The first crow returned before sunrise.
Its wings struck the quiet air above the estate, followed by a harsh cry that pulled me out of sleep. I sat up before it reached the roof.
Kanata stirred beside me and opened one eye.
“You were waiting for that,” she murmured.
“I was trying to sleep.”
“You were doing it badly.”
She rolled over and pulled the blanket higher, but I could tell she was listening too.
The crow cried again.
An attendant hurried through the corridor outside. Another answered from farther down the hall. Doors opened, footsteps moved, then lowered voices carried through the estate.
I left the room before anyone came to fetch me.
Kanata followed without asking permission.
We found Father in the receiving room with Mother beside him. A Kasugai crow perched near the open window, its feathers damp with morning mist. Father held a written message while an attendant waited near the door.
His face was calm, though his fingers rested firmly against the paper.
Mother looked at me when I entered. “Haruya, you should still be sleeping.”
“I heard the crow.”
“I assumed you would.”
Father lifted his eyes from the message. “Come sit with us.”
I knelt beside Mother. Kanata settled quietly on my other side.
Father read the report again before speaking.
“Gyomei reached Kanae before the battle ended. He engaged the demon and created enough space for them to withdraw when dawn approached.”
My chest loosened so suddenly that I noticed how tightly I had been holding it.
“She is alive?”
“She is alive,” Father said. “She suffered serious injuries, particularly to her lungs and left side, but the physicians believe she will recover.”
Kanata’s hand found my sleeve and held it.
I had not told her the details of the dream. She had understood enough from the way I woke.
Mother rested one palm between my shoulders. “Your warning reached them in time.”
The room stayed quiet for a few breaths.
I looked toward the crow. “What happened to the demon?”
Father’s expression changed slightly. He looked older when he spoke about demons, even when his voice remained gentle.
“It escaped before sunrise. Gyomei and Kanae were able to observe its eyes clearly. The demon bears the rank of Upper Two.”
Upper Two.
I knew the name before Father said it.
“Doma,” he continued. “It introduced itself during the battle.”
The memory of rainbow-colored eyes returned so clearly that my hands went cold.
Father noticed. “Was that the demon from your dream?”
“Yes. The fans, the eyes, the cold. It was him.”
The written report contained more than survival.
Doma’s Blood Demon Art produced ice from his flesh and blood. He could spread frozen mist through the air, create lotuses and sharp structures, and damage the lungs of anyone who breathed too deeply near him. Kanae’s techniques had kept her alive long enough to resist him, but she had been fighting alone by the time Gyomei arrived.
The Stone Hashira’s strength had forced Doma to divide his attention. Even then, Gyomei had chosen retreat rather than continue a battle neither of them understood.
That decision mattered.
The Corps now knew the rank of the demon. They knew his appearance, his weapons, the danger of inhaling near his ice, and the ease with which he spoke while trying to kill someone.
Before my dream, Doma had been a name buried somewhere in the scattered conversations I remembered from the reincarnation office.
Now he was real.
He had almost killed someone who had laughed with my sisters and bowed to our attendants.
Father folded the report.
“Himejima-dono made the correct choice. Their information may save many lives.”
I looked at him. “Will Kanae return here?”
“She already has. They arrived shortly before the crow.”
I almost stood too quickly.
Mother’s hand pressed lightly against my back. “She is being treated. You will not enter until the physicians permit visitors.”
“I understand.”
Kanata looked up at Mother. “Can we know when she wakes?”
Mother’s expression softened. “Yes. I will tell you both.”
The waiting lasted most of the morning.
I tried to read.
I finished the same paragraph four times and remembered none of it, which was impressive considering Memory Retention.
Hinaki eventually leaned across the table and covered the page with both hands.
“You are making the book nervous,” she said. “Leave it alone.”
“I am reading.”
“You have been reading that one line since breakfast. Either it is the greatest line ever written, or you are lying.”
Kuina looked over from the other side. “What does it say?”
