Chapter 2
“My god,” King Shinichiro groaned, slumping into his throne with the kind of exhaustion only a sibling-induced crisis could bring. His crown tilted slightly, nearly sliding off his head as he dragged both hands down his face. “Mikey, what twisted part of your brain—assuming it hasn’t been replaced by dorayaki—thought punting Izana off the continent was a good idea? And not just punting him! Tossing him onto a pirate-infested island?! A pirate-infested island?! Explain yourself!”
Prince Mikey, perched sideways on the armrest of Shinichiro’s throne like he’d claimed it as his own kingdom, lazily popped a grape into his mouth. He chewed with a calm, almost bored air, completely unperturbed by his brother’s near meltdown. “He was being annoying,” Mikey said flatly, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. “Kept talking about family honor or something. So I solved the problem.”
Shinichiro blinked, staring at him in slack-jawed horror. “Solved the problem? Mikey, you didn’t solve the problem—you created a diplomatic disaster! Izana—with pirates?! That’s not solving anything! That’s turning one minor issue into a full-scale international crisis!”
Mikey shrugged, plucking another grape. “Look, he started it. I was trying to eat in peace, and he wouldn’t shut up. Next thing I knew, I got irritated, and… out the window he went.”
“You threw him out a window?!” Shinichiro’s voice cracked under the strain of his disbelief. “Mikey, how is that a reasonable response?! What part of you thought, ‘I’m annoyed—time to catapult my brother across the continent and into the arms of violent criminals!’”
“They weren’t violent,” Mikey countered, giving Shinichiro an innocent look that bordered on infuriating. “They liked him. Gave him a cool hat. And then they made him their captain.”
Shinichiro froze mid-rant. His jaw slackened, his eyes widening as the full scope of Mikey’s actions hit him like a cannonball. “They what?”
“Captain,” Mikey repeated, popping another grape into his mouth. “Captain Izana. Leader of the Tiger Eye Fleet.”
Shinichiro’s face twisted in horror, and his hands gripped the armrests of his throne like he might fling himself out of it. “The Tiger Eye Fleet?! Do you mean to tell me you handed over our brother—the same Izana who started a brawl over someone stealing his dessert spoon—to the most notorious pirate fleet in the known world?! And now he’s their leader?!”
Mikey raised an eyebrow. “He’s got charisma. They dig it.”
“Charisma?!” Shinichiro flailed dramatically, gesturing wildly at nothing and everything. “Mikey, he doesn’t have charisma—he has temper tantrums! You’ve basically unleashed a hurricane on the high seas! Do you realize what you’ve done?!”
Mikey tilted his head thoughtfully, spinning the bowl of grapes in his hand. “Yeah,” he said casually. “I gave him a cool job. He runs a fleet now. Gets to yell orders and swing a sword. He probably loves it.”
“You gave him a fleet?” Shinichiro’s voice cracked in disbelief as he dragged his hands through his hair. “Mikey, he doesn’t need a fleet—he needs a babysitter! How am I supposed to explain this to the council? Or the neighboring kingdoms? ‘Oh, yes, we’ve accidentally turned my brother into a pirate warlord, but don’t worry! He’s having fun!’ They’ll declare war on us the second they find out!”
“They can try,” Mikey said with a smirk, popping another grape into his mouth. “But Izana’s got cannons.”
Shinichiro sputtered incoherently, his words catching in his throat. “Cannons?! Mikey, this is not a good thing! Izana, with cannons, is basically the apocalypse on legs! He’s going to declare war on half the continent because someone insulted his new hat!”
Mikey nodded solemnly. “It is a pretty good hat, though.”
Shinichiro threw his hands into the air, utterly defeated. “The gods must be laughing at me,” he muttered, slumping back into his throne. “Of all the families in the world, I get this one. Why couldn’t I have been born into a peaceful farming village instead?!”
“Relax, Shin,” Mikey said cheerfully, flipping a grape into the air and catching it with his mouth. “Izana’s doing great. The Tiger Eye Fleet respects him. Honestly, you should be thanking me—he’s never been more productive.”
“Productive?!” Shinichiro shrieked, sitting upright again. “Mikey, pirates don’t do productivity—they do plundering! Do you know how many royal trade routes we’re probably losing right now? Or worse, how many merchant ships are getting raided because of your brother?”
“Izana never liked merchants anyway,” Mikey said with a grin. “If anything, it’s personal growth for him.”
Shinichiro looked one heartbeat away from throwing his crown out the nearest window. “Mark my words, Mikey—if Izana shows up at this palace with a cannon and declares himself king, I will hold you responsible.”
Mikey shrugged, his smirk unrepentant. “If he shows up, you’ve got time to duck. Just don’t insult his coat. It’s shiny.”
Shinichiro groaned loudly, slumping back into his seat as though the weight of the universe had crushed him entirely. “Why am I king? Why couldn’t I have been a cobbler? Or an accountant? Anything but this.”
Mikey leaned back casually, resting an elbow on the throne’s armrest. “You’ll be fine, Shin. Izana’s got this. Worst-case scenario, he takes over the seas. Think of it as expanding the kingdom.”
Shinichiro buried his face in his hands, muttering prayers to any deity who might be listening. “The kingdom doesn’t need the seas, Mikey. The kingdom needs you to stop yeeting your siblings across continents.”
Mikey popped another grape into his mouth, grinning faintly. “Eh. No promises.”
The moment Shinichiro stepped into the courtroom, he knew—knew deep in his soul—that his day was already ruined. He just… stood there for a second, blinking slowly like a man debating if it was worth even trying to fix this. In the end, with a sigh so heavy it could’ve powered a windmill, he took a reluctant step forward.
To his left, Crown Prince Inui Seishu—or “Inupi of Inysca,” as the poets liked to call him—was sprawled in his chair like gravity itself was his mortal enemy. His platinum blonde hair half-covered his face, but not enough to hide the massive scar that everyone very carefully pretended didn’t exist. He had a glass of wine balancing dangerously on the armrest, which hadn’t been touched in hours but still seemed to add to the theatrical I’m-better-than-you peasants vibe radiating off him.
