Night returned to Kujira City, quieter than before but heavier.
The fires had been extinguished, yet smoke still clung to rooftops like memory. Guards patrolled rebuilt streets, lanterns swaying, their footsteps echoing through spaces once filled with screams. The war was over, but peace had not yet learned how to breathe.
Sakana did not sleep.
She lay curled beneath silk blankets, eyes open, listening. Every sound felt sharp. Every shadow moved too much. When she closed her eyes, she saw steel at her throat, rain falling sideways, smoke swallowing the world.
She slipped from her bed.
Bare feet touched cold stone as she crept through the corridors of the Suijin estate, past guards who looked away when they saw her. No one stopped the leader's daughter. No one noticed the small figure disappear into the garden beyond the walls.
The forest waited.
Mist hung low between trees, silvered by moonlight. Sakana hugged her doll tightly, heart pounding, yet her steps did not falter.
"Mister," she whispered into the dark. "Are you here?"
No answer.
A branch cracked.
Before fear could take her, a shadow moved—not toward her, but around her. The air shifted. A hand gently rested on her shoulder.
"You shouldn't be here," a calm voice said.
Sakana turned, eyes wide.
"Stranger!"
Kurome stood behind her, gray robes blending into the mist. His white hair caught the moonlight, his black eyes steady and human.
"You followed me," he said.
She nodded, tears threatening to fall. "I was scared. And… I wanted to say thank you."
He knelt, bringing himself to her height. "You're safe now."
"I don't feel safe," she admitted softly.
The words struck deeper than any blade.
From the trees, Kujaku stepped forward.
"I thought you might," she said quietly.
Kurome rose instantly, tension returning to his posture. "You shouldn't have let her come."
"I didn't," Kujaku replied. "She escaped me."
Sakana grabbed Kurome's sleeve. "Please don't leave again."
Silence spread between them.
Kurome looked away. "I'm not meant to stay."
Kujaku folded her arms. "Then why are you here?"
He had no answer.
Footsteps echoed suddenly. Shapes moved through the trees—figures in dark clothing, blades low. Kurome reacted instantly, stepping in front of Sakana.
Assassins.
They struck without warning.
Kurome moved.
No smoke this time. No spectacle.
A kick shattered the first blade. Another sent a man crashing into a tree, unconscious before he hit the ground. Kurome flowed through them with terrifying restraint—breaking weapons, collapsing lungs, twisting joints just enough.
Moments later, the forest was still.
Bound men lay scattered among the roots.
Kujaku stared. "They came for her."
"They came for me," Kurome corrected. "Through her."
Sakana trembled. Kurome placed a cloak around her shoulders.
"That's why I can't leave," he said quietly.
Kujaku met his gaze. "Then stay."
He shook his head. "If I stay openly, I become a target. For you. For her."
"Then don't stay openly," Kujaku replied.
He hesitated.
Sakana tugged his sleeve again. "You can stay at night. I won't tell anyone."
Kurome closed his eyes.
"I didn't come back to live," he said finally. "I came back so she wouldn't grow up afraid."
Kujaku bowed her head. "Then remain as you are. A shadow. A stranger."
He exhaled slowly.
"Very well."
Days passed.
Rumors spread of a presence in Kujira—of guards falling asleep mid-step, of weapons snapping in empty alleys, of danger vanishing before it could strike.
In the quiet hours before dawn, Sakana trained.
Kurome taught her how to stand. How to balance. How to kick without anger.
"Strength without control becomes fear," he told her.
She listened.
From the palace balcony, Kujaku watched them sometimes, saying nothing.
Kurome Enshin remained dead.
But the stranger stayed.
And Kujira City slept a little easier beneath the watch of a man who refused to exist.