Yasha

The Duskwind Inn stood proudly on the better side of the city, away from the grime and chaos of the slums. Its reputation was built not on luxury, but on quiet respect—the kind earned from serving those who preferred veiled conversations over loud declarations.

At the top floor, tucked behind a red lacquered corridor, was a secluded space known as the Lotus Room, reserved only for high-caliber meetings—a place where mercenaries, nobles, and emissaries came to speak truths too sharp for public ears.

The door slid open with barely a sound as Kazel entered first. The room was spacious but intimate, with rice paper lanterns casting a soft amber glow across the polished floor. Ornate silk curtains hung at each corner, fluttering slightly from the hidden ventilation ducts that whispered cool air into the chamber. There were no windows—privacy came before scenery.

In the center sat a low obsidian-stained table, surrounded by thick, embroidered cushions of midnight blue. The walls bore no weapons, no murals—just smooth panels of dark timber and a single elegant scroll hanging at the rear with calligraphy that read:"Even dragons bow to silence."

Yasha lounged on one cushion, the posture casual but with eyes alert. Her long fingers traced the handle of a ceramic teacup beside her, the faint scent of jasmine rising with the steam. Despite her relaxed pose, she was a striking presence—a Lady of the Five, one of the sect's elite, and the weight of that identity sat around her like invisible armor.

Kazel dropped into his seat with a calm that bordered on disrespect, his halberd propped behind him. He didn't bow. He didn't speak. Just met her eyes with his usual unbothered smirk.

Durandal took his place nearby, noticeably stiffer. The air was heavy—not hostile, but dense with unsaid meaning. His eyes darted between them, recognizing the kind of pressure that didn't come from strength alone, but from status, history, and blood shed in names never spoken.

Outside, the inn's noise was hushed, not by distance, but by design. No eavesdropping here.

"Now that the ghost has returned," Yasha said with mock offense, "shall we talk about the storm you're dragging into my garden?"

The private room in the Duskwind Inn was dimly lit, with lanterns casting soft shadows across the lacquered wooden walls. Silk drapes in muted violet hung like falling mist, sectioning off the space from the corridor. A low table made of dark redwood sat in the center, surrounded by plush cushions, the kind reserved for influential merchants, visiting elders, or the ambitious who had coin to burn. Duskwind wasn't near the slums—it was on the better side of the city, discreet and reputable.

Kazel sat with his legs casually spread, back reclined against the cushion, while Durandal sat beside him, straight-backed and alert. Across from them, Yasha crossed one leg over the other with poised ease. Her lips curled into a playful smirk, the petal she always chewed resting idly at the corner of her mouth. Her presence felt both lazy and electric—like a spring ready to snap.

"So..." she began, voice laced with amusement, "you really stirred the city, Sect Slayer. They say you threw a head at Agabah's feet. Bold, even for you."

"Tch," she clicked her tongue, letting the petal twitch slightly. "You made quite the statement."

"You make it sound like I went around promoting myself," he replied with a half-smirk. "I simply returned a favor."

"Well, it worked. The Shield and Spear mercs didn't even blink. No one's hired to keep the peace. They're just watching now... waiting." She leaned back and folded her arms behind her head. "I didn't know you had a private war with the Punctured, or that you paid the Second Moon a little visit. You've been busy."

Kazel didn't respond right away. He reached for the tea set and poured a cup for himself. "I didn't ask for an escort."

"Oh?" Yasha raised an eyebrow, the petal shifting slightly as she chewed. "Yet you let me wait at the inn like some eager wife."

"Didn't ask for that either."

Her brows twitched, and for a second, the air thickened—like something sharp had just passed between them. But she only grinned wider, unbothered.

Madam Yi, who had earlier peeked in to ensure everything was in order, had gone pale seeing Yasha enter and take a seat. Most guests would be reprimanded for rudeness—especially for speaking so casually to a lady—but not Kazel. Madam Yi didn't dare correct him. Not when the girl chewing a petal was Yasha, one of the Five Ladies of the Five Ladies Sect.

"Well," Yasha continued, "word is the Punctured might've raised your bounty. And I don't mean a modest raise. You embarrassed their name, cut down three of theirs, and did it in public. They'll want blood. But here's the catch—Agabah has to consult the patriarch before anything formal is issued. So... enjoy the calm, I guess."

Kazel sipped his tea, then tilted his head. "You've talked a lot, but never introduced yourself."

Yasha blinked, then gave him a slow, deliberate smile. "You're right."

She plucked the petal from her mouth, twirled it between her fingers, then put it back. "Name's Yasha. And you better remember it."

Durandal finally exhaled, as if only now realizing how tense he had been the entire time.

"Is it safe to assume," Kazel said, leaning forward with a lazy confidence, "that you are one of the Five Ladies? Of the… the famous sect run by five ladies?"

Yasha smiled, tongue pressing the petal into her cheek. "I am one of the five. The youngest one."

Durandal's eyes widened, and for a moment he froze, like a stone statue carved out of respect and disbelief. He quickly composed himself, but the subtle twitch in his brow gave him away.

Kazel, however, didn't even flinch. He tapped the rim of his teacup with a finger, a smirk curling on his lips. "Well then… enough pleasantries, don't you think?"

He met her gaze without hesitation, blue eyes sharp. "You waited for me. And now I'm here. Why?"

Yasha rolled the petal to the other side of her mouth and leaned in slightly. The lazy aura she carried didn't vanish, but it grew heavier—calculated. Like a panther sunbathing with one eye open.

"I like puzzles," she said simply. "And you're an especially sharp-edged one."

Kazel didn't blink. "That doesn't answer the question."

"Fine." She exhaled through her nose, her expression turning serious. "My sisters and I keep tabs on... tides. Shifts in power. Deaths that aren't supposed to happen. Heads being tossed like apples. You, Sect Slayer, aren't some rogue cultivator with anger issues. No—you're methodical. There's a story behind your swordplay."

Kazel gave a slow shrug, unimpressed. "Still not a reason."

Yasha grinned. "Alright. I want to know what you're after. Why now? Why here? And whether the Five Ladies should ignore your trail or follow it."

Durandal glanced between them, realizing the room had grown warmer—not from fire, but from interest.

Kazel took another sip, let the silence linger, then said coolly:

"I'm not interested in being followed."

"And yet," Yasha whispered, "you keep leaving footprints big enough to bury cities."