It was a hand shake that reunited the village.

The turmoil, the strife, the sleepless nights—all put to rest with a squeeze of two calloused, battle-worn palms. Their fellow Oina cheered with the end of their internal feud, clapping for their two greatest warriors putting aside their differences. As the Holy Mother ascended the bridge to the cursed Ark of Yamato, it was those same warriors whom herded their people back into the safe cocoon of the village, sheltered from the demons that still lurked within the shadows.

“Keep Lika and Kemu inside—“ Samickle’s hand touched to the small of Kai’s back, and behind her mask she studied him, going from his shoulders, his eyes, and then to where his mouth should have been behind his own mask. Unseen, she smiled, her giveaway only the crinkle of her eyes.

“Understood. And, what about you and Oki?” she asked, her fingertips outlining Lika’s right shoulder as the younger girl pressed to her side. Lika, cheek resting against Kai’s side, found purchase in her sister’s thick coat, watching the adults with wide, curious eyes. Nearby, Tusckle hovered near Kemu, her lengthening shadow overlapping his own as he admired the erupting twin mountains, basking in the heat. Even with the blizzard no longer apparent, and Ezofuji blessing them with its eruption, the slow coming of the solar eclipse had caused the temperature to dip. The hot lava trailing down the slopes of the twin volcanoes was just enough to keep them alive and maintain the temperatures of the hardy tribe of Kamui. “In the case of…” Samickle began, pausing, reconsidering his words with a glance to Lika, the broad leaf mask concealing her soft cheeks and large eyes nearly causing him to forget that she was still a child. She had been so brave. “… We will remain out here,” he amended, an especially harsh breeze tearing through the village, Lika clutching harder onto her sister, taking shelter in her shadow.

“Keep them safe,” he said, his voice insistent. Kai blinked, slow and soothing, and her eyes crinkling some at the edges;  a motherly look unusual for her age. Samickle stared, wondering if he had mistaken her age all this time, and like that, she was heading away. Whispering to Tusckle and teasing her fingers through Lika’s hair as Kemu led the way to one of the closest huts, Kai sent one last look to Samickle. By the way her eyes crinkled, he knew she was smiling. Samickle’s eyes tracked them up until Kemu rapped his knuckles against the door, watching as it slid open and the group disappeared into the space lit only by fire, swallowed up by the enclosure. He sighed, feeling another gust of wind push against the thick, the heavy clothes he wore still not quite capable of handling this extreme of weather. He had never suffered a storm like this in his lifetime.

With sunlight depleting and the moon encroaching further into the territory of the sun, Samickle turned sharply on his heel and followed the familiar path to Ezofuji’s alter. It was the glow of Kutone that greeted him first, splitting through the inky dark that clutched onto the altar’s edges. The torches lit were hardly enough to keep the area bright, but he already knew the path by memory alone. Feeling a swell of pride in his chest as his gaze fell once more to the legendary blade, he paused at the steps to admire it. He had done it. “How are you faring?” “Fine.” The clipped tone was by no means irksome to Samickle, though were it coming from the mouth of Issun or another member of the Oina, he might have snapped back. Instead, the warmth of his pride still lingering, Samickle finally stepped up and onto the altar, the rainbow bridge that Amaterasu had only recently crossed gone. The last time he had visited, it was still in existence. Had something happened? Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the other Oina warrior, Samickle looked up, seeing the Ark in the same condition as it was prior, excluding the door that was now sealed shut. There appeared to be no means of entering to assist the white wolf and the thought caused a knot to form in his stomach.

“Samickle.”

The chieftain looked away from the Ark of Yamato to Oki, distracted from his own anxiety of their potentially doomed world to the strangely softened tone addressed to him. Beneath his mask, without thinking, a brow arched in questioning, and Samickle replied, “Yes?” Oki absently touched the hilt of Kutone, seeming to already miss the sword placed back into its respective spot. The heavy, decorated leather scabbard at his side now was nothing more than an ornament, remembrance of what had been. With a quick glance, Samickle could pick out the assortment of scars dotting his fingers with the light of the glowing sword, tanned skin decorated with pink marks.

“I wish to apologize for my… behavior. I was foolish.” Nearly did his neck crack in how quickly he went from eye-balling Oki’s hand to look at the other, Samickle opening his mouth to reply, only to shut it, sensing that Oki was not finished with what he had to say.