Inupi was the picture of composed fury: silent, unmoving, and somehow still terrifying despite literally doing nothing except existing. The only thing more intimidating was the vague sense that if anyone sneezed too close to him, he’d leap out of his chair and annihilate their bloodline.
And then there was Empress Senju Kawaragi.
Shinichiro’s gaze shifted to the other side of the room, where Senju, barefoot—why was she barefoot?!—was in the middle of what could only be described as a casual brawl with her captains, Benkei and Wakasa. Papers were strewn across the marble floor like a failed ticker-tape parade, and several court officials were huddled in the corners, looking like they’d already updated their wills.
“Come on, Benkei!” Senju shouted, darting forward with a wicked grin. “Move faster! That last block was pathetic—again!”
Benkei sighed deeply, the kind of soul-draining sigh that only came from years of enduring her antics. “Empress,” he grumbled, raising his hands half-heartedly, “can we not do this in the courtroom?”
“It builds morale,” Senju said cheerfully, sweeping low and almost tripping Wakasa, who sidestepped it with practiced ease.
“It does not build morale,” Wakasa said flatly, ducking under a punch that probably would’ve dislocated his jaw. “It builds paperwork.”
Shinichiro groaned quietly, already rubbing his temples as he approached. Wakasa, ever unbothered, caught his eye and gave him a polite nod, as if to say, Yeah, this is my life now. Welcome.
“Alright,” Shinichiro called out, his voice cutting through the chaos, “what’s going on this time?”
Senju paused mid-swing, turning to beam at him as though she weren’t the human embodiment of a category-five hurricane. “Shinichiro! You’re just in time. Tell Benkei and Wakasa they need to step up their defenses.”
“I’m not here to referee your sparring match,” Shinichiro said, his tone somewhere between exhausted and done. “And this is a courtroom, not your personal fight club.”
Senju shrugged, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Courtroom, fight club—what’s the difference?”
“It’s not even noon,” Shinichiro muttered under his breath, before pointing sharply at her. “Senju, put on some shoes. And stop terrorizing your captains.”
Senju huffed dramatically but finally stepped back, throwing up her hands. “Fine! But only because Wakasa looks like he might faint if I keep going.”
“I don’t faint,” Wakasa said calmly, adjusting his sleeves like he hadn’t just been dodging punches.
“You look like you might,” Senju said with a smirk, flopping onto a nearby chair like a victorious cat.
Shinichiro turned to Inupi, who still hadn’t moved, though the faintest twitch of his mouth suggested he was enjoying this far more than he should’ve been. “And you?” Shinichiro asked. “Anything I should be worried about?”
Inupi’s cold, deadpan voice drifted lazily across the room. “Other than the fact that your court is a circus? No.”
Shinichiro let out the kind of sigh that only kings of chaotic kingdoms truly understand. “Why do I even try?” he muttered to himself, glancing toward the heavens as though asking the gods for a refund on his life choices.
Mikasa, the ever-unflappable scribe lurking in the corner, leaned forward just enough to murmur, “Because it’s entertaining for the rest of us, Your Majesty.”
“Wonderful,” Shinichiro replied dryly, slumping into the nearest chair. “Glad my suffering is someone’s idea of fun.”
“Now, then,” Benkei clapped his hands, the sound reverberating through the room like a judge calling for order—except no one was remotely interested in complying. “Status reports on your kingdoms. Let’s get this over with. Prince Inupi?”
Inupi didn’t even flinch. Still slouched in his chair like a lethargic cat, he lazily picked up the untouched glass of wine that had been perched on his armrest. His platinum blonde hair shifted slightly as he tilted his head, barely acknowledging Benkei’s existence.
“My kingdom’s functional,” he drawled, swirling the wine like he was auditioning for a villain in a cheap drama. “Trade’s fine. Roads are fine. No one’s attempted a coup this week, so I suppose that’s a win. Do you want me to send you a fruit basket to celebrate?”
Benkei sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Anything not dripping with sarcasm to add?”
Inupi actually considered this for a moment before offering a faint smirk. “Oh. Right. A shipment of porcelain broke, and one of the merchants cried. I think it added some drama to the market. You’re welcome.”
Before Benkei could muster a retort, Wakasa chimed in from his spot against the wall. “Dramatic porcelain merchants aside, I think that’s the best we’re getting out of him.”
Benkei rolled his eyes but moved on. “Empress Kawaragi?”
Senju had somehow acquired a peach—where, no one dared to ask—and was now happily eating it as though this meeting weren’t happening at all. She waved a hand dismissively as she finished a bite, grinning ear to ear.
“Everything’s great!” she announced brightly. “The people are happy, the treasury’s booming, and the new training exercises are a huge hit. We even started redecorating the main hall—I’m thinking tiger stripes!”
“That’s not… remotely appropriate for a royal court,” Benkei said, already regretting his life choices.
“Sure it is!” Senju said, gesturing wildly. “Nothing says ‘majestic and terrifying’ like tiger stripes. Plus, they’re fun.”
Benkei opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, turning instead to Shinichiro. “Your Majesty. Please. Save me. Report?”
Shinichiro let out the loudest groan of the day, slumping dramatically into his seat. “Where do I even start? Izana took over a pirate fleet—don’t ask—and now he’s somehow leading the most notorious band of sea criminals in the world. And Mikey…”
Everyone leaned in slightly, as though bracing for impact. Shinichiro sighed again, visibly summoning the will to continue.
“Mikey’s redecorating,” he said flatly. “Badly.”
Senju’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Ooh, redecorating! What’s he doing?”
“Throwing paint at walls, mostly,” Shinichiro muttered, his voice laced with exhaustion. “He says it’s ‘abstract art.’ I say it looks like a Kaiju sneezed.”
Wakasa actually snorted at that, while Benkei shook his head slowly. “And you’ve let him do this because…?”
“Because every time I try to stop him, he starts talking about ‘expressing his creative genius,’ and if I hear that phrase one more time, I’m going to hurl myself into the nearest moat,” Shinichiro snapped.
Senju laughed, clearly delighted by the chaos. “You have to let him finish! Maybe he’ll accidentally invent something amazing.”
“Or burn the castle down,” Shinichiro deadpanned. “Honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t even be surprised.”
