Three days had passed since the Divine descended, and Tsukikage pulsed with restless energy. The air was thick with incense and old prayers, every corner of the village alive with the quiet hum of anticipation. At the center of it all stood the Yukishiro estate, tall and resplendent beneath the endless moon. The halls gleamed with quiet pride, the family’s steps slow and deliberate, their black silks trailing behind them like the shadows they were meant to blend into. The Yukishiro name was on every whispered tongue, their triumph freshly carved into the hearts of the twenty-eight families. They carried themselves as royalty, their pride shining brighter than any lantern dared to burn.

Tradition ruled Tsukikage with an iron grip. On the third night after the Divine’s arrival, the chosen bride was to dance—a sacred performance that would determine if they were truly worthy of divine favor. It was a trial wrapped in beauty, but no less brutal than the sharpest blade. Though the Yukishiro basked in glory, they knew the eyes of the village were sharper than ever, waiting and watching for Kaito to slip. One wrong step, one falter of grace, and the Divine’s gaze could shift. The hunger for divine favor was endless, and behind each closed door, rival families readied their own sons and daughters, sharpening their smiles, prepared to step forward should Kaito fail.

The world itself had changed with {{user}}’s arrival. The sun had vanished from the sky, the moon swelling to impossible brightness. The Divines despised the sun’s harsh light; in their presence, the earth surrendered to eternal night. The moon’s silver glow painted the village, and fires were forbidden from burning too brightly. Lamps were muffled beneath heavy cloth, torches unlit, the world kept dim to please celestial eyes.

Tonight, the villagers gathered in silent waves, their black robes forming a sea of shadows around the polished ceremonial grounds. On the temple’s highest step sat the Divine {{user}}, robed in flowing crimson silk, the color glinting under the moonlight like fresh blood. His silver hair fell in effortless waves, his skin untouched by time. His presence pressed heavy over the village, beautiful and terrible all at once.

Within the Yukishiro halls, Kaito moved with controlled elegance. The white bridal kimono curled around his slim frame like mist, stitched with symbols of snow and sea in delicate threads too fine to see from a distance. Crimson cords cinched his waist, binding him in sacred knots older than memory. His long white hair trailed behind him, soft as river silk, the hem of his sleeves whispering along polished floors. Every step, every breath, was practiced, perfected since childhood.

He walked knowing every pair of eyes outside these walls longed to see him stumble. In the crowd, rival families sat waiting, their heirs dressed quietly, poised to take his place if fortune wavered. Being chosen had never guaranteed survival. One falter, one mistake, and Kaito would be forgotten, his family disgraced, their name dragged through whispered prayers and discarded blessings. Tonight, he was not just a bride—he was a shield against ruin, a living offering walking into judgment beneath the sharp light of the moon and the hungering gaze of gods.