Mira’s hand rose slowly, fingertip catching the budding tear from her own lashes. And without hesitation, she swept that wetness across Kazuma’s brow.
“What—?” The word cracked from Aimee’s throat, but she cut herself short as Kazuma stirred. He blinked once, twice, eyes dragging across the vaulted chamber in quick flicks before settling on her.
“Kaz!” She bent over him, tracking his eyes.
Then, her hands cupped his jaw, turning his face roughly from side to side. Seeing no blood rimming his ears anymore, she nearly fainted as the relief washed over her.
“Ahhh.” He groaned as she jostled him, twisting against her grip. “Stop, you fiend!”
Wriggling free of her hold, he pushed back, body rocking as he sat.
“Your tear healed him.” Aimee’s eyes darted from him to Mira, then back again as old whispers of fiery birds who wept life back into the world stirred at the edges of her mind.
“He was only hurt because of my carelessness.” Mira bowed her head, lashes veiling her eyes. “The People of the Hearth are used to hearing my song.” Her mouth tugged upward. “I can see now that perhaps visitors are not so well equipped.”
“An understatement, Mistress.” Kazuma coughed into his hand, the familiar edge of mockery in his voice. The sound faded, though, replaced by a low exhale as his shoulders straightened, and the teasing glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something older—something trained.
He dropped forward onto his knees, then, bending at the waist, his head lowered until it touched the stone in a disciplined bow.
Aimee blinked, caught off guard. Respect? From him?
“My daughter thinks it is because you are a…” The presence within Mira spoke, nose wrinkling in visible distaste. “A disgusting shinobi, with a body long corrupted by the use of Mana—one that crumbles naturally when it hears my voice.”
“A possibility, I’m sure,” Kazuma said, his head remaining bowed to the floor. “Though we worship your voice in Hi Haven, Mistress.”
Worship? Aimee stared, mouth falling open as she realized just how much she didn’t know about the man she had come to…
“Worship?” A shadow passed Mira’s face. “Is that what you think you do?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Kazuma lifted his head just enough for a shallow dip, then lowered it again, the bow small but precise.
No words followed. Instead, a sound—muted humming—slipped from Mira, as if her throat carried a tune meant for herself alone. It lingered, feather-light, dancing through the silence until it seeped into the bones of the chamber.
“It doesn’t matter now.” Her sigh broke the hum as she rose to her feet. “The enemy returns.”
The villagers stirred as one. Their feet pressed against the smooth floor in a slow rhythm, rising and falling in unison.
Then the Mistress spoke again, though the voice no longer came from Mira, nor any single throat. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once, layered in echo upon echo. “I have judged the hearts of these outsiders.”
The circle’s humming deepened, the stomping swelled, and the pressure mounted until Aimee’s chest threatened to cave beneath it. Her fingers flexed into fists, nails biting into her palms as her body tensed and fear washed cold and jagged through her veins.
Oh shit. Her mind spat the words, bracing for the blow. Judgement had only ever meant one thing for her: pain and death.
Her eyes darted toward Kazuma. If it came to it, she’d have to grab him and run. Run where, she didn’t know. No door, no opening, no path beyond the circle. But she had to try.
“And in the face of our long enemy…” The Mistress continued as palms began hammering against chests, a thunderous percussion rising from the circle.
Aimee hauled Kazuma upright, heaving his body against her side. “We have to run!” she hissed into his ear, the roar of blood in her head blotting out the Mistress’s voice. “They’re going to kill us!”
“THEY WILL FIGHT WITH US,” the Mistress said.
The proclamation detonated across the chamber, sending her sprawling into Kazuma’s body in a tangled heap.
“AS OUR ALLIES. OUR FRIENDS. OUR FAMILY.”
But Aimee hadn’t heard, lost in the rising panic.
“Go!” Her eyes screwed shut as she clawed inward, reaching past the power buried beneath her soul. Past the vampire’s dark infection. Deeper, deeper—to the forbidden well she was never supposed to touch. But it fell through her grasp, slick and mocking, leaving only the ragged edge of panic.
