The domed shield arced into the sky, a crackling blue wall of spirit energy. Somewhere beyond it lay the sacred temple of these mountains.
Kalanie had known not to come here. She could never pass through that barrier. And she knew, too, what lay beyond it—every demon in Human World knew. One of the few sanctuaries left for humans and peaceful apparitions. The retired Spirit Detectives had carved it into existence, cleaving a swathe of safety through the perilous forest that covered these mountains.
Kazuma Kuwabara led the resistance fighters who hunkered here. A human strong enough to lead demons. A human whose sword could tear holes in the fabric of world. She'd heard enough rumored stories of his power to know she could not risk crossing his path.
Nor could she risk the others who called this place home. Yusuke Urameshi. Yoko Kurama. Hiei Jaganshi. Lords of Demon World. Men who would all see her dead if they knew the truth.
Yet here she stood.
Wind whistled through the trees. Empty and haunting.
She was tired of these woods, of the forsaken silences. More than that, she was tired of the ache in her chest—the missing gap where her strength should be. Absently, she rubbed her hands together, and the rasp of metal whined through the clearing.
She splayed a palm against the barrier, and its heat warmed the iron coating her fingers, gloving her forearm. Rust sullied its silver surface in places. Like all the iron before it, this batch would not last much longer.
That's what had drawn her here. The iron buried in the rolling foothills had grown thin, plundered beneath her desperate, hungry touch. But here, beyond the wall, new ore waited—massive caches of it that clamored at the edges of her senses, louder than any instinctual warning could hope to be.
If she could step beyond the barrier, perhaps that iron could be hers. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she would die—and that was an outcome she could never allow. Not yet. Not while Nomi was still out there.
A fresh gust of wind kicked at her jacket. The frayed, old leather provided little shield against the chill. She'd found it three months back before she'd left behind the crowded streets of the nearest city and lost herself in the mountains. It had been one of dozens lying in a ravaged shop, deemed human trash by the low class demon who had seized the place as his own. She'd scooped it from the ruins and fled the city, refusing to acknowledge the human slaves chained in the streets or the bodies rotting in the twisting allies.
Clutching her arms about her stomach, she leaned into the barrier, pressing her forehead against it. The energy buzzed against her skin—loud, insistent, and strong as steel, but not painful. A warning. Not a threat.
"Don't move!"
The voice startled her. It came at her back. Rough and angry.
Sucking in a deep breath, she said, "I'm not here to fight."
"Like hell you aren't. Hands up. Turn around slowly."
She obeyed, waiting for her instincts to react. For fear to send her heart racing. For anger to tighten her jaw. For cunning to plot her escape.
None of that came.
One look at the man and she knew him. She'd seen his photo a hundred times. Studied it. Committed it to memory. The orange hair. The dark eyes. The crackling yellow sword.
Kazuma Kuwabara. Protector of humans. Lord of these mountains.
"Please," she whispered. "I'll leave. You'll never see me again."
"Too late." He leveled his blade at her and stalked a step closer. In the gloom of twilight, the hollows beneath his eyes seemed black as pitch. She wondered if they rivaled her own. "We don't allow trespassers to leave this place."
The unwritten law of this land. Another thing she'd known. A product of the world the Fall had created—that she'd created. No one was allowed to reach the barrier and leave alive. It was a simple measure, yet strangely logical. As if these mountains—as if the entire Human World—could be rid of demons one by one.
Still she felt nothing. No racing pulse. No quickening of her breath. Just emptiness. The same hollow ache that had haunted her for fifteen months, ever since Nomi had been torn from her, never to return.
Perhaps, then, it was no surprise she hadn't sensed Kazuma Kuwabara's approach. Nor that of the man at her back, not until it was too late.
A whip hissed through the air and, in the space of heartbeat, twined about her wrists, pinning them at her back. Her metal gloves whined, as if hooks or barbs had screeched against the iron—but no, she knew the whip that held her. Just as she'd recognized Kazuma Kuwabara's sword.
The infamous rose whip of Youko Kurama.
"Good timing, Kurama," the human said. He lowered his sword, the spirit energy fading between his fingers until nothing remained.
"I hadn't realized you'd already dispatched to track down the intruder." Youko Kurama's voice was soft as silk, gentle and unassuming. It sent a tremble down her spine—the first inkling of fear she'd felt.
"And I hadn't realized you'd returned from Demon World."
