Chapter 4: Whispers Beneath the Blossoms

The soft chatter of the festival plaza fell away, swallowed by a hush that rippled like a dropped stone in still water. Eyes turned. Conversations ceased. Sake cups paused mid-air. All focus narrowed to a single, frozen tableau: Tatsu, Kagura, and the woman who had just appeared like a thunderclap in daylight.

No one dared move. The cheerful music in the distance faltered into irrelevance. The warm spring air—once filled with the scents of food and laughter—now pressed in, brittle and sharp. A momentary silence gripped the plaza like the held breath before a blade falls.

Daylight streamed through the cherry blossoms overhead, casting shifting petals of gold and pink across the cobblestones. Somewhere far off, a child laughed—blissfully unaware. A wind chime jangled lazily, tone soft and eerie in the stillness.

And then—THOCK. With a blur of motion and the hard, ringing clap of wooden sandals against stone, the tall Oni woman dropped from the raised wall above. She landed in a crouch, bow already half-drawn, and straightened slowly—deliberate and silent, like a noose tightening. She moved like a falling blade—graceful, exact, and radiating threat. Every detail about her felt honed: the severe line of her jaw, the golden eyes like molten metal, the long blonde ponytail whipped behind her like a banner of war. A single polished horn rose from her brow like a crown.

Her robes marked her as a shrine archer—white sleeves, indigo hakama pleated crisp, and wooden clogs that clicked with every step. But it was the yumi bow in her hands, long and curved like a crescent moon, that commanded the most attention. Notched in it—an arrow already aimed at Tatsu's heart.

"Kagura," the Oni woman said without shifting her gaze, her voice like steel dragged across stone. "Step away from the outsider."

Kagura's breath hitched. "Iori! What are you doing?!"

Still, Iori didn't blink. Her words rang out across the hushed square, cold and ceremonial, like a verdict being read before a crowd.

"Lady Kagura is not to associate with commoners. She is the property of Amaterasu, Incarnation of the Sun."

The word hung in the air like poison. "Property?" Tatsu blinked, as if struck. The word rooted itself deep in his chest, festering like something left to rot.

Kagura flinched—shoulders drawing in, eyes darkening with shame. Her confident mask cracked, if only for a moment. "Iori… stop," she said quietly. "Please. No one needs to get hurt."

Tatsu's jaw set. He stepped forward—not to challenge, but to shield. "She's not property," he said, voice low, steady, unwavering. "She's not some object you get to control."

The arrow remained trained on his chest, but Iori's golden eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing the merit of killing him here and now.

Beside him, Kagura reached out and touched his arm—gentle, grounding. "It's okay," she murmured, voice softer than the wind. "Let me handle this."

She stepped forward, turning her back to Tatsu and raising her voice. "I'll return home," she said, sharp enough to cut through the stillness. "Will that satisfy you, Iori?"

A long silence passed between them. Iori's bow slowly lowered, though her stance remained taut—ready. She gave a stiff nod, never once looking at Kagura.

A long silence held the square in its grip, the hush so deep even the wind dared not breathe.

Then, at last, Iori's yumi bow lowered—slowly, deliberately—but her posture remained coiled, like a blade sheathed but not forgotten. She gave a single stiff nod. Not to Kagura. Never to her. Her eyes stayed locked on Tatsu.

"Do not test my patience," she said to Tatsu, voice loud and commanding. "You will not survive a second warning."

With that, she loosened the string of her bow and turned, robes whispering with motion. Her wooden sandals clacked softly against the stone as she walked away, the silence parting in her wake like water around a prow.

Kagura lingered for a heartbeat more. Her gaze found Tatsu's, and in her eyes flickered a storm—conflict, sorrow, and something deeper still. A plea unsaid. A truth withheld. Then she turned, and without another word, followed after the Oni guardian.

The crowd exhaled. Life surged back into motion, as if the square itself had only now remembered how to breathe. Conversations resumed in hushed tones. A wind chime clinked overhead. Somewhere, a child laughed—nervously, too loud.

But for Tatsu, the color had drained from the world. The vibrant banners and lanterns fluttered still, but they no longer danced. The music played on, yet the melody rang hollow. The warmth of the sun still touched his skin—but somehow, it no longer felt warm.

