#nanami week

Of course, you were awake before him. Because today was his birthday, that's right. He remembers how excited you always got for peoples birthdays, especially his. And you always went all out for him, because you believed he deserved it. If you could stop the world and have it all focus on Nanami's birthday, you would so do it.

Nanami slowly sat up from the bed, hair still tousled from slumber. That's when a strong scent started to hit his nose. Breakfast. Pancakes? he thought to himself. When he opened the door to your bedroom, he was surprised with confetti strings covering the door from top to floor. He smiled to himself at the thoughtfulness. As he stepped closer to the kitchen and dining room, he noticed balloons scattered all over the floor. His heart warmed even more when he saw the sight of you placing a candle on a stack of pancakes.

The perfect timing, you turned around and smiled at Nanami in his pajamas looking like he had just woken up. You quickly grabbed the lighter from the drawer and lit the singular candle.

As you sang happy birthday, you watched your husbands eyes stare at you and the candle illuminating your bright face. You held the stack of pancakes closer to his face after you finished singing. "Make a wish!" you said.

Your husband thought hardly for a few seconds before he blew out the candle.

"Your favorite, classic buttermilk pancakes, though I made two confetti pancakes for fun but those can be for me. Come eat!" You hurried to the dining table, Nanami following you. He paused his steps when he saw the table covered in eggs, fruits, orange juice, coffee, and pretty plates set up with flowers centered in the middle. You set the stack of pancakes down in the middle and took off the candle. "Come sit!" you said cheerfully, you pulled out the chair with a balloon attached to it, identifying that only the birthday boy can sit there.

When Nanami sat down he sighed, "Thank you. Thank you for everything." You poured the coffee in his favorite mug. "You're very welcome. Do you like the decor?" You replied. He smiled and looked around at the scattered balloons covering the floor. "You really went all out this year, you always do." You smiled proudly at his compliment and cut into your eggs and pancakes, Nanami doing the same.

"We also have a reservation to that restaurant you've been wanting to try." You said taking a bite into the confetti pancakes, too sweet for Nanami's taste.

Nanami smiled at his plate, and then at you, "You really know how to make a man's day special."

You hummed at thought, "mmm...not just any man."

Nanami chuckled and grabbed your left hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your wedding band and engagement ring stack.

"Do you wanna know my wish?" Nanami asked.

You gasped to stop him, "You can't tell me! Then it won't come true!"

"Fortunately, it already came true." He rubbed the diamond on your engagement ring and you gave him a wry look. "Kento, you just wasted your wish!"

"I don't have any other wish but this."

You smiled softly at him and looked at him lovingly. Even on his birthday, he still somehow made you feel special. "Happy birthday Kento." you gleamed.

"I love you." he said.

"OH! Your gift, let me go get it." You took the last bite of your breakfast and ran back to the bedroom to quickly get the gift you've been hiding from him the past week.

While you were gone, Nanami looked around the home you and him have built for the past few years. Every object holding every memory you both created delicately. His gaze lingering on each familiar corner, appreciating the comfort hidden within each routine that was placed under this roof. This was his future he had always wanted with you. A quiet life built on small moments, shared meals and small or long conversations before bed depending on your mood. And with all this, he would never trade this life or you for anything else.

You came back from the bedroom with a small looking box wrapped in colorful yellow wrapping paper topped with a gift bow. Your joyful expression filling up every corner of the home.

Here is her coffee cup, where she abandoned it before bed, the distance to the kitchen sink too great to consider. Here is her hair tie, a few strands of hair caught in the small metal clasp.

Here are her clothes discarded right beside the hamper, the scents of baking bread, chocolate cream and the faint underlying note of perspiration, wafting gently out to what comes crawling by.

Malice doesn't take much note of the girl in the neighbouring apartment. That girl is a student, and her stresses are wholly different.

No, Malice prefers this one. 

She is a prime candidate, with her easy, warm smile, the way she takes on task after task in order to see the bakery run smoothly, the way she stays later than others on weekdays and takes extra shifts to make ends meet.

So much hope. So easily crushed.

A fine meal indeed.

Malice finds her, where she sleeps like the dead, hair spread out across her pillow, like the dark cloud of shattered dreams it arrived here on.

Her arm is flung above her head, bent at the elbow, but that doesn't stop Malice from snaking towards her sleeping face, hissing in low triumph.

When the girl wakes to the sound of her alarm just before daybreak, she feels much the same.

There is no trace of her night-time visitor, apart from a certain heaviness that lies on her shoulders, a constant downward tug on the corners of her mouth, a pall that hangs over her mood.

She tries not to acknowledge it, to turn a blind eye.

Things always improve, don't they?

Malice knows better.

It's a simple and shallow curse, but its always chosen its victims well.

"Good morning! How may I assist?"

The words ring out, cheerful and confident in the small shop. The bell over the door chimes with charming alacrity whenever a new customer enters.

She is behind the counter today, and the thing hidden like smoke in the shell of her ear stirs, awakening.

Nobody can see it, of course. Nobody can see curses, besides a rare few. And this particular curse feels confident that there is no danger here today.

Sliding from its hiding place, it goes to work.

It never learns her name. It doesn't intend to.

She is Girl and it is Malice.

Girl is very upbeat today. She chirps greetings and offers bright smiles, hums softly as she opens and closes the display cases to remove a cake here, or a croissant there. She clacks the metal tongs together in an unknown rhythm, to a song that plays out only in her head.

Malice knows what she dreamt of last night.

There was a train journey, and endless one into the dark, the destination unclear. When Dream Girl finally alighted through the doors, onto the shadowy platform, she had no idea where she was and had no money or phone in her pockets.

The dream had been a swift one, but Malice knew what it signified.

Girl is uncertain, lost, afraid of what the future may hold. And she hides it well.

