Mine's a Tale That Can't Be Told

by IAmNotANut

Where myth and superstition rule, there's much that goes bump in the night. Iruka is forced to journey far from all he's known and on the road he meets Kakashi, a wayward stray with no past or connection. As their love blooms, they will face trials beyond Iruka's imagination in a world that borders on the fantastic. When it's over, he'll have a story that no one will believe.

1. Gimme Shelter

...

Gimme Shelter

...

---

Iruka ducked around the foliage. The tips of his fingers were numb with the biting fall breeze. His childish legs fought to keep with the procession's pace as he skittered along the deer's path up the mountain, unable to tear away from what outsider's eyes were forbidden to witness.

The diligent keepers of the shrine were clad in red and white. Their shadows, made by the light of torches, extended through the trees and poured down the endless stairs where they walked. At times, the child swore he saw the shadows move independently of their owners like curious spirits. The attendants let their chant echo through the tunnel of torii gates. It amplified their call and, rather than a few dozen, it sounded like hundreds of voices had joined them, sending a cleansing chill through the air. The pillared shadows of the torii that played across the trees along with theirs, only strengthening the illusion.

Behind him he heard nature's quiet steps. The hair rose on the back of young Iruka's neck. He knew the mortals were not alone. All manner of beasts and spirits had gathered for this night. Too fearful to peer into the darkness, Iruka pushed forward to the shrine.

The shrine grounds were cold and ancient. The trees made a wide berth, leaving only the looming shrine itself. Its thick pillars dwarfed the humans that set foot on its sacred domain. Its wood was painted red and glistened as if wet in the torchlight. These priests and priestesses revered the Inari Gods, but the shrine itself had been built in honor of something much older. Iruka's mother once told him the story of that deity, the Rabbit God that ruled over the balance of good and evil. The god influenced spirits and humans alike, maintaining and disrupting that balance. As centuries passed, the Rabbit God became more and more absent until one day over a hundred years ago it disappeared entirely. The Inari stepped in to protect the people of this land in its place.

The procession moved onto the grounds, forcing Iruka to break from the cover of trees. Every sound he made in the darkness struck him with a fear of being discovery, but the attendants were too engrossed to notice. He ducked behind one of the guardian statues beside the final torii gate. The stone beast kept a snarling watch on the darkness behind him where glowing eyes observed with great anticipation.

The practitioners stopped in one united breath and there was silence for a moment. Then the priests tapped their jingling staffs on the ground, sending out a pulse—a chorus of bells. Iruka's heart pounded with them.

The moon appeared close enough to crush them and there was not a cloud in sight to veil it. The mountaintop glowed under its gaze and the stars blinked in night's blanket. Iruka felt as if they stood at the edge of the world.

His stomach turned and he sought something to ground him. He looked far behind them to the sleeping city that smoldered at the foot of the mountain. The city of Enten was the apex of civilization in their country and yet at such a distance it was nothing more than a dimly lit ember before the roaring power of ancient beings.

The chiming stopped and the world grew still. A small, cautious group brought forth a wooden pedestal holding an offering: a single chestnut burr upon a pure white cloth.

It was time for the Inari Gods' farewell.

"The Inari were born in a much crueler time," his father had told him only days before. "They've been wandering for thousands of years."

His parents were there, kneeling at the front of the procession, as was their duty and honor.

"They're not leaving us, Iruka. This is their chance at a new beginning."

His father's voice now joined with the other priests, in a low and haunting hum. Despite the melding of their chants, Iruka could still distinguish him.

His mother gestured over the offering with a short staff streaming with tails of paper. Her expression was one he had never seen, the gentleness and patience she usually carried had been replaced with that of intense concentration, dabbled with instinctual fear.

"They want to make this their home so they can live in peace."

He remembered how his mother had brushed his hair with those hands, how his father had bid him goodnight with that same voice before leaving him behind when their tale came to an end. "Together, they will become a new land god."

The priests and priestesses chanted anew, their heads bowing as the heavy doors of the shrine creaked open.

Stepping into the moonlight were the Inari. A pair—man and woman. The heavy layers of majestic robes that adorned them floated gently behind as if they were walking through water. The woman's red mane flickered after her like a wild flame. The man's hair was short and golden, lifting gently with each step.

Iruka half expected them to have ears and a tail but, though beautiful, they appeared entirely human. His mother had told him once that the gods, though some of their gifts were truly other-worldly, their effect on a grand scale acted more as a powerful ward. Against plague, against famine. For fortune, for peace.

Unseen by the reverent crowd, the man's blue eyes glistened beneath drooping lids as he cast them onto his wife. Their stoic faces drew into a brief smile. Under the folds of fabric, Iruka saw them take hands. This tender moment was witnessed only by the boy and it passed along the bitter sweetness of what lie ahead.

He remembered his mother saying, "Their spirits will live on in their child. And until the new god has grown, it will be our job to protect it."

The regal pair settled on their knees and the procession came to life once more. They were promptly encircled by the priestesses. Their white kimono and red hakama created a checker pattern on the steps of the shrine.

Iruka could feel the air thicken. His mother's face darkened in response. Her words were still fresh in his mind.

"You'll help us, won't you?"

Out of the darkness, waves of golden light radiated from the couple. The fires of practitioner's torches flared and crackled. Iruka's parents chanted with the rest, holding themselves firm against the pulses as the shrine became a beacon on the mountaintop.

The Inari grew as blinding as the sun, illuminating the forest, until their figures dissolved into the light. Those surrounding shielded their eyes. Iruka hid behind the stone guardian, his heart pounding.

In the shade of the statue, Iruka felt something strange pulling him from the spectacle. He examined the sky.

The stars were gone.

Iruka peered closer to see a black cloud drape across the moon, blotting it out. Something deep within the trees suddenly shifted. A torrent of wind rushed through the brush from all around. Inhuman screams cried out from within the wood, then went quiet. The edges of the forest closed in and Iruka turned to his family.

The light of the Inari quivered. There was a small rattling sound and all turned their eyes to the pedestal that held offering.

The attendants froze, their singing silenced.

The air stilled.

The burr gave one mad shake, clattering sharply—like bones.

Then in a loud crack, the burr spit open.

Like an exposed heart, the seed inside throbbed.

In that instant the light was rapidly drawn in and a wave of darkness engulfed the shrine. Iruka couldn't see his hand in front of him. The only sound left to him was his panting breath. He pushed forward from the stone guardian and into in the emptiness. No ground, no light to guide him.

"Okaa-san?"

In the abyss, the pained shriek of a baby split the air.

Out of the nothingness, the shrine erupted in a whirlwind of fire. Red claws stretched up and tore into the shrine, digging into the earth and sending the attendants flying back.

Black streams slipped in with the flames, taking hold of a man and hoisting him off the ground. It squeezed until Iruka heard snapping. It moved separately of the flames—feeding on the pain and rage. The practitioners rejoined and chanted into the black. The fire tore through them before they could gather strength, blowing them apart.

The blood red light swelled with the wailing of the infant.

Despite the chaos, Iruka ran for his parents.

"Otou-san! Okaa-san!" Fire licked his heels and he stumbled onto the half destroyed stairs of the shrine.

His parents and a few others had escaped inside and were chanting over the offering. It had enveloped them in an orb of white. The black was slinking on the floor around them, seeking an opening. The blasts from the fire thrashed at them like a storm against stone, but as one of the priestesses came just out of the light's reach, the black smoke ripped her away from the others. The woman was helplessly thrown into the rampant blaze that consumed the interior of the shrine.

Iruka cowered back in horror as the flare of fire that followed the black stream's movements knocked him back, searing his skin. He cried out.

The blanched faces of his parents turned to his voice.

"Iruka!" His father dove from safety and shielded Iruka as another burst hit. The agonizing sound that wheezed from his father sent a shudder through the boy. They crumpled on the floor together and the grown man smothered his child beneath his weight.

The last priest beside Iruka's mother couldn't react fast enough when she impulsively snatched the seed from its pedestal and ran for her family. He shot a hand after her, but it was too late. As soon as he was outside of the light, the black swept him away into the flames.

Iruka's mother fell onto them, encasing them in the seed's shelter. The black tendrils danced out of reach, too afraid to touch the barrier.

She cradled her husband and son, pulling them close into the protective circle. Her husband's eyes were glazed in pain. She saw his charred back and tears cut through the ash on her cheeks. She looked back for the two lives she had sacrificed, but there was no sign of them in the flames. She shook her head fervently as words poured out without control, "I had to—I'm sorry. I had to." She gripped her family with all her might, tightening up her shaking body and suffocating her guilt. She cupped her husband's face, patting it gently, "Look at me, Ikkaku. Look at me!" His eyes rolled into focus. She stroked his cheek, "I'm here. Stay with me."

The white shrank as fire beat against it in another wave.

Iruka shook with his sobs, "Otou-san, I-I'm so sorry."

A support beam broke free from the roof, smashing open the floor with its fall.

His father's voice came in pieces, "You have to help—the land god, Kohari."

She shook her head, looking back for the two dead attendants, at the seed in her hand, then at her debilitated husband. She buried her head in his shoulder. "Please, no…"

The wood above groaned loudly.

With the last of his strength, his father wrenched from their grasp and pushed himself out of the light, "GO!"

She tore Iruka away as the roof fell. Iruka shut his eyes to the flying cinders and held on tightly to his mother's robes.

The entrance to the shrine was shut. His father was gone under the debris.