She felt Youko Kurama step closer, the heat of him pressing at her back, then the pressure of a hand encircling her wrists, the touch not fully blocked by the thin iron of her gloves. As his grip tightened around her forearms, searing pain flashed across her wrists, spiking through her flesh and bones.
Instantly, the call of the iron buried deep within the mountains receded. Her energy faded, twisting inward on itself, burrowing deep into the shadowed recesses of her body, desperately seeking to escape the burning heat now clamped about her wrists.
Spirit cuffs.
Terror ignited in her veins, and she bucked against his grip. "No. Stop. Let me go. Please."
A sharp jerk of the whip stilled her, but when Youko Kurama spoke, it was not to her. "We've discovered something. Hiei and Yusuke should be here by morning."
Kazuma Kuwabara paced until he stood before Kalanie. He studied her for a moment, his gaze raking over her face, then he stalked past her and slipped through the barrier. "I thought Hiei was entangled at the battle—"
"Not now," Youko Kurama interrupted. Another tug of his whip forced Kalanie around. She caught a flash of red hair and emerald eyes before a push sent her stumbling forward. She braced for impact against the shimmering shield, but she passed smoothly through it. "We've got to secure this prisoner. Then we'll talk."
Prisoner.
Again.
Kazuma Kuwabara's black gaze roved back to Kalanie. He nodded his head sharply. "Let's get to it, then."
Her prison proved to be a trench dug into the hard-packed earth. Soil formed the walls and floor. A massive stone slab had been shoved into place overhead, forming a makeshift ceiling, and a new barrier gleamed against the walls, its pale glow the only light in the hole.
At first, she clawed at the shield, bloodying her fingers and wasting what little strength remained in her iron gloves. Rust spider-webbed across her knuckles and fissuring up her wrists. It was as the first flakes fell that she collapsed to the earth.
A fool. What a fool she'd been to come here.
The shrine lay a few hundred yards away, and even trapped in her earthen prison, she could feel the pulse of a score of demons hidden within its walls. All stronger than her. All more powerful than she'd ever been—even ten years ago when she'd been free.
Spirit energies flickered within those walls, too. The beacon of power she'd already learned to recognize as Kazuma Kuwabara's. Another that smoldered like a coal, burning with the steady heat of a strength that once belonged to a bonfire.
Trapped as she was, time bled into itself. She judged its passing by the meals delivered to her, when the stone overhead was shoved aside and emerald eyes peered down. Youko Kurama. In his human form. Each time, he dropped a canteen into the hollow, then the stone shuddered back into place.
She drank the steaming broth in the canteens slowly, savoring them. How long had it been since she'd eaten a proper meal? Something more than scavenged berries or a rabbit she snared and roasted over a weak campfire. The broth was weak, some watered down approximation of chicken stock, but she welcomed its warmth.
The canteens seemed infrequent. Delivered every twelve hours. Maybe even longer. By her fifth, she'd become desperate for the brief fissure of outside light, the flash of Youko Kurama's eyes.
"Wait," she said as the canteen rolled to a stop against her foot. Her voice nearly failed her, barely making it past her dry throat. She scrabbled onto her knees. "What do you want from me? I'll give it you, whatever it is. Please. I can't stay here—"
"Quiet."
Her pleading died on her tongue.
Youko Kurama's head angled to the side. A gentle smile curled his lips. "You've caught us at a bad time, but we know you're here. We'll get to you when we can."
Get to her? As if she was some task on a to-do list. Her hands curled into fists against the barrier. The spirit cuffs around her wrists glowed brighter than gold. Rusted iron flaked from her fingers, revealing her pale skin and the black markings etched into it.
A sob shuddered through her chest. "You don't want me here," she begged. "Let me go. I won't tell a soul. No one will know you freed me."
The rock groaned, lurching over the gap. Before he disappeared, Youko Kurama bowed his head. "I'm sorry."
Then she was alone.
Eleven canteens.
Five days? Six? Seven?
She couldn't be sure. But eleven empty canteens had accumulated in the corner. The pit stank of her filth, and she'd begun to wonder if this was their plan all along. They were never intending to free her. Instead, she would rot here until she suffocated in the stale, toxic air.
Sometimes, that fear woke new strength in her bones, sent her scrabbling against the walls, had her pounding at the stone overhead, screaming until her voice ran out. But for the most part, it exhausted her. To her core.
The last of her gloves had given way to rust when she'd reached for the eighth canteen. Human World iron was so weak. So useless. Its ruin left her empty. Worse, she could feel the beast coming for her—that ravaging monster that clawed at her mind when she was without iron. It wasn't far now.