The following morning came with a hush. A faint breeze stirred the shoji screens, teasing at their edges like a whisper too soft to catch. The scent of tatami mingled with cooling tea and the faint perfume of sakura petals still clinging to the air. Morning sunlight spilled across the wooden floor in soft gold, but it felt distant—muted, as though the world had pulled a curtain over its warmth.

Tatsu sat cross-legged at the low table, a teacup cradled between his hands. The steam had long since faded, but he hadn't moved to drink. His eyes were distant, unfocused, as though they were still locked somewhere in yesterday. "Property," he muttered, barely louder than a breath. The word sat heavy in his mouth, bitter and wrong. "She called her property."

Knivi lay sprawled across a floor cushion, the picture of defiance and irritation. One boot was kicked off, her hair mussed from sleep. She grunted, scowling into her own untouched tea. "I should've been there. Would've knocked that smug, one-horned witch into next week."

Tatsu's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, but it carried no warmth—just a tired mask stretched thin by thought. He accepted Knivi's sentiment, even admired her loyalty, but violence wasn't the answer. Not yet. Not here. Not when he'd seen firsthand what the Oni were capable of.

Maxim exhaled softly over his teacup, letting the steam curl against his face before taking a slow sip. "With all due respect, Knivi," he said, his tone calm, almost surgical, "you'd have escalated things. That Oni wasn't some back-alley thug. If Tatsu's right about her, she wasn't just muscle—she was a weapon, honed and bound."

Knivi's ears flattened. "She pointed a bow at Tatsu."

"And she could have loosed it," Maxim countered smoothly, raising his cup to his lips with deliberate care. "But she didn't. That restraint? It tells us something, too." His green eyes sharpened, as if weighing the memory like an alchemist with scales. "Oni aren't like us. Their strength isn't for show—it's bred into their bones, carved into their traditions. Even the ones who laugh with you could snap a spine without breaking rhythm. And that one?" He shook his head faintly. "She wouldn't have even broken a sweat."

Knivi growled low into her tea, the sound like a wolf denied its hunt. "Still would've liked to try."

Tatsu set his cup down with a muted clink, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice was low, the words pulling heavier than before. "It wasn't just the bow. It was… Kagura. The way she looked when Iori said it. Like it wasn't the first time she'd heard those words." His eyes dropped to the table, the lines of his face drawn tight. "She didn't even argue. She just… folded."

Maxim nodded slowly, expression unreadable. "Could be a cultural thing. Some sort of spiritual hierarchy, priestess caste, noble bloodline… Oni have all kinds of customs. Maybe she's part of something sacred. Something we're not meant to interfere with."

"I'm not trying to interfere," Tatsu murmured, eyes narrowing. "But if she's being treated like a possession…"

He didn't finish. He didn't have to. The room fell quiet. And then—three soft knocks at the door. They turned as the shoji slid open, and a young woman entered—an inn attendant by her garb. She wore a pale patterned hood that shadowed her features, her voice soft and formal as she bowed low.

"Morning tea," she said. "Compliments of the inn."

She stepped in, set the tray quietly on the table, and bowed again before turning to leave. Tatsu nodded his thanks out of habit—but just as the door closed, something flashed at the corner of his vision. The color pink. Not cloth, not ribbon, a bushy tail, soft and unmistakable, flicked around the corner and vanished.

His chest tightened. And then it came—Spore Sense. A low, pulsing thrum at the edge of instinct. Like a footfall in the dark, a shift in the wind. Something sacred brushing too close to ignore.

"She's here," Tatsu whispered. He stood abruptly.

Knivi jumped to her feet. "Wait—what is it?"

Tatsu was already moving toward the door. "I saw her. I think… it was Kagura."

Maxim raised an eyebrow, rising more cautiously. "You sure?"

Tatsu didn't answer. He slid the door open and stepped into the hall, his heart already racing as he followed the ghost of a fox through the winding shadows of the inn.

The quiet footsteps of the disguised hostess echoed lightly along the wooden inn hallway, just soft enough to vanish beneath the rustle of her host garb. Tatsu followed at a careful distance, his steps ghostlike, silent. The inn gave way to the outer corridors, and soon even the faint hum of morning guests fell behind.

The woman didn't look back. She moved with purpose, slipping through service doors and into shaded alleys where laundry fluttered and moss grew thick between stones. Tatsu's Spore Sense hummed at the edges of his awareness—something familiar, something… right.