Staggering with loss, his mother pulled Iruka away. He coughed violently as the smoke around them thickened and his mother pulled the torched sleeve of her kimono over his mouth. She led them to the center of the torrent and pressed against the battering waves of heat with the seed out in front.

The baby lay ahead, choking and trembling in its cry.

"Iruka, wait!"

The world fell away as Iruka broke from his mother and reached without hesitation to nestle the baby in his small arms. Its hair was like its fathers, soft and golden. Its little body was heavy and warm. It reached out with its small, desperate hands and clung to Iruka.

Its eyes turned to him, as blue as the clear summer sky.

His mother caught up to them and as soon as the white light touched the baby, the black wisps were blown away in a blinding shockwave. The course of wind fanned the burning wood and for a moment the crimson embers that had consumed the shrine were exposed. The dark presence was gone, and the violent life left the flames. For a moment, they stared at the baby in awe. Iruka's mother fell to her knees. She held the children close, muttering prayers and blessings, and the infant released into exhausted sleep.

The fanned fire burned bright once more, consuming the temple entirely.

Coming to her senses, Iruka's mother pulled him along, searching desperately for a way out.

The stoked fires burned bright once more, consuming the temple entirely. Smoke filled Iruka's lungs, bringing on a fit of coughs.

Iruka saw a dark opening and started to move. "There! Okaa-san!"

His mother yanked him back as another pillar toppled ahead of them and destroyed more of the floor. Suddenly they were trapping on an island of weak planks. Iruka stared into the sea of fire below and the plumes of smoke gathering above. The wood of the shrine croaked and threatened to collapse.

Panic threatened to undo him, but his mother's touch brought him back. She held his face, turning him to see her.

"Iruka." Her tear filled eyes were resolute. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

He felt the building lean into its final collapse. It would swallow them all.

His mother unclenched her fist. The seed, free of its shell, throbbed in her palm. She kissed Iruka's head and held her lips there.

"Iruka, I love you." Her words a prayer, "Please live."

She grabbed the back of his neck and shoved the seed into his mouth and down his throat.

The building folded.

---

The temple he opened his eyes to was cold. Quiet. The room was dark and empty. Morning had not yet come. The paneled walls were open, creating a black frame around the mountain landscape outside. From here he could see the trees budding with new green leaves. Down the folding slopes of the valley rolled a lethargic fog, waiting to be blown away by the rising sun. Calm and slow.

He realized he was panting.

Iruka pulled his kimono tightly closed around him and reclaimed his breath. His chest felt tight—fresh with the dream. He stared at the scenery and reminded himself it was a different mountain. A different temple.

After so many years free from that city and that endless burning night, something unknown to him had given those memories a new power. They weren't just dreams or flashbacks like those that had followed him as a child. They were very real. A reliving. They flooded his sleep and left him reeling and restless in the waking world.

Iruka's life had gained a kind of certainty. Over thirty years, he had polished a peacefully patterned day to day. Only in the last few months had things begun to shift in a way he could not explain—all starting with the nightmares.

Out of the wooden walls and toward the forest, Iruka stared at the other new addition to his morning routine.

Hiding in the grass at the edge of the wood was a small cluster of crows. They were watching him, or so he thought.

He was rightfully unnerved the first time he noticed them. He tried shutting the door while he slept, but woke to the sounds of pecking. He was almost positive it was a combination of coincidence and paranoia, but in the end he decided to leave the door to the outside open and give his strange watchmen a clear view.

He rolled up from the futon and stood on the tatami. He folded his bedding and dressed for the day. When he looked for the birds again, they were gone—as if they had been reassured that there were no changes from the day before.

Someone would soon summon him for breakfast. His day would go on, just as it always did, and the dream would fizzle out into what it truly was. An old scar. Nothing for a grown man or a bunch of birds to fear.

The monks had been up for a few hours by now. The murmur of their prayers had already come and gone. He could almost hear the gentle thumping of the apprentices' feet as they cleaned the temple and alter room. When he was young, he was right alongside them wiping the floors and preparing meals for the monks.

Sure enough, when he entered the hall, he nearly collided with a bustling young man in his formal black attire.

"Good morning, Shishou." He gave a small apologetic bow, "I was just coming to get you."

"Please call me Iruka, Zenza-san. I'm not your teacher anymore." Iruka held in a yawn, "And good morning."

He blinked, taking in Iruka's worn expression. "You look exhausted. Are you still not sleeping?" Despite his old student's bluntness, Iruka knew Zenza meant well.

Iruka waved him off, "I've been like this for weeks. I'm just getting old, is all."

"Chiriku-sama is worried about you."

Iruka lifted a curious brow. "I sincerely doubt it." He led Zenza down the hall. "If anything, I'd say he's been avoiding me."

They stepped outdoors and greeted a few trainees heading in for breakfast.

Outside the main worship hall there were two towering iron lanterns, engraved with intricate design and green with age. A red railing lined the stone landing, barring the encroaching trees. The forest glowed with a soft green in the morning light. The trees had only just finished blooming and their branches were now budded with small leaves. The last of their fallen blossoms littered the temple grounds.

The quiet that greeted them would not last long. Soon the disciples would be scurrying about, doing their chores and attending to the many small shrines and winding paths that sprawled across their mountain. Soon the place would be spotless.

There was a time when a jolt of panic would run through Iruka at the untidy sight, but these days the groggy, messy temple was very endearing. Especially since it was no longer his job to keep it clean.

They walked across the courtyard and into a building that held a few offices, the kitchen, and the dining hall.

There were four monks and a handful of trainees living on the temple grounds currently aside from Iruka. Zenza had only recently become fully ordained. Until a few months ago he had been stopping in as a student at the terakoya—the school on the slope just off the temple grounds that Iruka ran for the village children. Since his promotion, Zenza had been too busy adjusting to his new duties to stop in and it wasn't likely he would return. Iruka couldn't say he missed having the young and chittery monk in his classroom.

Iruka had known the other three monks since he first came to the temple as a child. When Iruka and Zenza entered the modest dining hall, they were seated in their usual spots with their food laid out.

Chiriku, the current head of the temple, sat in the middle of the group. He was a man of few words outside of repeating his sutras or holding necessary conversation while making visits to the temple's supporters. He was known by the cemented crease in his brow that cast a threatening shadow over his eyes. While he was generally very stoic, the monk held a temper that the students ardently avoided provoking. At Chiriku's left was the previous head, Bansai—a white bearded elderly man who counted his prayer beads near constantly as he internally wished for the wellbeing of anyone who crossed his path. On Chiriku's other side was Sentoki. He had a large scar along the side of his head and donned a serious expression to match it. He was Iruka's closest peer in age and a long-time friend. Seeing the three of them sitting like saintly statues, very few would believe that Chiriku and Sentoki ran amok with Iruka in their youth, stirring up trouble for the old monk Bansai to yell after.

The students sat in two rows down the length of the room eating quietly. Some of them were still dragging along from just waking. Most of those present came from other temples for temporary study on Mt. Kurama. The number of children in town had dwindled in recent years. Most families were moving to the larger cities, leaving behind a predominantly elderly community.

Regardless of the numbers, those three men at the head were Iruka's constant. For almost thirty years, Iruka lived under their care. He rose with them, dined with them, and called them his family. For thirty years.

When Iruka came into the room on this particular morning, the three were leaning in toward one another. Bansai clutched his beads close to his furrowed forehead in deep thought. The two younger men were muttering keenly in clear debate. The instant Iruka turned the corner the monk's talk came to an abrupt halt. Chiriku, who was usually so composed, was shaking with an alarmed, knowing expression. Sentoki, who had his hand on the man's shoulder, sat apart and looked down at his food without a word of greeting for Iruka or Zenza. Only Bansai continued as usual.

His old eyes crinkled and he gave a heartening smile. He continued to cycle the beads through his fingers as he normally would and took up his teacup with the other. "Good morning, Iruka-san. Zenza-kun. I hope you both slept well. It's a little cold this morning, isn't it?"

Zenza, the sweet man, seemed to notice nothing odd. "We better enjoy it while we can. I'm sure this summer will be a warm one." He sat down without hesitation and began eating.

Iruka had undoubtedly seen these three men in a similar state before. When something particularly troubling had happened. When someone had been harmed in the fire festival, or when a child went missing in the mountains. But there was something in the way Chiriku avoided Iruka's eye he could not ignore. Aware of this himself, Chiriku was up and out the door before Iruka could take another step. Sentoki followed, his food left untouched. They brushed past without a word.

It took everything in Iruka not to storm after them and demand an explanation.

"Iruka-san."

Hearing his name, he was pulled from his thoughts. Iruka met Bansai's peaceful gaze. He gestured for Iruka, who had frozen in the doorway, to join them.

He ate in a daze, tasting nothing. Holding himself in his seat. Zenza carried on cheerfully about the changing weather, the departing blossoms, and other light topics without being dimmed by Iruka's numbed responses.

Eventually, the old man addressed him, "Class should be starting soon, yes?" Bansai took his last sip of tea, sat down his cup, then continued as if Iruka had answered him. "When you're done with the morning session, meet me in town if you could. I have a few things I need to pick up and I could use some help."

Zenza responded enthusiastically, "I can assist you, Obou-sama. I don't mind."

Bansai gathered Chiriku and Sentoki's abandoned dishes as well as his own on a tray. One of the students saw this and leapt up to take the task from him. Whether the students were as acutely aware of what had transpired this morning, it was clear they would be too timid to reveal any reason behind it.

As the young man took the tray, Basai addressed Iruka, "How long has it been since you came down from the mountain?" The steadiness of his eye made Iruka's stomach turn.