The bell over the door chimes again, and Malice threads tendrils of its form into the flesh of her ear. It whispers to her in a voice that she cannot hear through regular means.

Today is just like yesterday. What a bore.

As the customer, a man in overalls, places his order, Girl's smile falters for just a second before she hitches it firmly back into place.

"Would you like a coffee with that?"

For a few weeks, Malice kept its presence imperceptible. Girl's state of mind was on the edge of being vulnerable, but not quite. More work was needed to get her to that point.

Malice would occasionally feed Girl stray thoughts, like it had on that first day. Nothing too overt, of course. Nothing that would make it seem like the thought hadn't originated from her.

On one particular day, she was on kitchen duty, a renewed verve in her actions. She'd clocked in half an hour early and began to prep, bobbing her head to the faint music emanating from the small radio in the corner.

Malice watched her with something like amusement.

This was the part that was especially delicious to witness. The slow erosion of will and happiness, the bloom of dark flowers beneath the eyes, the shadow of the person you were going to become looming in the wings, waiting to usurp your presence in the world.

Girl was oblivious, of course. She went about her duties, probably assuming that today would be a touch better than the week prior.

Who had the time to dwell on dreams of trains with no destination when there was dough to be mixed and left to rise, batches of croissants to be folded and shaped, flavoured cream fillings for doughnuts to be whipped and piped and today's specials to be chalked out on a small board in fancy cursive script?

When her break came around, Girl took the opportunity to slip out the back, passing through the short alley where the waste was discarded for collection, and out into a small courtyard facing the embankment.

A series of benches lay in wait, fairly empty at this time of day. The lunchtime rush was over.

Girls seated herself on one of these benches, pulling a wrapped sandwich from her pocket. She placed it in her lap and stared at it for a moment, before peeling away the plastic and taking a small bite.

Malice recognised the sandwich as one of Girl's contributions to the menu, one she had meticulously researched and spent a lot of time crafting.

Girl closed her eyes, a small crease gathering between her brows. She chewed for a minute longer, taking in the flavours, before shaking her head.

"Too much garlic in the butter," she muttered, and proceeded to eat the rest of the sandwich with quick, efficient bites.

Malice considered that incident for a while, from its perch within the dark strands of hair curling around Girl's ear.

Even with all the uncertainty and pressure to build a meaningful future, Girl still took the time to improve things, to pay attention to detail.

Malice would eat that little trait right out of her mind.

Week by week, Malice made progress.

Words slipped like the finest needle beneath the skin, the drip-drip of coffee through a filter laced with poisonous longing.

Why aren't they ever on time? I'm always here early.

Can't my weekend be free for once?

Can't cover the repairs to my bike, not with this month's rent going up.

That new place is opening up across the road. There'll be less people coming in at lunch time today ...

Malice learned to mimic the voice in Girl's mind, so much so that they were now indistinguishable.

Little pebbles, tossed so lightly, the ripples that spread alerting something just below the water, something larger, something ravenous.

When Girl went to sleep each night, she tossed and turned. She began to drink soothing teas in the evenings, taking longer baths to ease the tension that crept into her limbs.

Malice watched.

Malice waited.

One day, he came to the bakery.

The bell over the entrance chimed, as was customary. The steady stream of salarymen that always arrived at around this time disguised his form at first.

He had the same tired eyes, the same downtrodden air, the same listless, dour set of the mouth that so many others had.

It was when he arrived at the counter, however, that Girl straightened slightly, her gaze growing more alert and appraising.

She was steadily taking in his tall stature, the strangely broad shoulders and upright posture, in spite of the fact that he must spend all day seated in front of a flickering screen.

She took in the gaunt cheeks, the perfectly parted hair, the pinstripe suit that seemed deliberately chosen to mask his presence in a crowd.

She must have seen something different about him, because she adopted an earnest expression and took up a position at the till, greeting him with more than her usual cheer.

"Good day! How may I help?"

He barely glanced at her.

"The casse-croûte, please."

He'd chosen her special sandwich. The one she'd spent hours perfecting. She beamed back at him, something he took no notice of at all.

"Right away! Anything to drink?"

"A coffee. Black."

She bundled up his order, face shining with renewed determination. Handing his food and drink over to him, she offered him a pleasant farewell, which he didn't reply to.

It made very little dent in her cheer.

Malice took note of the improvement in her mood, but didn't attach any special significance to it at that time.

Humans were strange creatures.

On a diet of stress, fatigue, resentment and monotony, Malice grew steadily stronger.

Girl had experienced a recent streak of misfortune. Her mother had fallen ill, and she'd received a call from the clinic where her parents lived in the countryside.

This month would be tight financially, what with her having to pay for her mother's medical treatment along with covering rent.

Malice knew it was only a matter of time before it would be able to gain the upper hand. Already, its form was becoming more corporeal, after a fashion.

From a wisp of greater darkness, it grew a body, a tail and two bulbous eyes that swiveled on stalks.

Girl could not see it, of course, but its presence was felt.

Each morning she would rise and wince at the additional strain on her shoulder, swiveling and stretching her arm to gain a relief that never materialised.

She tried pain relievers, anti-inflammatories, herbal ointments, but the steady pressure only seemed to grow.

In spite of all of this, she seemed more driven at work than ever. It was the one thing that caused a slight sense of unease in the shadowy being that now accompanied her everywhere.

That salaryman.

He was coming in every day now, and the more Girl refined her sandwich, the more he seemed to purchase it. No matter how bleak her day had been, her eyes always grew brighter and her smile more genuine when he arrived and unfailingly ordered the casse-croûte and coffee.

On one particular day, she'd seemed to gather a little more courage and asked him if he liked the sandwich.

