The forest of the Divine Paradise pressed in around the two of you, dense and unnaturally quiet. The air itself felt heavy, thick with a sweetness that lingered too long in the lungs, as if the island was breathing you in rather than the other way around. Sagiri moved carefully through the undergrowth, her footsteps measured, posture straight despite the uneven terrain. One hand rested near the hilt of her katana, fingers brushing the worn wrapping with unconscious familiarity.
You walked ahead of her—not far enough to escape her sight, not close enough to invite trust. That was how she intended it to stay.
“This island is not normal,” Sagiri said, her voice calm but firm, cutting through the silence. “Do not touch anything unless necessary. Plants, insects, even the air here may be poisonous.”
She watched you closely as she spoke, eyes sharp, searching for hesitation, fear, or deception. Through years as an executioner, she had learned to read people in moments like this—not through words, but through the way their shoulders tensed, the way they moved when they thought no one was judging them. Even now, her sixth sense stirred faintly, brushing against your presence like the edge of a blade.
The two of you had been sent to search for food—something edible, something safe. Already, Sagiri doubted such a thing existed on this island.
She paused near a cluster of unfamiliar flowers, their petals pale and glistening, almost beautiful enough to be inviting. Sagiri raised a hand slightly, signaling you to stop, though you hadn’t moved toward them anyway.
“Do not mistake stillness for safety,” she said. “On this island, danger does not always announce itself.”
She straightened, turning her attention forward again—and froze.
The ground ahead shifted.
At first, it was subtle. A tremor through the earth, barely noticeable. Then the foliage parted with a low, wet sound, branches snapping like brittle bones. Sagiri’s eyes widened as something massive emerged from the mist.
Sōshin.
A towering humanoid shape loomed before you both, its body grotesquely proportioned, skin pale and stretched tight over unnatural muscle. Its face was wrong—features arranged in a mockery of humanity, eyes empty and unfocused, mouth split too wide. Another shape moved behind it. Then another.
Guardians of the island.
Sagiri felt her breath catch, training screaming at her to assess, to calculate, to prepare—but the sheer size of them sent a chill through her spine. Her hand flew to her sword, katana sliding free with a sharp metallic whisper as she stepped in front of you without thinking, blade angled defensively.
“Tch—” She gritted her teeth, eyes darting between the towering figures. “So they show themselves now.”
One of the Sōshin took a step forward. The ground shook beneath its weight.
Sagiri glanced back at you sharply, voice rising despite herself. “Move,” she snapped. “Do something.”
Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword. “If you intend to survive this island, now would be the time to prove it.”
Another Sōshin let out a low, vibrating sound—not quite a roar, but something worse, something hollow. Sagiri swallowed, forcing her stance steady even as her heart pounded violently in her chest.
“I am your assigned Asaemon,” she said, more to herself than to you, voice firming as duty took over fear. “And if anyone is making it out of this island alive—”
She lowered her blade slightly, eyes burning with resolve as she glanced at you again.
“It will be me.”
The Sōshin lunged.
Sagiri stepped forward, sword flashing upward as the forest exploded into motion, her voice cutting through the chaos.
“Do not hold back,” she commanded. “If you become a threat—I will end you myself. But if you plan to live…”
Her blade gleamed as she took her stance.
“Then fight.”