The flicker of candlelight danced across the pages of The Ember’s Burden.

  Yoru sat alone on the library floor, the ancient book sprawled open before her like a relic clinging to its secrets. Dust swirled in the air, catching the flame’s glow. Her violet eyes scanned each line slowly, carefully, heart pounding with each word.

  “When the Crimson Crest awakens, the Wielder shall burn with the sins of both worlds…”

  Her fingers hovered over the next passage, its ink faded and jagged—like it had been rewritten by a trembling hand.

  “…This crest… it’s not just a mark.”

  Her breath caught.

  “It feeds off the wielder’s soul.”

  Yoru whispered the words aloud, as if voicing them made the truth more real. Her hands trembled slightly as she traced the ancient symbols.

  The realization struck her hard: Shinkurō didn’t just choose its bearer.

  It devoured them.

  And now it was devouring Yuki.

  She slammed the book shut.

  Outside, tension rippled through the village like a fault line. Behind the mayor’s hall, Rhaegor Valen’s voice rang out sharp and scornful.

  “I won’t let him lead my men,” he snarled, arms crossed, armored shoulders stiff with indignation. “He nearly killed one of ours out there. You saw it! The sword flared, his eyes went red—he’s not stable.”

  Yuki stood a few feet away, silent. His head was lowered, bandaged hands clenched at his sides.

  Mayor Genzo and Prince August shared a glance, but before they could speak, Rhaegor jabbed a finger toward Yuki.

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  “Let’s not pretend anymore. He’s a threat. That sword—whatever cursed relic it is—has him on a leash. We should be questioning his place in our ranks, not coddling him like a prince of prophecy.”

  The room fell into a hush.

  Then—soft footsteps.

  The door creaked open.

  Yoru stepped inside, cradling the heavy book in her arms.

  Her voice, though quiet, cut through the silence.

  “You’re wrong.”

  All eyes turned to her.

  Yoru walked past the guards, past Rhaegor’s glare, and placed the book on the council table.

  She opened it.

  “This sword, this crest—it isn’t cursed. It’s alive. It feeds off the wielder’s soul.” She looked to Yuki, her voice gentler. “It reacts to pain. To fear. And to purpose.”

  Yuki’s gaze lifted, meeting hers.

  “This isn’t just about control,” she continued. “It’s about understanding what he’s carrying… and helping him carry it.”

  Rhaegor scoffed. “A convenient tale. One girl’s words and a dusty book don’t change what I saw.”

  Yoru stepped forward, eyes gleaming. “Then you weren’t looking close enough.”

  Later, as the hall emptied and Rhaegor stormed out in disgust, Yuki sat on the porch steps behind the building. The cool wind brushed through his hair. He stared at his hands—wrapped in clean linen now, but still trembling.

  Yoru sat beside him.

  She didn’t speak at first.

  Then she gently leaned her shoulder against his.

  “I found that book because I had to understand what’s happening to you,” she said. “I’m not afraid of you, Yuki. But I am afraid of what you’re going through alone.”

  “…I don’t want to lose control again,” he murmured. “I saw something in me out there. Something dark.”

  “I know,” Yoru whispered. “But if you ever lose your way—if that blade tries to take more than it should—I’ll be the one to pull you back.”

  Yuki turned to her. Her eyes, violet and full of warmth, steadied him like the sky after a storm.

  “…Thank you.”

  Together, they sat in the quiet. Just for a moment.

  No war. No sword. No whispers.

  Just the sound of the wind, and two souls trying not to fall apart.