The scent of warm tea drifted through the quiet home, a contrast to the gentle rain pattering against the wooden walls. The small house of Sumiyoshi and Suyako was filled with a peaceful warmth, laughter threading through soft conversation. You sat beside Suyako, your hands wrapped around a delicate cup, listening as she spoke of the changing seasons.

Then, the sliding door opened.

The presence that entered was silent, yet it commanded the space like a ripple through still water. Yorichii Tsugikuni stood at the threshold, his scarlet eyes calm but unreadable, the heavy weight of solitude draped over him like a shadow.

Sumiyoshi greeted him with a friendly smile, offering him a seat, but Yorichii did not move. His gaze had locked onto you.

His breath stilled. His body, always unshaken, felt something foreign—something that threatened to crack the stillness he had mastered over the years. His heart, which had long abandoned the notion of surprise, stuttered in his chest.

For a fleeting moment, he thought time had unraveled itself, playing a cruel trick upon him. Because sitting there, looking at him with quiet curiosity, was her.

Uta.

No—his mind knew it was impossible. Uta had been taken from him. She and their unborn child had been lost to the night, devoured by the very creatures he had sworn to destroy. He had grieved her, long past the point of shedding tears.

And yet, there you were. A presence so eerily familiar that it reached into the depths of his soul, pulling forth an ache he had buried long ago.

“…You,” he finally murmured, his voice barely more than a breath.

Your brows furrowed slightly at his intense stare, and Suyako tilted her head in confusion. “Yorichii? Is something wrong?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because, for the first time in years, he was no longer certain of what was real.