The morning sun spilled through the frosted windows of Mayumi's mountain refuge, catching on delicate flecks of dust that danced like gold in the crisp air. Outside, the snow lay pristine and untouched, a quiet canvas that stretched toward the horizon, interrupted only by the jagged peaks of mountains far in the distance. Inside, the warmth of the hearth embraced the room, its embers still glowing from the fire Mayumi had kindled the night before.
Rin sat cross-legged near the hearth, her eyes staring into the dying flames as if seeking answers within their restless flicker. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the black feather resting in her lap—the same feather that had accompanied her dreams of Kenji. For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint crackle of embers and the steady rhythm of Banri's breathing. The tiger lay curled on the far side of the room, his great head resting on his paws, his golden eyes watching the two women with quiet interest.
Mayumi, perched gracefully on a cushioned stool, tilted her head as she studied Rin. The older woman's keen gaze moved like an artist appraising her unfinished work—seeing the potential beneath what she considered rough edges. She leaned forward slightly, her pipe catched a ray of sunlight as it glimmered in her hand.
"You look like a child, Rin." Mayumi said, her voice light yet tinged with mischief. "A child playing at being a warrior. It will not do."
Rin blinked, turning her gaze toward Mayumi. Her brow furrowed, though the irritation was faint.
"I'm not a child."
Mayumi waved a slender hand in dismissal, her crimson sleeve trailing elegantly through the air.
"I don't mean it in spirit, my dear. I mean in presentation. You..."
She gestured to Rin's long, straight hair, falling without flourish over her shoulders.
"You hide yourself. Your beauty, your strength—it's all buried under this plainness. You are a flame smothered in ash."
Rin's lips parted, words of protest forming, but Mayumi rose with the swiftness of inspiration taking hold.
"Stand up. Now."
"What? Why?"
Rin shifted, confused but obedient, unfolding her legs and rising to her feet.
Mayumi crossed the room, the soft rustle of her silk robes trailing behind her like whispers.
"We cannot talk of saving Kenji while you look like this. A phoenix should not resemble a crow."
Rin opened her mouth to argue, but the conviction in Mayumi's gaze silenced her. Mayumi stood before her now, her golden scissors gleaming, a weapon of transformation held lightly in her hand.
"Sit." Mayumi commanded, pointing toward the low wooden stool near the window.
"I don't see how this has anything to do with—"
"Trust me." Mayumi's voice softened. She placed a hand on Rin's shoulder, guiding her gently to sit.
The older woman smiled, her lips curving with quiet satisfaction.
"You are the Dancing Phoenix, Rin. And yet you do not look like her. We will fix that."
Rin sighed, shoulders slumping slightly, though she allowed herself to be steered.
"Fine."
Mayumi's smile deepened, her eyes gleaming with artistic fervor. She stepped behind Rin, lifting a long lock of her hair and letting it fall through her fingers like liquid silk.
"Your hair is beautiful." she murmured, her tone reverent "but it lacks fire. It's too still, too quiet... and you are not meant to be quiet, Rin. You are meant to roar."
Rin snorted faintly, though a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.
"You sound like you're giving a speech."
"Every artist must give a speech before beginning their work." Mayumi quipped. "It is tradition."
Banri huffed softly from across the room, as if in agreement, his tail swishing once against the tatami floor. Rin glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Even Banri thinks this is ridiculous."
Mayumi ignored the comment, already working with precise deliberation. The scissors whispered as they snipped, the sound surprisingly soothing as Mayumi began cutting layers into Rin's hair. The long strands fell in silken arcs, landing lightly at Rin's feet like remnants of an old self being shed.
"Hold still." Mayumi murmured, gently tilting Rin's head to one side. "You are already changing."
Rin sighed but allowed herself to relax. There was something oddly intimate about the moment—the older woman's hands steady and careful as she shaped the hair that Rin had rarely given thought to. As the scissors moved, Rin found her mind drifting, the weight of the past month settling over her like a shadow.
Finally, Mayumi stepped back, satisfaction written across her face. For a moment, she lingered, her gaze drinking in the transformation as though reluctant to let the moment pass. Her lips curved faintly, as if she were holding onto a secret she had just unveiled. Then, with a deliberate pause and a breath of quiet pride, she declared softly, yet with weight.
"Done."
Rin lifted her hand instinctively to touch her hair, but Mayumi swatted it away.
"Not yet. I am not finished."
"What more can you possibly do?" Rin muttered.
Mayumi turned to a small lacquered box resting on a nearby table and opened it with reverence. Inside lay an array of delicate jewelry, each piece a work of art in its own right. She selected a pair of long, gold earrings—minimalist in design but radiant in their simplicity.
"Gold suits phoenixes." Mayumi said softly, holding the earrings up to the light. "It is the color of fire, of rebirth. It will suit you."
Rin's brow furrowed, but she allowed Mayumi to attach the earrings, feeling their faint weight against her skin.
When Mayumi finally stepped back, she let out a soft breath of satisfaction.
"Now..." she murmured, turning toward a tall mirror propped against the far wall "come and see."
Rin hesitated but rose to her feet, her movements slow and deliberate. She crossed the room and stood before the mirror, her breath catching slightly as she took in her reflection.
Her once plain, straight hair now fell in long, wild layers that framed her face and flowed like flames down her back. The bangs, combed elegantly to the left, softened her sharp features while emphasizing her eyes—eyes that burned with quiet self-confidence. The gold earrings caught the light, gleaming like molten fire against her skin.
Rin reached up to touch her hair, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed through the wild layers. The strands were soft but unfamiliar, as if she were running her hands through the mane of someone else entirely. She blinked, taking in the woman who stared back at her from the mirror—a woman who felt both like a stranger and like herself, reborn.