“I put the entire village in danger. My recklessness could have cost lives—no, it did, I wasn’t here to help when I was needed—“

“You saved Kemu and you helped me escape.” Samickle could see Oki flinch, his sudden, short interruption not anticipated, surely, in Oki’s rant. “You knew in your heart what you needed to do, and you did it,” continued Samickle, his pride stirring forth once more as his gaze drifted to Kutone. His eyes crinkled in a smile. “I never had any doubt in you.” I knew you would come back to us.

Oki followed Samickle’s gaze, looking to Kutone, and absently did he touch the hilt again, his hand promptly jerking  away as if it were as hot as the lava that still surged down the flanks of Ezofuji. “I wasn’t here,” insisted Oki, and Samickle could feel the pride dissipating, confusion and irritation taking its place. Why couldn’t Oki just understand? He had done everything that Samickle had hoped he would. He, with the assistance of the white wolf and Issun, had slain the twin demons and helped bring back Ezofuji to life. He had fulfilled the legend attached to Kutone. And best of all, he had returned to the village to fight the demons by their side and reclaim Kamui. What was so difficult to understand about this?

“Oki—“ Samickle tried again, but his prior tactic of interruption did not hinder Oki. The younger warrior’s shoulders drew back, muscles taut, and his jaw tucked in, his hands fumbling with Kutone, jerkishly removing the sword from its spot.

“Oki, what are you doing—Oki, stop—!“

Samickle reached out too late, his outstretched fingers attempting to seize Oki’s wrist failing as Kutone was flung out into the snow, its sheath following suit after it. “I wasn’t here!” Oki screamed, whirling upon Samickle. In the swirling snow and heavy silence, the bellowing shout had Samickle shying back more than usual. Samickle’s few reflexive steps backward were not enough to stop Oki for compensating with several strides forward, personal space nonexistent.

“I left, and you were given the burden of guarding the village by yourself. While it was me who had abandoned Wep’Keer with Kutone, it was you who had to take on my role and Kemu’s!” A finger jabbed against Samickle’s chest and in his surprise, the chieftain glanced down at it, then back up to Oki, unable to comprehend what was being shouted in his face. Was it… getting colder?

“I have been nothing more than a burden, a burden that has weighed you down! After all this death and strife, for me to abandon you, for me to—!“

Reaching out to try and stop Oki from getting any closer, lest he try and do something, he didn’t feel any resistance when he gripped his shoulders. The shoulders of his vest were damp against Samickle’s palms, probably wet from the falling snow, but he paid it little mind as he made the split-second decision of pulling him in. Grip loose at first, it gradually tightened, it tightened into a fierce hug, silencing Oki to a stuttering, weary halt. Oki was tense in his arms for several moments, instilling a panic in the chieftain’s mind. Had he been wrong to follow this impulse? Had he only made the circumstances of Oki’s return awkward?

His rising panic was soothed only by the hug being returned, tentative and uncertain, and Oki’s masked face pushing into the crook of his neck. Samickle was only taller by an inch or so, but it was all that was needed to comfortably adjust, Oki’s shoulders shaking. As the younger warrior heaved a silent sob, Samickle pushed his fingers into his hair, a soothing hum building in his throat.

Behind the bravado of a tough-as-nails warrior, Samickle had forgotten that Oki carried a heavy burden on his heart.

  “Amaterasu—“

“Will be easier to help if we are both alive.”

The hut was far warmer than the altar was, and with Kutone properly returned to its pedestal, Samickle had quickly taken them away when realizing that the growing cold was due to the solar eclipse being in full swing. Prodding at the fire, assuring that it would not go out as he added an extra log, Samickle turned away, his fingers pulling at the edge of his mask.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Oki tense in surprise, already the chieftain’s mouth visible, the corners quirked in a smile.

“Are you really---?”

“You’ve seen my face before, and it isn’t a taboo to take off one’s mask in their own home,” he stated smoothly, and Oki quieted, allowing Samickle to finish removing the mask without any further protest. Setting it aside, away from the fire, he sighed in contentment, combing a hand through his long, straight hair, brushing back what spilled into his face. “Let me see your arms.” It was difficult not to notice how Oki drew his arms tenderly to his body, shielding them from view and from potential harm in accidentally bumping against one of Samickle’s bookshelves or whatever else may be in his way. He had been exhausted and practically stumbling ever since they had stepped in, certainly he had lost quite a bit of blood. Samickle’s order came to no surprise on Oki’s part, who simply looked up, then back down to his sore, aching arms. He held them out.

