Kazuki's feet barely skimmed the mossy stone path as he raced to catch up with the sound.
The flute.
That haunting, soul-deep melody that had drawn even Tengurei—a newly bonded legendary sky-eagle—into silence. The kind of music that didn't just echo in the ears, but curled through the bones. It tugged on something older than memory, older than the world.
"Where is she…?" Kazuki muttered, panting as he darted between two sakura trees whose petals refused to fall despite the wind.
Behind him, Mochi bounced awkwardly atop Gusano's shell, the burrow-dragon half-asleep from overeating during the feast two hours ago. Tengurei, ever composed, glided high above in wide, protective circles, talons sharp and ready.
They were following a trail only Kazuki could sense.
Well, Kazuki… and something else.
A presence. Not hostile. But aware.
The melody stopped.
Dead silence dropped like a sheet across the forest clearing. Even the wind hushed.
In the stillness stood a figure.
Back turned. Kimono white as untouched parchment. Long black hair like ink poured down a page. She stood at the edge of a small cliff overlooking a misty ravine, flute still held in both hands.
Kazuki stepped closer, slowly. "Um. Hi? That was, uh, nice playing. Ten out of ten. Very flute-y."
No response.
He cleared his throat. "So! Are you from the Renga Guild too? Or like… a wandering bard? Or maybe a spirit of the forest trying to lure me into a deal that will absolutely go wrong?"
The woman finally turned.
She was young. Maybe Kazuki's age. Her eyes weren't just sharp—they glowed faintly silver. Not Essentia glow. Something else. Ancient. Measured. Watching.
But when she spoke, it wasn't ominous.
"You're the boy who accidentally saved the Sunken Temple by stepping on the wrong stone and causing the ceiling to collapse in just the right way."
Kazuki blinked. "Word spreads fast."
"I was there."
"Oh."
A long pause.
She studied him. Not with judgment. But with curiosity, like he was an oddly-shaped puzzle piece.
"I'm Sae," she said at last. "And the flute wasn't for you. But you heard it anyway."
"Sorry?"
"You weren't supposed to. But you did. That means something is… unraveling."
Kazuki scratched his head. "I unravel a lot of things. Sleep schedules. Proper mission orders. The occasional cursed lock."
Sae turned away again. "He's watching you, you know."
"Who?"
"The Fox."
Kazuki paused.
Not a fox.
The Fox.
A memory clicked.
During their early travels, when Kazuki had picked up a strange silver coin that burned hot in his palm before vanishing. Mochi had squeaked something about Kitsunegami—a legend of a fox spirit too powerful to be sealed, yet too mischievous to be trusted.
Sae continued, "He hasn't bonded with anyone in a hundred years. Not since the fall of the Flame Court. But he's awake now. Listening. Waiting."
Kazuki glanced around, half-expecting to see glowing eyes from the trees. Nothing.
Sae turned back to him, flute disappearing into her sleeves. "Don't chase him. If he wants you, he'll find you."
"…Got it."
She started walking away.
"Wait! Are you a spirit too?" Kazuki asked.
Sae stopped.
"No," she said softly. "But I walk close enough to hear them."
Then she was gone. Her form seemed to dissolve into the mist as naturally as a breath fades on glass.
Back at their camp, the team was settling in for the night. Gusano had curled up under Tengurei's wing for warmth, and Mochi had flopped into Kazuki's lap, glowing faintly with mana.
Kazuki stared into the fire.
"Smile," he said without looking up.
The fire flickered… and a tiny white gloved hand poked out from the coals. The grinning, floating orb that was Smile—his strongest, weirdest companion—slowly emerged.
"You felt that too, right?"
Smile hovered, spun once, then tapped Kazuki's forehead.
"You were marked," Smile said. "Again."
"Again?!"
Smile shrugged. "You're popular."
Kazuki groaned. "I don't even try!"
"Exactly," Smile said with a wink.
Meanwhile…
In a different part of the forest, far deeper into the trees untouched by man, a lone fox sat atop a shrine stone.
Its fur shimmered like liquid silver.
Its tails—nine in total—curled lazily around its paws.
Its eyes were closed.
But it was smiling.
"Interesting," said the Fox, voice smooth like a sigh. "That boy again."
A single silver coin spun into the air beside him, dancing midair like a top.
Then the coin dropped.
The Fox opened his eyes.
"Soon."