“And Izana?” Wakasa asked casually, though his tone was tinged with amusement.
Shinichiro threw his hands up, officially surrendering to the absurdity of his life. “What about him? He’s out there living his best life as a pirate warlord! Last I heard, he stole an entire cargo ship because he liked the color of its sails. Now he’s wearing a hat with a giant feather in it and calling himself the ‘King of the High Seas.’”
There was a beat of silence before Senju burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. “A feathered hat?! That’s so Izana! Oh, you have to let him keep it.”
“He doesn’t need encouragement,” Shinichiro groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m already trying to figure out how to explain this to the council. ‘Oh, yes, my brother is now a pirate overlord. But don’t worry, he has great fashion sense!’ That’ll go over well.”
Wakasa tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well… he is technically expanding your kingdom’s influence. Just, you know, illegally.”
“Stop helping,” Shinichiro snapped, glaring half-heartedly at him.
Senju clapped her hands, grinning like a kid at a festival. “I love it. Pirates and paint! Honestly, Shin, your family might be the most entertaining royal disaster I’ve ever seen.”
Shinichiro sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling as though begging the gods for patience. “Why am I king? Why couldn’t I just be a baker or something?”
“Because bakers don’t get to deal with feathered hats and sneezing paint walls,” Inupi muttered, finally taking a sip of his wine. “Lucky you.”
"Actually," Wakasa began, his voice steady yet laden with a weight that pressed down on the room. Rarely did Wakasa hesitate, and now that he had, the atmosphere grew taut, like a string pulled to its limit. "Brahman has a problem. It’s…" He faltered, his gaze shifting from Senju to Benkei and finally resting on Prince Inupi. The pause was pregnant with unspoken fears, but he forced himself to continue. "The Lady of the Woods."
The room seemed to exhale as one, then drew in a collective, sharp breath.
The silence that followed was suffocating, almost alive. It wasn’t just the words—it was what they hinted at. Something darker, older, and far more dangerous than they could have prepared for. Slowly, as if bound by some unspoken force, every gaze turned toward Prince Inupi. And it wasn’t just him they looked at—it was the scar.
That jagged, twisted line across his face was more than a disfigurement. It was an echo of a story no one dared ask him to tell. An accusation carved into his flesh. And as the stillness dragged on, the scar became something more—a warning. A harbinger.
Inupi didn’t move. His platinum hair caught the firelight as he tilted his head almost imperceptibly, the motion like a shadow shifting. The wine glass on his armrest remained untouched, its ruby liquid eerily still.
Shinichiro broke the silence first, though his voice was tight, barely audible. "The Lady of the Woods? That’s..." He hesitated, his skepticism tinged with something close to fear. "That’s just a story."
"No." Wakasa shook his head, a trace of unease edging his otherwise calm tone. "It isn’t. The reports are too detailed. Too precise. Travelers disappearing in the forest. Entire caravans swallowed whole, without a trace left behind. No bodies. No wreckage. No signs of struggle. And..." His throat worked as he swallowed. "Now it’s spreading."
"Spreading where?" Benkei demanded, his deep voice cutting through the tension.
"The Gulf of Eclipse," Wakasa replied grimly. The name alone seemed to cast a shadow across the room. "We all know the Gulf. Infested with monsters—charybdis serpents, shadow krakens, abyss wyverns. Yet, for all the dangers, they always left traces of their attacks—wreckage, remains. But now…" He paused, the weight of his next words palpable. "Ships are vanishing. Entire crews. And there’s been no sign of the creatures. None at all. Just silence."
Benkei’s brow furrowed. "No monsters? Not even shadows?" he asked, disbelief lacing his voice.
"None," Wakasa confirmed, his tone grim. "No sightings. No wreckage. Just open water and empty horizons."
Senju shifted in her chair, gripping the armrests tightly. "The Gulf has always been treacherous," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. "But for there to be nothing—no remnants, no warnings—it’s as though…" She trailed off, the thought too grim to finish.
"It’s spreading," Prince Inupi said at last, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. His eyes, cold and sharp, betrayed nothing, but his trembling fingers told another story.
"But why now?" Shinichiro demanded, his tone urgent, rising. "Why suddenly, after all this time? Unless..." His voice faltered mid-sentence, realization dawning on him. His wide eyes turned to Prince Inupi, who nodded once, his expression unreadable.
"What?" Senju’s voice cut sharply through the thick air, cracking the suffocating silence like a whip. "What am I missing?"
"The anniversary," Inupi murmured, his voice calm but taut, as though holding back a tidal wave. His knuckles whitened where his hands gripped the armrest, the strain betraying the storm beneath his composed exterior. "Seven years since her banishment. And since..." His words dropped into the silence, weighted and chilling, like the plunge into cold, unforgiving depths. "The fire."
"The fire she caused," Senju snapped, her voice slicing through the air with fiery conviction. Certainty burned bright in her gaze, unyielding. "No one else in the castle could summon wyrmfire. It had to be her."
"And yet," Shinichiro countered, skepticism threaded through his tone, "she always denied it. Refused to admit it, outright and unwavering." He leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting with unease. "Seven years of exile. Seven years of mourning her lover’s death. Seven years of being blamed for something she swore she didn’t do. Seven—her lucky number. Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence."
"Then why now?" Benkei’s voice rumbled deep and steady, like the roll of distant thunder. His calm masked the tension simmering beneath his words. "What’s changed after all this time?"
"Nothing," Inupi said softly, the single word falling like a blade through the quiet. He paused, then added, "And everything."
Firelight flickered, casting twisting shadows across his platinum hair and scarred face. His pale gaze met theirs, darkened with guilt that seemed to seep through the room. "The Lady doesn’t forgive," he said, his voice low and resolute. "Nor does she forget. Least of all a betrayal sworn under oath."
Senju frowned, frustration boiling over. "Then what is she? A deity? A demon? Some magical whatchamacallit?" Her voice flared, impatient and sharp. "Instead of sitting here spinning riddles, maybe explain for once!"
"Language," Benkei reprimanded, his tone firm but laced with a sardonic edge. "This is why both of your brothers left you. You’re too brash."
Senju glared, crossing her arms with a disgruntled huff but refrained from retaliating.
