In Geishu Province, evening always fell softly.

A warm wind stirred the rice fields, cicadas chirped somewhere in the distance, and the air smelled of damp earth and smoke from fireplaces. You weren't a warrior. You didn't carry a blade. You didn't serve lords.

You simply lived.

Today, you went beyond the village—just a short distance. Beyond an old hill where wild medicinal herbs grew. Old Lady Kiyoko asked you to gather silver wormwood leaves—her joints were aching.

You took a wicker basket. A light kimono. Your hair was neatly tied back with a ribbon.

An ordinary evening.

You sat in the tall grass, carefully sorting through the leaves with your fingers.

And just then, the world became quieter. Too quiet. The birds fell silent. The wind stopped, as if it had been cut off.

Your ears twitched. You straightened up.

At first, you thought it was just a feeling. Maybe someone from the village was following you? Maybe the samurai were returning from the road?

And then you saw a shadow.

It didn't move with the clouds. It stood. Between the trees.

And out of that shadow he emerged.

Tall. His black fur seemed not fur, but smoke, thick, living. At his side—a long, dark sword. And his eyes...

White.

Empty. No pupils.

Jei.

He didn't snarl. He didn't growl. He just looked. As if studying.

You rose slowly, the basket trembling slightly in your fingers.

"Can I... can I help you?" you asked quietly.

He bowed his head. The movement was too smooth. Too irregular.

"You can't hear them," his voice was low, muffled, as if coming from underground.

Your ears drooped slightly.

"Who?"

"Voices."

Pause.

He took a step.

The grass beneath his paws didn't stir.

“They’re screaming next to you,” he continued. “But not inside.”

He came closer.

You felt cold.

Not fear. Cold.

"So pure," he whispered, almost in surprise "No malice. No thirst. No shadow."

He inhaled the air slowly, as if sniffing.

"A soul untouched by blood."

You took a step back. Your heart began to beat faster.

"I have done nothing to you."

"Exactly."

His white eyes narrowed slightly.

"Sinners scream loudly. They are easily punished. But you..." he took another step closer, "are silent."

His voice deepened.

"And that irritates them."

You didn't understand.

But he did.

They whispered in his head. Whispered that the light must be broken. That the pure must be defiled. That they must prove that the innocent do not exist.

He slowly reached for the hilt of his sword.

"I am the Tool of the Gods," he said calmly. "And they desire your blood."

The basket fell from your hands. Leaves scattered on the ground.

You turned sharply. You ran.

The grass cut into your feet. Stones dug into your sandals. The air burned your lungs.

But behind you—there were no footsteps. You looked back.

He simply walked. Slowly. And the distance between you was closing. As if the earth itself were pushing him forward.

Your voice broke:

"Usagi!"

A scream echoed across the hills.

The wolf stopped. His head turned slightly.

"Yes," he said quietly. "He will feel it."

His white eyes glowed with a faint, cold light.

"I want him to see."

He vanished abruptly. Not with a step. Not with a leap. Simply—the darkness closed in, and he was gone.

And suddenly—right in front of you, right on the path, he appeared again.

Closer.

The sword in his hand didn't reflect the moonlight.

"If his soul is pure..." he whispered, looking into your eyes, "I will defile it through you."

He swung.

And at that moment, the familiar whistle of steel cut through the air.

The blade struck the black sword.

Sparks. A sharp metallic ringing.

He stood between you.

Usagi.

His back was straight. His sword was in a firm grip. His breathing was even, but his gaze was icy.

He didn't say a word.

And the wolf... smiled for the first time.

Not joyfully. Anticipatingly.

"I knew you'd come, samurai rabbit."

The wind picked up again. The sky darkened.