The reflection seemed to ripple with unspoken power. For the first time, she truly saw the Dancing Phoenix that Mayumi spoke of. The wildness of her hair gave her an untamed beauty, fierce and alive, while the golden earrings glimmered like sparks from a hidden fire. Her bangs softened her gaze, but the intensity remained—smoldering, determined, unyielding.
She took a breath, the sound quiet but sharp in her ears. The girl who had once hidden herself away in plainness was gone, replaced by someone who dared to look forward, to embrace her strength instead of fearing it. Yet it wasn't just the hair, the earrings, or the cut of her reflection that had changed—it was something deeper, something within.
Is this really me? she wondered, her pulse quickening. The mirror did not lie, yet the truth it revealed unsettled her. She was not used to seeing herself as something fierce, as someone worthy of carrying fire in her veins. But there it was, undeniable—proof of the warrior she was becoming.
"It suits you. As I said." Mayumi's voice broke through softly, her tone holding both pride and affection. "Do you see it now?"
Rin swallowed, unable to speak for a moment. She felt the weight of her transformation—not just in her hair or in the delicate gold, but in the way her chest seemed to swell with a quiet, dangerous hope. For the first time, she believed she could face what was to come—not just for Kenji, but for herself.
"I look... stronger." Rin murmured finally, her voice quiet but steady.
"You are stronger." Mayumi replied, stepping up beside her. Their reflections stood together, two women bound by purpose, one guiding the other into her own fire. "The strength was always there. It only needed to be seen."
Rin's eyes flickered back to the mirror, her lips curving into the faintest smile. The flame she had glimpsed in Kenji's eyes during their fleeting moments together now burned in her own.
For once, Rin didn't feel like a girl caught in a world too vast, too cold. She felt like a woman—capable, alive, and ready to rise.
The winter outside had sharpened in a moment. The wind howled faintly against the walls of Mayumi's refuge, carrying with it the bite of frost and the quiet crackle of distant ice. Snow swirled outside the windows in soft flurries, but within the room, the air was warm, scented faintly of pine and smoke. Rin stood near the hearth, absently brushing her fingertips against her new earrings as if grounding herself in their presence.
She gazed at the flickering fire, the gold catching on her skin as the light danced. Yet something nagged at the back of her mind—a forgotten thought, like a whisper trying to be heard through the noise of her transformation. She turned to Mayumi, her brow furrowing slightly.
"What day is it today?" Rin asked softly, her voice barely rising above the crackle of the fire.
Mayumi, seated nearby in a cushioned chair, tilted her head curiously. "The twenty-sixth of January, I believe."
Rin blinked. A wave of realization settled over her like a blanket of snow, cold and sudden. She let out a faint laugh, shaking her head at herself.
"It's my birthday. Twentieth."
Mayumi straightened, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Your birthday?"
Rin smiled faintly, her thoughts drifting for a moment, as if the mere mention of the date had conjured another place, another time.
"Yes. Tao Luoyang... My Master in the Tateaori Monastery. He always remembered it. Every year, he would cook lemon chicken for me. It's not much, but it meant everything to me."
Her voice softened on the last words, her smile tinged with melancholy. She could almost smell the citrus in the air, the warmth of the dish served in the cold monastery kitchen, where silence reigned except for the sounds of Tao's measured movements. That was his way—quiet gestures of care that never needed to be spoken aloud.
Mayumi studied her for a moment, something unreadable flickering across her features.
"And here you sit, believing that my scissors and a pair of earrings suffice as your gift?"
Rin glanced over at her, startled by the note of incredulity in Mayumi's tone.
"It's more than enough." Rin replied quickly, the tips of her ears reddening faintly. "I don't need much. The earrings are beautiful. I'm grateful."
Mayumi raised a hand, as though dismissing such modesty.
"Nonsense." she declared, her tone half scandalized and half amused. "Too modest by far. The last time I celebrated my birthday, my husband gave me a snow-white falcon!"
Rin blinked.
"A... falcon?"
Mayumi nodded with a wistful smile.
"A regal creature, with a golden cap made just for her. My husband knew what pleased me most—beauty and grandeur. He never failed to spoil me, and I never once minded..."
Rin stared at her for a long moment, trying to picture a life like that—a life filled with falcons and gold, where beauty and elegance were a daily occurrence. It felt so far from her own existence that it might as well have been a dream.
"That... seems extravagant." Rin admitted quietly, feeling faintly embarrassed in the face of such wealth.
Mayumi tilted her head, her gaze warm yet firm.
"It was not extravagant to him. He understood what mattered to me, and he knew how to provide it." She smiled knowingly. "And you, my dear Rin, deserve far more than you allow yourself to believe. I think it's time you received something more fitting."
Rin opened her mouth to protest, but Mayumi was already rising to her feet. She swept toward the far side of the room, her silk robes whispering like snow over ice. Banri, who had been dozing by the fire, lifted his head and let out a faint rumble, as if sensing something was afoot.
"Come." Mayumi beckoned, her voice carrying a tone that brooked no argument. "I want to show you something."
Rin hesitated but followed, curiosity prickling at her thoughts. Banri rose as well, stretching languidly before padding after them, his presence steady and grounding.
Mayumi led Rin down a long hallway lit by narrow windows, where the winter light cast sharp beams across the polished wooden floor. At the end of the corridor, women paused before a set of double doors—tall and lacquered black, their handles inlaid with gold filigree.
"This," Mayumi said, resting her hand on one of the doors. "was my husband's collection."
With a push, the doors creaked open, revealing a grand hall beyond. Rin stepped inside and stopped short, her breath catching at the sight before her.
The room was vast and high-ceilinged, the walls lined with rows of weapons—bows of carved ivory and ash, axes etched with intricate patterns, swords of every shape and size. Each piece was a masterpiece, a blend of artistry and lethality. They were displayed with care, as if each one held a story of its own.
"Your husband collected all of these?" Rin asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mayumi smiled faintly, stepping forward and running her fingers along the hilt of an ornate katana.