Iruka smiled weakly, "Too long, I'd say."

The old man moved at a ginger pace to the door, "Wait for me at the dango shop. It'll be my treat."

Zenza called after Bansai as he departed. "Why does no one buy for me while we're out?!"

Iruka stood, more eager than ever for the day to pass, and teased the oblivious young man, "When you show me you can use an abacus properly, I'll be happy to treat you."

Zenza groaned and trailed him, "Shishou, that's not fair!"

Iruka stepped outside and to the stone stairs that were marked by small red lanterns on posts.

Just when he reached them, an alarmed catch in his chest made Iruka stop.

He spotted movement in the woods and a crow took flight from its perch. For an instant, he was sure it had a red face.

Iruka steadied his heart with an exhausted sigh.

Would they be watching him in the daytime now? He didn't have the patience to deal with both the monks and the crows.

"Did you see that?" Zenza tugged at Iruka's sleeve. "Was that a tengu?"

Zenza's wide eyes trailed it as if it would sprout legs and arms at any moment. When it was out of sight, Zenza turned that intensity on Iruka.

Again he asked, "Was it?"

Iruka shrugged and started walking again, "Who knows. It's their mountain after all."

The edge of the temple grounds dropped off into stone stairs with red railing that would guide them to the lower landing where his school stood.

Zenza wasn't satisfied with Iruka's dismissal and yammered behind him as they wound back and forth in their descent. "Bansai-sama says they come out when an evil spirit sets foot in the valley."

"Bansai-sama would know, being a tengu himself." He almost burst out laughing when Zenza tripped in shock. "You're not from around here, so I guess you wouldn't know that."

Zenza shook his head hard enough to wiggle his ears.

It wasn't very often that Iruka got to spread his favorite childhood rumor.

"Bansai-sama is the younger brother of Soujoubou-sama."

Zenza sputtered, "Soujoubou-sama!?"

Iruka held back a smile, "He's the master of the tengu that lives deep in the forest at the mountain peak." Iruka absently pointed up and behind him. "Bansai-sama forgot how to change back into a crow, so he decided to stay with us at the temple."

Iruka drowned out the slew of questions that followed from Zenza as they came to level ground. The cobble stone landing was a small pool compared to the temple above, but it was large enough to host one tired old building that butted up to the cliff's edge.

Iruka's terakoya school was once a small storage house. The wood was stained with time. The original color had drained to leave the building looking very gray. The slated roof had missing tiles here and there that caused leaks on rainy days. The small closet within had a stack of old dishes and buckets for such occasions.

Long before he considered the temple his home, this building had been a safe haven for Iruka. He knew its ins and outs like the back of his hand. When he reflected on his own reckless years within, he couldn't help but smile.

Chiriku and Sentoki were set on the monk's path early on, and were very serious students. They were the closest to his age, but Iruka barely spoke to them when he first came to live at the temple. It was the arrival of a boy from Enten changed all that.

The boy, a few years their elder, came from the booming city to study and have a taste of the modest Kurama-dera life. Nobles' children were known to do so at their parent's insistence. Iruka didn't know it at the time, but the boy was the honorable son of the Daimyo. As a result, the residents of the mountain pampered him.

To Iruka, he was just another kid who felt isolated by his own circumstances.

To Iruka, he was just Asuma.

The plopping of sandals on stone brought Iruka back. At the edge of the landing, another set of stairs led down the mountain. On its steps Iruka spotted some bobbing heads rushing up to meet them.

The students greeted Iruka in passing, determined to beat him inside the school. "Morning, Shishou!" "Good morning!"

He waved in response. "Good morning! I'll be right in."

Iruka thought Zenza had left already, but the monk was still there beside him going on about the tengu. "I wonder if they know. Should I ask Bansai-sama about it?"

Iruka sighed patiently, "About what?"

"About the evil spirit!"

Iruka walked up the steps and, like a duckling, Zenza padded along after him.

"You know, I've seen Bansai-sama's face get really red before. Do you think he still tries to transform every once in a while?"

Iruka pushed open the door to his school and slowly turned.

Upon seeing Iruka's amused face it finally dawned on Zenza. "Bansai-sama… Is he really…?"

Iruka gave a cheeky grin.

Zenza opened and closed his mouth, saying nothing. Then he pointed a critical finger at Iruka. "That was not very Buddhist of you, Shishou."

"Well then," Iruka took a step through the door, "It's a good thing I'm not a monk." He presented the interior to Zenza, inviting him inside. "Are you coming to class today, Obou-san?"

"No—I'm—… Excuse me," Zenza sputtered and clopped away while bowing. "Have a good day, Shishou! I'll see you at dinner."

Finally free of the young monk, Iruka attended to his students. The girls and boys ranged in ages and levels of proficiency so organizing their classes wasn't the easiest task, but it wasn't like Iruka had anything better to do than perfect lesson plans in his spare time. No one was too young or too old to learn. He had a few adults come in for evening classes to improve their literacy. They studied calculations, writing, reading, music, history—anything that sparked the student's interest or helped them in their vocations.

His path to becoming a teacher had been unexpected, to say the least. He had been a horrible student. Late to class. Loud. Disrespectful. It wasn't until Asuma came to Mt. Kurama to wrangle him that Iruka managed to make any friends at all.

Despite being in a landlocked town, Asuma made the world feel wide open. He told Iruka stories of Enten, about all the drama and gossip. The noble lady that fell in love with a poor merchant. The rebellious child that inherited their family's fortune. The gods that masqueraded as humans.

They became fast friends. Most of the students weren't as keen, but Sentoki was pulled in instantly. It took some persuading, but eventually even the studious Chiriku to join in on their pranks and adventures. The four ran around entertaining themselves as only bored kids on a mountain could. They made up epic dramas, and spied on the lives of the town's inhabitants. They got in and out of trouble together, usually while running from the red-faced old tengu, Bansai.

Crammed in that school, alongside his new found friends, Iruka regained a sense of belonging.

As they grew however, the division in their paths became more imminent. Chiriku and Sentoki left the terakoya to study exclusively at the temple. The nature of Iruka's friendship with the future monks was forced to change. Chiriku took over Bansai's position and reinforced his more naturally disciplined attitude. There wasn't room for Iruka and Asuma there. As the Daimyo called upon his son to visit him in Enten with more frequency, Iruka only saw Asuma for a few months at a time.

The life of a monk had never sounded satisfying to Iruka. Nor did the farm life that awaited him in the town below. No set occupation of his own, Iruka was left mostly alone.

Around that time, their first instructor—a woman from a samurai family—retired. One of the visiting monks took over, but it was hardly the same. As one of the older students, Iruka felt responsible to keep the school alive in his friend's absence. He became more of a teaching assistant than a pupil to the point that Bansai suggested he take over the school entirely. No longer a child, but barely a man, Iruka hardly felt qualified.

In the end it was Asuma who encouraged him.

Iruka was grateful, honestly, to have something to tether him to Mt. Kurama. It gave him purpose in the absence of his friends and before long became more than just a way to pass the time—in more ways than he could have imagined.

On a fateful day a few years into his teaching, a bizarre student appeared in Iruka's classroom.

Sitting in the front row was a young boy with bright blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

Until that moment, Iruka had nearly forgotten the child that came with him to the mountain. The child of the Inari.

There had been a great fear that the land god would lose control again and threaten the heavily populated city of Enten if he stayed there. The monks at Kurama-dera deemed powerful enough to contain him. The Inari Shrine believed Bansai and his temple would be able to keep the land god's power in check until he gained control of his human form.

So, within a small shrine just up the mountain from the main temple, the child of the Inari was contained and raised out of the public eye. Revered as a god and feared as a monster.

When Iruka was brought to Mt. Kurama, not many questioned it. From time to time a child would wander in from the forest, their family dead or lost. It wasn't unheard of. It was easier for the villagers to believe a story like that than the truth.

In time, Iruka had almost come to believe it too.

When the small boy appeared in his class, Iruka remembered the harsher truth. In the brazen and wild boy that tore his classroom apart and invoked his frustrated rage, Iruka saw himself.

A lonely child who had been robbed of a family's love.

Iruka wondered if Asuma had done it on purpose—bring Iruka and the Inari's child together in this way.

If so, Iruka couldn't help but feel a tinge of bitterness.

His afternoon class ended without incident, though he couldn't say it was a very productive one. Some of the children ran out the door to the stone stairs while others waited for Iruka to finish tidying the classroom. The walk down the mountain would take close to an hour at the children's pace, but Iruka didn't mind. It gave him more time to prepare for whatever Bansai wanted to discuss with him.

The sun had risen, but the steep decline of the mountain kept them mostly in shade. The distinct red railing and lanterns started to disappear as they moved further from the temple. The path carved through the trees until they came upon a large chu-mon gate around the next turn. The tall wooden doors of the gate were always open and the sweeping roof often served as reliable shelter from the rain. The children scampered through and down the last of the stone steps before their path became a dirt road.

With the railing gone, the only thing barring the children from falling down the cliff was the dense line of trees. From the heightened path Iruka could see what waited below. There was a small bridge over a crevice in the cliffs and a small collection of tombstones.

One of the children gasped, stopping their advance.

In a harsh whisper one girl said, "There!"

The group cautiously looked down from the edge of the road.

Something small and bright, no bigger than Iruka's hand, floated from a tombstones to hide under a leafy bush close to the cliff.

As soon as it was gone, the children skittered around like birds, "Did you see it?" "I saw, I saw!" "What was it?"

