The village of Kiriwa was too quiet.
Even as the evening deepened, lanterns barely flickered behind closed shutters, and the air seemed to press in on itself—thick with incense and stillness. It wasn't the calm of peace. It was the stillness you find just before a funeral chant. The kind of silence that had weight. The kind that felt… arranged.
Kento, always the first to notice tension but the last to provoke it, stepped forward and bowed politely to the villagers gathered near the entrance of the hall. His tone was warm and measured, a little performative, but just enough to pass as sincere.
"We're grateful for your hospitality," he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "The road's been long, and we appreciate being welcomed, even as strangers."
Some of the villagers nodded slowly, almost mechanically. The priest—Master Ensho, if that name even held meaning—smiled and raised his hand in a gentle blessing.
"Rest well, travelers," he said. "The Flame watches all."
Kento turned slightly, whispering to me under his breath as we walked toward the small guest quarters prepared for us. "If that flame starts watching me while I sleep, I'm leaving."
I tried to smile, but it never reached my eyes.
The room we were given was modest—wooden beams, rice mat flooring, and a small oil lantern that sputtered faintly in the corner. The windows were barred from the outside, which seemed more like a cage than security. Still, it was warmer than the road, and for a while, we sat in silence, nursing the travel aches out of our shoulders and trying to avoid looking too hard at the strange symbols carved into the ceiling.
Souta sat against the far wall, arms folded, eyes shut but clearly not asleep. He hadn't said a word since we arrived. Not about the villagers. Not about the priest. Not even when the offered meal had been seasoned with something I couldn't identify and wouldn't dare ask about.
When the sun dipped past the mountains and the last warmth left the room, I tried to sleep. But I couldn't.
Because that's when I heard it.
A scratch.
Then a whimper.
Then something like a scream—but muffled, choked, as if trying not to be heard.
I shot upright.
Kento stirred across the room. "Did you hear—?"
The sound came again.
This time louder. Nails against wood. A hollow, dragging noise just outside the door.
Souta was already moving before either of us could rise. He crossed the room in two steps, threw the door open with controlled force—and disappeared into the night air.
Kento and I scrambled after him.
What we found made my heart stumble.
A boy—barely ten years old, shirt torn at the collar, ribs visible beneath pale skin—was crouched on the ground, his hands raised in defense, eyes wide with fear. Souta held him by the wrist but not roughly, and the child trembled more from exhaustion than restraint.
"I wasn't stealing," the boy whispered, breath catching. "Please—I wasn't—I just—my sister, she's—"
Souta released him.
The boy fell to his knees.
"I'm sorry," he said again, over and over, like it was all he'd been taught to say.
I knelt beside him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're not in trouble," I said quietly. "But you have to tell us what's going on."
The boy looked up, eyes glossy. "They're going to kill her. Tonight. The priest—he said she's the final offering. Said we went against the gods. That this village was cursed because of us."
Kento dropped to a crouch beside me, his voice soft. "What do you mean, cursed?"
The boy sniffled. "We used to be happy. My parents laughed. My sister danced in the orchard. Then the priest came. Said we'd defied the divine. That every year a child must be given or the soil would turn to rot and the gods would curse our bloodlines."
I felt something tighten in my throat.
"They believed him?" I asked.
The boy nodded. "He… he showed them things. Flames that didn't burn. People walking again after being dead. Tricks. Magic. They called it proof."
He looked up at us, pleading now. "My parents… they're part of it now. They won't help. No one will."
Souta's voice came sharp from the shadows. "It's not our concern."
The boy's mouth fell open, hope crumbling in his eyes.
"You're shinobi," he whispered. "You're supposed to help people."
Souta didn't flinch. "We're not gods. We're soldiers. And our mission lies beyond this village."
He turned and walked back toward the guest house.
Kento hesitated, fists clenched. "We can't just let them kill her."
"Then don't," Souta said without turning. "But I won't endanger the mission for a village that chose its own noose."
The boy stood silently, tears running down his cheek, and bowed his head.
"I understand," he said quietly.
And then he turned and ran back into the darkness.
Later that night, I sat near the lantern, trying to still the storm in my chest. I had barely laid down when the system flickered to life again, a soft pulse behind my eyes like a breath caught in my lungs.
[Moral Divergence Detected – Subpath Identified]
[Side Mission Offered: Save the Marked Girl]
[Target: Shinri of Kiriwa | Status: Final Offering]
[Reward: Map Fragment – Kettai Scroll Location (Unawakened Path)]
[Warning: Success will advance Lightning Core Progression]
[Note: This mission will not reappear if ignored.]
It faded just as fast, leaving me breathless.
The weight of it sat in my chest like a second heartbeat.
Kento returned after a while, winded and silent.
"I walked him past the tree line," he said. "I gave him something to eat. He asked if we'd help."
I looked at him.
He didn't have to say anything else.
"I'll meet you at the well," he whispered. "Midnight."