The alleys narrowed, then opened suddenly into a small grove just beyond the outer edge of the inn. It was quiet here, the air fragrant with wild plum blossoms and old cedar. Bamboo swayed lazily in the breeze, and birdsong threaded through the hush like a distant lullaby. The woman stepped into the clearing, cast one last glance over her shoulder, and then removed her hood.

Pink hair spilled out in a silken cascade. Her fox ears flicked once, freed from the fabric. Her face was flushed from the effort of sneaking away, but her smile was unmistakable—mischievous and warm.

"Knew it," Tatsu whispered, a grin tugging at his lips.

Kagura turned fully to face him, playful. "I had to sneak out. Iori thinks I'm bathing."

He raised an eyebrow. "You seem to have a gift for escaping."

"I have a gift for mischief," she corrected, stepping forward. Her pink tail swayed behind her like a whisper. "And a terrible sense of timing. But I wanted to see you."

The words hung in the air a second longer than they needed to. They walked side by side through the grove, their pace slow and unspoken. The path curved through dappled light and shadow, winding past a patch of white flowers, then over a small wooden bridge suspended above a sleepy brook. The sound of the water added a rhythm to their silence—gentle, undemanding.

Eventually, they came to a low hill where a flowering tree leaned over the edge of a quiet pond, its petals falling like silent confessions onto the still surface. Kagura lowered herself to sit beneath it, smoothing her garb as she folded her legs beneath her. Tatsu joined her, his hands resting on his knees, but his gaze—soft now—lingered on her face.

No masks, no dancing, no crowd. Just him and her. She let out a breath and looked at him sideways. "You looked… really upset yesterday."

Tatsu nodded. "I was."

There was a long pause. "So was I," she said softly breaking the silence.

And beneath the boughs, where blossoms whispered like secrets from above, the real conversation finally began.

The branches above rustled gently, petals drifting down in lazy spirals like tiny fragments of snow. The pond mirrored them, each ripple carrying their reflections outward in circles that never returned.

Tatsu sat beside Kagura beneath the flowering tree, his hands resting loosely in his lap, though his fingers twitched with words he hadn't yet spoken. The peaceful air was a strange contrast to the question weighing on his chest.

Finally, the question slipped out, low but insistent.

"Iori. Who is she, really?"

Kagura didn't answer at once. Her gaze followed a drifting petal until it kissed the surface of the pond and spun away with the ripples. Only then did she turn her eyes to him, thoughtful and still.

"She's my bodyguard," she said at last, her tone simple, but weighted. "Assigned by Lady Amaterasu herself."

Tatsu's brows drew together. "The Incarnation of the Sun?"

Kagura nodded gently. "Yes. And Iori… she's more than a bodyguard. She's like a sister. Sworn to protect me with her life. She trains with the temple archers, answers only to Amaterasu. She's a bit…" Kagura's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Intense."

Tatsu huffed a dry laugh. "Yeah. I noticed."

Kagura laughed softly, the sound lighter, almost wistful. "She means well. I know she looks like a thundercloud with a bow, but Iori's kind. She just doesn't know how to… act kind."

Silence lingered, broken only by the plop of a frog diving somewhere in the reeds. Then Tatsu's voice came quieter, edged with concern.

"Are you… a prisoner?"

Kagura blinked at him, startled. A moment later, she shook her head, the motion slow but certain. "No. It's not like that. I'm free, Tatsu. I can go where I please, do what I like. I just…"

Her words trailed off. She exhaled and let her fingers trace absent circles against her knee, as though steadying herself.

"There was an incident. A few years ago. During the festival."

Tatsu didn't speak, didn't press—only waited, his eyes steady on her.

"I was having sake with a visitor," she continued, her voice softer now, distant. "Someone older, wealthy… charming enough. It was just conversation. Laughing. Maybe flirting a little. But then he placed a hand on my lap and wanted more. When I turned him down…" Her voice thinned, dropping almost to a whisper. "He didn't like that answer."

Tatsu's jaw clenched, a sharp muscle ticking at his cheek.

Kagura's eyes stayed on the pond, the rippling surface reflecting fragments of moonlight. "I was scared. Truly scared. But Iori heard me scream. She… she handled it as any understandably angry Oni might. And when she was done, things escalated. The matter was brought to Amaterasu herself." Kagura swallowed, voice fragile now. "She was able to pay for the man's injuries. But he was banished—never allowed to set foot on this island again."

