Chapter 4
Chapter four
“My story hasn’t changed.” Aimee leaned back in the chair, spine digging into the rough timber.
The ceiling above her rounded in a shallow arch, carved directly into the mountain’s face.
“I don’t know the man, other than that he’s irritating.
I’d never heard of Mana until today. And I’ve certainly never used it. ”
The woven metal binding her wrists grated as she adjusted her seat, resisting the urge to twist against it again. It was too tight for that, braided fine as thread but harder than chain, biting cold where it touched her skin.
She glanced toward the elevated bed on the other side of the room.
Kazuma lay motionless over a simple wool coverlet, one arm stretched toward each corner post and secured in the same silvery rope.
His head lolled to the side, dark hair fanning across the pillow.
Beside him, an elderly woman crouched, fingers moving lightly along his bare torso, pausing at the wound in his side.
“Yet you dragged the shinobi through miles of mountain terrain. And you carry the forbidden map.” There was a pause. “Not to mention that ignorance of Mana is next to impossible.”
The voice came from nearby, casual in tone but not in focus.
A woman sat in front of her, legs folded beneath layers of deep ruby-red fabric spilling in waves from her waist. Her sleeveless bodice was snug, made of dark leather stretched across her torso and cinched at the waist. And poking out from under the skirt, bare toes rested on the stone floor as she eased forward, chin resting on her hands, elbows braced on her knees.
“It is the truth.” Aimee’s fingers ached to rub her temples.
Fool. It was too early for questions like this. She didn’t know enough about this world to sound like she belonged.
Maybe Kazuma had a point. A few broken ribs or a head wound would’ve made this much easier to explain. Something clean. Amnesia.
“Then convince me.” The woman leaned back, arms folding neatly across her chest as she shrugged her long, deep red ponytail over one shoulder.
Looking toward the bed where Kazuma stirred under the old woman’s hands, Aimee’s mouth clamped.
Proving loyalty usually only ended one way.
“You want me to kill him.”
Her knuckles dug against her sternum without thought.
I’ve killed millions. Why would this one be any different?
“Kill him?” The other woman’s brows rose. “Great Phoenix, no.” Her tone held genuine offense as she bent forward again. “Unlike the Havens, we value all life here.” Her nose wrinkled as she looked toward Kazuma. “Even one so tainted.”
Reaching back with both hands to catch the end of her own ponytail, Aimee twisted it loosely around her fingers. “That’s too bad.” She finally exhaled. “I was actually looking forward to it.”
“Liar.”
The word rasped from the bed. He coughed once, then again, harder this time, and the old woman tending him swatted him lightly on the forehead.
“Be still.” She pressed his head back into the pillow. “I will not have you wasting my efforts.”
Kazuma groaned, eyes fluttering shut again, mumbling, “Women.”
And then went quiet.
“Well.” Aimee’s interrogator pushed herself upright, red skirts whispering against stone as she rose. “You’re going to have your hands full with that one.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Aimee surged to her feet, the chair scraping against the floor behind her. “For the hundredth time—we are not together.”
“You are now.” She stepped in and took both of Aimee’s bound wrists in her hands, clasping them lightly around the woven metal.
“No. Madam. Please. I only brought him here because he forced me into a bargain.”
The restraints began to warm, and a moment later, the cords unraveled and fell free, pooling in the woman’s hand like a strand of quicksilver.
“And you kept your word.” She tucked the rope into a pocket at her hip. “I can appreciate that.” Her eyes leveled with Aimee’s. “But now he’s your responsibility.”
Aimee rubbed at the raw skin of her wrists, circulation prickling back with a flare of heat. “What does that mean—‘my responsibility’?”
The woman’s eyes slid toward the bed where Kazuma lay motionless.
“You should both be dead.” Her lips compressed in the beginnings of a scowl. “Outsiders are not permitted entry to the Hearth. Not under any circumstance.”
Aimee didn’t speak.
“But he’s been marked by the Serpent,” the woman continued. “And you…” She hesitated, just enough to be noticeable. “Our Mistress is curious about you, Aimee.” The woman stepped back, smooth as ever. “So you will both remain here for the rest of your days.”