"He was not a man to gather trinkets or trophies. Every weapon here was chosen for its beauty and its craftsmanship. He believed that even instruments of death could be art."
Rin moved further into the hall, her gaze roaming over the displays. She had seen weapons before—training staffs, spears, simple blades—but nothing like this. These were creations meant to inspire awe, not just fear. She felt the weight of them in the air, as if their history lingered still.
Mayumi turned to her, a spark of mischief in her eyes.
"Choose one."
Rin froze.
"What?"
"Choose a weapon." Mayumi repeated, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "Something that suits you—something that feels like an second skin."
Rin shook her head quickly.
"I couldn't. This is... it's not mine to take."
Mayumi waved a hand dismissively.
"If something goes missing, I will take responsibility. My husband is not here to object, and these weapons deserve to be wielded, not to gather dust." She smiled softly. "Besides, you will need it. You cannot face what lies ahead unarmed."
Banri grumbled faintly from his place near the door, his tail swishing against the floor. Mayumi glanced at him with a wry smile and stroked his head.
"Oh, hush. It's for the greater good."
Rin hesitated, her gaze moving once more across the weapons. Slowly, she stepped toward the nearest display, running her hand lightly along the hilts of swords and staffs. She paused at a katana, lifting it gently from its stand. It was light, perfectly balanced, the blade etched with delicate waves. But when she held it, she felt... nothing.
"It's beautiful..." Rin murmured, returning the katana to its place. "...but it's not mine."
Mayumi watched her closely as Rin continued through the room, testing the weight of different weapons—a bow with silver fletching, a staff wrapped in jade, an axe that gleamed like ice. Yet none of them felt right. None of them felt hers.
"It has to feel like a second skin." Rin said quietly, almost to herself. "An extension of my will."
Mayumi's smile widened, as if she had been waiting for those very words. Without a word, she crossed the room to a small table draped in black silk. She lifted the cloth to reveal a long wooden box, polished and unassuming. Carefully, she opened it, and the soft glow of gold met Rin's eyes.
Inside, resting on a bed of crimson silk, lay a pair of golden claws—sleek, elegant, and deadly. Rin's breath hitched as her eyes fell upon them, an inexplicable pull drawing her forward. For a moment, the world around her dulled, and all she could see were the shimmering arcs of gold. Her fingers itched to touch them, to claim them as her own, though she couldn't explain why.
She stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as though afraid the claws might vanish if she moved too quickly. Her heart quickened in her chest, and her hand hovered above the box, trembling slightly. The golden blades seemed alive, glinting faintly in the light as if they recognized her presence. She swallowed, her throat dry.
"These..." she whispered, the word barely escaping her lips. Her voice held a mix of awe and trepidation, as though speaking might shatter the spell binding her to the weapon.
"Go on." Mayumi urged softly, watching her with a knowing smile. "Try them."
She reached for the weapon, whose appearance bordered on jewelry. When she slipped them on, the cool gold embraced her fingers, fitting perfectly. She flexed her hands, and the blades extended, gleaming in the light like they were alive.
Mayumi watched with satisfaction as Rin's lips curved into a faint smile.
"At last..." Rin whispered, her voice soft but filled with conviction. "The phoenix has talons."
✦✦✦
The winter storm had deepened, sharpening its icy claws against the walls of Mayumi's refuge. The howling wind whistled through unseen cracks, and the faint, almost musical hum of snowflakes against glass echoed in the silence of the hall. Rin, her fingers still resting lightly against the golden claws Mayumi had presented, froze as a low rumble broke through the quiet.
Banri.
The tiger had shifted, his massive frame rising from its languid position by the doorway. His tail swished in deliberate arcs, his ears twitching, and his nostrils flared. The sound of his snuffling filled the air—sharp, determined breaths that carried a strange urgency. His massive paws padded forward with a soft but deliberate weight as he began to sniff the floor and air around him. Rin straightened, her brows knitting together as she turned toward him.
"What is it?" she asked quietly, her voice breaking the calm but now unsettled air.
Mayumi's attention had already been caught. She moved with an effortless grace toward Banri, her robes whispering like restless silk, her expression focused but faintly shadowed with unease.
"Banri" she murmured, reaching out a hand to soothe him. "What... do you smell?"
Banri did not stop. His broad head swung toward one of the tall windows at the far end of the hall. He approached it slowly, the rumble in his chest growing louder, deeper—a primal sound that set Rin's nerves on edge. Mayumi followed him, her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze flicking toward Rin with a silent question she did not yet voice.
Banri reached the window and rose to his full height, pressing his massive paws against the sill as he sniffed at the cold glass. A fog of his breath spread across it, blurring the faint glow of snow and sky outside. For a long moment, the tiger was still—a sculpture of tension and muscle—until he let out a soft growl and dropped back to the ground.
"Something's wrong." Mayumi said under her breath, though the words seemed more for herself than anyone else.
Rin stepped closer, her heart quickening as Mayumi moved toward the window. The older woman lifted a slender hand, wiping the glass with her palm. The cold seemed to burn her skin, but she did not falter. The frost melted away under her touch, leaving a clear, sharp pane of glass.
What she saw made her inhale sharply.
Against the shifting, endless white of the storm, two figures moved with deliberate slowness. They were almost spectral, their dark stripes cutting through the pale blur of snow.
Taro and Mei.
Hideya's tigers.
Mayumi's stomach turned to ice. She watched as the great beasts paused, their massive forms barely visible through the whirling flurries. They were sniffing the ground, their heads swaying in search of a scent—Rin's scent. Banri's restlessness had been no false alarm; he had sensed them before they had come too close. But now, Mayumi could see the tigers beginning to pull back, as if uncertain. The storm raged around them, winds pushing against their bodies, snow blinding their keen eyes. They turned slowly, retreating into the depths of the white haze.
Mayumi let out a slow breath, her palm lingering on the window as if she was frozen to herself by the cold glass.