For the first time, he looked straight at her, those listless hazel eyes suddenly taking on a sharper aspect. His focus was a little unnerving, and if Malice didn't know any better, it would have said that Salaryman's gaze flicked briefly to where it coiled on Girl's shoulder.

"The convenience store that I used to buy them from doesn't make them any more."

His voice is deep, laden with a certain authoritative note, strangely pleasant for a man who looks like this.

The richness of tone gives the impression that he'd once spoken with less clipped formality, before the crushing weight of the corporate world shaved down the edges of him, until the bare, bleached bones remained.

Girl looks pleased with his answer, obviously taking pride in the fact that even a man as hardened as this has appreciation for the food she prepares.

"Well, we definitely make it better. You won't find flavours like these in a convenience store."

The laser intensity of his stare shifts away from her again as he removes his wallet from his pocket.

"Well, you are a bakery. It's only natural that you'd make the sandwich better."

"Ah ... give us some credit, please."

She laughs, slightly shamefaced, but her determination flares all the brighter when he leaves.

After work, she stays longer to perfect the herb blend for the butter, uses a different knife to gain even finer slices of cold meat.

Malice doesn't like what it sees, but it doesn't matter either way. No salaryman can save her from the culmination of its designs.

All humans fall.

Malice starts to push against Girl's will with more force, sometimes robbing her of choices and exerting otherworldly energy to drive her off course.

Girl hadn't been the one to add excess milk to the cake batter, but she was blamed for it. She hadn't been the one to burn three batches of croissants, but nobody else had been noticed near the ovens. She hadn't touched the trays of mochi and filled doughnuts, but something had dragged them to the floor right after she'd passed by.

After the last kitchen calamity, the day manager had relegated her to till duty, a sudden switch that had never occurred in the entire duration of her time working at the bakery.

She'd been extremely upset of course, taking a hurried bathroom break to shed a few tears, but she'd wiped them away soon enough and made her way to the till, somehow producing that bright and eager smile even after the kind of morning she'd had.

For once, Malice felt rage spike within it.

Why was she so damnably resilient? Why would she not fold and break, like countless others had, to lesser curses?

Malice had chosen her as an easy victim, one who would quickly succumb to the myriad small despairs of her life. How was she still so optimistic? What did she have to look forward to, in this meaningless monotony of existence, where each day was a means to prolong survival and stave off the next crisis?

Just then, the bell over the door tinkled, and Salaryman came in.

He looked like death warmed over.

The dark smudges beneath each eye were more pronounced than ever, and the pallor of his sunken cheeks was almost frightening. Even with exhaustion so evident in every movement, his gaze still held that unsettling quality; sharp-edged, analytical, almost wary in the way it swept across Girl and the goods on display behind the counter.

She looked him over with clear concern.

"Are you all right? It doesn't seem like you've been sleeping at all."

He didn't move, but he was now examining her closely, in a way that made Malice stir in discomfort. Salaryman countered her question with one of his own.

"What about you? You don't look very well yourself. Have you been resting?"

Her eyes widened, surprised that he'd caught onto that fact. She'd done a fairly good job of hiding her own fatigue and pain from her colleagues and associates at the bakery.

"Ah ... it's nothing really. I've just not been sleeping very well. And my shoulder ... it's been giving me trouble."

"I see."

"Well, enough about me! Would you like your usual order?"

Once again, Salaryman ignored her question. He seemed oddly focused today, even in his current state.

After an awkward pause, he looked up at her again. This time his voice was softer, more contemplative. He spoke as if continuing a conversation nobody else had been party to.

"That's the funny thing about our respective jobs. Your job is to provide bread, an essential service. You provide sustenance for the people who come to this bakery. I ... I on the other hand, take the wealth of rich people and make them richer. It's ironic, isn't it, that my job is paid better than yours?"

Girl stared back at him, dumbfounded. She grasped at words that seemed to escape her without thought, an attempt to lighten the mood he had suddenly set.

"Eh? Are you  ... bragging?"

"Not at all. I'm suggesting that if I were to disappear tomorrow, nobody would care. My existence as a salaryman is wholly useless to anyone else. I'm completely replaceable. You, on the other hand, would be missed for the unique service you offer."

Her expression had turned more serious now, and she leaned forward earnestly.

"Please don't say that. I don't know you very well, Mister ... "

"Nanami."

"Mister Nanami. Yes. I don't know you well, but please know that you'll always be a valued customer at this bakery. I'll keep making these sandwiches, and try to make them better each time, so you'll always have something to look forward to."

Oh? Was this a goodbye from the Salaryman? It certainly sounded like it.

Malice uncoiled from its position around Girl's shoulders, teeth bared in triumph.

Maybe he'd never come back.

Maybe he'd lost the will to carry on with his own meaningless existence.

Maybe he'd even lost the will to live. What a blow that would be to her!

Salaryman was still staring straight at Girl, eyes lambent as a leopard in the dusk before night sets in.

"Excuse me, but will you please step forward?"

"Eh?"

In spite of her confusion, Girl complied.

Malice bobbed its head, watching with glee.

Maybe he'd shake her hand and thank her for all those sandwiches.

Maybe he'd bow to her and leave this shop for good.

Maybe he'd -

Salaryman raised his hand, the edge of his palm suddenly bathed in a terribly familiar energy, a brilliant flame that flooded his veins and burned brighter than florescent lighting.

Malice barely had time to register the horror of what it was seeing.

A sorcerer? Here? But he looked like an ordinary salary-

The hand came down like a blade.

Life resumed its usual rhythm, the appearance of the strange, taciturn salaryman slowly ebbing away, into the sepia tint of memory.

She'd never forgotten him, though. She'd always remembered the first time she'd seen him, standing at the back of the queue, his dark suit blending in with the shelves.