I glanced down.
“A list of medicinal plants.”
Nichika nodded. “Then it is probably the greatest line.”
Kanata sat beside me without joining them. She already knew what I was waiting for.
An attendant arrived before I could answer.
“Young master, Kocho Shinobu has requested to speak with you.”
I closed the book immediately.
Hinaki leaned closer. “Is she the Flower Hashira?”
“Her younger sister,” Kanata said.
Kuina frowned. “Why does she want Haruya?”
The attendant looked at me, uncertain how much she should say in front of everyone.
I stood. “I will find out.”
Kocho Shinobu waited near the garden corridor.
I had seen her before, though only briefly. She was older than me by several years and already carried herself like someone who had decided softness was a luxury. Her dark hair was tied back, and her eyes remained fixed on me as I approached.
She bowed.
It was deeper than I expected.
“Ubuyashiki Haruya-sama, I came to thank you.”
I stopped in front of her.
“You do not need to bow that deeply.”
“I believe I do.”
Her voice was controlled, but her hands were tight at her sides.
I lowered myself until we were closer to eye level, though she was still taller.
“I only told Father about a dream. Himejima-sama is the one who reached her.”
“And he would not have been sent without you.”
She said it firmly, as though she had already argued this point with herself.
I did not know what to do with her gratitude. Praise from Shihan was simple because it always came attached to another correction. Gratitude for a life sat differently.
“How is she?” I asked.
Shinobu’s shoulders lowered slightly. “Awake. Angry that the physicians will not let her stand. She tried once and nearly fainted, so now they have placed two attendants outside the room.”
“That sounds sensible.”
“It is. She disagrees.”
For the first time, a small smile reached Shinobu’s face.
Then it faded.
“She asked to see you, if you are willing.”
“I am.”
We walked together through the estate.
Shinobu was quiet at first. Her footsteps were controlled, lighter than most people’s. I noticed the faint smell of medicine on her sleeves.
After a while, she said, “My sister told me she would return before morning. She says things like that as if promises can control the world.”
“I think older siblings are supposed to do that.”
She glanced down at me. “Do you make promises like that to your sisters?”
“Sometimes. Usually smaller ones. I promised Hinaki I would not let Nichika change the rules halfway through a dice game.”
“Did you succeed?”
“No. Nichika had already changed them before the game began.”
Shinobu made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh.
The tension between us eased.
Kanae rested in a bright room near the eastern garden. Bandages crossed her chest and shoulder, and her breathing carried a faint roughness. Even injured, she smiled when we entered.
“Haruya-sama,” she said. “Shinobu told me she was going to thank you. Judging by her expression, I suspect she made it sound like a formal execution.”
Shinobu moved to her bedside. “You should save your breath.”
“I have plenty left now.”
The words changed the room.
Shinobu looked away. Her mouth tightened, and Kanae reached for her hand.
I stood near the foot of the bedding, unsure whether I belonged closer.
Kanae noticed.
“You may come in,” she said. “I promise I am less frightening while lying down.”
“I was trying not to disturb you.”
“You came to see me. Standing near the door makes me feel like I am receiving a report.”
I moved closer and knelt.
Up close, the injuries were harder to ignore. Bruising darkened one side of her face. Her fingers had shallow cuts along the knuckles. Every few breaths, she paused before inhaling fully.
Still alive.
That mattered more than anything else.
Kanae studied me. “Was the dream very clear?”
“Parts of it. I saw you, the forest, and the demon. I knew you were alone.”
Her eyes softened. “I was.”
Shinobu’s hand tightened around hers.
Kanae looked at her sister, then back at me. “Himejima-san arrived after I had begun to believe no one would. I owe both of you my life.”
I shook my head. “You do not owe me your life.”
“What should I owe you instead?”
The question sounded light, but she waited seriously for the answer.
“Come back safely next time.”
Shinobu looked at me sharply.
Kanae smiled. “That is a very difficult payment.”
“Then take someone with you.”
