Eido took the contact card. Its simplicity reminded her of the one Kiyohito had given her earlier that same evening. She had been reluctant to make that connection; unwilling to accept a debt she did not feel entitled to hold over another, especially for something so small and willingly given. Yet only a few hours later, she was binding her very being to another. Her fingers ran over the sharp edges as she placed it in her pocket.
“I will,” she said simply. She felt no particular love of the hunt. It was the things to be protected which stirred her to action.
Which was perhaps why her mind kept tugging her backwards, to linger upon a situation in which she had no right to intervene, yet sat like lead in her stomach when she considered the conversation she had overheard.
“My life is in your hands. I trust you with it. But I must speak with another before I reveal the name I was born with. It is not my place to take that risk for them.” Though she did not state it outright, it was quite clear she must mean a relative. There would be no honour to be had in scrubbing their names from the system, but Kōta had walked away from Kyoto without permission. Eido’s identity was ash and dust, officially recorded as dead six years ago. But his might yet come to haunt him.
She and Zephyr parted ways soon after.
![[Image: eido-injury.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/05/eido-injury.jpg)
![[Image: kota-1.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/kota-1.jpg)
She used the window to enter their room above the bar. It was still dark within, and Eido saw quietly and diligently to her own injuries. A long cut split the skin over her ribs where the vetala’s claws had kissed, but it was not worryingly deep, just a stinging sort of pain. Her wrist felt tender too, but that would likely pass in a few days. She had been lucky, all told. Lucky someone else had been hunting the creature. Afterwards she tidied after herself and cleaned up the mess. Kōta did not need to know. It would only distract him from what she had to say.
She slept then. Given the smallness of the room, it was often their routine to rotate shifts, and she did not expect her brother returned before sunrise on a hunt night. In the early morning she rose, wincing for the stiffness lingering in her limbs – for a moment surprised, before the memories of last night surfaced. She cared for the animal in its cage, then set about tea and breakfast. The raised murmuring of voices downstairs preceded the stomp of boots up the stairs. In the threshold Kōta bent to shuck them from his feet, face a mask that spoke of sour disposition. Eido eyed him from the kitchen counter.
“If that look is about Gus, it was a misunderstanding, Onii-san.”
She watched him scowl to himself at her formality, ripping at his laces. “This look is for the gokudō who accepted our hospitality and then slid money across the bar for you, Chihiro!”
“That was the misunderstanding. And you should not use that name,” she said as she loaded the tray to bring to their table. Small bowls of steamed rice and miso soup. Kōta rarely regarded the Yakuza with anything but respect, and the slur was unusual for him. What Gus must have said she could not fathom, but she did not think Kōta had done anything regrettable down there. Or it was quiet in the bar below, at least. She eyed her brother with half a frown.
By now Kōta had won his battle with his footwear and closed the door behind him. He favoured his arm, but a glance over the rest of him found no cause for alarm. His own gaze narrowed though as she moved past him with the tray. Dark hair ghosted either side of her cheeks, but there was a graze on her cheek she had only noticed this morning, probably from where the vetala had grappled her against the wall, seeking to force her to release her knife. Barely more than a scrape.
“He did that?”
“Of course not,” she said easily, depositing the bowls, and lowering herself to the table. There was no ceremony between them, and though she waved her hand that he join her, she would not wait for him to decide whether he was going to churlishly cling instead to the winds of an argument. He sighed deeply. Unhappily. But in this calm mood Eido was difficult to argue with, and they both knew it. “Eat a little. Perhaps it will improve your mood some.” She offered the kind of smile only shared between siblings, eyes a little slitted. With Kōta she was relaxed. Teasing even. In his company was perhaps the only time she ever felt close to human; to the spectre of her past, else the woman she might have grown to be. But though they were close, they did not live in each other’s pockets. The spheres of their worlds were vastly different. So she valued their shared mealtimes.
He relented ungracefully. Or was perhaps just hungry. For a while they ate in silence, though clearly he ruminated on the questions he could ply. She spoke first, though.
“Onii-san, we should talk before you sleep.”
“I will,” she said simply. She felt no particular love of the hunt. It was the things to be protected which stirred her to action.
Which was perhaps why her mind kept tugging her backwards, to linger upon a situation in which she had no right to intervene, yet sat like lead in her stomach when she considered the conversation she had overheard.
“My life is in your hands. I trust you with it. But I must speak with another before I reveal the name I was born with. It is not my place to take that risk for them.” Though she did not state it outright, it was quite clear she must mean a relative. There would be no honour to be had in scrubbing their names from the system, but Kōta had walked away from Kyoto without permission. Eido’s identity was ash and dust, officially recorded as dead six years ago. But his might yet come to haunt him.
She and Zephyr parted ways soon after.
She used the window to enter their room above the bar. It was still dark within, and Eido saw quietly and diligently to her own injuries. A long cut split the skin over her ribs where the vetala’s claws had kissed, but it was not worryingly deep, just a stinging sort of pain. Her wrist felt tender too, but that would likely pass in a few days. She had been lucky, all told. Lucky someone else had been hunting the creature. Afterwards she tidied after herself and cleaned up the mess. Kōta did not need to know. It would only distract him from what she had to say.
She slept then. Given the smallness of the room, it was often their routine to rotate shifts, and she did not expect her brother returned before sunrise on a hunt night. In the early morning she rose, wincing for the stiffness lingering in her limbs – for a moment surprised, before the memories of last night surfaced. She cared for the animal in its cage, then set about tea and breakfast. The raised murmuring of voices downstairs preceded the stomp of boots up the stairs. In the threshold Kōta bent to shuck them from his feet, face a mask that spoke of sour disposition. Eido eyed him from the kitchen counter.
“If that look is about Gus, it was a misunderstanding, Onii-san.”
She watched him scowl to himself at her formality, ripping at his laces. “This look is for the gokudō who accepted our hospitality and then slid money across the bar for you, Chihiro!”
“That was the misunderstanding. And you should not use that name,” she said as she loaded the tray to bring to their table. Small bowls of steamed rice and miso soup. Kōta rarely regarded the Yakuza with anything but respect, and the slur was unusual for him. What Gus must have said she could not fathom, but she did not think Kōta had done anything regrettable down there. Or it was quiet in the bar below, at least. She eyed her brother with half a frown.
By now Kōta had won his battle with his footwear and closed the door behind him. He favoured his arm, but a glance over the rest of him found no cause for alarm. His own gaze narrowed though as she moved past him with the tray. Dark hair ghosted either side of her cheeks, but there was a graze on her cheek she had only noticed this morning, probably from where the vetala had grappled her against the wall, seeking to force her to release her knife. Barely more than a scrape.
“He did that?”
“Of course not,” she said easily, depositing the bowls, and lowering herself to the table. There was no ceremony between them, and though she waved her hand that he join her, she would not wait for him to decide whether he was going to churlishly cling instead to the winds of an argument. He sighed deeply. Unhappily. But in this calm mood Eido was difficult to argue with, and they both knew it. “Eat a little. Perhaps it will improve your mood some.” She offered the kind of smile only shared between siblings, eyes a little slitted. With Kōta she was relaxed. Teasing even. In his company was perhaps the only time she ever felt close to human; to the spectre of her past, else the woman she might have grown to be. But though they were close, they did not live in each other’s pockets. The spheres of their worlds were vastly different. So she valued their shared mealtimes.
He relented ungracefully. Or was perhaps just hungry. For a while they ate in silence, though clearly he ruminated on the questions he could ply. She spoke first, though.
“Onii-san, we should talk before you sleep.”
![[Image: cherry-blosson.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/cherry-blosson.png)