“When Amaterasu requires our assistance,” Samickle started, shuffling himself over to sit next to Oki, delicately gripping his right wrist. The slightest pressure put down by his thumb was enough to cause Oki’s to cringe and curl in his fingers, Samickle easing up as best he could. “I would like us both to be in good enough shape to help her.” He turned Oki’s wrist in his hand, his thumb caressing over the blossoming bruises that dappled the underside of his arm. “Do you not believe we are of better use outside?” asked Oki, his tone suggestive of his rising impatience, straining to maintain his calm as Samickle stood up. “Sitting around, in the cold? I’d much prefer being in here and not getting frostbite, if you will,” Samickle answered, and he swore when he turned to smile at Oki, the other man flinched. He was probably just unused to seeing his facial expressions, his tone of voice and body language no longer the primary focus.

“I cannot tell if you have any other, serious injuries. First we need to deal with your swelling wrist,” Out of the corner of his eye, Samickle saw Oki look down at the wrist in question as if he hadn’t even noticed how fat it had gotten around the bone. The adrenaline stemmed from battle surely kept him from sensing the pain, and if anything, Samickle assumed it only to be sprained. Last time Oki had suffered a broken bone, there had been all too much crying and griping about it.

“Next,” Samickle continued, kneeling down in front of Oki and delicately swathing the wrist in a cold, damp cloth wrung out over a bucket full of water nearby. Oki’s eyes tracked his fingers, fixated on the familiar motion of neatly tying off the cloth so that neither of them would have to hold it in place. “I want to see if you have any cuts.” There was no need to provide further explanation of what would be done.

They had sparred often enough and had faced enough battles together to know of the routine, mending what could be mended and letting the rest be healed as naturally as possible. Infections and open wounds that would need to be closed and tended to with medicine were on the forefront of Samickle’s mind, pushing away the thoughts of losing Oki to something so avoidable. When had he grown so attached to the warrior? He couldn’t recall feeling this fussy in their prior sessions, as close of friends as they were. As they had been.

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” he muttered, and Oki perked up. Samickle dismissed the rising question he saw in the other’s curious eyes with a quick wave of his hand, standing back up. “Thinking out loud,” he said, going to the fire to prod and check on the logs, fishing around for another to add that was smaller than the last. “Ah.” The fire flared up, embers dancing in the air as another log was tossed in, and Samickle turned slightly, just enough so that he could observe Oki, brows knitting together.

“… You’re normally far more talkative than this. What is wrong?” “I’m tired.” His response was fast, faster than Samickle would care for. “I know you’re tired, but exhaustion has done little in the past to hinder your tongue,” snorted Samickle, shuffling over to sit down, crossing his legs with his robes settling around him. “This doesn’t have anything to do with what happened earlier?” Oki turned his head away to stare at the wall causing Samickle to frown, violet eyes losing the slight, playful spark they had adopted prior. “I told you that you have nothing to worry about—“ “And if you had died? Or any more of the Oina?” He still would not look at him, staring down the wall as if it were one of the demons he had sought to slain. Oki’s hand clenched in his lap, and Samickle’s frown deepened. “We are a spiritual people first and foremost. The way of the warrior is a rare thing to come by among our people—two of us is a rarity. Even when living here,” Oki waved his hand in a broad, all-encompassing motion, and Samickle could hear the snarl that was on his lips in his words. “Surrounded by demons, we normally only have one protector. And in this time of strife, only one isn’t enough. You needed me here. To protect everyone.” Absently, Samickle looked back to the makeshift wrap, his eyes glossing over Oki’s swollen wrist. Heavy silence fell in the few seconds that he let the conversation lapse, ignoring the sensation of Oki’s eyes now upon him, surely waiting for some sort of verbal or physical response.

“… You had done what you had needed to do,” Samickle finally stated. “But—“ “It might not have been the smartest, nor the most helpful path you have taken,” the chieftain interrupted, voice sharpening, gentle tone dissipating. “But you had accomplished what was necessary. I do not know all that you have done,” When he looked up to meet Oki’s gaze, the other warrior quickly looked back to the wall. Was that shame he sensed? “And I do not need to. You fulfilled the legend, and you saved Lika. You burden yourself unnecessarily.” “You needed me.” A brow rose in question, baffled by Oki’s fixation on Samickle being left to his own devices, guarding Wep’Keer. It had been difficult, but manageable. He was a strong warrior and a decent enough chieftain, especially with Kemu still being available to provide some guidance. “I’m fine by myself, Oki. Perhaps you exaggerate your own abilities to think—“ “What you died because of how selfish I was?! Or gravely injured?! You and I both know you don’t know your own limit—you would have died to save Kemu! He’s practically dead anyways, Samickle!” Samickle’s mouth fell open and Oki jerked back away from him, the chieftain far too stunned to give him any sort of response. Rage was his first thought, the initial reaction he should have felt towards Oki’s outburst. Concern followed, and promptly after was distress as Oki was already halfway to the door. The fire in the center of his home was the only thing keeping things lit. The sun was almost completely consumed, and before Oki could stumble out into the dark, Samickle seized his good wrist to wrench him back.