Her hands folded neatly in her lap, though her knuckles had gone pale. "I owe Iori everything. And Amaterasu too. Without them…" She let the thought trail off into the dark, into the chorus of crickets.

Silence again. Not awkward, but heavy with understanding. "That's why she's always close during the festival," Kagura added, looking up at him. "It's the only time outsiders flood into Touno. Iori's not guarding me from you… she's guarding me from what could be another him."

Tatsu felt the tight knot in his chest loosen a little, though it didn't vanish. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "You didn't deserve that. None of it."

Kagura smiled, the expression faint but real. "I know. But I survived. And I learned." Her gaze held his now. "How to be careful. And who to trust." Their eyes lingered. "I trust you, Tatsu," she said softly.

And there it was, hanging between them—not quite love, not yet, but something just as rare: Trust, offered gently beneath the blossoms. Tatsu looked down at his hands for a moment, gathering the courage to ask the next question. His voice was quiet, thoughtful. "Are you… allowed to be in a relationship?"

Kagura blinked at him, then laughed softly. "Of course I am. I'm not a monk." Her eyes sparkled with humor, but it faded just as quickly. "Amaterasu has never forbidden it. And Iori might glare a hole through anyone who tries, but… she actually wants me to be happy. She just doesn't trust anyone to make me happy."

Tatsu smiled faintly, relief softening his posture. "So what's stopping you?"

Kagura's gaze drifted up toward the branches above them. She plucked a falling petal from the air before it could land on his shoulder, twirling it between her fingers.

"It's not that simple," she said. "I've had… offers. Proposals, even. All from Oni men."

She sighed, almost wistfully. "They meant well, I think. But Oni… they're not like you or me. They're strong. In body, in temperament. Everything is fire and stone with them."

She looked back at him now, eyes quietly searching his. "And I'm not built like that. I'm Keimonomimi. We're soft. Quick to feel. Quick to break."

There was a pause, a chance to let what she's saying to pracess their meaning. "I've seen what happens when Oni love carelessly. It's not malicious, just… overwhelming. I'd be smothered without meaning to be. Or worse, hurt without them even realizing it."

Tatsu's brow furrowed. "They tried to…?"

"No," she said quickly. "Nothing cruel. Just… a hand around my wrist that held too tightly. A hug that bruised. They don't mean to be rough, but it's the only way they know how to live."

She looked away again. "So no. I couldn't accept their love. Not because they were Oni… but because none of them ever tried to understand how fragile someone else might be."

Tatsu nodded slowly. "You want someone who listens. Who sees you."

Kagura's tail gave a small flick behind her. "Someone who knows the difference between strength and gentleness. And can choose the right one when it matters."

Their eyes locked again, and something unspoken pulsed in the stillness. But in that moment, under the petals and filtered light, Kagura's expression softened—less flirtation, more truth. And maybe, just maybe, she saw in him what she'd never found in the others.

Tatsu shifted slightly, the soft earth beneath the tree pressing cool against his palm. The words had been lingering on his tongue, and now—gently—he let them go. "Why did Iori call you… property?"

The question seemed to change the air between them. Kagura's smile faded, not in offense, but in thought. She blinked slowly, tail brushing the grass as if sweeping through memory. "I don't know," she said after a moment. "That's not something I've ever been told. Iori's always protective, but she's never used that word with me before. I don't know where that came from, but it might be some kind of agreement between Iori and Lady Ameterasu."

Her gaze drifted up to the branches above them, where sunlight filtered through the petals like fragments of stained glass. "It has to be a misunderstanding. Iori… doesn't always know how to speak gently. But she wouldn't think of me that way. And Amaterasu—" She stopped, her voice softening into something reverent. "Amaterasu is like a mother to me."

Tatsu tilted his head slightly, listening. Her voice, steady now, held the weight of something sacred.

"I was found in a basket," she continued. "On the shore at low tide, wrapped in silk and crying. Some say I was abandoned. Others think I came from a shipwreck, maybe the only one who survived." A breeze stirred her hair, brushing it across her cheek. She didn't move it away. "The Oni who found me brought me to the Temple of the Sun. They didn't know what to do with a Keimonomimi fox-child. But Amaterasu took me in. Named me Kagura—after the sacred dance."

"She raised you?"

