think he made it out?"
Rin didn't answer. The idea of Haru surviving, of anyone surviving that night, felt impossible. And yet… he remembered the man's strength. How he used to lift boulders twice his size with a single grunt, how he'd laugh through exhaustion while others collapsed. If anyone could have lived through hell, it was Haru.
The climb steepened. Mist thickened around them, curling through the trees like pale smoke. Branches groaned overhead, their limbs heavy with dew. As they ascended, the forest grew strange, quiet in a way that made every sound sharp.
When a crow called in the distance, both men froze, hands moving instinctively to their weapons. The echo of the cry rolled down the mountain like thunder.
Kaito exhaled slowly. "Not many birds fly up this high," he muttered. "Means someone's been feeding them."
Rin's eyes narrowed. "Or scaring everything else away."
They continued upward. The path turned to stone, the moss underfoot slick and cold. Halfway through the climb, they found remnants of a camp, ashes long dead, the faint shape of footprints hardened in the mud. The prints were deep, wide. Someone large had been here and recently.
Kaito crouched beside them. "These are fresh," he said, pressing his palm against one. "Two, maybe three days old. Whoever left them wasn't small."
Rin's gaze darkened. "He never was."
He remembered Haru, tall, broad-shouldered, his hair tied back into a slicked bun, always grinning before battle. His presence alone could silence arguments, calm fear. But that was before the fall. Before everything turned to ash.
They pressed on until the trees thinned and the world opened into a clearing of stone and fog. The sound of rushing water filled the air, a small waterfall cascading from the cliffside, feeding into a shallow pool. The water shimmered faintly, reflecting the muted light of the sun.
Rin knelt, washing his hands, his reflection trembling in the ripples. For a moment, he imagined another reflection beside his, the face of someone long gone.
Kaito watched him, his expression unreadable. "If he's alive," he said quietly, "what then?"
Rin looked up. "Then we see who he's become."
A silence followed, heavy but not cold. They rested by the water until the mist began to shift — like breath against glass. Shapes formed within it. A sound, distant at first, the slow, measured rhythm of footsteps on stone.
Kaito's hand moved to his weapon, eyes scanning the haze. The footsteps grew louder. Closer. Then, from the pale veil of fog, a figure emerged.
He was massive.
Taller than any soldier Rin had faced, his frame carved by years of war. A simple cloak draped over his shoulders, the faint gleam of armor visible beneath. His hair was tied back into a slicked bun, streaked with soot and silver. Scars ran down his arms, his neck, living proof of battles survived, not avoided.
But it was his eyes that stilled them both.
Cold. Calculating. The kind of eyes that had seen too much and stopped caring somewhere along the way.
The man halted at the edge of the clearing, looking down at them with a faint tilt of his head. The wind caught the edge of his cloak, revealing the faint outline of a blade, a curved katana strapped across his back.
Neither Rin nor Kaito moved.
The air hung still. Even the waterfall seemed to hush.
Rin's voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. "Haru…"
The man's gaze flickered, a muscle tightening in his jaw, recognition, or maybe restraint. Then, in a tone deep and measured, he spoke:
"…You survived."
The words carried no warmth, but no hatred either. Just a quiet acknowledgment — like two ghosts meeting again on borrowed time.
Rin rose slowly to his feet, heart hammering against his ribs. "So did you," he said. "After all this time…"
Haru's eyes trailed over him, then Kaito, then back again. "You shouldn't have come here," he said at last. His voice was low, heavy with warning.
Kaito's grip tightened on his spear. "What do you mean by that?"
Haru didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, the ground seeming to shudder beneath his weight. His gaze settled on Rin, not with hostility, but something stranger.
"Because the mountain remembers," he said quietly. "And not everything that survived the fire stayed human."
The mist thickened again, curling around them like smoke from unseen flames.
Kaito took a step closer to Rin. "What the hell does that mean—"
A sound echoed above them, steel against stone.
Both men looked up. Figures moved in the fog at the ridge, silhouettes in armor, silent, watching.
Rin's pulse quickened. "Haru…"
But the giant only turned his head slightly, the faintest trace of something, regret, or perhaps inevitability ,crossing his face.
"You shouldn't have come," he repeated.
The wind rose, tearing through the trees, carrying with it the low thrum of a war horn.
And in that single breath, everything fell still.
Rin stepped forward, his voice cutting through the roar of the wind. "Haru—"
The horn sounded again, closer this time, a deep, primal call that made the stones tremble.
Haru's eyes glinted through the haze. "Run," he said quietly.
Then the mountain roared back.