Even though it had seemed he'd made an effort to look as unassuming as possible, he'd stood out to her.

He'd looked so lonely.

Even though he'd guarded himself so well within glass walls that allowed the fingers of others to slip and slide away from the core of his true self, she's still seen something of what he'd buried within; a desire for some kind of connection, like a child reaching out a hand in a dark room, hoping that someone, anyone, would take it.

She'd done what her instinct had ordered. She'd reached out to him, the only way she'd known how.

Through her food.

And time marched inexorably forward.

Malice died, as quickly as it had been born, leaving only a faint scar on the mind, but other things remained.

The casse-croûte stayed on the menu of the small bakery, by the insistence of its newly promoted day manager.

Mister Nanami, the salaryman, never did return, but she made sure that the sandwich was always available.

To most, it would probably seem that Kento's progress was excruciatingly slow. There was no detail that escaped the eagle-eyed knight, no remnant of the beast's activity that seemed too small or insignificant.

Approximately half a mile covered within the forests sheltering boughs, they came upon the remains of the beast's prey; the two sheep, sightless eyes staring ahead, their empty ribcages turned in gory supplication to the sky.

Once again, Kento approached, Yuuji close on his heels. In spite of the almost overwhelming metallic scent of blood, now cold and congealed, along with the foul odour of torn viscera and decomposition, Kento was leaning in to examine the corpses. His eyes narrowed.

"Hmm. Most unusual."

"Unusual?"

Yuuji's brow scrunched as he tried to discern what Kento was pointing out.

"It looks like two different individuals fed on these sheep."

"Wait, what? You're telling me there are two of these things out there? Did it bring back two sheep for its nest or something?"

Kento shook his head, before turning to Yuuji, and something in his expression caused a chill to run along the squire's frame.

"Not quite. Look here. These are the marks of fangs, the canines elongated, like you'd expect from some kind of predator. But right here, the marks are different. They're smaller, less invasive, the bite circumference quite distinct."

"So that must be its baby, right? What else could that mean?"

"Yuuji, the smaller bite marks are from human teeth."

The forest around them seemed to close in suddenly. Yuuji turned the words over and over in his mind, their meaning not quite sinking in. Sir Kento was looking at him again, half pitying, half composed, as if waiting for the inevitable understanding to come.

Yuuji couldn't understand.

"What ... what are you ... how could there be - "

"It's something that's been bothering me since Lord Aram mentioned that the beast came along the same route we travelled on. That road, and all near it, pass through the main checkpoints to the Castle. There would be no way for a beast to pass by such a barricade.

"So how ... "

"Furthermore, I've been measuring the tracks since we first found them. They are inconsistent in size and depth. In other words, this beast was changing its form as it passed through these lands."

Within Yuuji's chest, a constriction was growing, as if a clamp had been passed around the breadth of his lungs and was steadily squeezing.

"So ... the beast isn't really a beast? Is that what you're saying?"

"I stand to be proven wrong, but all the evidence points to it."

"But ... what is it then? I've never heard of this kind of sorcery. It's - "

He came to an abrupt stop as Kento rose from where he crouched beside the sheep carcasses.

"Transfiguration is an old magic. You certainly won't come across it often in these times. But that's not to say it never existed. There have been many tales told in the sagas that hint at these kinds of practices."

Letting out a long, steadying breath, Yuuji closed his eyes, attempting to focus.

"But those were just stories. Don't the sagas exaggerate to make the stakes higher?"

"True. But there are elements of truth to them. I've seen transfiguration magic myself, employed for basic disguise, but nothing quite on this level."

"So what do we do?"

Sir Kento drew his sword in a fluid motion, hefting the square-edged blade before staring down the centre of it. Seeming satisfied with his inspection, he returned it to its sheathe, adjusting his visor once more.

"The parameters of our quest haven't changed. Whatever the sorcery involved, we are tasked to put a stop to it."

Yuuji nodded firmly.

"Right."

It was afternoon when they made camp in the forest. Yuuji thought it was too early, but this misconception was quickly corrected when the darkness that pervaded these denser parts grew with alarming rapidity. It would have been impossible, either way, to continue following the tracks.

He helped Sir Kento set up the tent and a small area for the fire. The cold had started to seep into the clearing, chilling the tips of his fingers and nose. He glanced up periodically at the tree line, the shadows beyond growing steadily more menacing.

Yuuji was no stranger to fear, but there was an unknown factor to this, a malice not yet encountered, that made him skittish.

Frustrated at his own reaction, he rose from the central area of their camp and approached Kento. The knight was steadily sharpening his blade, pausing between strokes to examine the heavy weapon. The steel reflected a keen, silver edge across his face, the last of the dying light filtering between the trees.

"Sir Kento? I'm going to collect some firewood."

"No, you're not."

"But Sir - "

"You're going to stay here and help guard the camp."

Yuuji bit his lip, stifling his frustration.

Were his shaken nerves so clearly on display? Did his master think he would freeze if faced with the beast?

Glancing up at the youthful face, set in a downcast expression, Kento sighed.

"If you really want to know, it's the logical conclusion. I'm older, more experienced in the wild, and can react faster to danger. I'm also more disposable."

"Disposable?"

Even now, under these circumstances, Yuuji felt outraged at this statement.

"Sir ... what are you talking about? You're not - "

Kento's mouth twitched, a hint of that grave smile revealing itself briefly.

"Yuuji, I'm an adult, and a knight. When I donned these colours and this mantle, I accepted every responsibility that comes with it. It's my duty to offer up my life in exchange for the safety of others."

Cocking his head, Yuuji frowned.

"But I'm also a knight in training. Surely I should - "

"This is not about your power, or your ability. This is simply about what's right and wrong."

Eyes travelling to the dark forest beyond, then back to the man beside the fire, watching him patiently and intently, Yuuji nodded slowly.