Wakasa shifted in his chair, the worn leather groaning beneath him as he opened an ancient, battered book bound in dark, cracked leather. His movements carried a deliberate solemnity, as if the pages themselves could curse the unwary. His voice dropped low, reverent, almost conspiratorial. "The Lady isn’t just some ordinary magical being," he began. "Some call her a goddess. Others believe she predates the gods themselves—a remnant of primordial magic, unshaped by time. Elemental and eternal." He exhaled, the weight of his words palpable. "Even monsters—the charybdis serpents, abyss wyverns, and shadow krakens—bend to her will. Not out of loyalty, but because to resist her is folly. Where she treads, roses whisper her name, shadows stretch to shield her, and wyrmfire shrinks away like a frightened child."
Shinichiro visibly shuddered. "Great. Super comforting." He narrowed his eyes at Wakasa. "Let me guess—you told Senju the fluffy bedtime story version, didn’t you?"
Benkei chuckled, a low rumble of amusement. "Obviously. When Sanzu tried telling her the darker stuff, she threw a boot at him and banned him from her room for a week."
"Actually, it was a chair," Senju muttered. "And he deserved it. Terrible storytelling skills."
Wakasa pressed on, unruffled by their banter. His fingers traced the elegant script on the page as he continued. "They call her the mother of outcasts. Protector of the forsaken. The wrongly accused, the castaways, the forgotten—they all find sanctuary in her shadows. Black doves and white crows gather wherever she extends her senses, swearing loyalty to her." He paused, letting the air grow heavier. "She never forgets a kindness." His voice dipped lower, darker. "And she never forgives a betrayal."
With deliberate care, Wakasa closed the book, his expression grave. "Her hatred burns brightest for humans. Fickle creatures full of broken promises and fleeting loyalties. They say she once trusted us..." His gaze lingered on Prince Inupi, heavy and sharp. "...but no longer."
Silence stretched across the room, as taut and awkward as watching Mikey attempt splits. Finally, Senju threw her hands up in exasperation. "Okay, spooky Lady of Rage and Shadows, got it! But what does she want? Why the hell are we talking about her in the first place? And seriously, if she’s so terrifying and powerful, why did she bother getting engaged to your sister, Prince Inupi? The anniversary just feels too thin."
"Because of a debt," Inupi said, his voice steady but carrying an unsettling undertone. His words rippled through the room like stones dropped into dark waters. "And because she despises trespassers and betrayers. Like a hunter who slaughters her creatures... a soldier who abandons their post..." He hesitated, his breath catching, before adding softly, "...or a brother who abandons his sister. Or exiles a sworn brother."
"Okay, wow, perfectly ominous. Great job," Shinichiro muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What now? Do we fight her, beg her forgiveness, or send her cookies?"
"Fight her!" Senju yelled, slamming her fists onto the table. "No witch, goddess, or whatever she is will touch my people!"
"You can’t," Inupi interjected coldly, his platinum hair shifting as he turned toward her. "She isn’t human. She doesn’t care about your armies, your laws, or your sense of justice. If you even try to confront her, she’ll smite you before you can finish yelling ‘Charge!’"
Senju glared at him but remained silent, her jaw tightening in frustration. Shinichiro groaned, leaning back in his chair. "Fine, fine. Warnings, then. We’ll issue notices to keep people away, though I doubt anyone listens to those anymore."
Suddenly, his eyes widened, horror dawning on his face. "Hold up. Who gave us the intel on the Gulf?"
"A fleet of pirate ships," Wakasa answered, his tone measured. "Tiger Eye. They’ve been making expeditions."
"SHIT!" Shinichiro shot out of his chair as though it had caught fire. "Izana’s their captain! He’s going to try exploring that cursed place and get himself killed!"
"Not just him," Inupi said quietly, his voice carrying a grim finality. The room fell silent again as everyone turned toward him. His gaze darkened. "They’ve captured someone. Your delegate—Sanzu Haruchiyo. He’s on their ship." Inupi hesitated before adding, "I doubt there’ll even be corpses left to bury."
Sanzu was seven years old when he first fell in love.
Not the sweet, fleeting kind that poets dream of—the kind that swells with flowers and fades like the seasons. No, this love was something sharper. It was raw, consuming, damning. The sort of love that rooted itself so deeply within him that he couldn’t tear it free, not even if he wanted to.
And maybe he didn’t want to.
It came with a single glance—when he saw Kokonoi Hajime for the first time. It wasn’t just admiration; it wasn’t some childish fascination. It was as if Sanzu had known him all his life, even though they’d never met before. The realization hit hard, cutting through him like lightning, leaving an ache behind. The worst part wasn’t how much it consumed him; it was knowing that Kokonoi had already caught someone else’s attention. The Crown Prince of Inysca, Inupi, with his calm, steady gaze, saw Kokonoi too. The affection there was subtle but unmistakable. And Sanzu knew—somehow he knew—that no matter how deeply he loved, it wouldn’t be enough.
Kokonoi Hajime.
Or, as the world called him, The Lady of the Woods.
The name was heavy, tied to myths and whispers that painted Kokonoi as both savior and villain. The Lady of the Woods, they called him. Mother of Outcasts. Protector of the Exiled. A force to be feared, revered, and never fully understood. But Sanzu knew better than the historians, the storytellers, the nameless voices who wove their lies into legend. They saw Kokonoi as a goddess cloaked in shadow and roses, a figure of divine wrath. What they didn’t know—what they couldn’t know—was the truth.
The Lady wasn’t a goddess. The Lady wasn’t even a woman.
Kokonoi Hajime was a boy.
And his so-called domain of the woods? That wasn’t his home. Kokonoi didn’t belong to the forest or its whispers. His heart wasn’t rooted in shadows. It belonged to the sea, to the tides, to the moonlight that danced across frozen lakes and jeweled caverns. The snowflakes that fell like stars, the shimmering frost that lingered in the sun’s warmth—those were his elements. His power wasn’t earthy and grounded; it was vast, untouchable, like the ocean’s expanse.
Sanzu remembered the night it became clear to him. The night the bridge fell.
