Shinobu was already running when she felt it.

  The air was wrong — sharp, cold, and heavy with something rotten beneath the frost. Her lungs burned as she pushed herself harder, branches tearing at her sleeves, her feet barely touching the ground.

  Upper Moon, every instinct screamed.

  “Please,” she whispered under her breath, breath hitching as dread clawed up her spine. “Please don’t let me be late.”

  The clearing opened suddenly before her.

  Ice coated the ground like shattered mirrors. Blood stained it dark, already beginning to freeze. The forest was silent — too silent — as if even sound had fled in respect or fear.

  Then she saw her.

  “Kanae—!”

  She skidded to her knees beside her sister, hands trembling as she reached out. Kanae lay on her side, haori torn and soaked through with blood, her chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths. Frost crawled along her skin, veins dark beneath the surface.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  “…Shinobu?” Kanae murmured.

  Shinobu let out a broken sob and gathered her carefully into her arms, ignoring the cold biting into her palms. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m sorry—I should have been faster—I should have—”

  Kanae smiled.

  Even now.

  “That’s… my fault,” Kanae whispered weakly. “I asked you… to stay back.”

  Shinobu shook her head violently, tears spilling freely. “Don’t talk. Please don’t talk. We’ll get you home. I’ll treat you. I can fix this.”

  She pressed her hands against Kanae’s wounds desperately, mind racing through treatments that didn’t exist yet, cures she hadn’t discovered, poisons she hadn’t made.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Kanae’s hand lifted slowly, trembling as it brushed Shinobu’s cheek.

  “You’ve grown,” Kanae said softly. “You’re so strong now.”

  Shinobu’s breath hitched. “Not enough,” she choked. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

  Kanae’s fingers curled weakly around hers.

  “You came,” she said. “That’s enough for me.”

  Blood bubbled at her lips. Shinobu’s heart shattered.

  “Don’t,” Shinobu pleaded. “Please don’t leave me. We already lost—”

  She stopped herself.

  Kanae’s eyes softened.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I never forgot.”

  Shinobu squeezed her hands tighter, as if she could anchor her there through sheer will. “You can’t leave me too. You promised. You promised we’d protect everyone together.”

  Kanae coughed softly, pain flickering across her face before she forced it away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I couldn’t keep that promise.”

  Shinobu bowed her head, shoulders shaking. “I hate them,” she whispered. “I hate demons. I hate that they take everything. If I had been there… if I had been stronger…”

  Kanae’s smile faded — just a little.

  “Listen to me,” she said, voice firm despite the weakness creeping in. “Shinobu. Look at me.”

  Shinobu lifted her head.

  Kanae met her gaze, eyes clear, warm, unwavering.

  “Don’t let hatred decide who you become,” Kanae said. “I don’t want your life to be ruled by anger.”

  Shinobu laughed weakly through tears. “How can it not be?”

  “Because you’re kind,” Kanae replied. “And kindness… is not weakness.”

  Shinobu shook her head. “Kindness didn’t save you.”

  Kanae’s grip tightened faintly.

  “But it saved others,” she said. “And it will save more.”

  Her breathing grew shallow.

  Shinobu felt it immediately — the way her body was giving up, the warmth fading beneath her hands.

  “No,” Shinobu whispered desperately. “Please. Please stay with me. We still have Kanao. We still have—”

  Kanae’s eyes flickered toward the sky, where dawn was beginning to break.

  “Take care of her,” Kanae murmured. “Teach her how to choose.”

  Shinobu nodded frantically. “I will. I swear.”

  “And Shinobu…”

  “Yes?”

  Kanae’s voice was barely a breath now.

  “Live,” she said. “Smile. Even if it hurts.”

  Tears streamed down Shinobu’s face as she pressed her forehead against Kanae’s.

  “I don’t know how,” she whispered.

  Kanae smiled one last time.

  “You always will.”

  Her body went still.

  The world seemed to stop with her.

  Shinobu froze, breath caught in her throat as she waited — for movement, for breath, for anything.

  Nothing came.

  “Kanae?” she whispered.

  Silence.

  Her grip tightened, fingers digging into blood-soaked fabric as a sound tore free from her chest — raw, broken, animal.

  She screamed.

  The sun rose higher, light spilling across the clearing, melting ice and illuminating what had been lost.

  Shinobu held her sister until her arms ached and her tears ran dry.

  And in that moment — kneeling in blood and frost, clutching a body she could not save —

  Shinobu Kocho learned exactly what hatred felt like.

  she loved her sister—and lost her.

  Some losses are not meant to be softened.

  They are meant to be remembered.