“When the time comes … what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to watch, learn and support me. That’s your role.”

Kento raised a hand, as if anticipating a protest of some kind.

“I will, however, be taking your input into account. Right and wrong is rarely black and white. I’ll be relying on you, Yuuji, to guide my actions too.”

“You’ll be relying on … me?”

“Of course.”

Picking up his blade once more, Kento’s whetstone scored a precise line along its length, the drag of its surface against steel a decisive sound in the hush of the air between the trees.

“One doesn’t have to be a knight to determine the fate of another. Something my armoured compatriots seem to forget quite frequently.”

Shoulders slumping, Yuuji let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re really nothing like other knights, Sir Kento.”

It was still dark when something tugged and caught at Yuuji’s consciousness, a nail snared within the passing fold of a coat. His body jerked, and he turned over within the confines of his bedroll, senses slowly attuning themselves to the sounds of the forest, and what had awakened him.

Sir Kento had taken first watch, and Yuuji spied his form, standing motionless a few feet away, eyes trained on the trees. Somewhere, not too far away if his ears weren’t deceiving him, there was a sound that took him a moment to process.

The baying of hounds, but not quite.

There was a strange, gravelly undertone to the noise, as if each hound’s throat distorted and their howl grew more bestial if you listened for long enough, an unearthly cadence that caused an involuntary shudder to pass along his frame.

Leaping to his feet, he saw Kento hold out a hand, a gesture to him to hold his position.

The firelight didn’t quite reach the spot where the knight stood, and he seemed otherworldly himself in that moment. Unlike Yuuji, he was still fully clad in his armour and surcoat, the square-edged blade in his hand.

His tall, straight-backed form seemed elongated in the gloom, shadow cast in sharp relief on the tree trunks ahead.

Yuuji saw, with a start, that he had wrapped a mottled cloth around the blade, the handle grasped firmly in one fist. Having seen knights in combat before, Sir Kento seemed oddly exposed without the protective shield, but there was no time to dwell on that peculiarity.  

The sound was growing closer, and Yuuji scrambled to tug on his shoes, the cold nipping at his exposed arms as he rapidly settled into a battle-ready stance. He had resolved to support his master in this hunt, and he wouldn’t allow his earlier promise to ring hollow.

Louder now, the sound of hooves thudding across damp, compacted earth, the rustle of dry leaves beneath the slide of scales.

Sir Kento held his position.

Yuuji’s gaze was directed right past his arm, and so he saw the slight tightening of the gauntleted grip on the sword hilt, the way the knight’s right foot slid back in a slow, controlled circle, the rush of energy like a powerful underground current, flickering across his forearms and wrists.

Something burst from the line of trees, great and long bodied, rearing up so that the large hooves came down with a thud that seemed to reverberate through the ground all the way to where Yuuji stood. He let out a stifled gasp as he beheld the sight of the questing beast they had been tracking. Somehow the sight of it was rendered all the more horrifying, a culmination of the slow piecing together of all the traces they had come across, the revelation of its true nature.

Sir Kento had barely moved an inch during the beast's thunderous entry, but now his body spilled into motion with purpose and speed. Heel driving back into the ground, his upper body pivoted, the sword swinging around in a powerful arc.

The creature roared and staggered as his first blow tore through the sinew of its foreleg. Yuuji cried out in warning, but Kento seemed to be guided by the flow of reflexes borne of many battles.

Sliding back, he ducked as large tendrils of some amorphous material rose from the long, ridged back and sped towards him. Swift as a swallow in flight, he was moving again, and now Yuuji began to realise why Kento never wore full plate armour in battle, or carried a shield.

Both would be far too cumbersome for his dexterous technique.

As the neck snaked, jaws opening wide, saliva dripping from between gnashing teeth, there was never a moment where the knight remained still. Each swing was calculated, weighted, carrying behind it a singular force that went beyond the physical.

That same undercurrent of surging energy seemed to infuse his frame, lending him a preternatural speed and grace that seemed to grow the longer he fought.

The beast was slowly making its way along the side of the clearing, and Yuuji realised with a start that it was actually attempting to reach him.

He backed away, hands clenching into tight fists.

Helping Sir Kento had sounded suitably brave in his mind, but this situation required more thought. He couldn't run in without a plan. With the rhythmic pace that the knight had set, he was fully aware that he'd be more of a hindrance than a help.

And the beast had obviously marked him as a weaker target, presumably to sate its appetite.

They'd been right to hunt it down. Yuuji could only imagine the kind of havoc such a monstrous being would create if unleashed on a peaceful market day on the green.

Circling warily, the young squire remained alert as he watched for an opening, any opportunity to assist his master.

The beast was now attempting to trample the darting figure below it, hooves rising and coming down like a hammer on some giant's anvil, clods of earth and shards of shattered stone flying through the air.

The sound coming from its innards was all the clearer, and Yuuji could make out that what had seemed to be the baying of hounds was actually a series of sharp, grating noises, as if massive bones were snapping and re-annealing within the monster's form.

He could see it now, the way the flesh rippled unnaturally beneath the skin, the way it seemed to repair the damage dealt by Kento's strikes within seconds of receiving them.

Gritting his teeth, he called out to the knight.

"It's healing itself!"

The helmeted head turned to him momentarily, and Yuuji saw the eyes within the frame of the visor widen slightly as they took him in, shooting upward to the region just above his head. In that moment, Yuuji witnessed something he'd never thought he'd see in that world-weary, stoic gaze; pure panic.

An icy sensation of dread caught and held him as he turned, slowly, too slowly, and beheld the passage of two swift tendrils from the creature that had passed, cunningly, from its flank, all the way through the concealing cover of brush, and re-emerged right behind him.

