She had to refocus. The children's laughter faded into background noise. The weight of what she had seen, the red snow and the skulls and the hunger, pressed against her mind like a hand against a window. She pushed it away.
'Chika. Take me to the clan's elders.'
Her voice broke through the present moment. It was fierce in a blunt way, her usual manner, the tone she used when there was no room for negotiation. The children stopped playing. The ball dropped to the red dirt and rolled a few meters before settling against a stone.
She forgot her demeanor. It could not possibly have changed after she had met him. The thought surfaced unbidden, and she scratched it aside like an itch she refused to acknowledge.
Chika looked away. Her hands moved behind her back, fingers intertwining. Her gaze drifted toward the ground, toward the sky, toward anything that was not Ayame's face. She looked like a child hiding something. A broken vase. A stolen sweet. A secret too heavy to carry alone.
Ayame noticed.
Of course she noticed. Analyzing people's patterns and behavior was her way of things. The organization had trained her to read people the way others read books. Every twitch meant something. Every avoided glance told a story. Chika was easy to read. Too easy. A child's guilt was never well hidden.
She stepped forward and planted her hands firmly on both of Chika's shoulders. She bent her knees slightly to meet the girl's gaze, lowering herself to eye level in a way that felt strange. Vulnerable. She did not do this. She did not crouch and plead. She demanded. She threatened. She walked away when words failed.
'Look at me. I need you to be honest with me.'
This gentleness was not something usual for her. Normally she would not hesitate to threaten with her blade, to let the edge of her weapon do the talking. But Chika was different. Chika was a kid, she was someone she knew so well.
"I do not know where they are," Chika said. Her voice was small. Fragile. It cracked at the edges.
'You are lying.' The words sat on Ayame's tongue, ready to be spoken. She held them back for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them like a thread pulled taut.
"Tell me the truth."
She held her gaze fiercer now. A slight red tinge slowly bled into her pupils, pushing away the darkness that reflected Chika's pale face. The girl's features were distorted in that crimson light, made strange and unfamiliar.
"I do not want you to talk to them!" Chika's voice rose. The words tumbled out in a rush, tripping over each other. "If you do, they will take you away again! I do not want you to go away!"
She stepped forward and hugged Ayame's waist. Her small arms wrapped around with surprising strength, fingers clutching at the fabric of dark robes. Ayame took a step back, completely thrown off course. Her hands remained at her sides. She did not know what to do with them.
'The elders wish nothing but for you to run toward your death.' Chika's voice was muffled against her stomach. 'I do not want you to... to...'
Ayame slowly lifted her hands back up toward the back of the girl's head. Her fingers rested there for a while, uncertain, like birds deciding whether to land. Then she began to brush Chika's hair. The strands were soft beneath her palm.
"It is my duty," she said softly. The words came out gentler than she intended. Quieter. This was uncharacteristic unless she was around him. Unless she was speaking to the one who had taught her that softness was not always weakness.
Chika managed soft sobs while tears ran down her face. They traced lines through the dust on her cheeks, leaving clean streaks behind.
Ayame knelt fully now to meet the girl's eyes. Her knees pressed into the red dirt. The moisture from the ground seeped through the fabric of her robes. She did not notice.
She practiced the smile.
Just like he had done in that town.
She tried to remember. The way each corner of the mouth would twist up, but not too high. The dimples, which were the most important part. And the smile itself, that would not reveal too much of her fangs. She remembered the way Lucid had guided that child in the town where they had momentarily stayed. How he crouched down, bent low, and spoke in a playful manner that was not quite like his reckless and unwise attitude. There had been warmth there. Genuine warmth that had nothing to do with strategy or manipulation.
She tilted her head. A slight smile crossed her lips. Her eyes closed gently, the way she had seen him do when he was trying to put someone at ease.
"Please, Chika. I will not be mad. And I will certainly not go away for a very long time"
Chika sniffled. She brushed her damp eyes with the back of her hand and nodded. The motion was small, barely perceptible, but it was enough.
This was truly unprecedented. The fact that she could do that, that her indifferent mask could change into something pleasing and inviting, seemed to astonish even the other children. They stared at her not in discomfort, not in disgust, but in fascination.
The most feared heiress of the head clan, smiling like that.
It was not something anyone would expect to see.
The children whispered among themselves. Their voices were low, but Ayame's ears caught every word.
"Did she just smile?"
"I have never seen her smile before."
"She looks different. Softer."
"Is that really her?"
Chika pulled back from the embrace. Her face was still wet, but the tears had stopped flowing. She looked at Ayame with those dark eyes that held no suspicion, only trust, and something else. Something that looked like hope.
"There is a place," Chika said quietly. "A grove behind the main hall. The elders meet there when they do not want to be found."
Ayame's smile faded back into its usual neutrality. The mask slid back into place, comfortable and familiar.
"Take me there."
Chika hesitated. Her small hand reached out and took Ayame's fingers. The grip was warm. Alive. Real.
"Promise me something," Chika said.
"What?"
"Promise me you will come back. Not just from the grove. From wherever they send you. From whatever they ask you to do. Promise me you will come back."
Ayame looked down at the girl. At the small horn protruding from her forehead. At the mixture of human and oni features that made her so unique. At the trust that shone in her eyes like a light that had not yet been dimmed by the world.
"I promise," Ayame said.
It was a lie. She knew it. Chika probably knew it too. But the words needed to be spoken. The promise needed to be made. That was what humans did, and Chika was half human. She understood these things in a way that pure oni never could.
They walked together through the settlement. The red dirt crunched beneath their feet. The purple sky stretched above them, endless and unchanging. The buildings watched them pass with their dark windows and their carved wooden walls.
The other children did not follow. They stood where they had been playing, the ball still forgotten on the ground, watching Ayame and Chika disappear into the narrow streets that led toward the main hall.
The grove was exactly where Chika had said it would be. A circle of ancient trees with bark the color of dried blood. Their branches intertwined overhead, forming a canopy that filtered the purple light into something darker, something more intimate. In the center of the grove, a ring of stones surrounded a fire that had burned down to embers.
Three figures sat around the fire. Their faces were weathered. Their horns were long and curved, testament to their age and status. Their eyes were dark and depthless, holding centuries of memories and perhaps blood.
They looked up as Ayame approached.
"So," the eldest said. Her voice was like stones grinding together. "The heir returns."
Ayame stepped into the circle of stones. Chika lingered at the edge, her hand still reaching out as if she could hold Ayame back with will alone.
"I have come to fulfill my duty," Ayame said.
The elders exchanged glances. Something passed between them, something unspoken, something that made Ayame's skin prickle with awareness.
"Your duty," the eldest repeated. "Do you even know what that is anymore?"
Ayame did not answer. She could not answer. Because the truth was, she was no longer certain.
***
They walked from the grove and past the bamboo pond where the same exotic fish swam in lazy circles. The water was dark and still, reflecting the purple sky in fragments that broke apart whenever a fish surfaced. Ayame's eyes followed the movement of the creatures for a moment, her mind elsewhere, her feet carrying her forward without conscious thought.
She observed something. A shift in the air. A tension that had not been there before.
"Where are we going?" she asked. Her voice was measured, devoid of the earlier playfulness she had shown with Chika.
The eldest of the elders answered without turning around. "The Ōhiroma. The main council chamber of course."