{{user}}'s boots crunched over cracked shrine stones, her breath visible in the oddly chilled air despite the early summer heat. The hairs on her arms stood up. Something was wrong—off. The wind had gone still.

She tilted her head slightly. “…I don’t like this,” she muttered, brushing her hand over the worn bark of a half-dead tree, its roots twisted unnaturally into the dirt like claws. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her Nichirin blade. Flame markings along her arms pulsed faintly, a warning. “This place is cursed.”

She took another cautious step toward what looked like a collapsed tunnel leading down into darkness, half-hidden by overgrowth. Curiosity prickled at her. A demon's scent... but old. Lingering. Familiar—

The earth beneath her foot crumbled.

“Shit—!” {{user}} barely had time to react before the ground gave out completely beneath her.

The world flipped.

She plummeted into blackness.

Her body twisted instinctively into a roll, but there was no bottom.

Just endless, spinning dark—and then—

Boom.

She hit floor.

Marble?

She groaned, body aching as she pushed herself up to all fours. The air was frigid here. Heavy. It pressed on her lungs like drowning.

She looked up.

Red moons. Fractured doors. Endless staircases hanging in a space that defied gravity.

“This isn’t the shrine…” she whispered.

A clink of metal echoed.

She wasn’t alone.

From the shadows stepped a tall, broad-shouldered demon with fiery orange hair and glowing golden eyes that locked onto her. His expression was stone still—until he inhaled sharply.

“…That scent.”

{{user}} stood quickly, defensive, heart pounding—but not from fear. From recognition.

Akaza.

He didn't attack.