No. He'd promised he wouldn't hold Sir Kento back. He couldn't -

As Yuuji took a step in retreat, teeth exposed in a wild grimace of determination and fear, fists coming up defensively, something came hurtling over his shoulder and carved a scarlet path through both tendrils.

It was Sir Kento's sword. He'd flung it.

A terrible howl of frustration echoed through the clearing. Hooves plunged into the earth to hold the creature’s repellent body steady as more of the fleshy protrusions shot from its back, rushing with terrifying intent towards Yuuji.

Within moments, Sir Kento was in front of him, back colliding with Yuuji as he took the brunt of the blows aimed their way. Uttering a short cry of horror, the squire slipped and slid backwards through the damp earth, hands braced on Kento's shoulders, holding him upright.

The knight was now breathing hard, one hand clasped to his side. He turned slightly to take stock of his charge.

"Are you hurt?"

The words came through clenched teeth, hissed as if spoken against the excruciating exhale of bruised ribs.

"I'm fine! But you're - "

Yuuji abruptly stopped speaking, because a terrible word had entered his mind just then, one Kento had spoken earlier.

Disposable.

That's how the knight saw himself.

A rush of cursed energy flooded through Yuuji's body, tearing new awareness from dormant synapses.

This wasn't what Sir Satoru had trained him to do. He'd never be satisfied with sitting on the sidelines while Kento, his current appointed guardian and mentor, sacrificed his safety to keep him away from a monster.

Stepping out from behind the armoured form, Yuuji bent his knees, concentrating the flow of cursed energy into the vital areas of his body, as Satoru had taught him. His technique was still far from polished, but his own speed and power caught Kento's attention as he struck two blows in quick succession with his bare hands, repelling the rocketing spears of flesh and bone that arced towards them.

It only took a moment for Sir Kento to take in the nature of Yuuji's offensive. That hawk-like gaze narrowing further, he darted forward and snatched up the blade where it had driven into the ground close by. The creature was now attacking them with teeth, talons, tail and hooves, all while the deadly whips of distorted flesh flailed about and attempted to breach their defences.

They moved in tandem, blocking, weaving, stepping in and out of the space the other had just left, a dance of fist and sword and fist again, that slowly drove the enraged beast back, inch by hard-fought inch.

Now fighting side by side with the knight, Yuuji was able to appreciate the fluidity and sheer strength in each of his movements, the way his sword fell seconds before each of the monster's strikes, cold, hard analysis working hand in hand with pure battle instinct to predict where the opponent would be.

There was something else though, something that Yuuji would dwell on later (if they made it unscathed out of their current predicament.)

He'd seen the moment of uncharacteristic terror in Sir Kento's eyes when he'd beheld Yuuji in danger. He'd seen the way he'd thrown his sword across the clearing, an action that someone with Kento's years of experience would know, with certainty, was reckless beyond measure. He'd felt the desperation in the older man's frame as he'd shielded him from the monster's attack with his defenceless body, gaining a possibly debilitating injury in the process.

All of this was rather incongruous, considering Kento's personality. All of this hinged on the idea of being disposable, and why he'd adopted such a view in the first place.

But these ruminations could wait.

For now, Yuuji breathed and fought the way he'd been taught, the aftershock of each of his blows dealing heavier damage to the beast's flesh each time. He hung back when Kento took the lead, and recognised when the knight gave him space to unleash more of his own technique.

The campsite had long since ceased to look anything like the place of shelter and repose it had once been, the ground torn and trampled, trees shattered and their belongings scattered and half buried in the churned soil.

The grating sounds from within the beast's body were louder than ever, but Yuuji could see that it was tiring. In this battle of attrition, they might still win against all odds. The healing of each wound on alien flesh and bone grew slower with every laceration of Sir Kento's blade and impact of Yuuji's fist.

The beast began to stagger and Kento called out to him.

"Keep your focus! Aim for the throat and knees."

Indeed, the beating of the giant, distorted heart that presumably kept this abomination alive was slowing inexorably, the death rattle that emitted from the throat passing rank air over Yuuji's face.

He winced, but did not back away.

This close, it was evident what a terrible, twisted version of life this was, and he couldn't help the feeling of foreboding that grew within him as they pushed the beast further back, right until it stumbled back onto its titanic haunches. The forelegs scrambled against the ground, raking up trenches in the loosened earth.

Sir Kento darted right between the flailing limbs, the rapidity of his movement belying the pain he must be in from his earlier injury. Arm drawing back, he plunged his blade forward, right into where the creature's heart should be.

The square blade only pierced the flesh minimally, but the precise current of energy that poured from knight's body, into the vulnerable point he'd managed to find, did catastrophic damage.

Foul fluid burst from between the frothing lips and with a terrible howl, the massive form toppled sideways, crashing partway through the trees, finally lying still.

The silence in the clearing was deafening after the constant sever and snap of large bones, and Yuuji could suddenly hear his own ragged breathing, feel the quiver of over-taxed muscles,  the pounding of his own heart.

Beside him, Kento dropped to one knee, hand gripping the hilt of his blade where he'd plunged it into the ground to keep upright. Staggering over to him, Yuuji slid an arm behind his shoulders, aware that even now, the knight was not placing his full weight against him.

"Sir - "

"Look. There."

Following the line of the steel-clad finger, Yuuji let out a cry of alarm as he saw the shape of the beast shift before his very eyes.

The elongated neck, the misshapen snout, the tangled mane, the many grotesque protrusions and the sinuous body all receding, shrinking into itself.

In spite of Yuuji's protests, Sir Kento struggled to his feet, one hand still placed over his side, and made his way slowly over to the remains of what had once been their opponent. Gone were all the trappings of mutilation, in their place, a corpse that was more recognisably human.