Iruka put his heavy hand on one of their heads, reminding them of his presence and muting their excitement.

"It's a sprite. A little spirit."

He encouraged them to softly follow.

They came to the level ground and onto cobble stones again. This paving was not as well cared for as the temple grounds. Moss grew in the creases. A sound of water came from below the bridge. They crossed it toward the tombstones, but there was no sprite in sight.

A few of them began to groan in disappointment, but Iruka shushed them.

They rounded the corner and descended another narrow set of stairs to see the stone spigot coming out of the crevice beneath the bridge. From it poured a thin waterfall.

Winding around the splashing water on a stone below was the sprite, misty green like warm sunlight passing through a leaf. It was the kind of spirit that only emerged on land undisturbed by the clamor of civilization.

Iruka watched the children. A few of his students were locked on it and followed its every move. The rest searched helplessly, reacting to every rustle and splatter of water. Not all of them could see it. Even with diligent training, it was a gift to be able to spy on a spirit when it didn't want to be noticed.

Iruka was once like them, franticly searching for whatever mystical creature the other children had managed to spot. It was only recently that he had started to see the more mysterious and mythical sides of the mountain.

The sprite danced excitedly with the water. Iruka encouraged the students to crouch down. It noticed them and Iruka feared it would disappear. Instead it floated from the water and drifted over a tombstone in their direction.

It seemed curious about their little group and Iruka could tell it became visible to the rest of the children. They quieted immediately, hunkering down around him.

Iruka had never seen one so close before. It rippled like fabric in the wind, thin and light.

He impulsively lifted his hand, stretching it toward the spirit. The soft green thing was intrigued. Its little tendrils reached for Iruka.

Iruka could feel its warmth being pulled in by his fingertips and his heart thudded loudly in his ribcage.

As if it felt it too, the sprite disappeared in a flash of light.

The warmth lingered in his fingers and the students all stared in wonder.

A little frazzled, it took Iruka a moment to regain his composure. When he did he said, "There's a lot of them out this time of year. If you stay very quiet you'll see them. And maybe if you're very, very quiet, they'll come and say hello." The children giggled. In the afterglow of their encounter, they listened intently. "They help the plants and flowers grow. They like to be where it's a little cool, in the shade or by a stream."

There was a loud and long creak that made them jump and clutter together. The trees stretched in the breeze, recreating the sound. The jittery bunch released into echoing laughter.

The rest of the walk was rather peaceful. To the children every bird and every shadow was a sprite. They listened for every drop of water and snapping of twigs. It was delightfully quiet. Iruka regretted not telling this generation of students about the sprites sooner.

When they reached the main entrance, they found themselves on a paved road with red railing once more. A large red gate waited for them, accompanied by a modest stone fountain.

Once they were through the gate, the magic was dispelled. The students rushed off to enjoy their time before evening class.

From his view on the hill, he could see the whole town from end to end. Bansai, Zenza, and Sentoki were likely making their rounds, honoring the dead and saying prayers over alters the families kept within their homes. The village was getting older and older. Fewer children, fewer monks. But Iruka had confidence the people would return. Their hot springs were legendary, especially in winter. And the fire festival they held every fall, though Iruka never really enjoyed it, was an unofficial rite of passage for young visitors from all over the country. Anyone who visited knew there was something special about the mountain. There would always be a draw, keeping this one-street town afloat.

Iruka passed the establishments and houses until he came to the dango shop. He was surprised Bansai hadn't beat him there and took a seat on the bench just outside the store's navy noren curtains. A few of his students were just leaving with their dango. They bowed their heads sheepishly to him and scampered off. How many times had he snuck out of the temple to get a treat here in his youth? More often than not ending in a harsh lecture.

He had once given the young land god similar scoldings in the past, but Iruka's fire had considerably dimmed recently. Maybe he was getting soft with age.

He couldn't help but feel like his time in the town was coming to an end. Perhaps the monks were finally tired of housing him and that's what they had been deliberating for the last few weeks. Bansai would be the most reasonable person to ask Iruka to leave. No one could say no to Bansai.

Iruka heard a scuffle across the street.

One of the shop owners was angrily sweeping a broom. It took Iruka a moment to realize it was an animal that the bloated man was batting at. A shaggy stray dog. Its paws were caked with mud and its fur was matted. The growl in its throat was desperate and fearful.

He hadn't seen a mountain dog like that in a long time. Let alone in town begging for scraps. Something must have scared it out of the woods.

The owner wacked it hard on the back, making the dog yelp.

Iruka rose to his feet and shouted, "Hey!"

The plum-faced man turned to him, startled.

The stray took the chance to snag a bit of food. Before the shop owner could hit it again, the dog shot out of reach—its goal achieved. The man hollered after it, waving the broom in the air for a moment before giving up with a grumble.

The dog escaped nimbly in the gap between the buildings where one could see the greenery of the forest peeking through. But just before it stepped out of the shadow toward the trees, it stopped. It turned back while chewing on its spoils and stared at Iruka with its good eye.

A smile snuck up on Iruka and he gave a small wave to the beast.

It lifted its head, curious, and its tail gave a single wag. Then it bolted into the trees.

"Did you make a new friend?" Someone surprised Iruka by coming into his view.

There stood Bansai in his formal monk robes and wearing a round sedge hat to shield him from the sun. Iruka blinked in confusion until the old man noted the shop owner that was glaring pointedly at Iruka.

Iruka rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, and bowed in the man's direction. He muttered to Bansai, "I don't think so."

Bansai ordered them tea and dango, then invited Iruka to sit once more on the bench.

He gave Iruka a knowing look, "This place hasn't changed since you were young."

Iruka returned with an apologetic laugh, "Not a bit."

The server brought out their tea and the old man took his cup while saying, "You were always the first of those boys to make a fool out of yourself. So noisy." Iruka cringed and Bansai chuckled. He handed Iruka his cup and added gently, "You were such an honest child then. I wonder what's changed."

Iruka replied humbly, "I'd like to think I've grown up some."

"Of course you have. You've become an excellent teacher. I know Ikkaku-san and Kohari-san would be proud."

At the mention of their names, Iruka's stomach sank. He rubbed the rim of his cup with his thumb making the tea ripple.

Bansai's tone cooled into something more solemn, "We don't hear your voice much anymore, Iruka-san. I wonder if you truly feel at home here."

That was a line of thought Iruka had not entertained in a long time. He would be lying of he said recent events hadn't encouraged him to think of a future outside of the temple. If there was one to be found.

Iruka awkwardly stared at his cup. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"It's been a long time since Asuma-san and the land god left, hasn't it?"

His thumb stopped. The water stilled.

"I'm sure you wanted to leave with them."

Iruka's reply was instant. "I did." It startled them both. He quickly clarified, "But I'm too old to regret that now."

It was his own fault for reminiscing about the past for so long that morning. His thoughts were still muddied. He didn't want Bansai to think he was unhappy with his current circumstances. The land god and Asuma's departure had been inevitable and he had accepted that. If anything, he was a little resentful toward Asuma for bringing the unruly student into Iruka's life, only to take him away again.

The server came with their dango and the interaction gave Iruka a chance to recover.

He allowed a different memory to take the forefront and distract himself.

"Asuma and Kurenai-san met at this shop, do you remember? At the fire festival." Every other woman that discovered Asuma was the Daimyo's son either trailed after him blindly or avoided him entirely. Kurenai, however, was the daughter of a samurai, and held no stock in men who used their status to get their way. "She came all the way from Enten just for the festival. Asuma and Chiriku were showing off, swinging their torches around, and they caught the curtains on fire." He laughed at the memory of Chiriku's rebellious stage. It hadn't lasted long, but it had been very destructive. "Kurenai came outside with her dango in one hand, and knocked Asuma hard enough to send him flying with the other." He trailed off, "The rest is history."

Bansai only nodded, humoring him. His next words were very quiet. "I'm sorry we didn't let you go with them, Iruka-san. I wish we had."

Iruka shook his head. "I understood."

All they held in common between them existed within Kurama-dera. Outside of that what reason did a humbly raised teacher and the son of the Daimyo have to be friends? He had learned that when his closeness with Chiriku and Sentoki dissolved. The same was true with the Inari's child. Tragic circumstances tied them together. The fondness that developed while watching the boy grow was not a strong enough justification for Iruka to follow after the land god when it was time for him to return to the Inari Shrine. He had no right.

"No," the old man said firmly. "Despite what Chiriku-sama and I had thought, you're no safer here than you would be in Enten."

Iruka was caught in the all-knowing gaze coming from under Bansai's bushy white brows and a chill shot up his back.

Bansai saw that and leaned away. As if wishing to dispel the tension, he rambled without any apparent aim.

"I hear there have been strange spirits wandering around the temple." The old man took the stick of dango and rolled it back and forth in his fingers, making them spin slowly. "The spirits… gods, demons… they draw good and bad fortune alike. Whether they are good or evil by nature—trouble follows them." His gaze sank with his thoughts as he formed them. "There are people like that too, I think."

As the old monk spoke, Iruka's pulse started to race. He didn't understand why, but he was nervous. As if he could feel the hammer starting to fall.

Just as Bansai finished, the clamor of children erupted in the street. A group of them ran past and rushed toward the main gate of the temple.

Relieved by their presence, Iruka started to stand.

"I should head back," Iruka said.

Bansai caught him by the arm. "Sit down, Iruka-san. Don't worry about the students."

A rumble of panic returned and he obeyed. He lowered onto the bench.

Bansai's grip on Iruka's arm only tightened, forcing Iruka to look him in the eye.