"They're leaving." Rin said quietly, though there was no relief in her voice—only the low tremor of foreboding.
"For now." Mayumi replied, turning back toward Rin, her face set in careful lines. "The storm is hiding us... but it will not last. They will find your trail, sooner or later. And when they do..."
She did not need to finish the thought.
Rin's gaze darkened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. The weight of inevitability pressed against her chest like a stone. She knew what Mayumi was saying. Taro and Mei were Hideya's hunters, his instruments of tracking and torment. If they had been sent to search, it meant Hideya's patience was thinning. He was coming for her.
Mayumi turned to Banri, stroking his head to calm him, though the unease in her own body betrayed her. The tiger's rumbling had softened, but his eyes remained sharp, focused on the storm beyond the glass.
"We don't have time." Mayumi said at last, breaking the silence. Her voice was steady, but the edge of urgency was unmistakable. "We need to act now, Rin. There is no safety in waiting."
Rin looked at her sharply.
"What do you mean?"
Mayumi turned back to her, her gaze unwavering.
"You must find Yasuhiro."
The name hit the air like a blade striking stone.
"Kenji's father?" Rin said, her voice a mixture of disbelief and tension.
"Yes." Mayumi stepped forward, her tone softening but remaining resolute. "I know what he is. I know what he has done. He has killed Dancing Phoenixes before you, yes—but you are not without leverage, Rin."
Rin's lips pressed into a thin line.
"You think I can trust him?"
"I think," Mayumi said carefully "that trust is not what you need. Yasuhiro wants to prevent Hideya from rising to his full strength—he has spent his life trying to keep that demon at bay. He kills Phoenixes to stop Hideya's power, but this time..."
She paused, her eyes narrowing.
"This time, you have something he does not. Knowledge. You know where Hideya will be—and when. The Tenshikai tournament."
Rin felt her breath catch at the mention of the tournament. Her mind flickered with the memory of Kenji—his absence like a phantom pain. The thought of him waiting, enduring Hideya's influence alone, sent a wave of urgency crashing through her veins.
"If Yasuhiro fights Hideya during the tournament" Mayumi continued, "you and Kenji will have a chance to escape. A real chance."
Rin turned away, her thoughts churning like the snowstorm outside. Yasuhiro—a man feared as much as he was hated. A killer of Dancing Phoenixes, a destroyer of destiny... yet a necessary evil in the face of something greater. The idea of aligning herself with him left a bitter taste in her mouth, but what choice did she have?
"What makes you think he won't kill me the moment he sees me?" Rin asked darkly.
Mayumi smiled faintly, though it did not reach her eyes.
"Because you are not like the others. You carry something they did not. Your knowledge of Hideya, of his plans, will stay Yasuhiro's hand—at least long enough to serve your purpose. And perhaps... perhaps your fire will prove stronger than his blade."
Rin turned back to face Mayumi, her expression guarded but resolute. The golden claws at her side glinted faintly, catching the light like the talons of some great, slumbering bird.
" So that's the plan?" Rin said quietly. Find Yasuhiro. Convince him to fight Hideya. And during the chaos... Kenji and I escape?
"It's a fragile plan." Mayumi admitted. "But it is better than no plan at all."
Banri let out a low huff, as if in agreement, and settled himself near Rin's feet. The room fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of the wind clawing at the walls. Rin exhaled slowly, her resolve hardening like steel in a forge.
"Then we act." Rin said, her voice steady. "Before it's too late."
Mayumi nodded, her eyes gleaming with something fierce and unspoken.
"Before the storm passes," Rin continued softly, her voice carrying a quiet determination "and Hideya finds his way to us."
The winter sun was already bleeding its last light into the snowdrifts when Mayumi turned to Rin with a gaze that seemed to pierce the very air. Outside, the storm had softened to a whisper, though its presence lingered like an unseen hand over the landscape. The windowpanes, still chilled from Banri's earlier alert, hummed faintly under the cold.
She looked at Rin's face, at the new strength framed by the soft chaos of her freshly cut hair, at the golden earrings that whispered of firebirds and fate. For a long moment, Mayumi did not speak. She simply smiled—a smile laced with a bittersweet tenderness that Rin could not place. Then her gaze drifted to Banri, next to her, massive paws crossed, his great head lifted in calm vigilance. His ocean eyes reflected the fading light like embers barely stoked.
" It will happen now." Mayumi said softly.
Rin blinked, her brow furrowing as the weight of the words sank in.
"What will?"
Mayumi turned her face toward the window, where the white world outside had begun to darken at its edges. The day was short, far too short for winter to grant mercy.
"The moment to summon Yasuhiro." Mayumi replied, her voice steady, yet touched by something that sounded like inevitability. "It must be now, before the storm fades entirely and the world grows still."
Rin stiffened.
"Summon him? Here? Now?" Her voice wavered, unable to mask the tremor that followed.
Mayumi turned back to her, nodding.
"You will make a sign—a mark in the sky. Something he cannot miss."
Rin swallowed hard, the air around her suddenly too thin.
"You mean... with my CHI?"
"Yes." Mayumi stepped forward, her expression unyielding, though there was no cruelty in it. Only a quiet resolve. "An aurora in the shape of a phoenix. Yasuhiro will come for it—he will come as fast as a falling star."
Rin's hands balled into fists, her breath misting in front of her lips. She stared at Mayumi, as though searching for something—a sign of doubt, a whisper of hesitation—but there was none.
"And what if Hideya sees it first?" Rin demanded. "What if I bring him here instead?"
Mayumi stepped closer and placed a steadying hand on Rin's shoulder. Her fingers were cool, her touch both delicate and firm.
"Yasuhiro will come first." Mayumi said softly. "Do you know why? Because he will come in his Akuma form, as fast and furious as a comet blazing across the night. The phoenix will call him—and he will answer."