“I told you to rest.” Oki didn’t move, and for a moment, Samickle thought he might have to wrestle him back into the hut and keep him there. But, his growled words must have done something, as Oki’s shoulders went lax, slumping down as his arm went limp in Samickle’s grip. “… Why didn’t you tell me how selfish I was being?” His hand had reached up to place itself between Oki’s shoulder blades, pausing before it would have touched down, giving Oki a look. The hand dropped. “I did. Prior to you getting Kutone. You’ve always been a selfish man, Oki,” dryly he answered, and nearly did he regret his thoughtless words as Oki flinched. “I don’t mean to be harsh,” Samickle quickly amended. “But it’s the truth. You’ve been self-centered since birth. That is why I have always been the one groomed to eventually take Kemu’s place, even if we are equally matched as warriors. Now, come back inside. It is freezing.” With a bowed head, Oki allowed himself to be herded back away from the door, Samickle allowing himself a glimpse outside. Black, nothing but black. Were Kai and the others doing well? His concern was pushed aside with a mental reassurance that Kai wouldn’t dare let anyone out into this sort of cold, false night as he drew the door shut, securing it. “And I didn’t listen.” Samickle glanced over, confused for a second as to what Oki was talking about, only to remember the current topic. “Of course you didn’t,” he snorted, rolling his eyes as he ushered Oki to sit, gently unwrapping the cloth from his wrist. It had become warm from the blood that had surged to the surface of his skin, Samickle turning his back to wet it again with cold water. “That’s who you are. A strong, thick-headed warrior who carves his own path.” Oki’s head lowered in shame, and it was at this Samickle smiled, returning to his side. Kneeling down, he took up Oki’s hand, watching his eyes dart away. His smile faltered for only a moment, tilting his head down to watch his own hands work, rewrapping the cloth. “As irritating as your stubbornness can be at times, I would not change such a fundamental part of your being. Your heart has always been in the right place, and even when you had stolen Kutone, selfish desire or not,” Samickle tied off the wrap. “It was with all of us in mind.”

Oki drew his wrist back to himself, quietly studying the wrap, before lifting his gaze.

“… It’s odd to see you without your mask.” “We do tend to wear them all too often, now, don’t we?” Samickle gave a soft laugh as he shifted back, giving Oki his space now that his work was done. Settling down on one of the many soft pillows laid out on the floor, he sighed, propping his elbow up on his knee and resting his chin in his palm. For the first time since Kutone had been withdrawn from its spot, Samickle felt at ease, and his expression must have shown it as Oki stared. Samickle smiled. “We wear our masks to better connect with the animal spirits that we worship,” Samickle continued, looking to his own mask, where it rested on a pillow away from the fire. The stern appearance of the falcon felt strangely soothing to observe. “But I believe that many of the Oina have used it as a method of hiding themselves. We forget that we have our own identities beyond the masks that we wear,” His gaze trailed back to Oki, his face donning a far more serious look, his smile fading. “We are all more than the mask we wear. Sometimes, we all need that as a reminder.” One of the logs in the fire splintered, the flames surging upward as it crumbled deeper into the pile. Briefly did he feel the heat of it against his cheek, but soon enough, all had calmed once more. Looking over to doublecheck that it didn’t need another log added, Samickle pushed his hand against his knee, using it to push himself back up. Keeping still was not something he liked to do in times like these.

“If it is quite fine with you, I think I’ll be setting up another bed for you, Oki. It will be a long night, and I would prefer us to remain in the same space, in case anything happens.” The chieftain fretted over getting separated, weakened by distance if any danger came to the village. He was uncertain of how quickly the white wolf would be able to do what was needed in this darkness, but he doubted it would be over in mere minutes. “Oki?” A pillow in hand, Samickle turned, bothered by the silence swathing the typically boisterous warrior. Had wielding Kutone truly changed him so much? Did months of separation from the rest of their tribe impacted Oki so deeply?