Ash and Dye

Two days had passed after his encounter with Murei.

Cicadas hummed faintly beneath the rainfall, their rhythm smothered by water cascading from tiled rooftops. Inside the Akashi compound, Asahi stood barefoot on the cold stone floor of the washroom, squinting at his reflection.

His warm brown eyes.

His red hair.

He looked away first, the back again, jaw tightening.

He detested that colour now because it reminded him of that day when everything changed. The day he met Arukuro.

With a quiet sigh, Asahi reached for the dye kit. He worked carefully, section by section, fingers combing pigment through damp strands. He leaned closer to the mirror, lifted a smaller one behind his head, angling it awkwardly to catch every missed patch.

Where he finished, he straightened.

His hair black.

Normal.

Satisfied, he turned to relieve himself

A sudden whoosh! — and the stream shot upward like a geyser, splattering against the ceiling before raining down in a humiliating golden arc.

“What the….?! What the fuck was that?!”

Inside his mind, a low, regal voice answered with unmistakable amusement.

THAT WAS THE MIGHT OF ARUKURO NO MIKOTO. 
NOW THAT YOU ARE BOUND TO ME, EVEN YOUR MOST… DIMINUTIVE APPENDAGES HAVE ASCENDED.

“I— what?!” Asahi yelped. “I don’t think it was that small to begin with! I want it back, damn it!”

IMPOSSIBLE. IT IS AN IMPROVEMENT BEYOND MORTAL UNDOING

“Arrgh, fine! But can you at least help me not pee like a fucking waterfall?!”

TEMPER YOUR KISHIN FLOW
YOU NOW HOUSE TWO SOULS. 
LOSE CONTROL—AND YOUR BODILY FUNCTIONS MAY EXPRESS THEMSELVES ACCORDINGLY.

Asahi pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Right…”

CURIOUS, Arukuro added, HOW QUICKLY YOU ACCEPT YOUR ENHANCED… GENITALIA.

“Dammit, Arukuro, I’m trying to focus here!”

“MERELY OBSERVING.”

“Ahhhhhhh, why is this happening to me?”

BECAUSE YOU ACCEPTED MY CONTRACT.

“I know that! It was rhetorical, okay?”

…RHETORICAL?

“It means I already know the answer, so you don’t have to... you know what, never mind.”

AH. A QUESTION THAT DOES NOT REQUIRE AN ANSWER. CURIOUS CUSTOM. I SHALL USE IT OFTEN.

“Please don’t.”

Asahi splashed cold water onto his face and braced himself on the basin.

His eyes were still brown.

But something was wrong.

Before, his Kishin had felt like a sharp migraine—pressure behind the eyes. Now it was everywhere. Like a hundred needles pricking beneath his skin.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “Am I getting corrupted?”

Silence.

“…Ahem,” Asahi said, tapping his temple. “You up there?”

TECHNICALLY, Arukuro replied, I RESIDE WITHIN YOUR SOUL.

“Then why didn’t you answer me?”

WERE THOSE NOT RHETORICAL QUESTIONS?

Asahi groaned, reaching for the door and nearly collided with Reiji, who stood just outside, towel slung over his shoulder.

Reiji’s eyes narrowed.

“Asahi,” he said calmly, “you alright?”

“Yep! Great! Fantastic! Totally… normal morning.”

Reiji stepped closer, studying him. “You’re sweating.”

“Uh, I just showered.”

Reiji leaned in, their noses almost touching. 

“..Strange. Earlier, I thought I smelled a…. weird aura on you.”

Asahi swallowed. “Probably because I hadn’t bathed in two days?”

“Hm.” Reiji straightened, unconvinced, “No… that wasn’t it."

He paused, then shook his head. “Maybe I was mistaken. I’ll meet you in the training room.”

Asahi exhaled only after the door shut. That was close.

YOUR SIBLING HAS A KEEN SENSE FOR POWER, Arukuro mused. HE WOULD MAKE A FINE VESSEL

“Shut up.”

The door creaked open again.

“Asahi?” Reiji’s voice drifted through. “Did you say something?”

“Nope.”

“Really? I thought maybe it was...Yue. You know she has a huge crush on you.”

“Wh...Yue? No, that’s ridiculous!”

Reiji smirked faintly. “Then who were you talking to?”

“I was….. singing,” Asahi blurted.

“What song?”

“The one,” Asahi said quietly, “mother used to sing.”

Reiji’s expression softened.

“…Right,” he said softly. “I remember.”

