“Shit.”
Black-clad shinobi swarmed the village like locusts, spilling across every level. One tore a shutter loose with a gust of wind; another drove a hooked blade into a doorframe, breaking it wide, and stormed inside. Empty. He reappeared seconds later, snarling, then punched the wall hard enough to fracturethe seams.
“Find them!” one of the intruders barked from the third level—the very space where she and Kazuma lived. His voice echoed off the rocks, amplified by the natural acoustics around them.
Aimee stared, thinking, even as a change in the air drew her attention. She didn’t need to look to know Kazuma had appeared at her side.
He said nothing at first, just studied the scene, his serpent-like eyes focused. “They haven’t found the storerooms yet.”
That was where the villagers had hidden when the alarm was raised. Hidden—but not safe. Not for long.
“We’re in time.” She nodded once.
From the lowest levels came a blast of fire, lighting the stone walls in flickering red. A roar followed, deep and defiant. “You shall not pass!”
She bit at her lip. That was Boku—retired Watch, with a shattered leg that never fully healed. But stubborn as hell. He would die before he let anyone reach the children.
Aimee stepped back and drew the twin golden blades from across her back. For the first time since arriving at the Hearth, her hands closed around the hilts. The metal was cool and familiar, pulsing against her palms like a heartbeat.
Kazuma glanced sideways. She saw the change in his eyes—worry. He tried to mask it, but she knew him too well.
“I’ll draw their attention from the top,” she said.
He dipped his chin. “And I’ll slip down to the storerooms.”
They would divide the enemy, striking high and low. But it was still just the two of them against a tide of black.
Aimee watched him crouch, muscles coiled as every inch of him prepared for the coming fight.
Without thinking, her arm reached, and her blade kissed his throat.
He froze as a single bead of blood rose where steel met skin.
“The world isn’t burning yet, snake.” Her voice was low. A warning. A plea.Don’t die.
His body eased, then he rolled his eyes—just enough to make her want to punch him—and vanished into thin air.
She exhaled.
“All right then.”
Aimee pivoted, sprinting for the nearest bridge. She would draw them away to give Kazuma time. And if she was lucky, maybe—just maybe—carve a bloody enough path to turn the tide.
She hit the first one at a dead sprint—steel clashing against steel as her right blade caught his short sword and slid along its edge. Her left hand found his neck. The impact jarred her elbow, but the head jerked back with a wet crunch. No time to watch him fall. She pivoted into the next, slashing across the knees, then spinning low as a swung staff caught her in the ribs. She grunted through it, dropped low, and swept the attacker’s legs clean from under him, driving a blade into his gut before he hit the ground.
Another came from the left—barely a warning before a gust of wind knocked the air from her lungs. She staggered, and steel rang as her swords met his, teeth grinding with the effort to hold. He overextended. And she ducked, spun, then came up inside his reach, and opened him from pelvis to collarbone.
Heat splattered across her cheek, and her tongue darted out. Metallic tang flooded her mouth as her vision swam, and for a split second, the world tilted, smeared in red and shadow.
Her eyes squeezed shut. And focus snapped back into place.
The next attacker lunged, reckless, swinging high. She stepped inside the arc, blades crossing, and drove both forward.
Then—movement just ahead as her forward momentum carried her into the group behind him. Six more, maybe seven.
She didn’t count. The swords moved faster now—no flourishes, just brutal arcs. One of the attackers blocked high, and she punished him with a stomp to his ankle, then sank a blade into the exposed throat. Another caught her in the ribs—too shallow to slow her, but deep enough to sting. Blood ran hot beneath her leather vest, and she snarled as her foot drove into his sternum, knocking him backward over the ledge.
Pain honed her focus, but it also fed something else.
