A rush of hot air filled his lungs, burning as if breathing in the heat of a bonfire. There was a gasp and the contrast of stark, cold air, and Ryo realized that the first flood of breath was not his at all. Blue eyes opened, brimming with tears as he choked and sputtered. A suntanned face was clear in his sight now, lingering close with brown eyes watching for signs of life.
"He's awake," Iris sighed, her voice revealing relief. She straightened up, hands folded on the man's chest. "He's alive."
Ryo blinked furiously to clear his vision. Looking up, his gaze was returned by the sea green eyes of Cye, who cracked a smile as his comrade came to.
"Hey," came Torrent's soft voice, "are you alright?"
"Yeah, what—"
"That's convenient." Sage's stern voice cut through Ryo's delirium, and he saw Iris look up at the man.
"What was that?" Her words were cold.
"You heard me," Sage replied. "Whose side are you on?" Iris looked around and put up a hand in a sarcastic gesture.
"I don't see any Warlords around," she said coolly, "and I don't recall you having anything to do with that."
"Yeah, that's also pretty convenient. The five of us didn't stand a chance against them, but somehow you took them down like bowling pins."
"You have not trusted me since you stepped foot in my graveyard," Iris got to her feet, finger pointed accusingly at Sage.
"H-hey," Ryo managed, pushing up to his elbow weakly.
"You haven't given me a good reason," Sage fired back.
"I don't have to put up with this from you," Iris's voice was low and deadly, "or anyone else for that matter." She knelt and stuck her fingers through the eye sockets of her helmet's face mask to pick it up, turning her back on the men as she straightened up. "I'm going home." With that, she started walking.
"Hey, hang on," Kento said, jogging past Sage to follow her.
Light flashed off cold metal as the woman turned, cutting her scythe through the air across Kento's throat. He stopped in his path, his hands up in defense as he watched it pass by with wide eyes. Stunned but unharmed, he looked up to her to find her attention was not on him at all: Anubis now stood just beside him, without his helmet and with stormy blue eyes locked with Iris's. He, too, held his hands up by his head in surrender as the blade of her scythe lingered just below his jaw.
"I don't know what hole you crawled out of," Iris growled, "but you better crawl back into it."
"Iris," Anubis said carefully, "is that what they call you now?"
"Why," she demanded.
"I want to speak with you," he continued.
"What does Talpa think he's going to gain from this?" Her eyes watched him intently, narrowed and unblinking.
"This is not Talpa's doing. I am here of my own will."
A tense silence fell. Anubis remained calm, his breath low and even despite his awareness that even the lightest touch from the woman's blade meant death. He could feel all eyes were on him, but his own gaze remained locked with hers, still so full of anger and unlike the kind woman he remembered.
"I think he's telling the truth." It was Cye's gentle voice that finally broke the anxious hush.
"Come on, Iris," Kento said carefully, "put it down."
The Ronins waited with bated breath as another moment passed and the woman remained unmoved. Finally, with a quick, startling motion, she withdrew the scythe and let it fall to her side, breaking their gaze and letting her chin drop a bit as she looked away to some distant point on the horizon.
"You," she said finally, "you want to talk to me." There was a bitterness to her voice now, and her words came with a caustic, dry huff. "After four hundred years." She moved her eyes back to the Warlord, raising her voice, "how dare you." Her gaze was fiery and furious and unwavering. "Do you have any idea what they did to me because of you?"
"No." Anubis's voice was gentle now, his eyes sincere, "but I will listen if you tell me."
Iris gazed at him for a long moment in silence before looking away again, her jaw clenched.
She felt them before she could hear them. The ground trembled and the flame of her lantern shivered, and finally a thunderous rumbling echoed through the village. Svnoyi grabbed the lantern and got to her feet, hurrying across the house to the open door. Emerging from the doorway, she walked out on to the steps and waited as the horses approached.
Her stomach sank. He was not with them.
She watched as the deep brown steed leading the herd came to a stop, its rider dismounting. This was the man Toshitada trusted to lead his men and village in his absence: Naoki, a proud, strong soldier with piercing grey eyes. He removed his helmet as he faced the woman.
"You did not find him," Svnoyi said.
"No." Naoki's voice was firm and low. She closed her eyes and let out a despairing breath.
"I am beginning to fear he is never coming home."
"Yes. That is what we now believe as well."
The statement caught her attention and she opened her eyes to meet his gaze. His words offered no comfort, and they had been so confident in their finality. She walked down the short steps and closed the distance between them, nervous butterflies flittering in her stomach as she awaited the worst.
"Why? Did you find something?"
"Nothing," Naoki replied, "not even footprints. As if he simply vanished." Svnoyi furrowed her brows.
"I do not understand." It was then she noticed that several of the men had not dismounted, but instead closed in around her on their horses. There was a seriousness in her tone as she spoke again, "Naoki?"
"Magic," he said. "Witchcraft." There was no misunderstanding in her mind now, and a chill chased down her spine.
"You think I did this." She clutched her lantern tightly, noticing too late the men who had approached her on foot. Each took a firm grasp of her wrists, forcing the lantern to drop to the dirt as she resisted. It was a brief struggle as she acknowledged their strength and clenched her fists to lock her arms down to her sides.
"You were the last to see him alive," Naoki continued, drawing closer.
"I would never harm him!" There was resilience and defiance in her voice. "I cared for him when he was injured, returned him to you—"
"And why did you do that?" The man stared her down with his steely eyes now, frightening in the dimness. "You received no payment. You asked for nothing in return."
"I loved him," Svnoyi breathed. "I wanted to see him healed, I wanted to see him well! His health was my repayment."
"Yes. Koma was the perfect healthy, virile young man for your magic." He had accepted her statement as a confession.
The commotion had drawn other villagers from their sleep, collecting in their doorways in confusion. It was a nervous energy Naoki seemed to feed off now, his cold eyes resolved in his suspicion.
"Naoki, please." Her voice quivered, betraying fear as she felt him slipping further from reason and rational thought.
"I knew something was not right with you," he hissed. "Your miracles, your medicines. Your stories of the fireballs in the sky. You have knowledge not of this world, because you are not of this world."
A distinct feeling of dread swept over Svnoyi, her heart pounding in her ears. Her eyes darted around the darkness in search of an escape and, finding none, her blood ran cold.
"We were deceived!" Naoki declared to the villagers. "By a witch from the land of the dying sun!" There was a horrified murmuring in the wake of his words, and he strode past his horse in search of something. Returning, he faced the captive woman, a short, broken tree limb now clenched in his fist. His approach was menacing, and as he drew near, he knelt to place the end of the limb into the lantern flame. "She has already claimed Toshitada. We must destroy this evil before it spreads."
Naoki extinguished the flame, leaving a smoldering, charred stake. The soldiers restraining Svnoyi forced her down to her knees, taking a fistful of her hair to hold her head back.
"Koma was blinded," Naoki's voice was low and dangerous, "and so shall you be."
She struggled briefly against her captors, a resistance that was short-lived. A brilliant red light streaked across the vision in her right eye, then her left, before abruptly going black. Searing pain swept through her body, and a blood-curdling scream cut through the night air. An agonized whimpering followed that she did not even recognize as her own, akin to a wounded animal and intercut with guttural groaning.
Her legs felt like lead as the hands restraining her dragged her to her feet, stumbling her through the darkness she was unable to escape.