The old wooden bridge had spanned one of the great frozen lakes for decades, but years of wear and the weight of heavy snow took their toll. It splintered, collapsing into the icy water below. The crowd gathered on the banks, murmuring anxiously, powerless to stop the collapse. And then Kokonoi stepped forward.
The moonlight seemed drawn to him, catching the silver in his hair, reflecting off his slitted black eyes. He raised his hand, his expression calm, unshaken. The water rose at his command, freezing mid-motion, reshaping itself into a structure far grander than the bridge that had fallen. It glittered in the moonlight, untouched by time or warmth—a bridge of eternal ice that still stands to this day. For Sanzu, it was mesmerizing, terrifying, and entirely Kokonoi.
But the world hadn’t seen Kokonoi as Sanzu did. They feared him. When Kokonoi was accused of murdering his betrothed—an accusation that Sanzu knew was false—they turned against him. They whispered of curses and spite, painting Kokonoi as a vengeful deity who drank in suffering and thrived on bloodshed. Even Inupi, the Crown Prince, had banished him, sentencing him to the Whispering Woods, as if he were a monster to be contained.
Sanzu couldn’t stand it. The lies, the fear, the way they locked Kokonoi away as if he didn’t belong to the world. Kokonoi wasn’t vengeful. He wasn’t cruel. But the stories spread like wildfire. They said his roses bloomed white because he watered them with the blood of innocents. They said his power was born of rage and that his heart was hollow, incapable of love.
Sanzu knew better. He’d been close enough to Kokonoi to feel the warmth he hid beneath his frost. That warmth made the stories unbearable. It made Sanzu lash out, like the night he shoved that girl into the forest for calling Kokonoi a witch. She hadn’t deserved mercy anyway—he’d heard how she cheated her boyfriend and hit her own mother. They said the Shadow Path took her, leading her to the Lady himself. Sanzu hadn’t felt regret. He’d only felt a bitter, nagging jealousy.
The Shadow Path was Kokonoi’s domain. They said anyone who followed it would meet the Lady, who would stare into their soul and offer a deal. But Sanzu didn’t want a deal. He didn’t want magic or vengeance. All he wanted was to see Kokonoi again. To ask him how he was. To hear his voice, to laugh like they had before the world turned against them. But every time he approached the Whispering Woods, the shadows pushed him back.
They whispered warnings, soft and unrelenting: Turn around. Go back. Stay away.
Sanzu wondered if it was Kokonoi’s way of protecting him, or if the forest simply saw him as unworthy. Either way, it didn’t stop him from trying. It didn’t stop him from wanting.
And it didn’t stop him from loving Kokonoi Hajime, even if that love was doomed to crush him beneath its weight.
The cabin aboard the Tiger Eye was thick with tension, salt, and Sanzu’s simmering irritation. For three hours, he’d been staring out at the Gulf of Eclipse, his mind drifting into darker places than he cared to admit. That is, until Ran Haitani decided he’d had enough of Sanzu’s silence.
“Oi, Sanzu,” Ran called, his voice laced with amusement, “are you planning to turn into a statue out here? Or are you hoping the Gulf spits out some answers about your tragic backstory?”
Sanzu blinked, jolted out of his thoughts, and turned to face the smirking pirate leaning lazily against the railing. “What do you want, Haitani?”
Ran shrugged, his grin sharp enough to cut through the salty air. “Oh, nothing much. Just thought I’d check if you were still breathing. You’ve been staring at the water like it insulted your haircut.”
Rindou, lounging on a barrel nearby, added casually, “Honestly, I thought you were waiting for the Gulf to apologize. Maybe send up a bouquet or something.”
“I WAS THINKING!” Sanzu snapped, his voice carrying enough force to rattle the wooden beams of the ship. “Something you two wouldn’t know the first thing about!”
“Thinking?” Ran repeated, leaning in mock-curiously. “Thinking about what, exactly? Your prince charming back in Inysca? What was his name again? Mikey? I mean, don’t get me wrong—he’s got charm. But I don’t think he’s coming to save you anytime soon.”
Sanzu’s hands twitched against the ropes that still bound him. “You don’t know anything about him! Mikey’s—”
“Probably enjoying a quiet afternoon far away from your yelling,” Rindou cut in smoothly, flipping his knife in a casual arc. “If I were him, I wouldn’t rush back to this chaos.”
Sanzu’s glare could have melted steel. “He’ll come for me. You’ll both regret this when he does.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Ran said, his grin widening. “He’s probably crying into his soup right now, plotting your dramatic rescue. What was that line from your earlier rant? ‘Diplomatic principles?’ Yeah, I’m sure Mikey’s very concerned about those.”
Rindou snorted, tossing his knife in the air and catching it effortlessly. “You gotta admit, it’s kind of hilarious watching you sit here waiting for him. I mean, he’s not exactly known for punctuality.”
Sanzu whipped his head toward them, the fury in his eyes enough to make even Rindou pause for a fraction of a second. “Mikey will come. And when he does, you’ll both be begging for mercy.”
“Oh, good plan,” Ran said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “We’ll just have to schedule that in between terrorizing coastal towns and being generally awful people. I’m sure we can make time.”
Sanzu’s lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration visibly boiling. “You’re lucky you’re pirates. If Mikey knew half of what you’ve done—”
“—He’d probably be impressed,” Rindou interrupted, smirking. “Come on, Sanzu. You think we’ve lasted this long without knowing how to handle a guy like your precious prince?”
“He’s not just a ‘guy!’” Sanzu yelled, practically vibrating with indignation. “He’s a force of nature! A legend! And—”
“And probably taking a nap right now,” Ran cut in, his grin stretching wider as Sanzu’s face turned redder. “Honestly, I envy him. Imagine being far away from all this yelling.”
Sanzu sucked in a sharp breath, visibly restraining himself. “You’re both insufferable.”
“Oh, we know,” Ran replied smoothly. “It’s one of our best qualities. Right, Rindou?”
“Right,” Rindou confirmed, flipping his knife again. “Speaking of insufferable, though—you’ve been staring at that Gulf like it owes you answers. What’s the deal? You trying to summon her or something?”
“Her who?” Ran asked, raising a brow. “The Lady of the Woods? Come on, Haruchiyo. Spill the tea. You’ve been awfully quiet.”