As Bansai's mouth formed the words, Iruka's blood went cold. A hollow feeling swept through him and carved him out too thin. He knew he would shatter if he let even his expression shift.

"Asuma-san is dead."

Rigid, the world span around him with increasing noise. The sounds of life grew from a murmur until they were shouting at him. The talking neighbors, the laughing children, feet on the path, dishes clinking. Bansai's voice became muffled. Rather than hearing the words, Iruka felt them reverberate and clatter in his shell.

"It happened a few weeks ago. The new just reached us." Bansai's touch ghosted away. Sadness tightened the old man's voice. "He was sick for a long time. We thought he would recover, but…"

Without feeling it, a voice asked, "He was sick…?"

The silence dragged on for an eternity.

He imagined it. Asuma lying in Enten, surrounded by his friends and family. His face would be drawn in a smile—laughing despite himself. Why wasn't Iruka there? Why wasn't he there with Asuma?

How long had he been sick? He was dead? How was that even possible?

When there was no response to his flurry of thoughts, Iruka lifted his head. The old man was clenching fists in his lap. At a loss. Guilty.

Iruka's voice came out low and hoarse, "You knew?"

The shell was cracking.

He asked again, struggling to keep a level tone. "Did you know?"

In a breath, the old man's demeanor changed. No longer remorseful, but painfully kind. Full of pity.

He stared into Iruka's eyes in admittance. "We did."

Iruka shook his head slowly. We. We did.

Each syllable was a labor. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We thought he would be alright. We didn't want to worry you." As if the monk were speaking to a child.

Rage flooded in to fill the sorrowful emptiness. It swelled. It wanted Iruka to leap up and strike the old man. Curse him. Scream. Iruka dug his fingers into his knees, trying to hold onto that feeling, but the heat drained through the cracks as quickly as it came, sinking him lower than before. Leaving him utterly unsatisfied. Weak. It took everything in him to stay upright.

The tears seeped out, but he didn't notice. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice came and went like a far off dream. "I would have gone to see him. If I'd known he was sick. I would have…"

Bansai wrapped his arm around the man and pulled him into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, son. I'm sorry."

The arm around him and the bench below were miles away.

The vacant, one-street town buried in the mountain valley was unmoved.

In a forest where the sun barely held its glint, where everything was destined to be swallowed and erased, a man mourned and wept.

Unheard and unseen.

---

When time returned to him, Bansai got him to his feet. He helped Iruka up the street, out of the public eye, and to the mountain path.

When they reached the stairs, Iruka brushed off the old man's arm.

"Go on." Iruka had regained some semblance of himself. He smiled at his friend. "I'll be behind you."

The old man, unable to argue, walked up a few steps and stopped. He looked down at Iruka in his heavy monk garb. The guilt returned to his bearing.

"I'm fine. I just want to be alone." Iruka rubbed under his dry eye, as if to prove it.

The old man nodded reluctantly and went ahead.

Iruka waited until the man was out of sight to sit on the step. His head sank into his hands.

Every stone, every tree brought him back to Asuma.

The tears threatened to return and he struggled to usher the memories away. It would take time, he told himself. Time, for the memories to fade and become pleasant once more, for the empty feeling to recover. To scar. He knew this. For now, all he could do was wait.

He forced his thoughts to drift. What would he teach in class the next day? A part of him wanted to throw out the lesson and take the children on a walk through the mountain, like he had always wanted to do as a student. He could teach them about the different plants and animals they saw. Or nothing at all. He wanted to see them play and get along. Like siblings, raised side by side on the mountain.

An impulse struck him and he stood.

He peered into the darkening wood. There was still enough light. He could find his way back.

Iruka's footing was shaky as he stepped off the path and into the trees.

He didn't want to go far. He only wanted to be alone. His pace quickened. He told himself, by the time you come back to the path, you'll be just fine. Fine enough to face them. The students. The monks.

Before he knew it, he was running.

When was the last time he ran? Considering how ragged his breathing was already, it had been too long. He almost tripped on a root and laughed out loud at himself. His voice echoed in his solitude.

They had never been allowed to drift too far from the temple, yet Asuma always found a way to get them out. To bend the rules.

That was what he wanted for his students. He wanted them to be wild and loud together. To cause trouble, to explore. While they could. While they had time. He wanted to hear their dreams and stories, their ambitions. How they'd travel to far off places. How they'd surpass the future of their parents and what plan the town had in store for them.

How many times had he dreamed of visiting Asuma and the land god after they left? He had always come up with some reason to stay. Why? How many days it had been since Asuma passed? Maybe he could travel to Enten for the funeral. Pay his respects. Say a proper goodbye.

He couldn't change the past, but he could at least do that.

Iruka's vision blurred and he stumbled. He fell to the forest floor and didn't rise again.

He could at least say goodbye.

He buckled into the ground. He gripped the grass and his tears fell free, the trees his only witness.

He allowed himself to be shaken apart.

In time, he told himself, it will pass.

In time.

The branches around him rustled with the wind and he became aware of himself again. He held his chest, focusing on his breathing and urging his heart to settle down.

Iruka wondered if his students were still waiting for him in the terakoya, or if they had given up on him and gone home. Maybe someone from the temple had told them class was canceled.

He fell back into the trunk of a tree and slumped into the dirt.

It was then he spotted a shadow moving in the woods ahead of him. He jumped in shock, but quickly realized it wasn't an animal.

It was a person, he was sure. An old woman with long white hair.

Iruka wiped his cheeks and called to her, "Hello?"

Her head jerked his way, but he couldn't quite see. She reached in Iruka's direction. He thought it was a hand at first, but it was too long and thin. A walking stick, perhaps. She started moving his way with strange, blind steps.

He was about to call to her again when there was another sound from the tree ahead of him.

He gazed up into the stare of a single crow.

There it perched on a low branch, sitting perfectly still.

There was more rustling in the branches above him, a sound he had at first attributed to the breeze passing though.

His whole body shivered and his head dropped back, eyes wide. The tree above him was filled with crows. Watching him.

He pressed his back into the trunk, gripping the bark. A few of them ruffled their feathers in anticipation. Iruka pulled his feet under him as slowly as he could and dug his heels into the ground in preparation to push off.

He peered at the old woman again, ready to yell a warning to her. She was much closer, but still too obscured for him to make out her face from the curtain of spindly white hair.

The lone crow in the tree ahead of him made a graveled sound, drawing his attention. It flapped its wings as if to take off and the other birds stopped fidgeting.

There was stillness for only an instant before it released a terrifying caw, jutting out its head with the chilling cry.

The birds around Iruka erupted into flight and sound.

Too petrified to yell to the woman, he bolted from the base of the tree. He was batted with the fluttering wings, and scratched at with their talons. Their screeches were all around him at first, but gradually they drew back to flank him. When he started to veer too far in one direction, they corralled him on a narrow path, driving him up the edges of cliffs yet never to a dead end.

He dared to look back when he was on level ground and caught a glimpse of the old woman. She was being attacked, that much was clear. Her white hair flew about her as she swung at the birds with what looked like two long, leafless branches.

A crow dove for his exposed face and Iruka protected himself. Too afraid to glance again, he tucked his head down and ran for what felt like an eternity, desperate to keep his feet under him. The crows eventually grew more distant, just squawking and fluttering at the edge of his periphery.

At first he thought he was imagining it, but there was light ahead. The light grew closer and he knew for certain he had returned to the path.

As soon as he realized that the cawing stopped, but he did not slow. He ran the last stretch accompanied only by his panicked breathing.

Iruka broke out of the trees and onto cobble stone.

There stood his school.

Hit with relief, he fell to the ground clenching his chest and struggling to catch his breath. He rested his forehead on the cold stone until the adrenaline pumping through him faded.

Fearfully he looked back at the edge of the wood. He expected to see the crows' shining black eyes, but they were gone.

Cautiously he stood and walked back to the edge of the landing. It was nearly dusk and the forest was almost entirely dark. He saw no hint of wings. No old woman. Nothing. Just trees.

He checked his arms and felt his neck, but there were no scratches. No talon marks to be found. No feathers. Just the dirt on his knees. He felt as if he had imagined the whole thing.

Hardly reassured, he turned back to his school.

The windows were unlit. The students were long gone. Without them, it was just a ratty old shack. Unimpressive and small.

He approached it, walking back into reality, and placed his hand on the wood of the door. He sagged against it and shut his eyes. He could almost hear Asuma's voice. Pressuring Iruka to sneaking out during self-study. Congratulating him when he became a teacher.

To Iruka, that little building was the most precious place in the world.

And he never wanted to set foot inside it again.

As soon as he had the thought, he pulled away.

How was it that the walls could close in so quickly? As if he needed some crazy birds to chase him around and make him feel any more isolated.

He pivoted and stormed to the final steps that would bring him to the temple.

The large white paper lanterns hanging from the main buildings had been lit. That must have been the light that had drawn him from the woods. The grounds had an ephemeral glow about them. The way their light reflected on the red paint reminded him of the Inari Shrine.

He spotted a few apprentices. Their brooms were unmoving, their work abandoned.

From their faces, Iruka wondered if the crows had visited them as well.

He peered around and saw more of the apprentices shifting cautiously around the entrance of the temple. The four monks stood at the center of their attention.

Bansai and Chiriku were toe to toe. The old man was shaking with rage while Chiriku stood as firm as an oak in the storm. Zenza's head turned back and forth between them, filled with anxiety. Sentoki was to the side of the cluster, lost in his thoughts and bearing a grim expression.

