The forest had stopped breathing.
Only the wind moved now, dragging smoke through blackened trees and stirring the faint scent of sulfur and scorched flesh. Leaves hung limp, gray from ash. The birds had stopped singing hours ago.
Hayato stood over the remains of another demon, his sword buried deep in its mangled chest, still humming with residual heat. The flames that had engulfed the clearing moments ago now crawled in lazy, black wisps along the forest floor, flickering like dying memories.
His hand was trembling, though he didn't seem to notice.
Minamoto stepped through the soot cautiously, her boots crunching against charred earth. "That's the third one this week," she said, her voice trying to stay level, maybe even amused, like this was just another job. But the edges were fraying.
Yue caught up, panting lightly. "We're gonna need to start a demon punch card," he muttered, trying to keep the mood light. "Two more and you get a free existential crisis."
Hayato didn't even smile.
He finally pulled his blade free with a metallic groan, the sound unnervingly close to a scream. The steel had turned darker again—deeper than mere soot, almost absorbing light. The handle pulsed faintly, a heartbeat echoing within the weapon. He sheathed it without a word and started walking, his steps steady but distant.
"Hayato," Minamoto called, following him, "slow down. We need to talk."
"No," he said flatly.
"We're not asking," Yue added, stepping in front of him. "You're burning through leads, literally. And demons don't exactly form support groups. You can't keep hoping one will tell you where your father is."
"I don't hope," Hayato said, brushing past him. "Hope's for people with time. I'm done waiting."
His voice didn't rise. That was the worst part.
Minamoto moved beside him, trying to catch his gaze. "We know what you lost. But pushing like this—getting reckless, getting hurt—it's not going to bring her back."
Hayato stopped.
A strange silence fell between the three.
He didn't turn around. "She's not coming back," he said softly, almost like a confession. "Her body was gone before I even touched her. Just darkness. She begged me, and I… I couldn't save her. I couldn't save any of them."
Yue opened his mouth to say something, but the words died.
"You think I'm reckless?" Hayato went on. "You think I'm breaking?" He finally looked at them, his eyes glowing faintly—not with power, but exhaustion. "I'm still standing. That's all that matters."
The moment hung there. Long. Heavy.
Then he turned again and walked off.
Yue sighed. "He's not wrong… but he's not right either."
Minamoto watched him go, a knot in her chest tightening. "He's holding it in too well. Like he's scared of letting any of it out."
That night, the three of them made camp near a shattered stone altar overgrown with moss. Hayato sat a little apart from the others, sharpening his blade with steady, slow strokes. Sparks flicked off the edge, tiny embers catching in the air.
The fire in the center of their camp burned a bit differently now—its base red-orange, but black tendrils twisting upward in slow, hypnotic curls.
"His fire," Yue whispered to Minamoto, "it's changing again."
"It's reacting to him," she replied. "The more he suppresses everything, the darker it gets. Like it's carrying the emotions he won't."
Yue shivered. "Flame therapy. Hell of a side effect."
Minamoto didn't laugh. Her eyes stayed on Hayato.
He didn't sleep that night. Or maybe he did, but not in the usual way. He just sat, staring into the fire, his blade resting beside him, the black hue along its surface now permanent. A whisper of darkness shimmered along its edge—Kurai's final trace.
And in the distance, past the trees, past the silence, something moved.
Watching.
Waiting.