Rin searched her eyes, but Mayumi's certainty did not falter. Still, a tremor of unease remained lodged deep in Rin's chest.
"While you wait for him," Mayumi continued, her tone gentler now, "I will hide."
Rin's head snapped up.
"What? No! You can't—"
"I must." Mayumi's voice carried no room for argument, though there was an odd calmness in it, as though she were speaking of something as natural as the setting sun. "Hideya's tigers will sense me, yes—and they will sense Banri. But I will make certain Hideya believes a lie."
"A lie?" Rin whispered.
Mayumi smiled faintly, her eyes reflecting the first deepening shades of twilight outside.
"I will tell him that Yasuhiro has killed you."
Rin recoiled as though struck, her heart thundering in her chest.
"No." she breathed, shaking her head. "No, you can't—you can't face him alone. He'll kill you."
Mayumi tilted her head, her smile lingering like a ghost.
"He will, yes. But it will not be in vain."
"No!" Rin's voice cracked. She stepped forward, grabbing Mayumi's wrists as if to shake her free of the thought. "You don't have to do this! I can't let you—I won't let you!"
Mayumi's gaze softened, her eyes glistening with something unreadable—an emotion Rin could not yet name. She lifted her hand and brushed her thumb across Rin's cheek, wiping away a tear Rin hadn't realized had fallen.
"Rin." she murmured gently. "This is my choice. My destiny. Just as yours is to save Kenji. Do you understand?"
Rin's lip trembled. She shook her head, tears now blurring her vision.
"But you... you'll die."
"And you will live." Mayumi said, her voice firm but tender. "And when you return with Kenji I want you to bury me properly. Here. In this place. Will you promise me that?"
Rin choked on her words, unable to speak, unable to promise something that felt like a betrayal. Mayumi smiled again, and this time, it was radiant, as though she were seeing something beautiful beyond the walls of the room.
"Everything will be fine." she whispered, reaching into the folds of her robes. With deliberate care, Mayumi drew out a slender, timeworn metal pipe and a small pack of tobacco wrapped in faded cloth. She turned it over in her hands, the edges of her fingers brushing its surface as if it held the weight of a thousand memories.
"Take this." she said softly, holding it out to Rin. The girl hesitated, her tear-streaked face creasing in confusion. "It's yours now. When the smoke rises, remember the moments we shared—the good ones. The ones that felt like warmth, even when the world turned cold."
Rin stared at the pipe, then at Mayumi, her hands trembling as she accepted it. The metal was cool, solid, and heavy with meaning. Mayumi smiled again, faint and wistful, as though seeing something far away.
"Everything will be fine." she whispered once more, the words now etched into the silence like a promise left behind.
Rin fell silent, her tears hot against her cheeks as she let go of Mayumi's hands. For a moment, Mayumi stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Rin, holding her close in a rare embrace. Rin stiffened at first, then melted into it, her face pressed against Mayumi's shoulder, her tears soaking into the soft fabric of her robes. Mayumi's touch was firm yet gentle, like a steady flame shielding against the cold.
"Trust me." Mayumi murmured into her hair, her voice carrying both warmth and sorrow. She pulled back just enough to meet Rin's gaze, her hands lingering briefly on Rin's shoulders before letting go.
The room felt unbearably still. Even Banri, who had been so restless before, now lay with his head down, his massive body unmoving, his amber eyes watching Rin with an ancient calm.
"Now." Mayumi said softly, stepping back. "Call him."
Rin turned to the window, the glass now awash with the deepening colors of twilight. Her heart thundered in her chest, but her hands were steady as she stepped forward. Slowly, she lifted her arms, her palms turning outward, her fingers trembling with the current of her CHI.
She closed her eyes. She could feel it—the spark within her, the fire that had been kindled long ago, waiting for this moment. Her CHI flared, rushing through her veins like molten gold. She let out a slow breath, and the power flowed from her, reaching upward, outward, into the sky beyond the window.
The air crackled. A shiver passed through the earth. And then—
A light bloomed above the storm. A golden flame that twisted and swirled, rising like a bird reborn from ash. It stretched across the darkening sky, its edges bleeding into red, its form unmistakable. A phoenix.
It blazed against the storm, brighter than the sun had been, its fire reflecting in the snow, in the glass, in the stunned eyes of Banri and Mayumi.
Rin's arms lowered slowly, her chest rising and falling as the effort drained her. She opened her eyes, her gaze lifting to the window, where the golden aurora still burned.
"He will come." Mayumi said softly, almost to herself. "Like a falling star."
Rin's fists clenched, her body trembling with exhaustion and the weight of what had just begun. Behind her, Mayumi stepped into the shadows with Banri, the great tiger moving silently beside her. The folds of her robes brushed softly against the floor, blending into the darkness as though she and the beast were one with it.
"Stay strong, Rin." Mayumi whispered, her voice barely audible. "Reborn in love."
And then she was gone.
Rin stood alone in the silence, the golden light of the phoenix shimmering above, calling Yasuhiro across the sky—and summoning fate itself to meet her.
The storm, it seemed, was only beginning.
✦✦✦
The silence after the golden aurora had been summoned was heavy and expectant, as though the entire world held its breath. Rin stood frozen by the center of the room, her body drained but her spirit taut, waiting. Her chest rose and fell with deep, deliberate breaths, her fingers still tingling from the raw surge of CHI she had unleashed. Outside, the sky darkened into a violet bruise, and snowflakes began to swirl lazily, dancing on the cold air like delicate omens.
And then it came.
A flash. A streak of light.
At first, Rin thought it was a trick of the setting sun, a reflection against the icy plains. But this light moved—faster than her eyes could follow, glowing with an otherworldly white spark. It sliced through the sky like a comet, its radiance growing until it pierced her vision. Rin blinked and shielded her eyes with her forearm just as the light twisted and angled downward. Her stomach clenched. It was aimed at Mayumi's hideout.
