They walked down the mountain trail together. The sun was setting, painting the sky purple and orange. Kuro's wings made a constant low buzz that filled the silence between them.
After a while, Himiko asked, "How big is your swarm right now?"
Kuro clicked his mandibles. "Maybe ten or fifteen thousand. Most are normal flies I control. A few thousand are stronger ones. The fly-heads you saw are the ones that evolved the most. They're basically my lieutenants."
He raised his hand and a small cluster of flies swirled around it in perfect sync.
"They all answer to me. If I tell them to die, they die. If I tell them to kill, they kill."
Himiko nodded. "Good. You'll be useful."
She glanced at him. "When we get to my estate, you'll meet the rest of my court. They're smaller and much weaker than you, but they're loyal. I expect the same from you."
Kuro gave a dry laugh. "Loyalty is earned, porcelain queen. Don't mistake this for friendship. I'm just here because it's more interesting than rotting in a broken temple."
Himiko smiled, unbothered. "That's fine. As long as you obey when it matters."
They kept walking through the darkening forest, one regal and graceful, the other tall and buzzing with reluctant energy.
From the trees behind them, the four observers watched in stunned silence.
Gojo no Kenji lowered his telescope, face pale. "She actually recruited him."
The Zenin scout's voice cracked. "This is only day three… and we're already watching two special grades walking side by side."
The Kamo scout looked sick. "We still have four more days before we can report back."
When they finally reached the Sando compound, Kuro stopped at the broken gates and stared.
"…This is it?" he asked, voice full of disbelief. "This is your estate?"
He gestured at the ruins. "The walls are falling apart, the courtyard's full of rubble, and I can see straight through half the main hall. You live in this dump?"
Himiko kept walking forward. "It has character."
"Character?" Kuro buzzed loudly as he caught up. "It looks like someone dropped a mountain on it! I've seen better outhouses."
As they stepped into the courtyard, dozens of tiny fly-heads came pouring out from every crack and shadow. They fluttered around Himiko's feet, bumping into each other and making scared little squeaking sounds.
Kuro froze.
He stared at the pathetic swarm for a long moment.
"…These are your loyal subjects?"
One small fly-head tried to hide behind Himiko's leg, tripped over its own wings, and face-planted into the dirt with a tiny "meep."
Kuro's wings sagged. "I left my perfectly good temple… for this? A broken-down ruin and a bunch of flying cowards?"
He pointed at the smallest one, still lying face-down. "That one just died of fright and I haven't even said anything yet!"
Himiko turned to him with a perfectly straight face.
"They are very loyal."
Kuro dragged a clawed hand down his face and let out the longest, most defeated buzz she'd ever heard.
"I can't believe I got played by a porcelain doll…"
Himiko smiled sweetly. "Welcome to your new home, General Kuro."
Kuro just groaned. "Kill me now."
Kuro looked around the ruins and sighed. "If we're actually going to build something here, this place needs work. The walls are crumbling, the main hall is barely standing. We can't have a queen living like this."
Himiko nodded. "Of course not. A queen's home should reflect her status."
Kuro crossed his arms. "My swarm can scout the mountains for stone and timber. The bigger fly-heads can carry small loads, but we'll need a better system for anything heavy."
He turned to the nervous fly-heads hovering around them and raised his hand.
"Split into three groups. First group scouts the northern ridges for stone. Second group checks the eastern forest for timber. Third group searches the western slopes for anything else useful. Report back before sunrise."
The fly-heads scattered immediately, buzzing off in different directions.
Kuro turned back to Himiko. "They'll find what we need. Once they report back, we can start planning how to move it all."
Himiko gave a satisfied nod. "Very good, General Kuro."
Kuro clicked his mandibles. "Don't thank me yet. Fixing this dump is going to be a lot of work."
Meanwhile in Takayama Village, the gates groaned open as a tall, unsettling figure stepped through.
His skin was sickly grey with faint black veins running underneath. Long messy silver hair fell past his shoulders, streaked with sickly yellow. His eyes were glowing pupil-less yellow orbs, and a jagged scar split his face from the corner of his mouth up to his ear, giving him a permanent twisted grin.
Two long curved black blades were strapped across his back.
This was Kurosawa.
The moment he entered the square, the air felt heavier. Several villagers backed away, clutching their children.
Headman Takeshi and the elders stood frozen. Behind them, the Akatsuki refugees stared in open fear.
Kurosawa's yellow eyes slid across the crowd.
"So… this is what's left of the village the porcelain doll snacked on."
He grinned, showing sharp yellow teeth.
"I've heard the rumours. Sounds like a fun hunt."