Sanzu froze, his shoulders stiffening. He didn’t answer immediately, which only made the brothers lean in closer, their curiosity and amusement growing in equal measure.
“She’s real, isn’t she?” Ran said, his voice lowering slightly, though his grin remained intact. “You’ve met her. You’ve seen her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sanzu muttered, turning sharply back toward the Gulf.
Ran exchanged a quick glance with Rindou, who shrugged but smirked. “You’re hiding something,” Rindou said, tossing his knife one last time. “Maybe you did make a deal with her, huh? Sworn loyalty, eternal love, all that spooky stuff.”
Ran leaned back, crossing his arms as he grinned. “Or maybe you just screamed at her until she cursed you. Seems more your style.”
“Shut up,” Sanzu snapped, his gaze fixed on the water, the whispers of the shadows seeming louder now, tugging at the edges of his mind.
Ran leaned closer again, his smirk turning sly. “Oh, come on. What would she say if she saw you now? Standing here, tied up, yelling about Mikey? Probably something like, ‘Wow, you really picked the wrong pirates to annoy.’”
Rindou burst out laughing, and Sanzu’s patience—already worn dangerously thin—finally snapped. “I AM NOT YELLING ABOUT MIKEY! I’M—”
“—Waiting for her roses to bloom in the Gulf?” Ran cut in smoothly. “Don’t worry, Haruchiyo. Maybe by hour four, she’ll show up.”
“Maybe she’ll give you a consolation prize,” Rindou added. “Something to make the yelling worth it.”
Sanzu groaned loudly, throwing his head back in sheer exasperation. “I hate you both.”
“Aw,” Ran said, grinning wider. “Love you too.”
The deck of the Tiger Eye teetered on the brink of absurd chaos, its captain, Izana Kurokawa, perched dramatically at the helm like destiny’s chosen hero—or, more likely, its loudest meddler. With platinum hair glinting in the sun and lavender eyes practically glowing with determination, Izana gripped the wheel as if it were a weapon.
“Sail forward!” Izana roared, his voice echoing over the waves. “We hunt the Lady of the Woods! I’m going to make her my top magic person—or something! Whatever it is, SHE WILL BE MINE!”
Kakucho, seated awkwardly below him in the unenviable position of a literal human chair, winced as Izana’s volume rattled through his spine. “Captain, maybe we should—”
“QUIET, CHAIR!” Izana barked. “THE MAGIC LADY CALLS ME!”
Meanwhile, below deck, Sanzu Haruchiyo sat bound to his own very uncomfortable chair—his hands tied, his temper fraying. He’d spent most of the day trying not to lose his mind while Ran and Rindou Haitani took turns annoying him. But as soon as Izana’s declaration reached him, everything changed.
Sanzu inhaled sharply—and spewed the entire mouthful of water Rindou had been forcing him to drink directly into Ran’s face.
“WHAT THE—” Ran staggered backward, dripping and furious, his smirk wiped off faster than the spit water dripping from his chin. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, SANZU?!”
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!” Sanzu screeched, practically vibrating in his restraints. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU?! YOU CAN’T JUST HUNT THE LADY! THAT’S NOT HOW THIS WORKS!”
Rindou, still calmly holding the empty water jug, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Haruchiyo? Or is this your way of auditioning for a comedy routine?”
“She’s not laughing!” Sanzu yelled, jerking at his ropes so hard the chair creaked ominously. “You CAN’T hunt her! She’s not a person! She’s a force! An ELEMENT! You’ll all DIE!”
Ran furiously wiped his face with a rag, glaring at Sanzu like he was about two seconds away from shoving him overboard. “Not before YOU die first for that spit attack, you lunatic!”
“PAY ATTENTION!” Sanzu howled, flailing wildly in his seat. “THIS IS SUICIDE! You don’t find the Lady! She finds you! And when she does? BAM! You’re fertilizer!”
Rindou hummed thoughtfully. “Fertilizer, huh? Does she prefer roses or daisies?”
“ROSES, YOU IDIOT!” Sanzu roared. “WHITE ROSES BLOOMING FROM YOUR BLOOD! Do you hear me?! SHE DOESN’T PLAY GAMES! SHE DOESN’T MAKE FRIENDS! SHE DOESN’T GET HIRED!”
Ran snorted, clearly amused despite his soaked face. “So you’re saying Izana’s plan isn’t gonna work? Even if he… ‘plays it cool?’”
Sanzu’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “She doesn’t CARE about ‘cool!’ She’ll crush you just for EXISTING in her territory!”
“Sounds like someone’s jealous,” Ran quipped, his smirk creeping back. “What’s the real story here, Haruchiyo? Did she curse you for being loud?”
“THAT’S NOT—” Sanzu’s voice cracked mid-yell, his fury spilling over into incoherence. “SHE DOESN’T CARE ABOUT ME! SHE DOESN’T CARE ABOUT ANY OF YOU!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Rindou said, flipping his knife lazily. “She might care enough to send a message. You think she’s more of a ‘write you a scary note’ kind of gal or a ‘send monsters to eat your ship’ type?”
“THE MONSTERS!” Sanzu cried, his panic peaking. “She’ll send everything! Abyss wyverns, shadow krakens, serpents with a hundred heads—ALL OF THEM! YOU WON’T EVEN MAKE IT TO THE SHORE!”
The cabin door burst open with a bang, and Izana strode in, his lavender eyes shining with excitement and his voice booming loud enough to shatter Sanzu’s brief moment of panic-induced silence.
“Speak, Haruchiyo,” Izana ordered, pointing dramatically at him like some sort of stage actor. “Tell me EVERYTHING about the Lady. What is she? What does she want? HOW DO I CONVINCE HER TO BE MINE?!”
Sanzu stared at him, wide-eyed, his brain temporarily short-circuiting under the weight of Izana’s ridiculous ambition. “Convince her…? You can’t convince her! SHE DOESN’T MAKE DEALS!”
Izana tilted his head, unimpressed. “Nonsense. Everyone makes deals.”
“She doesn’t!” Sanzu screeched, pulling at his ropes like they were the only thing keeping him from disintegrating. “She breaks people! She destroys them! SHE MAKES NIGHTMARES REAL!”