A man, middle-aged, sightless eyes staring skyward. The sclera were now of a much darker colour, and from this angle, it looked like every bone in his body had suffered great trauma.

Yuuji dropped down beside Kento, the terrible truth baring itself to him.

"This ... was the - "

Kento was examining the corpse attentively, and Yuuji found that he was now able to read the stoic countenance better than he expected. In the slow, ruddy filtering of daybreak through the trees, he saw untold emotion in the tightening of the pale lips, the crease in the marble brow.

Pity. Tragedy. Anger. Resolve.

Kento straightened and looked him in the eye.

"This transformation did not happen by choice."

"What?"

"This man is no more a sorcerer than the Lord of that village. Look at his hands. These are callouses that come from working the land, handling a plough and tilling the fields. Someone did this to him, with foul intention."

Yuuji leaned back slowly, scrubbing his hands over his eyes.

"Someone ... turned him into this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"We can speculate all day, but that won't do us any good."

After a pause, Yuuji spoke again, his voice small.

"What do you think he was looking for? Why'd he come out here and expose himself to the town? Why didn't he just ... stay in the forest and eat animals and not come out so no humans could see him?"

The nature of Yuuji's question was enough to bring Kento to a complete halt.

The boy wasn't celebrating their victory. Far from it. He was so young, and yet the weight of this lost life, as much of an abomination as it had been, laid heavily on his shoulders. It was certainly not a burden he should be bearing alone.

"Yuuji, we'll never know precisely what he was looking for, but I can hazard a guess."

"You can?"

"Transfiguration, especially a form as unstable as this one, requires massive energy reserves. Stability sacrificed for healing efficiency. He was looking for sustenance, to keep feeding himself, to perhaps bring back the body he once had."

"So ... he was just trying to survive?"

"Probably. Isn't that what most people want?"

Taking a bracing breath, Yuuji looked over at the knight.

"Your injuries. We need to get them seen to immediately."

"More importantly, we need to get back. Get this information to the court. They need to know that someone extremely dangerous has tried their hand at a forbidden form of sorcery."

Yuuji rose to his feet hurriedly.

"Sir Kento ... you're in no condition to travel, so - "

"I'll be fine. Help me treat these wounds. Then we'll find the road back to the town."

Yuuji winced as the heavy bruising on Kento's side came into view. The ring mail shirt had protected him from the worst of the damage, but where the tendrils of jointed bone had struck true, the individual links had embedded and cut into the knight's side.

As Kento leaned back and allowed his squire to help him apply salve and firmly bandage his ribs, he couldn't help but notice the boy's subdued mood. Although Yuuji was clearly trying his best to keep up his spirits, and encouraging Kento to prioritise his mobility and prevent swelling, some other unknown burden was weighing him down.

After a few more moments of watching Yuuji struggle, he decided to put him out of his misery.

"Is something else troubling you?"

The quick look the squire sent his way, not quite meeting his eyes, told him all he needed to know.

"Yuuji, the sooner you speak about it, the sooner it will cease to bother you."

"I know! I just ... why did you do that? If you hadn't thrown your sword away, you wouldn't be this badly injured."

"I don't recall throwing my sword away. Here it is."

The look Yuuji shot him now reminded him of how he often looked at Satoru. Was this what it felt like to be on the receiving end of exasperation?

"Sir Kento, I think you know exactly what I mean."

The clearing was quiet for a minute, as Yuuji diligently cleaned the area around the wounds. Kento's gaze travelled away, up towards the canopy that cast its shade upon them, even now as the day encroached.

He could remain silent. He could let Yuuji find out on his own. Heavens knew, gossip passed around the court faster than wildfire. There were many who knew why he had left on pilgrimage all those years ago, and many who would be eager to deliver the story to his squire's ears.

Kento spoke, into the hush of the listening forest.

"When I was your age, I had a good friend. Haibara was his name. We trained together. Fought together. Went on quests together with our own masters and mentors. He ... would have been a good man. A great knight."

Yuuji had evidently not missed the past tense with which he referred to his friend. The fingers that worked on fastening the bandages slowed before resuming their tugging and pulling.

"Seems like someone I'd have gotten along with."

"You would have. He was a lot like you. Nothing like me, in other words."

"Is that ... a compliment, or not?"

"I'm glad you're asking the right questions."

"Sir Kento!"

"He was a good man, as you guessed. Cheerful. Kind. Earnest. He wanted to provide for his family, in the countryside."

There was another pause, and Yuuji completed his work on bandaging Kento, testing the firmness of the bindings and nodding, satisfied. He didn't push for further details, but now that Kento had started speaking, there was a certain compulsion to finish.

"Haibara and I took on a quest beyond our skill. It was the fault of the court, for pushing young knights in training like us to seek out more perilous missions to earn renown. We had no idea what we were getting into."

Taking a bracing breath, he finally spoke the words that had weighed on him, more than anything else.

"Haibara never made it. I did. And so, I left. Pilgrimage seemed the most fitting end to my career as a knight. One that had never really begun. How could I call myself a knight if I hadn't completed that most basic of tasks assigned to us, to protect the innocent?"

Yuuji was now frowning down at his hands, as if scrutinizing them for the first time.

"Protecting the innocent?"

"Yes."

"Then what about that man over there? Why couldn't we protect him? If someone did this to him, why couldn't he be saved?"

Kento’s eyes widened slightly, as Yuuji's gaze turned up to meet his, strangely calm and rational for one so young.

"You don't have to answer that, you know. I already know the answer. I know that he had to be killed, to save other people. What I'm trying to say is ... what happened to him wasn't our fault. We just cleaned up the wrongs that someone else committed."

It took a few moments more before Kento found himself able to speak.

"And what do you think our course of action should be now?"

