Hollow Flame Temple

We crested the hill just as the sun dipped behind the horizon.

And there it was.

The temple.

Or what was left of it.

Half-collapsed gates leaning like broken ribs. Stone lanterns overturned and scorched. The central pagoda cracked open like an egg, black ash staining its bones.

But what caught me first wasn't the ruin.

No birds. No bugs. No breeze.

Just stillness.

And the faint scent of burnt parchment.

Kiyomi stepped forward, slow. Her hand brushed the seal paper tucked at her belt like someone brushing the hilt of a blade.

"This is it," she whispered.

The wind didn't agree. It hissed against the broken roof.

We passed through the front arch. I kept my hand on my katana.

And that's when I saw them.

Stones.

Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Arranged in spirals, some upright, some toppled. Each carved with a symbol I didn't recognize—but Kiyomi did.

Her breath caught.

"These are binding marks."

"For what?"

She didn't answer right away.

Then she said, "For something they couldn't kill."

The temperature dropped.

My scars started to ache.

Not the recent ones. The old ones. The ones I forgot I had.

"There," Kiyomi said, pointing. "See that pillar?"

A cracked altar, half-covered in moss and rot.

And something written on it. Faint, but still visible.

I stepped closer to read it.

Then froze.

My name.

Written in blood long dried."Toki."

My name shouldn't have been there. 

Kiyomi was saying something behind me. Maybe a warning. Maybe a prayer.

I didn't hear it.

Because the moment my fingers touched that blood-dark lettering, the world shifted.

The ground fell away.

The cold hit like a blade between the ribs.

And I was no longer standing.

I was watching.

A boy.

No older than ten. Thin. Shirtless. Covered in dirt and bruises. Hair tangled. One eye swollen shut. 

He crouched in a corner of a stone room. Hands bloody.

I knew that boy.

But this wasn't a memory from me.

It was from something watching me.

"You remember this place, don't you?"

The voice oozed into the stone around me. Smooth. Smoky. Sweet.

Not human.

Never was.

"I watched you here. In this temple. Before it burned. You weren't supposed to survive."

The boy—I—snarled. Picked up a rusted blade. Turned it on someone out of view.

Slash. Gasp. Wet crunch.

Blood splattered the stone.

The boy smiled.

"You bled for nothing," the voice continued. "They never loved you. Not the monks. Not your master. Not the girl. Not even your mother."

The scene flickered.

The boy now stood in front of the altar.

Same as me.

But he was alone.

Behind him, figures burned in silence—monks. Guards. The innocent. The guilty.

"I gave you strength when no one else would," it hissed. "And you used it so well."

"Who are you?" I growled.

"I am what grows in broken things."

The boy's head snapped around.

And his eyes—my eyes—were glowing black-red.

That's when I felt it.

A pressure against my chest.

Like something crawling under the skin, trying to come home.

Trying to reclaim me.

Back in the present, I staggered.

Kiyomi caught me.

"Toki?! What—what is this?!"

Her hand glowed with a defensive charm, ink pulsing up her wrist.

But I shoved it away.

"Don't," I croaked. "It's in me. It's always been in me."

The altar flared. Symbols burned to life across the temple walls. One by one. Whispering in a language no one alive should know.

Except me.

Except it.

"It's still here," I said. "The thing that saw me… back then. It never left."

And Kiyomi—her voice shaking, but her stance firm—asked the only question that mattered:

"Then how do we kill it?"

The altar still glowed.

The runes on the walls hissed softly, like the stone itself was breathing.

Kiyomi stood behind me, her charm still pulsing between her fingers. She was trying not to show fear. She was doing a damn good job—but I could hear her heart pounding. It wasn't the rhythm of a noble.

It was the rhythm of prey.

"Step back," I warned.

Her reply was steel wrapped in silk.

"No."

The voice returned.

But it didn't echo this time.

It murmured, like it was inside my skull, crawling through old scars and nestling into my spine.

"She would fight for you… even now."

"Would you do the same, beast?"

I staggered.

Hands to the altar.

And then I screamed.

Not in pain.

In rage.

Because I could feel it pressing in—not with claws or fangs, but with memories. Twisting them. Changing them.

Showing me Kiyomi's corpse.

Showing me holding the blade.

Showing me smiling.

My fingers moved without permission.

Toward my sword.

Not at the demon.

At her.

"Kiyomi…" I gasped.

She turned—eyes wide, caught between instinct and faith.

She didn't step back.

She didn't step in, either.

She hesitated.

Just one heartbeat. Long enough to see everything in my face.

The red-rimmed eyes. The clenched jaw. The snarl hiding behind my teeth.

And she reached out anyway.

Her fingers brushed my wrist. Cold. Trembling.

She didn't know if she was holding me back, or handing me the blade.

Her voice was a whisper.

Soft. Raw.

"Don't make me be wrong about you."

The demon inside heard that too.

It laughed.

And that's when her charm flared.

White light exploded.

We were thrown apart.

The mark burned into the stone behind us. Its voice—no longer mocking, but promising:

"Let her save you once. She won't survive the second."

Kiyomi stirred. Eyes fluttering. A soft sound left her lips.

I sat beside her. Not close. Just near enough to feel the weight of what I almost became.

She blinked once. Twice. Then looked at me.

And she didn't move.

That hurt more than her slapping me ever could've.

"Hey," I said, voice rough. "Still breathing?"

A pause. Then a nod.

She sat up slowly, one hand bracing against the stone floor. 

"Whatever that was," I muttered, "it's gone now."

Another pause.

"Is it?"

I couldn't answer.

Because the truth was coiled in my gut like a second spine, and I wasn't sure where I ended and it began anymore.

She stood on shaky legs. Brushed herself off. Her hair was a mess. Her charm burned out. But her voice?

Clear. Formal.

Professional.

"I'm grateful you didn't succumb."

That stung worse than if she'd accused me outright.

"Right," I said.

She looked at the mark on the altar. The black-red sigil burned into stone.

"We shouldn't stay here."

"Agreed."

She turned to leave first.

I reached out, maybe to steady her. Maybe to apologize.

But she stepped away before my hand got close.

Flinching.

We walked in silence.

And this time, the silence wasn't comfortable.

It was a wall.

"You two make the worst fugitives I've ever seen."

We froze.

Kiyomi's hand went to her charms.Mine went to my blade.

And the woman leaning against the tree didn't so much as blink.

She was tall. Broad-shouldered. Lean like a wolf between meals. Hair tied back in a rough, short tail—half of it falling in front of one eye.

Trouble.

She wore a sleeveless haori, tattered at the edges, with a long blade strapped across her back and a jug of something flammable dangling from her hip. She looked like she'd been living in dirt and sake for a week—and liked it that way.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

She smirked. Slowly.

"Depends who's asking. And whether you want to fight me or pay me."

Kiyomi stepped forward before I could say something stupid.(Smart of her.)

"Did someone send you?"

"Define 'send.'" The woman stretched like a cat. "If by someone you mean a noble house with a vested interest in your head? Then yeah."

She rolled her shoulders. "If by send you mean authorized me to talk instead of kill, then no. That part's on me."

I stepped in front of Kiyomi.

"Last warning."

"You ronin types," she said, amused, "always so dramatic. I just want to talk. Swear on my sword."

"You look like someone who's used that sword on people who talk."

"Exactly why I'm still alive."

Then she grinned, toothy and wicked. "Name's Kaida."

Kiyomi stiffened behind me.

Kaida's grin widened.

"Now... do I get to tag along?"