There was a sick, twisted pleasure to that knowledge. If her captors truly meant for her to die here, it would happen far sooner than they could possibly hope.
In that, she had cards up her sleeve.
A rumble overhead announced movement of the stone. She rocked her head back, waiting for the green eyes to appear, the pitying smile she'd come to recognize, but what greeted her was a new gaze. Narrow. Hard.
Crimson.
This time, the boulder kept moving, the gap widening until there was space for her appraiser to leap into the pit. He was dressed all in black, a katana at his hip, the crease of a third eye closed upon his forehead. A demon she'd seen before. Not only on the profiles she'd memorized so painstakingly—so against her own will—but also in person. More than once. On those days when he stood beside Lord Mukuro and governed over audiences of Alaric's masses.
Hiei Jaganshi.
Shadows slanted through the gap overhead, three silhouettes blocking out the midday sun. A voice she'd never heard before ordered, "Don't wreck her, Hiei. Just get answers. Then Kuwabara can send her on."
"Hn."
The fire demon stepped closer. If the stench of the pit bothered him, it didn't register on his sharp, angular features, but she didn't miss the way his hand rested on the hilt of his katana nor the violence promised in his dark eyes.
"Stand, girl."
She didn't.
Because she knew what came now. His eyes would open. He'd enter her mind. He'd bend her thoughts to his will. He'd break her.
And she'd already been broken enough.
His fingers closed around his katana's hilt. "Up."
"No."
The blade flashed. Its point came to rest between her eyes. Still, she didn't waver.
She'd heard of the Jagan Eye's power. He could use it from anywhere. Whatever reason he wanted her to stand wasn't vital to why he was here.
"On your feet."
When she didn't move, he lunged closer. Her breath caught in her teeth, but she remained motionless, her arms tucked deep within the sleeves of her jacket.
She'd hidden them ever since her gloves had flaked off. The inky markings that scrolled across her flesh couldn't be seen. She wouldn't let them be. She couldn't. They would seal her fate, because surely, no matter how little the old spirit detectives had learned of the Fall's true nature, by now they must recognize the markings.
She'd never leave this place if they were seen.
Then Nomi would be lost. Forever.
"On your feet or you will die—"
"Hiei," warned Youko Kurama. "No killing. You know that."
The demon snorted. "She didn't." Then, quick as a snake, his free hand grabbed hold of her jacket and hauled her to her feet. His katana's point remained glued to her forehead all the while. "Not so difficult, was it?"
Her lips pressed thin against an answer.
But it didn't matter. He hadn't wanted a response, not truly. The crease on his forehead shifted, his Jagan opening, the purple eye glowing in the shadowed pit. With her powers trapped under the spirit cuffs, she couldn't feel his assault on her mind, but she knew it must have come—that even as she stared back at him, he must be seeing it all. The truth. Her past. Her rotten, horrid role in the Fall.
She braced for death, for his katana to run her through, and she thought of Nomi, wherever he was. Lost. Alone. Abandoned.
No pain came.
The silence stretched. The Jagan glowed brighter. His grip on her jacket tightened, drew her closer. Then a snarl tore from his lips.
He shoved her backward, and she collided with the wall. "How are you doing it?" he demanded. "How have you hidden yourself?"
She gave no answer. Not to withhold information, but because she had none. She couldn't fathom what he meant. Hidden herself? Not possible.
Her silence enraged him. He shook her wildly, his grip so rough her worn jacket tore, the sleeve slipping from her arm as the cloth gave way. Instant panic clawed into her throat. She lurched away, desperate to hide her bare forearms, her marred hands—the markings that declared her the enemy.
But she failed.
His crimson gaze raked down her bare arms, roved over her hands. With slow, methodical precision, he aimed his katana at her heart.
She shook her head, raised her hands in surrender. "No. It's not what you think. I'm not—"
Kazuma Kuwabara interrupted. "Are those…?"
"The tattoos we keep seeing," the Jaganshi growled. His blade pressed against her shirt deep enough to cut the cloth—to draw blood. His next words cut her to the bone. "She's one of them."
AN: Ah! I'm loving being back in this world. I've been working on original stories for a long time now, but holy crap, I missed YYH. Kalanie has a tangled, complicated history, so if you're confused right now, you haven't missed anything—it just hasn't been revealed yet.
I hope you enjoy it! Time permitting, I'll hopefully be writing plenty more soon.