"I can't say for sure. I have no idea, actually. I just know that we can't let this happen to someone else. If we're going to do that, we can't be disposable, right? Because if our lives can be thrown away so easily, then how are we going to find the strength to save as many people as we can?"

Yuuji stood, and in spite of how dim the clearing still was, the sunlight seemed to highlight his boyish features with the promise of who he would become.

It was enough for Kento.

Wordlessly, he reached up and took the outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

The journey to the edge of the forest took much longer than their entry had. Yuuji insisted that Kento sling one arm across his shoulders, which the knight reluctantly agreed to. It made their passage a trifle easier.

By the time they broke through the trees, it was mid-morning. The damp shade fell away, and their shoulders and arms welcomed the radiant warmth.

Behind them, somewhere further in, near the clearing, a grave had been dug to contain the remains of the unknown man who'd fallen prey to dark sorcery. In the days to come, Sir Kento would spare no resource in attempting to discover his identity.

Taking a short break, the knight seated himself gingerly on a nearby log, stretching out his long legs and sighing.

"It's a pity our supplies were destroyed. Some breakfast would have helped."

"Ah. About that."

Yuuji slung his pack from his shoulders, which had somehow been flung to the edge of the clearing during the fray and survived the worst of the beast's trampling. Under Kento's curious eye, he pulled a wrapped bundle from within.

"Heh. Not the freshest, and we've got no butter, but it's something, right?"

The edges of the cloth fell apart, revealing itself to be a napkin pilfered from the dining hall of the castle, and within was a precious rosemary loaf, one Yuuji had managed to stash away before they left.

Kento stared at the offering before his gaze rose and fixed on his squire like an eagle pinning a rabbit to the hillside.

"Did you take this from breakfast the other day?"

"Well ... yes. I mean, you said you liked it! You said it was your favourite. And so I - "

"Yuuji, I'm not saying you did anything wrong. I'm just surprised that you noticed my preference."

"Hard not to notice. You were scarfing it down like it was your last supper."

"Excuse me?"

"Really gulping it down, if you know what I mean - "

"I did no such thing."

"Oh, but you did. I can see why you don't like other people watching you eat. Hard to maintain such a respectable image, Sir Kento, when you eat bread like all the animals of the wilds are about to snatch it from your hands."

In spite of his injuries, Kento managed to reach across and deliver a light smack to the back of Yuuji's head.

"In my day, we never offered such blatant disrespect to our knightly masters."

"Sounding like a true old veteran now, Sir."

"This is what happens when Sir Satoru takes a hand in your training."

Accepting the loaf, Nanami broke it in half, handing one of the pieces to his protesting squire.

"No! You need to eat all of it. I saved it for you!"

"You'll eat it, Yuuji, or I'll ensure that you recite all one hundred and thirteen tenets of the knightly code, right before you go to sleep every night."

"You wouldn't!"

A companiable silence drifted across the rolling fields as they ate, the threat and tragedy of the night shelved away, to return to at some other time. Yuuji was starting to understand Sir Kento's pilgrimage somewhat better now. There was little time to recall your pain and loss when the present demanded your attention, all in order to survive from one day to the next.

Chewing thoughtfully, Yuuji asked a question that he'd been wondering about for a while.

"The knightly code, huh. It seems like a lot to take in. How did you manage to stick to it, even when you were out there, so far from home? Does being away from everything familiar make it more difficult?"

"No."

"Really?"

"It's not what you think, Yuuji. The truth is, I've never lived by the exact specifications of the code myself."

Kento nodded in reply to the wide-eyed stare he received.

"A code is a guideline, written for those who need to understand the principles of being a knight. Many make the mistake of treating it as gospel. Rules and laws are essential, and exist for a reason, but of what use are they if our own moral compass doesn't exist? Then we just have widespread corruption, and manipulation of people through those same regulations. That's exactly what lead to Haibara, and so many other young knights, losing their lives needlessly."

Kento took another bite, sweeping the fall of his dirt-steaked blonde hair to the side, before continuing.

"When I left on pilgrimage, I lived by a single code. What I believed was right and wrong, within the scope of the law. It's always been that simple for me."

Yuuji folded, then re-folded the napkin on his lap, hesitant.

"Do you think I can live .... by the same code? What I believe is right and wrong? So I can make better choices to save people?"

"I would expect nothing less, Yuuji. You're my squire, after all."

His statement of fact was received with a blinding grin from the young man seated cross-legged before him.

"All right! I'll follow your lead, Sir Kento!"

There was a momentary pause as the wide smile fell away, and Yuuji leaned forward, scowling.

"Hold on, didn't you say you would make me recite the knightly code every night as punishment?"

"Punishment indeed, considering I don't remember most of it myself."

Dumbstruck, Yuuji took his master in, the once pristine surcoat covered in mud, blood and other nameless stains, the pale golden hair dishevelled and shoved haphazardly to one side, gauntlets discarded and fingernails crusted in dirt, sitting calmly with legs spread and elbows balanced on knees as he methodically chewed his rosemary loaf.

Before he could help himself, a snort escaped Yuuji, followed by another, then full blown, ribcage-heaving laughter.

In response to Kento's raised eyebrow, he shook his head.

"You're .... you're really nothing like other knights are you?"

The corner of Kento's mouth curved, unbidden, before his shoulders twitched and his own deep rumble of amusement sent Yuuji off on another round of helpless laughter.

The sound of their combined merriment was carried away, across the downs, by the gust of wind that blew by them, further afield to the red-combed roofs of the small town, through the softly rustling tunnel of the trees, up towards the bustle of the court corridors, and out along the drawbridge to a small rise overlooking the castle.

This was where, a few days prior, a solitary knight with faded heraldry and no shield, a strange square-edged blade sheathed at his hip, had sat astride his steed and come to a decision.