Before she could cry out, the ground beneath her feet shuddered violently. The sound came next—a sharp, deafening crack that echoed through the mountains, as if the heavens themselves had split open. Snow cascaded from the rooftop in great waves, and Rin stumbled, gripping the edge of the table for balance. Dust and debris rained from above as a monstrous impact tore through the ceiling, sending shards of wood and stone scattering like deadly hail.
The air turned thick with smoke and splintered light, the wind howling through the newly torn hole above. Rin's eyes stung as she coughed, her lungs burning from the dust-laden air. And then, through the swirling smoke and ruin, a shape emerged.
At first, it was only the glow—a pair of eyes, stark white and burning like twin stars. They cut through the haze with a terrible intensity, unblinking, unmoving, watching. As the smoke dissipated, Rin saw him.
Yasuhiro.
He stood in the center of the wreckage, tall and motionless, his form casting a dark and jagged silhouette against the broken ceiling where twilight bled through. His Akuma form was almost entirely cloaked in black scales that shimmered faintly in the dim light, like obsidian polished to a sinister gleam. They covered his body like armor—thick, overlapping plates that looked impenetrable, sculpted with a natural artistry that only nature or hell itself could have forged. Only his human face and throat remained untouched by the darkness, his pale skin a stark contrast to the rest of his form.
From his back stretched wings—vast and dragon-like, their leathery membranes lined with veins that pulsed faintly as though alive. They twitched once, and Rin swore she felt the very air shift, the edges sharp enough to slice the wind itself. Two pairs of horns crowned his head, bent forward like the deadly points of a bull's charge, forming an obsidian tiara that framed his brow. His hair, black as midnight, fell in loose strands, a few locks daring to brush against one of his glowing eyes—though none dared to hide it completely.
For a fleeting moment, Rin's breath caught in her throat. There was something in Yasuhiro's face that struck her like a whisper of familiarity. The sharpness of his jawline, the arch of his brow—it reminded her of Kenji. Yet where Kenji bore scars like a testament to his humanity, Yasuhiro's face was untouched. Flawless. As though no force in the world had ever dared to mar him.
He stepped forward, the movement deliberate and unhurried. Each step echoed through the broken hall, a predator with no need to rush. His wings folded close to his back, their sheer size brushing against the fractured walls. The air thickened around him, oppressive and suffocating, as though his very presence commanded the room to kneel.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and smooth, carrying an edge of cruel amusement that made Rin's blood run cold.
"Every new Dancing Phoenix," he said, his glowing gaze fixed on her "becomes dumber than the last. And here you are, practically offering yourself on a platter."
Rin's fists clenched at her sides. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze even as her heart threatened to thunder out of her chest. There was something about him—a weight, a force—that made standing her ground feel like standing against a hurricane. But she did not falter.
"If you've come to kill me," Rin said, her voice sharper than she expected "then you're wasting your time."
Yasuhiro raised a dark brow, his head tilting slightly as if humoring her.
"Am I?"
"Yes." Rin took a step forward, the weight of her fear pressing against her ribs, but her voice did not waver.
"If you kill me, a new Phoenix will rise. And then Hideya will target them. It will never end."
The glow in Yasuhiro's eyes dimmed slightly, his expression shifting from amusement to curiosity. He studied her, his sharp gaze peeling away at her words as though searching for cracks.
"And what do you know of Hideya?" he asked.
Rin's chin lifted.
"I know he's your father. I know you want to stop him."
The room fell into silence. For the first time, Yasuhiro's confident posture stilled, a flicker of something dark and unreadable passing over his face. Rin seized the moment.
"If you kill me," she said, her voice colder now "you gain nothing. But if I live... I can help you. I can be bait."
Yasuhiro's wings flared slightly, their edges catching the dim light like blades. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. The air between them grew heavy with tension, like a coiled wire pulled taut.
"Hideya will come for me." Rin continued, her tone steady despite the pounding of her heart. "And if I'm with you, then he'll come to you."
Yasuhiro's gaze bore into her, searching, testing. Rin held her ground, though her legs screamed to run. Finally, he exhaled through his nose, the faintest trace of smoke curling from his lips.
"You're bold..." he said at last, his voice quieter but no less dangerous. "And foolish. But at least, you have made a good choice."
Rin said nothing, watching as he straightened to his full height, his wings shifting like a living shadow. For a long moment, he considered her, his glowing eyes unreadable. Then, with a flick of his hand, he turned toward the hole in the roof.
"Fine." he said, his voice carrying an edge of reluctant approval. "You will come with me."
Before Rin could respond, Yasuhiro stepped forward, his clawed hand gripping her wrist with a strength that sent a jolt through her arm. His wings unfurled, their massive span filling the room with shadow. With one powerful beat, they rose, the force of it tearing loose debris and scattering dust in a whirlwind.
Mayumi watched with a small, knowing smile, her eyes following Rin's ascent. She knew Rin would win in the end, fulfilling her destiny. The girl twisted her head just in time to see Mayumi emerge from the shadows, her arms outstretched as though she might pull Rin back. But it was too late. Yasuhiro's wings carried them upward, through the shattered roof and into the open sky.
The cold hit Rin like a slap, stealing her breath. Below, Mayumi and Banri grew smaller, the broken hideout a dark wound against the snow. Rin's heart ached as she watched Mayumi lift her hand, her figure still and unmoving in the fading light.
The world fell away beneath her, the wind screaming in her ears as Yasuhiro's wings carried them higher, faster—cutting through the dark like a blade. And in the distance, somewhere far beyond the snow and storm, destiny waited.
✦✦✦
The silence that lingered in the aftermath of Rin's departure was heavy and endless, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sound of Banri's breath. The white tiger lay at Mayumi's feet, his massive form stretched across the broken floor as though to guard her from the lingering shadows. Mayumi knelt beside him, her hands sinking gently into his fur, feeling the warmth of him seep into her trembling fingers.