Ran leaned casually against the wall, smirking. “Nightmares, huh? You sure she’s not just really good at branding?”
“She’s not a company, YOU IDIOT!” Sanzu snapped, glaring hard enough to spark a fire. “She’s everything you fear—everything you should fear—and she’s going to destroy this entire ship! Do you understand?! THERE WON’T EVEN BE PIECES LEFT!”
Izana grinned, unfazed. “So what you’re saying is, she’s powerful. Perfect. I like her already.”
“I’M DOOMED!” Sanzu groaned, slamming his head back against the chair. “And you’re doomed! And we’re ALL doomed! You’ll be roses, do you hear me?! ROSES!”
“Aw, don’t stress too much,” Ran said, smirking wider. “Maybe she’ll save you for last.”
The air stiffened as Sanzu’s grim prophecy roared to life, unfolding like the world’s most catastrophically unhinged theater production.
It started small—tiny ripples that teased the edges of awareness, whisper-soft splashes that seemed to mock the crew’s nerves, and shadows that pirouetted with ominous glee just out of reach. Naturally, everyone aboard decided the best course of action was collective denial. The moonlight, ever the mischievous accomplice, cast its ghostly glow across the Gulf, but the Whispering Forest loomed ahead in shadows so dark it looked like a goth convention had merged with an eclipse.
And then, the whispers began. Oh, the whispers—they slithered through the air like passive-aggressive insults at a dinner party, snaking their way into ears and unraveling the remaining shreds of sanity. Panic spread faster than spilled rum, and even the most seasoned sailors suddenly found an urgent need to study the floorboards with scholarly intensity. Meanwhile, Sanzu—bless his spiraling soul—was engaged in a one-man “Escape the Abyss” challenge, sawing at his ropes like a man possessed by both terror and extremely poor hand-eye coordination.
Because, of course, Sanzu knew. He’d screamed the warnings, voiced the omens, and even thrown in some unsolicited conspiracy theories for flair. Koko didn’t do “messy.” When Koko struck, there would be no wreckage, no survivors, not even a mildly haunted mast. Just eerie silence and the sort of unresolved mystery that made ghost ships look positively cheerful. Sanzu’s sawing intensified as his shrieks reached new octaves, his frantic movements practically vibrating with the knowledge that doom had arrived, invitation in hand.
Then, softly, something slapped one of its tentacles overboard.
Ran froze mid-snack, the piece of dried fruit tumbling from his lips as the monstrosity hauled itself onto the deck. It was a masterpiece of nightmare fuel—oozing black sludge, tentacles twitching like they had minds of their own, and a mouth full of teeth so outrageously filthy that any dentist brave enough to face them would likely faint on sight. The stench hit like an insult to the very concept of cleanliness, prompting Kakucho to retch over the side with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for drunken sailors.
“That’s... Charybdis,” Kisaki muttered, visibly pale, as his voice cracked under the weight of realization.
Ran whipped toward him, his eyes wide with alarm. “Charybdis?! The literal sewer beast of the cosmos?! Are you seriously telling me I’m about to die on the world’s biggest plumbing disaster?!”
“Not the time for sass, Ran-nii!” Rindou yelled, dodging as a tentacle smashed through the railing. “If Charybdis is here, then—” His words were cut short as a serpentine head shot out of the water and plucked a screaming sailor off the deck with horrifying precision. A splash of blood hit Rindou square in the face. He sighed, wiping it off with grim resignation. “Yep. Scylla. She brought friends.”
Scylla’s six snapping heads rose above the ship, weaving in chaotic unison like snakes that had overdosed on adrenaline. Her jaws tore through ropes, barrels, and beams with ruthless efficiency, dragging sailors into the abyss faster than they could scream. One head grabbed a cannonball, tossing it back onto the deck with casual disdain as if critiquing their weaponry.
Kisaki stumbled backward, his shrieks of terror reaching glass-shattering levels. “Six heads?! SIX HEADS?! What are we supposed to do against that?!”
Hanma grinned lazily, seemingly delighted by the carnage. “Don’t worry, babe. Just toss her someone expendable—Mochi, for example.”
Before anyone could retort, the Leviathan joined the chaos. Its massive, shimmering form coiled around the ship like a serpent claiming its prey, glowing eyes surveying the destruction with almost academic interest. One whip of its colossal tail shattered half the deck, sending sailors and supplies flying into the abyss below. The Tiger Eye groaned under the pressure, splinters flying like oversized confetti at the most depressing birthday party imaginable.
From above came a deafening screech as the Abyss Wyvern dove out of the clouds, its wings slicing through the air like twin blades of darkness. Its glowing veins pulsed ominously as it crashed onto the remains of the mast, snapping it clean in half and scattering debris across what little remained of the ship. It tore through the sails with brutal precision, leaving the Tiger Eye looking less like a vessel and more like a very unlucky pile of matchsticks.
Ran ducked as another head from Scylla lunged toward him, snapping inches from his face. “Okay, we’re officially outnumbered. Who voted for this suicide mission?!”
Amid the chaos, Sanzu was screaming at the top of his lungs. “I TOLD YOU! I WARNED YOU! YOU DIDN’T LISTEN, AND NOW YOU’RE GOING TO BE ROSES! WHITE ROSES BLOOMING FROM YOUR BLOOD!”
But the abyss wasn’t done flexing. The Leviathan rose, a shimmering behemoth that coiled around the ship like a serpent claiming its prize. Its scales glimmered like shattered starlight, and its massive tail slammed into the deck, sending sailors flying as wood splintered and cracked. Above, the Abyss Wyvern swooped down from the heavens, its wings slicing through the air like jagged shadows. It tore through the sails with ruthless efficiency, its glowing veins pulsating ominously as it let out a piercing screech.
Amid the growing pandemonium, a peculiar stillness caught Sanzu’s eye. He turned, his breath hitching as he saw it—a white cat.
Shiro.
Perched delicately on a shattered beam, Shiro looked utterly unfazed, her green eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. Ran, dodging a flailing tentacle, yelled, “Sanzu! What the hell are you doing? Stop staring and DO SOMETHING!”