"Sometimes," Kagura said. "She sleeps most of the year. Her divine slumber keeps the sun burning in the sky. But when she wakes… those days were like sunlight itself. Warm. Rare. Precious."

She smiled faintly, almost to herself. "When she sleeps, Iori takes care of me. She taught me how to read, how to fight, how to survive. She's not just a bodyguard—she's the closest thing I've had to a sister. Maybe even a second mother."

Tatsu watched her quietly, struck by the quiet pride she carried—not boastful, just steady.

"I'm not strong like the Oni," she said. "Couldn't split stones with my bare hands, couldn't hold a sword without it shaking. But I could dance." She lifted her hands, mimicking a small motion in the air—graceful, like a petal caught on a breeze. "So I danced for the festivals. For the spirits. For the guests who came to see the beauty of Touno."

"And that's how you give back," Tatsu said softly.

Kagura looked at him. "It's how I belong."

A long pause stretched between them. The hush of the grove, the rustle of blossoms. And somewhere behind it all, the distant hum of festival drums. "I don't know why Iori said what she said," Kagura said finally. "But I know what I am. I'm not owned. I'm loved. I'm trusted to carry beauty where strength can't go."

Tatsu's chest tightened at that. A girl born of waves and myth, raised by gods and warriors, and yet… still happy to be where she believes she fits in.

He nodded slowly, voice quiet. "You don't need to explain. Not to me."

Kagura smiled again, this time with more warmth, more certainty. "I know."

A hush settled beneath the flowering tree, the world briefly shrinking to the space between them.

Kagura's eyes met his—open, vulnerable in a way that made Tatsu's breath catch. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, and for a heartbeat, she leaned in ever so slightly, as if drawn by an invisible thread. Her scent—blossoms and spring wind—washed over him. It would've taken only a word. A gesture. And the space between them might have vanished entirely.

But before either of them could do anything— "KAGURA! Where are you?!" The voice tore through the stillness like a blade.

Kagura flinched, ears twitching toward the sound. Panic flashed in her eyes. "That's Iori." Without hesitation, she grabbed Tatsu's hand. "Come on—this way!"

She pulled him up, weaving quickly through the garden path with silent urgency. Tatsu followed, boots crunching lightly over gravel as they slipped behind a wall of camellia bushes and down a narrow trail he hadn't noticed before. A hidden gate loomed at the end, cleverly masked by a cascade of wisteria vines.

They passed through—and the world opened. Beyond the stone path lay a breathtaking estate. A sprawling eastern style traditional mansion sat nestled within water gardens that shimmered like mirrors. Wooden walkways crossed over koi ponds dotted with lily pads. Blossoming sakura trees arched overhead, their petals drifting like snow. The whole place felt pulled from the pages of myth and lehends only found in stories.

Kagura slowed just enough to whisper, "This is my home."

Tatsu stared, mouth slightly open. "You live here?"

A faint, sheepish smile. "I told you I was part of the temple."

"This isn't a temple," he said, eyes still wide. "It's… it's a palace."

Kagura didn't deny it. Another shout in the distance—closer this time. She tightened her grip on his hand, then released it. "I have to go," she said, breathless. "I wasn't supposed to be gone this long."

Tatsu hesitated. "Will you be okay?"

Her eyes softened, and she gave him a small, defiant smile. "I always am."

She turned toward a side gate nestled in the mansion's outer wall—but paused at the threshold.

"I'll find you again," she said. "When it's safe."

And with that, she vanished behind the rice-paper doors, her silhouette dissolving into the shadows of lacquered wood and drifting lamplight.

Tatsu lingered at the edge of the estate, heart still drumming, the faint trace of sakura clinging to the night air. But beneath that sweetness, something heavier pressed down—a truth he couldn't ignore. Kagura hadn't been dancing only for tradition, or beauty, or duty. No—every step had carried the weight of restraint, a performance balanced on a blade's edge. She was walking a tightrope, and for the first time, he had glimpsed what waited beneath it.

As he turned back toward the inn, where his companions surely waited with drink and jest, a storm followed him. It wasn't in the sky—the morning remained calm, the sun burning brightly—but in his chest, in the marrow of his bones. He wanted to take her from this place, beyond these gilded walls and suffocating traditions, to a world where the dance was her own choosing.

And though he hadn't meant for it to happen, though he told himself it was folly, he knew the truth as clearly as the path beneath his feet. He was already too close to walk away.