Elder Sato stepped forward, voice shaking. "She slaughtered our people. Our chief, our children… We're begging you. Kill her. Whatever your price, we'll pay it."
Kurosawa's glowing eyes drifted over to her, then across the terrified refugees.
His grin grew crueler.
"My price is simple."
He raised one pale finger and pointed lazily at the Akatsuki survivors.
"Ten of your strongest, healthiest young ones. They come with me when the job is done."
The square went dead silent.
Then the outrage exploded.
"That's insane!" Elder Sato shouted. "You want our children as payment?!"
Headman Takeshi's face flushed with anger. "We asked you to kill a monster, not trade our children like livestock!"
Kurosawa rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Fine. I refuse to have made this trip for nothing."
In the blink of an eye he was in the middle of the crowd, already holding two small children — a boy and a girl, no older than six — tucked under each arm like sacks of grain.
Both children immediately burst into terrified sobs.
"In return," he said casually over their crying, "I'll still go check out this porcelain spirit. But no promises. Consider this a generous discount."
He flashed that jagged grin, gave a mocking little wave, and strolled toward the gates with the two crying children still under his arms.
"K-Byeeee~"
The gates creaked shut behind him, leaving the entire village standing in shocked, heartbroken silence.
Then the screaming started.
A mother dropped to her knees, letting out a raw, gut-wrenching wail that cut through the square. "My baby! He took my baby!"
Another woman lunged toward the gates, screaming and thrashing as three men had to hold her back. "Give her back! Give me my daughter!"
Chaos broke out. People were shouting, crying, cursing. Some turned their anger on the elders. "This is your fault!" a man yelled at Takeshi. "You brought that monster here!"
Elder Sato stood frozen, face ghostly white, whispering over and over, "We never agreed to this… we never agreed…"
Takeshi looked like he might be sick. His voice came out hoarse. "He didn't even give us a chance…"
A young father fell to his knees and slammed his fist into the dirt until his knuckles bled, sobbing, "He took my son… he took my son…"
The whole square filled with the sound of weeping. Mothers wailed openly. Fathers broke down where they stood. The Akatsuki refugees, who had already lost so much, could only stare at the closed gates in empty silence.
Takayama had just paid a terrible price for the hope of protection.
And somewhere in the darkness beyond the walls, Kurosawa's cruel laughter still echoed faintly over the cries of the stolen children.
Kurosawa strolled down the dark forest path like he was out for an evening walk, two terrified children tucked under his arms.
The boy had gone quiet, exhausted, only letting out weak hiccuping sobs every few seconds. The girl was still fighting — kicking her legs and pounding her tiny fists against his side as she screamed for her mother.
Kurosawa hummed a low, off-key tune to himself, completely unbothered. Every now and then he gave them both a little shake, like they were noisy bags he was carrying home from the market.
A few minutes later the path opened into a small crossroads. An old wooden signpost stood crooked in the middle, pointing in four directions.
From the shadows of the left path, another figure stepped out.
He was shorter than Kurosawa, wearing a wide-brimmed black hat that hid most of his face. A long tattered scarf covered the lower half of his face, and a warped wooden staff rested across his shoulders. Only his glowing yellow eyes were visible — the same cold, pupil-less yellow as Kurosawa's.
Kurosawa didn't bother with greetings. He simply shoved the two crying children forward.
"Here. Take them."
The man in the hat caught them easily, holding them by the backs of their clothes like stray kittens. Both children immediately started wailing again at full volume.
"Two this time?" the hatted man asked, voice muffled by the scarf. "You're feeling generous tonight."
Kurosawa rolled his eyes. "That pathetic village couldn't agree on a price, so I took what I wanted. These two are my consolation prize. Bring them back to the hideout."
The man in the hat looked down at the sobbing children dangling from his grip. The girl was still kicking, tears streaming down her face. The boy was crying for his mother between sobs.
"And the porcelain spirit?" he asked.
Kurosawa's scarred grin widened. "I told them I'd check her out. Whether I actually kill her or not… depends on how entertaining she is."
He turned to leave, waving lazily over his shoulder. "Make sure those two don't die too quickly. I might want them later."
The man in the hat gave a silent nod, watching as Kurosawa disappeared into the darkness. Once he was alone, he looked down at the two terrified children and whispered in a cold, almost gentle voice.
"Come along, little ones. We have work to do."
He adjusted his grip on them and turned down the left path, heading deeper into the mountains. The children's sobs grew louder as they realized they were being taken even further from home. The man paid no mind to their cries, his warped staff tapping rhythmically against the ground as he walked.