But Sanzu didn’t answer. His mind had gone somewhere far away, to the day Koko had picked up the scruffy little stray. “Every time I look at Shiro,” Koko had said with that insufferable smile, “I think of you. Same eyes.”
Shiro blinked slowly, then stretched one delicate paw. And with a flick that could only be described as regal, she transformed.
The air warped and shimmered as the cat dissolved into shadow and light, her form twisting upward until, standing where Shiro had been, was Koko. His platinum hair caught the moonlight, his slitted black eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating glint. He smiled, that same infuriating, knowing smile that Sanzu remembered all too well.
Koko’s voice was soft, almost tender. “Miss me?”
And then, as if cued by some cruel director, everything went dark. The whispers fell silent. The abyss stilled. And the world, as Sanzu knew it, disappeared.
Sanzu woke up with a headache so brutal it felt like a marching band had set up shop in his skull and decided that “subtlety” was overrated. It wasn’t even a good marching band—this one had no rhythm, an unhealthy obsession with cymbals, and a conductor that was actively trying to ruin his life.
For a brief, blissful moment, he thought he might be dead. But no—death wouldn’t have been this noisy, and it definitely wouldn’t smell faintly of lavender.
The last thing he remembered was… chaos. Tentacles, fangs, eldritch horrors straight out of the deepest corners of mythology ripping through his crew like it was their personal buffet. There had been yelling (mostly his), crying (also mostly his), and a lot of really dramatic screaming about roses and blood. And now… this?
Everything was wrong. Suspiciously so. The bed he was lying on wasn’t just comfortable—it was downright excessive. It felt like someone had stolen clouds from heaven, fluffed them up for maximum opulence, and charged an unholy price tag for the experience. The sheets smelled like lavender—lavender! Who the hell uses lavender after surviving a cosmic horror incident? This wasn’t survival. This was luxury mockery.
“Oh, fantastic,” Sanzu muttered, voice hoarse and dripping with sarcasm. “Survive the abyss, dodge monsters, and wake up in a scented bed of pretentiousness. If Koko did this, I’m going to throttle him.”
He tried to sit up, but the blankets weren’t having it. They clung to him like vengeful silk serpents, wrapping him in a cocoon of indignity. After a brief but spectacular wrestling match, Sanzu gave up on grace entirely and rolled off the bed—straight onto the floor. The thud was loud, tragic, and entirely devoid of dignity. Even the rug seemed smug about it.
“Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me.” Sanzu glared at the floor, sprawled out like the loser of a one-sided pillow fight. “I survive nightmares, tentacles, and literal monsters, and now I’m getting taken down by blankets?!”
Eventually, after a heroic amount of grumbling, he managed to peel himself off the floor and stagger toward the nearest door. When he yanked it open, sunlight slapped him in the face. Blinking blearily, he stumbled forward into what could only be described as the most aggressively perfect garden he’d ever seen. Trimmed hedges. Blooming flowers. A fountain babbling serenely as though the universe wasn’t actively trying to kill him. And then, because fate clearly hated him, Sanzu missed a step and plunged face-first into a bed of white roses.
White. Roses.
“Oh, come ON!” Sanzu spat petals out of his mouth, flailing angrily at the offending flowers. “Why am I being ATTACKED BY PLANTS NOW?!”
“Good morning to you, Haruchiyo-san~”
Sanzu froze. That voice. That infuriatingly smooth, smug voice. The voice that haunted him in both dreams and nightmares. Slowly, with all the dread of a man about to be punched in the soul, he turned.
Kokonoi Hajime. Of course.
But this wasn’t just Koko. Oh, no. This was maximum Koko. Silver hair cascading down his back like liquid starlight, flowing dramatically in a non-existent wind. A pristine white jacket embroidered with glowing runes that screamed, “I am better than you, and we both know it.” And those heels—shining like they’d been blessed by gods, clicking delicately on the cobblestone as though to mock the very concept of practicality. Oh, and let’s not forget the smug little devil of a cat—Shiro—lounging at his feet, clearly enjoying every second of Sanzu’s misery.
Koko tilted his head, earrings jingling softly, his smirk stretching wider in that way that made Sanzu want to throw something. “Well? Are you going to stay down there drooling into the roses, or do I need to get the gardener?”
Sanzu’s brain short-circuited. Somewhere deep in the chaos of his mind, a much younger version of himself was screaming, “You idiot! Say something cool!”. His childhood crush-itis was dancing the Macarena, complete with extra bass and a load of sitcom drama.
“You…” Sanzu wheezed, because apparently coherent thoughts had taken the day off. “You’re wearing heels.”
Koko raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, his condescension so sharp it could cut glass. “Brilliant observation. Anything else? Perhaps you’d like to state for the record that my hair is silver. Or that you’re blushing.”
“I AM NOT—” Sanzu’s yell hit an octave that probably terrified small animals. Then, mid-shriek, he realized—oh no. He was blushing. Betrayed by my own face. Again.
Before logic could intervene, Sanzu launched himself at Koko in a full-body tackle. He hit with all the grace of a particularly clumsy wrecking ball, nearly knocking the smug bastard off his ridiculous heels.
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” Sanzu yelled, voice raw and cracking as he clung to Koko like a lifeline. “It’s been TEN YEARS! TEN YEARS, KOKO! You disappeared without a word, without a note, and I—WE—thought you were DEAD! And now you show up wearing STUPID HEELS and glowing bracelets, acting like you didn’t just vanish for a decade?! What the hell happened to you?!”
Koko, somehow still standing despite the assault, blinked. For the briefest moment, his smirk wavered, softening into something almost… human. “Haru—”
“Don’t you ‘Haru’ me!” Sanzu tightened his grip, his voice cracking again. “I thought you were dead, you idiot! And now you’re here, looking like some discount fantasy novel cover, and you have the audacity to smirk at me like nothing happened?! Explain. NOW.”
Before Koko could answer, chaos erupted behind them. “OI, ROYAL DELEGATE! Mind telling your boyfriend to stop killing our dignity over here?!”
Sanzu whipped around, eyes widening as he took in the real disaster: the rest of the Tiger Eye crew, trapped in the most absurdly humiliating ways imaginable. And painful. In Sanzu’s humble opinion, Ran deserves it all.