“The rest of our days?” Aimee chased after her, voice rising. “What the hell does that mean?”
The woman didn’t answer. Her eyes moved over the room instead.
“This will be your dwelling.”
“For both of us?” Aimee looked around her, taking in the space—low ceiling, stone walls, a table, shelves stacked with dried herbs and folded linen. “There’s only one bed.”
“And if either of you so much as touch that disgusting force the shinobi use to control and harness the elements...” The woman’s smile returned as she reached out and drew her fingers lightly down Aimee’s arm. “You will both be executed. On sight.”
Aimee flinched from the contact, but the woman was already turning.
At the entryway, she lifted the deer hide flap, pausing in a half turn. “Oh. One more thing.” Her voice was light. Pleased, even. “You can call me Mira.”
Aimee’s jaw worked uselessly, opening and closing with no words to fill the space. “M… M…”
The flap dropped with a thump, leaving only the scent of dried sage and cool stone in the woman’s wake.
“Mira, wait!”
But she was already gone.
Aimee huffed, tangling both hands in her ponytail, tugging at the roots like she could squeeze reason back into her skull.
“Fuck.” She was trapped in a secret mountain village, far removed from any war happening in the wider world. No way out, and no plan forward.
A low, hoarse chuckle came from the bed.
“Well.” Kazuma shifted against the covers. “Seems we’ll have the pleasure of more time together, pet.” He gave a pained sigh, settling back into the pillow. “I do hope you like to cuddle. I reserve the left side.”
“Don’t forget the yomogi dango!” Kazuma called from the bed.
Aimee paused in the threshold, one hand gripping the edge of the deer-hide flap. Her shoulders tensed. Irritating…
“I won’t forget!” she shot back over her shoulder.
Behind her, the bed creaked. She didn’t have to look to know he was sitting up again.
But she did anyway.
Kazuma was propped against the wall, torso wrapped in fresh linen. No blood bloomed beneath the bindings. His color was better, too—less ashen. And his shoulders had regained their shape beneath the bandages.
She exhaled.
Good.
Her mouth clamped shut a second later.
Took him long enough.
As if on cue, he sighed, all theatrical suffering. “Who knows. Maybe I’d be walking already if you hadn’t bounced me against every rock on that trail.”
“You’re lucky I tend to you at all.” The retort bit free before she could filter it—familiar after two weeks.
Still, her mouth twitched.
Catching herself, she forced it flat.
“You look well enough to take the mat tonight.” Her eyes dropped pointedly to the thin tatami laid out beside the bed. Plus a single pillow. Worn, but clean.
Kazuma frowned, attention on the same spot she’d claimed each night for the last two weeks.
“What—no.” He coughed once, badly faked, and pressed a hand to his ribs like the motion had nearly killed him. “I’m not nearly well enough for such a hard, cold surface…” His voice dropped. “Though the offer to share this bed…”
The mountain air drifting through the half-open flap should’ve chilled the space, but her skin prickled with heat.
She licked her lips.
As if I’d allow myself that kind of distraction.
“The bed will be nice tonight.” The words dropped off her tongue.
Her eyes traced his frame from collarbone to hip, where the blanket pooled low and the linen clung just enough to hint at the strength returning beneath it.
It was a very nice frame. Same height as her. The fit would be…
Get it together.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the floor as much as I have,” she added with a small, satisfied nod.
The flap fell closed behind her, and she stepped straight into the late morning glare.
“She-demon,” came the muffled hiss from inside, followed by the quiet rustle of movement. “Don’t forget the damn dumplings!”
She snorted and nearly collided with Mira, rounding the narrow walkway just outside.
The path hugged the cliff face, barely wide enough for two to pass. Slatted planks groaned beneath their steps, and below them, the marketplace spread out in terraces—low roofs stitched together by ladders and bridges. The scent of ash, rice, and something spiced drifted up from the fires below.
Aimee adjusted her stride, falling in beside Mira without comment as they descended toward the lower level.