Asahi watched him close the door, the ache in his chest pulsing like a bruise.

From the other side, Reiji sniffed.
“…Why is there piss everywhere?”

Asahi bolted.

He dressed quickly.

First, the white juban, the thin under-robe clinging slightly to his damp skin. Then the dark indigo kimono, tied tight at the waist, its fabric worn soft from years of training. Finally, he stepped into his hakama—deep navy pleats falling clean and straight, each fold carefully aligned the way his father had drilled into him since childhood.

Asahi tied the himo firmly, exhaled, and stepped out into the corridor.

The Akashi compound was quiet in the way only old houses could be—wide wooden halls, shoji doors lining either side, paper screens glowing faintly with morning light. The smell of rain-soaked cedar drifted through open vents.

He walked past empty rooms—storage, guest quarters, the family shrine—until he reached the furthest chamber.

He slid the door open.

His father was already there.

Naruhito sat in seiza, back perfectly straight, eyes closed. A katana rested across his knees, its scabbard polished, its presence heavy. The faint scent of incense—ash and oil—hung in the air.

“Father,” Asahi said, bowing deeply before sitting beside him.

“Asahi,” Naruto said not opening his eyes. “Where is your brother?”

“Taking a shower.”

YOU HUMANS AND YOUR OBSESSION WITH BATHING, Arukuro muttered. USING KISHIN TO CLEANSE YOURSELF IS FAR MORE EFFICIENT.

“Shut up,” Asahi whispered.

“What was that?” Naruhito asked softly.

“Nothing! I....uh....had a question.”

“Ask it.”

“…Is it true that you can wash your body with Kishin instead of water?”

Naruhito blinked, caught off guard. “Do you dislike the water temperature?”

Yes. It’s freezing.

“No,” Asahi said. “I was just…curious.”

“Hm.” Naruhito folded his hands. “It is an old technique. Rarely practiced today, but has its uses.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” Asahi murmured.

Silence settled between them.

Rain tapped softly against the roof. Incense curled upward in thin, patient strands, thinning as it rose. The dojo felt larger in the quiet, emptier.

Asahi’s thoughts drifted—unbidden.

To her.

His mother.

Lady Akari.

To enemies, she was known as The White Flame of Izumo. Some whispered her beauty was unnatural—enticing that some confused her as Yuki-onna in disguise. Those rumours quickly died.

If her beauty invited rumours, her sword inspired legends.

At twelve, she had slain Yokai that seasoned samurai feared to name. Her Kishin levels were so high that even Onmyoji attempted to recruit her. Men lined up from various Clans to ask for her hand, believing marriage a prize she owed the world.

Despite her father’s nagging, she refused them all.

Romance bored her and politics, even so.

Until she met Naruhito.

They did not meet at a festival or summoning event but on a battlefield soaked in Yokai blood. Naruhito had been cornered —three Greater Yokai closing in—when she stepped between them without hesitation.

They fought back-to-back, swords moving in perfect rhythm, like a dance they had been perfecting since they were children.

She wasn’t impressed by his perfect face or even strength. Simply, he acknowledged her as a warrior, his equal. That was the day she stopped fighting alone.

“Asahi!”

Naruhito’s voice snapped him back to the present.

“What is on your mind?” he asked.

Asahi’s fingers clenched tightly on his knees.

“Nothing.”

Naruhito studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. Keep your mind clear and your body strong.”

“Yes, Father,” Asahi said.

Dammit.

He hadn’t realized how exposed his thoughts had become. Luckily, his father couldn't read his mind but that wouldn’t matter if he wore his heart on his sleeve. It was crucial he didn't let anyone find out about Arukuro.

One wrong move could result in a lot of consequences for everyone.

The shoji slid open.

Reiji entered, bowing with perfect form.

Naruhito rose, returning the gesture. Asahi followed, careful not to meet his father’s eyes.

“And Asahi,” Naruhito said, adjusting his grip on the katana, “if you wish to learn the higher arts, you must rise through the ranks as your brother has. Discipline before ambition.”

“Yes, Father.”

The lesson began — a meditation on stillness and Kishin flow — a practice Akari turned into a tradition for them.

Asahi closed his eyes.

WELL DONE, Arukuro said. OUR MISSION CAN ONLY WORK IF I REMAIN UNKNOWN.

I know that, Asahi thought. The mission is everything.

Outside, the rain finally stopped.

But somewhere beyond the horizon, whispers of bad fortune had begun to stir.