Her smile became smaller.
“That is fair.”
I remembered fragments from the reincarnation office. People had spoken of the Butterfly sisters. One had said Kanae’s death pushed Shinobu forward. Another had called it the moment that shaped her hatred. Their words had treated death like a useful piece of someone else’s story.
Sitting there, that idea felt ugly.
Shinobu did not need her sister’s death to become strong. Kanae’s life was not valuable because losing it might motivate someone.
She was valuable because she was here.
Because Shinobu’s shoulders were slowly unclenching.
Because Kanae could still tease her.
Because the attendants outside the room kept glancing in with relief.
The future had changed, and nothing about the room felt lesser for it.
After we left, Shinobu stopped near the garden.
“My sister will probably ignore half of the physician’s orders,” she said.
“Then perhaps you should stay near her.”
“I intend to.”
She hesitated.
“When she is well enough, I would like to speak with you again. About the dream, if you remember more.”
“I will tell Father anything that returns.”
Shinobu nodded. She seemed satisfied with that answer.
That evening, I found Father and Mother together.
The thought had been forming since Kanae’s room.
My warning had saved someone. Father trusted the Ubuyashiki intuition because he had lived with it his whole life. If I connected what I knew about the curse to that same ability, perhaps I could ease some of their fear.
“I need to tell you something about my own curse,” I said.
Mother’s attention sharpened immediately.
Father set aside the report in his hands. “Go on.”
“When I think about the curse beginning, I keep seeing my eighth year. The feeling is similar to the warning about Kanae, though less urgent. I do not believe it will appear before then.”
Mother was silent for several moments.
“A premonition is not a promise,” she said eventually.
“I know. I am not asking to ignore the curse. I am asking to use the time before it begins.”
Father watched me carefully. “What do you want to change?”
“I want to study the Breathing Styles. Shihan has taught me the foundation, and I can read the records without attempting the techniques. If I understand them earlier, I will be better prepared when my body is ready.”
Mother’s gaze remained on me. “You have already thought through the wording of this request.”
“I knew you would hear the difference between studying and practicing.”
“I am pleased that you know.”
Father smiled slightly. “What would you study first?”
“The principles shared between the styles. Breathing rhythm, physical requirements, injuries, and how swordsmen adapt techniques to their bodies. I do not need to perform the forms yet.”
Mother looked toward Father.
He understood the question in her expression.
“The archives are not harmless,” he said to me. “Some records describe methods created by bodies and talents very different from yours. Understanding a technique can make a person eager to test it.”
“I will not practice a Breathing Style alone.”
Mother’s expression did not change. “Say the entire promise.”
I drew a breath.
“I will not attempt forms, forced breathing methods, or physical exercises from the archives without Shihan’s approval and supervision. If I feel pain, dizziness, chest pressure, or anything unusual, I will tell him and both of you.”
Father glanced at Mother. “He has learned how agreements work.”
“He has learned how I work,” she replied.
Then she looked at me.
“You may read selected records. Your father and I will decide which ones. Kuwajima-dono will know what you are studying, and he will decide when any part may enter your training.”
Relief warmed my chest.
“Thank you, Mother.”
Father reached over and touched my hair.
“You helped bring one of our Hashira home,” he said. “That does not mean we will give you every freedom you ask for. It does mean we should listen carefully when you show us you are ready for more responsibility.”
“I understand.”
Mother’s mouth curved faintly. “You look far too pleased for someone who has only received permission to read.”
“I like reading.”
“You like finding ways to turn reading into training.”
“That too.”
Father laughed softly.
Outside, evening settled across the garden. Somewhere in the estate, Kanae was alive, Shinobu was probably arguing with her about medicine, and attendants carried reports containing information the Corps had never possessed before.
For once, knowing something had changed the future before it could become a regret.
I had spent much of my second life standing in the warmth my family gave me, afraid that moving too much might prove I did not belong there.
Now some of that warmth had reached beyond me.