For a moment, she said nothing. Her smile remained faint but steady, the same serene curve that had graced her lips through countless storms. It was the smile of a woman who had made peace with her choices, though it faltered slightly as her fingers tightened against Banri's coat. Slowly, she leaned forward, her forehead pressing softly against the tiger's broad skull.
"Oh, Banri." she whispered, her voice as fragile as a winter breeze. "I think I am afraid."
The words hung in the air like a confession, like a secret she had kept even from herself. Her face betrayed nothing—the calm remained, the faint smile carved as though in porcelain—but a single tear slid free, carving a path down her cheek. It fell like glass onto Banri's fur, but before it could vanish into his coat, the tiger turned his head. With a slow, deliberate motion, Banri licked another the tear from her face, the warmth of his tongue grounding her to the earth.
Mayumi exhaled, her breath unsteady as she smiled once more—a real smile this time, a soft and fleeting thing. She placed her hands on either side of Banri's face and looked into his eyes.
"You know what to do." she said gently.
The tiger's ocean gaze held hers for a long moment, unblinking and deep with trust. Banri dipped his head, the motion deliberate, almost solemn. Then, without hesitation, he rose to his feet. The white fur rippled like snowdrifts in motion as he padded silently across the floor, his massive paws leaving faint prints in the dust. At the door, he turned back one last time. Mayumi gave him a nod, her smile unwavering, though her eyes glistened faintly.
"Go." she whispered. "It's our time."
Banri slipped into the shadows, and the sound of his footsteps faded like the echoes of a fading heartbeat. Mayumi sat in the empty space he left behind, her hands resting in her lap as her gaze drifted to the corner of the room. There, strands of dark hair—Rin's hair—lay scattered across the floor like remnants of a forgotten memory.
With slow, deliberate movements, Mayumi rose to her feet. The chill in the air had grown sharper, as though the walls themselves sensed the danger drawing closer. Kneeling once more, Mayumi began to gather the strands of hair, her fingers careful and reverent. Each lock she picked up felt heavier than it should have, as though it carried the weight of the girl who had once stood there. She gathered them into her palm, cradling them like fragile relics.
The first sound came softly—a distant thud, muffled and far away. Mayumi froze, her head tilting slightly, listening. A second thud followed, louder this time, reverberating through the walls. Her fingers curled instinctively around the strands of hair as a cold wind whispered through the cracks in the windows.
And then it came—a great, splintering crash.
The main door of the hideout groaned violently, wood splintering under the force of an unseen blow. A deep growl followed, low and rumbling, vibrating through the floorboards like a pulse. Mayumi rose slowly, her movements calm despite the storm brewing around her. Her smile remained as she turned to face the door.
Another roar, closer this time, and the door gave way.
The hideout's entrance shattered inward with an explosion of wood and snow, fragments flying like shrapnel into the room. The temperature dropped as the wind screamed through the breach, and with it came the tigers—Hideya's beasts, sleek and monstrous, their forms moving like liquid shadow against the pale snow beyond.
Taro entered first, his massive paws thudding against the ground, followed by Mei, her fur streaked with frost. Their golden eyes burned like lanterns in the darkness, fixed on Mayumi as they prowled forward, low and deliberate. The air around them crackled with tension, the beasts exuding a predatory hunger that set the walls trembling.
And then he appeared.
Hideya stepped through the broken doorway, his presence eclipsing even the tigers. He moved with a grace that belied his size, his fur-lined cloak sweeping the floor as he walked. Snow clung to his shoulders and hair, his pale skin glowing faintly against the gloom. His eyes—cold and pitiless—locked onto Mayumi with a gaze that pierced straight through her.
"Where is she?" Hideya's voice was a low growl, each word deliberate and heavy with menace. "Where is the Dancing Phoenix?"
Mayumi tilted her head, her smile unwavering. She held up her hand, the strands of Rin's hair nestled delicately in her palm.
"You are too late." she said softly. "She fell to Yasuhiro. She is no longer here."
The words hung in the air like smoke, curling and twisting as Hideya's gaze narrowed. He stepped forward, the tigers flanking him, their growls low and menacing. Slowly, Hideya extended his hand. Mayumi opened her fingers, letting the strands of Rin's hair drift down into his palm.
Hideya examined the hair, turning it over between his fingers. His expression was unreadable, though a flicker of something dark passed behind his eyes.
"Your acting is admirable." he said finally, his voice cold and cutting. "But I know Yasuhiro. When he kills a Phoenix, he leaves the body behind—a monument to their failure."
He held Rin's strands of hair, his fingers curling around them as though clutching a precious artifact. A glimmer of calculation darkened his eyes.
"I hate pretending." he said softly.
The words were a death knell.
Hideya turned his gaze to the tigers, and with a simple nod, he gave the order. The beasts responded instantly, their muscles coiling as they prepared to pounce. The room filled with the sound of their growls, low and rumbling like an oncoming storm.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The snow outside stopped swirling, the wind held its breath, and the world went still. The tigers lunged.
Mayumi did not flinch. She did not step back. Instead, she closed her eyes, spreading her arms wide as though embracing the inevitable.
"Come to me...
.
.
.
... kitties."
✦✦✦
The halls beneath Hideya's residence were carved from ancient stone, their walls jagged and damp with the cold sweat of earth. The air was heavy, laced with a bitter chill that gnawed at the skin and seeped into the bones. Faint echoes reverberated through the darkness—the soft padding of paws, the faint rustle of Hideya's fur-lined cloak, and the dull clang of chains from somewhere deep below.
At his sides prowled Taro and Mei, their massive forms moving like shadows given flesh. Their golden eyes burned in the gloom, glowing embers in a void that stretched on endlessly. Hideya walked with deliberate grace, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor, a rhythm that carried the inevitability of his presence.