Iruka had never seen Bansai so furious.

"You're being unreasonable. He had a right to know!"

"You had no right to tell him." Chiriku was filled with stony resolution, "I have to protect this temple."

Bansai's hackles rose. "It has nothing to do with him!"

"How are you sure of that? You can't be."

One of the students near the stairs spotted Iruka and whispered frantically to his fellow. The reaction spread like wildfire and suddenly all eyes were on him.

Bansai's face drained of life. He reached for Iruka, but Chiriku was faster. He strode across the temple grounds, stopping at the large iron bells. The temple glowed behind him, casting him in shadow.

"Umino-san, please come inside."

Iruka became overly aware of how close he was to the stairs. How much space there was between him and Chiriku. He fought the urge to run.

Iruka glanced past him to Bansai for guidance. The old man had wilted over, eyes on the ground.

Chiriku repeated himself, boxing away any previous hostility and returning to his usual calm, "Umino-san. Come inside."

Chiriku opened his palm toward the main worship hall, insisting.

Unable to justify his instinctual hesitation, Iruka moved past Chiriku and diligently to the steps.

His decision brought resignation to Sentoki and Bansai. They opened the temple doors. The old man uttered some quiet instructions to Zenza and the young man nodded. He came away from the temple to attend to the curious apprentices.

Iruka went past them into the dark room and the doors closed them all in.

Iruka had rarely set foot in the worship hall, only in his youth to clean it. The wood was a deep ruddy color, polished enough to glisten in the low light. The rows upon rows of plain wood pillars reminded him of the trees he had just sprinted through. Those that extended into the dark seemed endless. Iruka couldn't tell if he was more afraid of this room and the memories it awoke, or the forest of crows.

The statue of Buddha at the shrine behind Chiriku observed them with vigilance and encouraged Iruka to be at peace. He allowed its stable presence to ease his mind.

"Sit down, Umino-san."

He did so, but the other men remained standing, hovering cautiously around him.

Sentoki spoke first. "Iruka, do you know anything about—…" He caught himself and tried again, "Had anyone told you about Asuma before today?"

These were the first words his old friend Sentoki had spoken to him the whole day.

Iruka's brows knit together as a brittleness returned to him. "No. I had no idea." Then anger replaced it and gave him substance, "I didn't even know he was sick."

Chiriku noted their exchange carefully.

"Iruka, I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner… I am. I know you were close to Asuma." His apology might have struck him as genuine if it didn't sound so guarded.

Emboldened by his rage, Iruka interjected, "We were all close once."

Sentoki visibly crumbled as silence fell over him and Iruka felt immediate regret.

It was Chiriku that responded. "Yes." He corrected Sentoki, "We were."

Sentoki's condition seemed to worsen. He held his arms tightly around himself, as if he was afraid he would lunge out. He paced restlessly as Chiriku took over.

"I can only imagine what an ordeal it was to lose your family at such a young age… and in such a way." Chiriku spoke as head of the temple now. Diplomatic and controlled, "I hope you have been treated well, despite the circumstances in which you were sent to us."

Iruka couldn't understand Chiriku's meaning. He was an orphan that the temple took in. Even if reasons why he had been sent were unique, that didn't make Iruka somehow special or worthy of different treatment.

Chiriku's overly courteous tone continued, "I wanted to ask you, if you don't mind, how much you remember from that night?"

This question was more familiar. The first few months at Kurama-dera had been filled with interrogations. It had taken some time, but after a while Iruka was able to recount all he saw to the Enten officials and the monks that took him in. His account had been documented as well as he could remember it.

Iruka shrugged. He had nothing more to add to the official story. "You know everything I do, Obou-sama."

Chiriku grew still and cold. That was apparently the wrong answer.

"You've been having nightmares lately, haven't you?"

Iruka laughed apprehensively and Chiriku's eyes narrowed. Another wrong answer.

He tried again, "D-did Zenza-san tell you?—"

Chiriku cut him short, "No. We've felt them."

The façade of courtesy fell away from Chiriku, leaving a hardened expression Iruka had never seen before. Iruka looked between the men around him and their frightening faces.

"I haven't been sleeping well. What does it matter?" His stomach dropped as Chiriku's words caught up to him, "What do you mean you've felt them?"

Bansai asked quietly from behind. "How long have you had them, Iruka-san? When did they start?"

He thought back to the first night his parents and the heat of those flames had returned to him. When he first came to the temple, he would hear his mother's voice echo in the hallway, or see flashes of his father's death in a flicker of fire from time to time, but it all passed. The image of that shapeless black and red horror from thirty years ago had dulled in his memory. He had convinced himself it was a delusion. The creative justification a child would invent to deal with trauma.

Nothing had been as immersive as what he saw now when he fell asleep each night. No memory had ever been so painfully perfect.

He finally replied to them, his eyes still clouded with thought, "A few weeks, maybe."

He drifted back to them to gauge how his answer had faired and was met with their terror. It was as if his face had painted the picture they sought and dreaded.

Iruka scrambled to reassure them. "They're just dreams, it's nothing." When they did not respond, he asked again, "What do you mean you felt them?"

Chiriku was almost unrecognizable. He was consumed by a primal fear. "The night your parents died, something was born. You saw it. A collection of powerful malice and vengeful spirits. An Onryou." Chiriku need not remind him. Iruka had seen the black hiding within the flames of the Inari. The name Chiriku used meant little to Iruka. That was what the monks and priests claimed had killed all those people, but Iruka knew it was beyond names. It was an ancient evil. "Those of us connected to the spirits felt it the moment it arrived. We thought it had been erased that night by the Inari."

Iruka nodded, recalling the white light that had saved him.

"That's what we all thought… until the day Asuma-sama passed."

Sentoki's pacing stopped and all eyes locked on Iruka.

The room spun and Iruka held his chest. He felt the pounding of his heart in his ears.

He couldn't understand. It had died, hadn't it? It was gone. It had to be.

Chiriku stood tall, devoid of emotion, as he said, "Today we were told the Onryou has resurfaced in Enten. It appeared the day that Asuma-sama died." His words were slow and deliberate. Unfolding. "The same day your nightmares began."

Iruka cowered back slightly. "I don't understand what you're saying."

Chiriku extended a hand and pointed to the center of Iruka's chest, "We fear there is a piece of it embedded inside of you." The head of the temple sought the older man's eye. Bansai's fury was barely contained as they met. Then he returned to Iruka as if he were examining a toxin that needed to be purged. "It was dormant and we believed it to be harmless when you first came here. We are not certain if it truly has a connection to the Onryou but, until we are, you will be confined. "

He examined their faces. All firmly set. Even though there was reluctance present in Bansai and Sentoki, they believed Chiriku's words. That was clear.

Iruka shook his head and muttering, "I don't… I don't know anything about this."

He jerked as if to stand, and the three men's eyes flashed with horror and hostility.

He fell back. These were the eyes that watched the land god. As if he would transform into a monster at any moment.

Iruka stared at his lap and searched himself for a sign. For anything. Anything that might indicate a change in him.

"Am I dangerous?"

Chiriku gave a veiled response, "Until we understand how to remove it, you need to be monitored." Bansai growled at that, but Chiriku went on. "This is the safest place for you, Umino-san. Here we can protect you."

What if something really was wrong? What if he hurt someone?

"We need you to cooperate."

Iruka clutched at his chest. He thought of the Onryou. It had only appeared for one night in his past, yet it had unleashed so much destruction and inflicted so much pain. With its reemergence, Iruka didn't need to imagine the panic that would spark in those who knew what devastation it could unleash.

If something like that was within him… what right did he have to refuse?

The reality of the threat he presented descended over Iruka and he smiled slightly.

He looked up at the monk, resigned, "If that is what Chiriku-sama wants of me, there is nothing more to say."

Sentoki and Bansai flinched as if struck. Chiriku nodded decisively and put an end to it. He invited Iruka to stand.

This was the long awaited answer Chiriku wanted from him.

The man helped Iruka to his feet, all his kindness and patience had returned. At Iruka's surrender, he became full of reassurance as a physician would for an ailing man.

"We'll help you how we can, Umino-san. You'll stay in the shrine behind the temple. It's only temporary, but we need to remove you from the students before rumors start to spread. There's no need to worry them."

Iruka's heavy steps echoed through his bones.

The doors opened and Iruka kept his head down, away from the curious eyes of the apprentices that waited outside. Zenza stood among them, trying to calm the students. He searched his fellow monk's for any information he could gather.

The trio led and Iruka trailed along, docile. They went off the stone steps and across the grounds to behind the living quarters. There was an obscured path leading toward the mountain peak. Zenza kept the students back, shepherding them into the mess hall for dinner.

Iruka dragged his muddied sandals, tripping over the winding roots. Iruka's legs already felt like soup after running for so long, but now he barely had the will to lift them as they retreated further and further from the warmth of the temple. Soon enough all that illuminated their path was the sole lantern's light and an eerie blue glow spreading like fog in the underbrush of the forest. It was the last hint of the setting sun across the mountains.

The trees were dense around them. The dirt trail was lined with thick ropes and paper wards tied between the trunks as they grew close. They served as a warning to those wandering close that they were encroaching on sacred ground.

When he searched beyond, Iruka was hardly surprised to see a few crows sitting in the foggy grass. Watching carefully. They seemed at least respectful of the wards. Perhaps he'd be able to sleep without their persistent eye upon him.

When he was in school, there were many of his peers that had an aching curiosity toward the shrine tucked far behind the temple, but Iruka had absolutely no interest. He had learned his lesson.