“It sounds like he’s growing on you,” Mira said, eyes forward.
Her tone was flat, but the quirk at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
“Like a wart,” Aimee muttered. “Or some kind of mountain fungus.”
She stepped onto the nearest ladder, fingers wrapping around the smooth wooden rungs, and slid down to the next level with practiced ease. The platform swayed slightly under her boots as Mira followed.
“If you say so,” came the amused reply behind her.
They dropped another level, the morning light drifting between the slats above. Around them, the hum of village life rose—sharp cracks of bamboo sparring staffs, the low grunt of exertion, and a rhythmic stomp of feet on packed dirt. Training drills, by the sound of it.
Mira reached into the fold of her robe and pressed a small pouch into Aimee’s hand as they reached the next platform. The drawstring was knotted, but even through the cloth, the heft was unmistakable. Aimee loosened it just enough to peek inside.
She frowned.
Golden coins winked up at her, each one stamped with a bird mid-flight, wings flared, tail sweeping in flames.
She glanced up. “Why?”
Mira shrugged, but the line of her shoulders was too casual.
“This is more than we agreed to,” Aimee said, narrowing her eyes. “I promised to keep Kazuma from using Mana. That’s it.”
Mira chuckled, flicking a loose strand of red hair behind her shoulder. “I can barely believe you two only just met. You’re like twin tanuki under the same leaf.”
“Stop. I might vomit.” Still scowling, Aimee tucked the pouch into her belt.
“You and me both.” Mira ran a hand through her long, untamed hair. “But anyway.” Her eyes dropped to Aimee’s belt, then turned out toward the training yard. “Your work with the younglings hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
Aimee followed her gaze across the rope bridge and down to the practice terrace, where children moved in staggered lines, mimicking forms with intense concentration.
“Before you arrived, I had to bribe Shinka with honey cakes just to get him to show up. Now?” Mira shook her head, half disbelief, half pride. “He’s up at dawn, hauling me out of bed so I’ll test his footwork.”
Aimee answered before thinking. “It’s my pleasure.”
The words felt strange coming out. Stranger, though, was realizing that she meant them.
Mira’s son, a dark-haired, sullen thing, had found her one morning mid-form, moving through the practiced rhythm of strikes and pivots.
Anything to quiet her thoughts after another night sharing too-close space with Kazuma. Anything to stay busy in a place where she had no idea what the hell she was supposed to be doing.
He hadn’t said a word. Just started copying her.
The next morning, there were two more. Then five. By the third day, she couldn’t ignore them. Not when one nearly dislocated his shoulder mimicking a block with his feet backwards. She broke form, adjusted his stance, corrected his grip, and from that point forward, it became a lesson.
“Well.” Mira’s hand landed firmly on Aimee’s shoulder. “We all appreciate it.”
There was something unreadable in her face. A pinch between the brows. Gone before it settled.
“More than you know.” The other woman inhaled, her smile returning fast and full. “Besides! You’ll need something to trade with Nari if you’re going to get that man of yours those dumplings.”
Aimee choked. “He’s not my—”
But Mira was already striding away, waving a hand in dismissal.
“And don’t forget to check in with Granny Hina for your daily Mana test!”
“You’ll be lucky if I don’t throw your son off the mountain, Mira!”
Aimee wiped both hands down the front of her tunic, exhaling through gritted teeth.
He’s not mine.
Mira spun as she walked, arms spread wide, the faint shimmer of heat coiling around her skin as flames danced at her elbows.
“Any son of mine would fly.”
Then she was gone.
“Yeah, yeah.” Aimee exhaled. “More damn village secrets.”
She looked up.
Clouds slipped between the peaks, pale and slow-moving, wrapped in light. The breeze tugged at the hem of her tunic, cool against the sweat at her nape.
“I’m in the right place, aren’t I?”
It felt…too easy. Too much like belonging. And that—that—was the danger.
She shook it off.
The training grounds weren’t far. Today, she’d show them how to draw a bowstring without tearing through the skin between thumb and forefinger.
And get Kazuma his fucking dumplings.