The path to the cells was long, lined with iron doors whose inhabitants had long since surrendered to silence. This was a place where hope had been extinguished, where spirits were crushed under the weight of steel and darkness. It was a prison carved for souls, not bodies, and among its forgotten captives sat one whose fire had not yet been smothered.
Kenji.
Behind a rusted door at the very end of the corridor, the faint glow of torches flickered against the walls. The sound of chains rattling grew louder as Hideya approached, each step bringing him closer to his captive. The tigers followed silently, their heads low, their breathing deep and steady. They knew this ritual well.
Hideya stopped before the cell door. For a moment, he simply stood there, savoring the quiet tension that coiled in the air like a serpent. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he unlatched the iron lock and pushed the door open.
The hinges groaned, the sound loud and grating in the suffocating silence. The torchlight spilled into the cell, revealing a figure seated in the center, wrapped in chains anchored to the ground. Kenji sat slumped against the cold stone floor, his Akuma form still lingering, as though his rage and torment refused to release him. The black and red scales that covered his arms glistened faintly, sharp and unyielding, reflecting the dim light like the edges of an undeveloped ruby. His horns curved back from his temples. The air around him felt alive with his energy, simmering with an untamed violence that refused to be caged.
Hideya stepped into the cell, his cloak sweeping the floor behind him. The tigers padded in after him, their presence heavy, their eyes fixed on Kenji. For a long moment, Hideya simply observed the young man before him.
Kenji did not look up, his head bowed, black hair falling like a curtain to obscure his face. The chains rattled faintly as his hands clenched into fists against the floor.
"Ah, Kenji." Hideya said, his voice soft and mocking, the words curling like smoke. "How I admire your tenacity. It's almost beautiful, really—the way you fight, even now, against the inevitable."
Kenji's breath was shallow, his shoulders rising and falling in time with it. He said nothing, though his body tensed at Hideya's voice. The tigers prowled the edges of the room, circling like vultures awaiting their feast.
Hideya reached into the folds of his cloak and produced something small, something dark. He let it hang between his fingers as he stepped closer. The faint glow of the torches revealed what it was—strands of dark hair, gathered carefully and tied with a thin ribbon. Scented with natural notes of ginger and tender warmth.
Rin's hair.
"I searched for your beloved as best I could." Hideya said, his tone dripping with feigned sympathy. He crouched down just out of Kenji's reach, holding the strands before him like an offering. "But alas, all I found were these... and a few black scales from Yasuhiro."
The words struck Kenji like a blow. His head snapped up, his eyes blazing through the curtain of his hair. His face was a mask of anguish and fury, his teeth bared as he strained against the chains. The metal groaned in protest, the sound filling the cell as his Akuma strength surged.
"You're lying!" Kenji growled, his voice rough and raw. "You're lying!"
Hideya tilted his head, his smile cold and unfeeling.
"Am I?" He let the strands of hair drift slowly to the ground, their fall unnervingly gentle. "Think, Kenji. You know Yasuhiro. You know his ways. If he killed your mother, Atsuna — an innocent as pure as a unicorn — then what hope did Rin have?"
Kenji froze. The chains rattled as his strength faltered, his body slumping slightly as though the weight of the words had pressed him down. The fire in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of doubt, of something fragile and breaking.
"No," Kenji whispered, though his voice held no conviction. "Rin... Rin is alive. I know it."
Hideya stood slowly, his shadow stretching long across the cell floor. He looked down at Kenji, his mouth curved in arrogance.
"You can deny it all you like." Hideya said softly. "But denial will not bring her back. And what does your refusal accomplish? You sit here, chained and broken, while Yasuhiro continues his game. Rin is gone. Your mother is gone. What remains, Kenji, is the question of what you will do now."
Kenji's hands trembled, his fists clenching so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. The emptiness crept into him like frost, spreading through his chest, draining him of the fire that had burned so fiercely. For a moment, he felt nothing—no rage, no grief, no hope. Just a void.
Hideya stepped closer, his voice a serpent's whisper.
"You can have revenge, Kenji. You can make Yasuhiro pay for what he's done. For Rin. For Atsuna. You can be the blade that strikes him down—but only if you accept the truth and focus on what matters."
Kenji's head hung low, his breath ragged. The chains no longer rattled. His strength had abandoned him, leaving him hollow and adrift.
"Revenge." Hideya murmured, his voice soothing now, almost gentle. "That is what you desire, isn't it? To see Yasuhiro fall, to see justice done. I can give you that, Kenji. All you need to do... is trust me."
The silence stretched on. Finally, Kenji spoke, his voice barely audible.
"What do you want from me?"
Hideya smiled faintly, a predator sensing victory.
"Your strength. Your will. You will join me, and together we will perfect your Onikata techniques for the Tenshikai tournament. When the time comes, you will stand before Yasuhiro and strike him down. You will have your revenge, Kenji—and Rin's death will not be in vain."
Kenji closed his eyes. The chains felt heavier now, as though they were no longer steel but the weight of his failure. The image of Rin's face flashed in his mind—her smile, her strength, the fire in her eyes. It was a fire he had once shared, but now it felt so far away.
"Fine." he whispered, the word falling from his lips like a stone. "I... will do it."
Hideya's smile widened, his victory complete. He stepped forward, his hands reaching for the chains. With a simple gesture, the iron bindings fell away, clattering to the ground. Kenji remained still, his body hunched and unmoving.
"Good." Hideya said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now, let us begin. The tournament awaits, and you have much to learn."
As Hideya turned, the tigers flanked him once more, their golden eyes never leaving Kenji. The young man rose slowly, his movements mechanical, as though his body moved without a soul to guide it. The fire in him had dimmed, but in its place, something darker had taken root—a shadow born of emptiness and despair.
Hideya led the way, his cloak sweeping the stone floor, the torchlight casting long, jagged shadows that swallowed Kenji whole. The cell door groaned shut behind them, and the silence returned, broken only by the faint echoes of footsteps receding into the darkness.