When they finally reached their destination the first thing that greeted them was a stone lantern reminiscent of the iron ones guarding the temple. The shrine was small and as old as the terakoya. The wood appeared black in the night light. The stone foundation was lined with moss and the timeworn roof was covered in fallen leaves.

The air was oppressively thick.

This was where the Inari's child had grown up. In this courtyard. Within this circle of trees. This is where the land god had been contained. Before the child had been allowed to truly live.

Bansai and Sentoki came to the stone steps, but no further. Chiriku went to the shrine, past the thick hanging rope and bell that was rung for offerings, into the black shadow of the roof. He undid what sounded like an iron lock. He pushed open the hefty wooden door to an empty interior. The monk gestured for Iruka to enter and he obeyed.

The room was much smaller than it appeared from outside. There were no openings for light. Just a wooden box.

Before the door was shut, Chiriku spoke to Iruka one final time. "We will bring you food and something to sleep on in a little while. Please understand, Umino-san. This is for your sake."

Iruka smiled, resting his hand on the doorframe, "Of course. Thank you, Chiriku-sama."

The head monk pulled the doors closed. With the grinding click of metal, the iron lock sealed Iruka into darkness.

The hint of light through the cracks faded as they departed with it. Their footfalls became softer until finally they dissipated, leaving him with only the faint cry of crickets and an occasional brush of wind through the trees.

Iruka sat in the blackness. Completely alone.

Within the tight walls of the shrine, the privacy was surprisingly welcome. To be unobserved at last brought Iruka a kind of peace. It gave him space to grieve for Asuma and entertain thoughts he had never allowed.

Eventually Sentoki came to provide bedding and his dinner. The monks took turns providing his meals, but never lingered.

At the sight of Bansai and Sentoki and their obvious guilt at his confinement, Iruka wished he could say something, to relieve them. To indicate somehow that he wasn't—… that he didn't blame them for not telling him about Asuma sooner.

Yet he could never find the words in time and each opportunity passed in heavy silence.

Why hadn't he followed Asuma and the land god when they left those years ago? At the time, he blamed his students. He couldn't leave them behind with no one to replace him as their teacher. He wondered who took care of them now in his absence.

Perhaps this was his chance to move on.

Perhaps he could start again when this was all over.

He held onto that belief through the first night and the second. But soon, the darkness and isolation brought about a new kind of nightmare that drowned out all other thought.

Asleep or awake. It didn't matter anymore. Iruka's past stalked him.

There were moments when he couldn't remember if he was sitting in the darkened shrine or trapped in the starless night cast by the Onryou. The growing heat of summer mimicked the stifling heat of the land god's flames. He would find himself clutching at his chest, struggling to breathe. The voices of his parents and the dying practitioners screamed in his ears.

Hours and days passed this way.

What evil was hiding within him? He couldn't understand. There was no weight to it. No force he could sense with his untrained eye.

All he could do was drown in that same, endless night.

He kept his futon permanently folded in the corner. The monks came and went, one by one. Their visits were always too short to ground him. They brought food, but Iruka barely ate. He was too lost to remember hunger.

After unmarked time had passed, Bansai's voice came from the other side of the door. Iruka opened his eyes to the crease of early morning light. He could almost make out Bansai's shadow standing at the foot of the steps.

"Chiriku-sama has sent for someone from the Inari Shrine to help cleanse the spirit within you. They think it will get stronger if we leave it alone." The wood creaked under the old man's weight. His elderly steps were slow and cautious. Iruka could hear him set down a tray of food.

Another person's presence filled him with relief.

"Please." His voice, unused for too long, cracked. "If he can cleanse it, let him. I can't take this anymore."

He waited for Bansai, but heard nothing. He watched the shadow shift and the old man placed his fist on the door with a gentle thud.

"I fear you won't survive."

For a moment, the words meant nothing. His body shivered—reacting first, before his thoughts could process.

Then they poured over him like cold water

His mouth fell open.

Desperation and betrayal and rage tore a manic path through him—pulling him in every direction from within. Yet he could barely move to breathe.

No wonder Bansai and Sentoki had been so conflicted when he gave himself over.

No wonder they could barely look him in the eye when they closed him back into darkness day in and day out.

His imprisonment was never meant to be temporary and they knew it from the beginning.

Chiriku was going to kill him.

Iruka was shaking. Instinct urged him to flee—to rebel. Break free of the shrine, it told him, and run into the woods. He would fight an army of crows if he had to. He would do anything.

Yet a shadow loomed in his mind. He couldn't forget his friend's faces. The monks were terrified.

The impulse to run was fizzling out. For thirty years, the people on Mt. Kurama had raised him, housed him, and fed him. He had willingly given himself to this town. His life and his time. What if he hurt the monks? Or his students? Would he risk that chance and run from the temple anyway?

Asuma was dead.

Even if Iruka wanted to say goodbye. It didn't matter. He was too late.

He had nowhere else to go.

Iruka laughed weakly, shocking the old man on the other side.

He couldn't blame the monks for their decision.

"If purifying me of this… evil protects the people here, isn't that the right thing to do?"

Iruka heard Bansai's prayer beads clicking as he pressed them through his fingers.

They sat in silence. The door was a canyon that stretched between them.

Bansai's voice extended a patient hand.

"Do you think the land god is evil, Iruka-san?" The wood creaked as he sat down, casting a shadow over Iruka through the gap in the door. He could almost make out Bansai's kind crinkled eyes. "Did you ever blame the land god for what happened to your parents? Do you blame him now?"

Iruka stared into the crack. This was the same view the land god once held. How long had they kept a child locked away in here? How long did he have to stay inside? Was he allowed to run and play within the protective wards around the shrine? Did he have anyone to talk to?

He would never forget the curious and noisy student that appeared before him. The boy that mirrored his own past. How had he stayed so bright and resilient? How had he faced the contempt and fear so many held for him without faltering?

"No. Not Naruto." He was just a boy. A troublemaker destined to fly in the face of every expectation set before him. He escaped their miserable town to pursue a better life. To find a place in the world where he belonged. "He's awkward and clumsy… and a screw-up… but he always tried his best." Iruka allowed the memories to warm him. They brought him a glimmer of peace. "I have nothing but respect for him."

The old man stood and, with a loud click, the lock was undone. He pulled open the door with Iruka's tray of food in hand.

Bansai stepped into the small shrine with a smile on his face. "You have your answer then." He sat the food before Iruka. "You better eat something, Iruka-san. The land god wouldn't be happy to see you like this."

Iruka knit his brows together as the old man shut him in and locked the door once more.

He stared at the tray, baffled at first. Then, as if possessed, he scarfed down his first real meal since his confinement.

He was sure Naruto and Asuma would be ashamed of him.

Chiriku and the monks wanted to know what Iruka's connection was to the Onryou, but he was in the dark as much as they were. Iruka couldn't believe he had anything do to with whatever evil had descended upon Enten. Yet there he was! Trapped in a wooden cage. And he had resigned himself to that? To take on the guilty charge without knowing why?

Was it too late to seek the truth? Was it too late to fight the sentence placed on him?

He cleared every dish that Bansai left for him.

Iruka would have to escape somehow.

He tested the floorboards and with some serious effort managed to pull one loose. He tore off its neighbor to reveal the thick structural bars of wood that made up the floor. He roughly kicked one to the side and made a large enough hole for him to squeeze through.

Then he kicked out the panels of wood below it, finally exposing the crawlspace beneath.

He stared into the narrow hole he had made as the afternoon light flooded in from below. All he needed to do was crawl down, bust through the wooden lattice the outside, and he would be free.

Iruka was almost embarrassed at how easy it was. Then again, the last person contained there had been a child.

He cleaned up the splintered wood and replaced the boards, but light was still leaking in. He covered it with his unused futon and sat in darkness once more.

He would wait until after dinner.

He tried to visualize where he would go, but Iruka was ashamed to realize he had no idea how to reach the main road to Enten from the mountain. He knew it would take him until morning at least, but what if he went the wrong way and ended up lost?

He knit his fingers in his lap and wracked his brain for any stories or hints in his memory for the right way to go. All the while he tried not to think about how he would be traveling in the black of night.

He devoured most of his lunch, delivered by the silent and guarded Sentoki. The rest he would stow away for the journey.

Sentoki took away the emptied tray from breakfast without any reaction.

Iruka resisted the temptation to say something to his old friend, concerned that any form of goodbye or thanks would be deemed suspicious.

When it was time for dinner to arrive, Iruka's legs were twitching.

Before he realized someone had come onto the shrine grounds, the lock to his prison was undone and Bansai threw open the door with more force than usual.

He was wearing his sedge hat and holding a long staff, panting lightly. His eyes were determined.

"The rain's coming, son. It's time you were on your way."

He pulled a bundle from his back and unwrapped it in Iruka's surprised arms. Within were the dressings for a monk. There was a formal black kimono and all its necessities as well as a fresh pair of two-toed socks and unworn shoes.

Bansai relinquished his woven hat and pushed it into Iruka's chest. "Get dressed. You're going on a pilgrimage, so you better look the part."

Iruka blubbered, "T-to where?"

The monk grinned and said, "To Enten." He assessed the clothes, "I couldn't get a hold of any official papers for you, but this should be enough. If you say you're going to the Inari Shrine, no one's likely to question it."

Bansai waved to someone. Into view came Sentoki, dressed and ready for travel.

Iruka stood slack-jawed.

Bansai gave him a firm pat on the arm, jerking him awake. "We don't have much time."

Iruka shook himself, pushing confusion away, and threw off his old kimono. He examined the new one as he pulled it on. He had lived with monks all his life. He knew how to position the white layer beneath the black, and how to don the white arm guards and properly tie them. He knew how to tuck the obi just right and to wrap the straps of the sandals as they would.

As Iruka smoothed the collar neatly around his neck, he thought of Chiriku jabbing a finger at his chest. The fake monk opened his kimono slightly and peered.

There, in the center of his chest, was a small shadow.

He thumbed at it as if it were a smudge but there it stayed. A black mark.

He repositioned the collar and swallowed hard. Whatever it was, it had saved him that night at the Inari Shrine. It was the last gift of his mother. Regardless of what the monks thought, Iruka didn't want to believe it was something evil.

He was about to meet them when he thought of his original escape route. He threw the futon to the side and pulled off the planks. He sat on the edge of the hole and kicked the lattice loose. He then closed the doors to the shrine behind him and locked it. When the others realized he was missing, at least Bansai and Sentoki wouldn't be blamed for it.

The two monks were waiting.

Sentoki chuckled at the sight of him. "It suits you, Iruka. But you need to hide that hair."

Iruka immediately pulled Bansai's hat over his tied hair and knotted its straps under his chin. "Thank you."

He was beyond relieved to see his old friend smiling at him again. It was the same subtle grin he showed as a child when he was being dragged into one of Asuma's schemes.

Bansai retrieved a pouch of essentials from Sentoki and secured it to Iruka's obi. Then he thrust a small bag at him that clinked. "That should last you for some time. I'm sorry there's not more."

The weight of it startled Iruka. A quick check inside confirmed it. He had never held so much money in his life. "Where did you—?"

Sentoki cast a thumb in the old man's direction, "Bansai-sama can be pretty crafty."

Bansai innocently shrugged. "It's customary to receive a sum for travel on a pilgrimage. Nothing crafty about that."

Their carefree spirits filled Iruka's heart. These were the men he knew.

"Iruka-san."

Iruka wasn't prepared when Bansai stretched out his prayer beads.

"Take them with you." His eyes crinkled kindly, "Humor an old man."

Iruka drew back. "I can't."

Bansai took Iruka's hands and held them together around the beads. His smile quivered as he spoke, "Asuma-san gave these to me when he left the temple." It took everything in Iruka not to crumble as Bansai released the token slowly into his care. Bansai's worn gaze rested on them for a moment, to say his final goodbye. "Please. Return them for me."

Iruka wrapped them gingerly around his wrist and fought back stinging tears. With renewed strength, he met Bansai's gaze. "I will. I promise I will."

"Take care of yourself, Iruka-san. Stay safe." Bansai passed the staff to Iruka, his last gift, "I wish there was more I could do."

Sentoki was watching the sky. "We need to go before it gets too dark."

A drop of water hit Iruka's cheek. He looked into the soft green glow of the trees as the clouds released a patter of rain.

Sentoki took him by the arm and pulled him forward into the thick underbrush.

Iruka cast a final glance to Bansai. The old man waved from the stony steps.

He let Sentoki drag him off the path and down the mountain.

Once they were well on their way, the man spoke, "Chiriku-sama won't notice you're gone for a few days. He's been too busy preparing for the Inari priest to arrive." It had been a long time since Chiriku had come to the small shrine to deliver Iruka's meals. That gave him some hope. "There have been a few strange things moving about in the woods since Asuma died, so you need to be careful." Considering he had already been chased by a flock of demon birds, Iruka wasn't surprised. "I can take you to the main road, but from there you're on your own."

The rain was starting to pick up, making Iruka very grateful for the hat Bansai had given him. Sentoki's knowledge of the forest kept them on a safe path, even as it grew dark. They were already much farther from the temple than Iruka had ever gone.

The monk noticed Iruka's amazement, "You've never been out here, have you?" He bitterly added, "I'm sorry, Iruka. What kind of friend have I been? I knew what was going on and I… I didn't do anything about it. I don't want to think ill of Chiriku-sama, but—"

Iruka stopped him, "Chiriku-sama does what he thinks is best for everyone. Don't doubt him now."

Sentoki smirked over his shoulder. "Do you want me to stick you back in the shrine?"

"Absolutely not," Iruka huffed. He laughed and added, "Please stay conflicted until I'm off the mountain."

Iruka leaned heavily on the staff as they went. It was surprisingly helpful to have something to balance with as they descended.

The mountain seemed to go on forever. It made him think of those legends involving enchanted forests unfortunate mortals would wander into and the maze of trees that would drive travelers insane trying to escape.

The rain was getting heavier now. There was even a rumble of thunder in the distance.

Iruka stumbled over a root and sighed, "What a pleasant night for a walk."

Sentoki chuckled, "Well, maybe if you had put up more of a fight, we would have gotten you out sooner."

Iruka was about to retort when he heard the call of crows and yanked at Sentoki to stop him.

Something stirred in the dark blue forest.

Iruka heard Sentoki mutter, "What's that thing?"

On the slope of the mountain Iruka saw nothing at first. The black trunks stood out against the lush green undergrowth. Then movement drew his attention, coming out from behind a tree in the distance.

There it was. The scraggly mountain dog. Scraping through the bushes, injured and dragging its paws. It wandered around sniffing the air. Searching for something.

It caught a scent and stood straight. It followed the smell, slinking markedly in their direction.

The call of crows came again and Iruka jumped. The dog jerked its head toward the sound and crouched. Out of the branches, they came swooping. The dog leapt to the side as they swiped at it with their talons.

Concern surged in him and Iruka darted away from Sentoki. The monk scrambled to snag him, but Iruka couldn't be stopped.

The stray snarled and snapped at the birds, but it was being overwhelmed. Iruka roared at the crows and wielded his staff as a weapon. He swatted at the birds, knocking more than a few of them and effectively spooking the rest. They veered back.

Iruka gazed down at the dog where it was crouched defensively. Its one eye pierced through him with startling intelligence, frozen in amazement.

"Run!" He bellowed.

The dog flinched, then sped into the tall grass and down the mountain.

Its retreating figure was almost enviable as Iruka looked on.

Grab your scraps and run, he thought.

Some crows swooped after it, but the majority of them had landed in the brush and on the branches around Iruka.

Something grabbed him from behind and Iruka almost smacked Sentoki in the face with his staff.

"What are you, crazy!?" Sentoki whispered harshly.

Sentoki held his beads in front of him, making a sign with his hand as he backed them away from the flock.

The birds in the trees flapped and cawed at that, but made no advances.

When they were far enough away, Sentoki pushed Iruka to start walking down the mountain again. Iruka couldn't help but check over his shoulder.

The crows coasted down to the ground and into the bushes.

Iruka wondered what they were doing, when from the underbrush small black cloaked figures rose in their place.

Iruka thought he might pass out on the spot.

They chittered to themselves, their heads twitching attentively. They watched the pair retreat. Then with a flutter of feathers, the crows took off in a flurry.

Sentoki and Iruka listened until the cawing faded.

Iruka whispered weakly, "Those were…?"

"Tengu. But I've never seen so many at once." He remembered himself and smacked Iruka on the back of the head. "What the hell were you trying to pull!?"

"I—I was saving the dog."

Sentoki groaned loudly, "That wasn't a dog!"

Iruka glowered at him. "How do you know?"

Sentoki gestured at himself and at his beads. "Who's the monk here? Tengu are guardians of the forest. They were protecting us from the dog!"

Iruka let out a puff of air in disbelief. Guardians? How was chasing Iruka halfway through the woods a few days ago the act of guardians?

Sentoki saw Iruka's stubborn display and grumbled back, "Whatever. Just warn me next time you feel like getting us almost killed."

Sentoki stormed ahead, forcing Iruka to catch up to him. When he did, he nudged him with his elbow.

"I really am sorry."

Sentoki rolled his eyes dramatically.

Iruka sheepishly grinned, "Just like old times."

Sentoki couldn't help but laugh at that.

They walked through the night in the rain without any more excitement. When the wee hours brought the hint of morning, Sentoki told him they were getting close. Within the hour, Iruka could spot the winding road below.

The sun was still a ways from rising, but Sentoki was itching to return lest Chiriku miss him at breakfast.

They stood together, staring at what lie ahead for Iruka. Listening to the rain.

Iruka faced his friend. "This is it, then."

Sentoki nodded, solemn once more, wiping the weakening rain from his face. "It is."

"Thank you. For everything." Iruka smiled, "I'd still be in that shrine if it weren't for you."

"I don't know about that, you seemed to have a back-up plan."

Iruka shrugged, "There's no way I would have gotten this far."

A little sheepish at that, Sentoki started back up the mountain, "Well, it's not like I could let Bansai break you out on his own." He looked back one last time, and pointed, "East is that way."

Iruka scoffed, "I know which way is east."

"Good!" Sentoki laughed faintly as he went on, "Keep walking and you'll hit a post town eventually." He stopped on the slope to give one last wave. His voice echoed in the trees, tinged with sadness. "And don't come back!"

Iruka gripped the staff in his hand.

"I won't."

The lonely sound of his feet shuffling through the brush was all he could hear over the hiss of rain. By the time he reached the base of the mountain, it had gotten much warmer. For the first time, Iruka felt that summer was truly taking over.

He came to level ground and paused at the forest's edge. He waited for his breath to catch up to him and felt the thumping of his heart settle.

With the storm rumbling at his back and Asuma's beads pressed to his chest, Iruka stepped onto the beaten path and put the mountain firmly behind him.

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