Chapter Three - The Unveiling (Glimpse)

The streets of Kyoto lay under a shroud of thin mist, the lantern light hazy and soft. It was close to midnight, the kind of hour where even the stray dogs had curled into doorways to sleep.

From the rooftops above, Amaya moved like a shadow between shadows.

She had been assigned—unofficially—to follow the Mist Hashira, Muichiro Tokito, who had been dispatched after rumors of a high‑ranking demon feeding in the district.

The Master’s words echoed in her mind:

Protect him, Amaya. But remember—no one must see you.

Muichiro walked the streets below, alert but seemingly detached, his eyes scanning each darkened alley. The faint curl of Mist Breathing trailed behind him, whispering over the cobblestones.

Amaya trailed three rooftops back, her footfalls so light that even the night itself could not hear her. She didn’t like the air tonight—it felt heavy, like the moment before a thunderclap.

The demon struck without warning.

A blur of pale claws dropped from above, slashing for Muichiro’s head. He pivoted sharply, blade meeting bone with a metallic shriek, but the force still shoved him back into the wall. The thing’s grin was too wide, too sharp, its black eyes like empty pits.

“Ohhh,” it hissed, tilting its head unnaturally. “The Mist Hashira.”

Muichiro didn’t answer. Mist Breathing’s First Form cut the air, forcing the demon to recoil.

From her hidden vantage, Amaya’s grip tightened on her hilt. She could tell—by the way its muscles coiled, by the shimmer in its claws—that this demon was faster than even Muichiro realized.

If he misjudged it once, even for a second, he wouldn’t live to recover.

It happened in the space of a breath.

The demon feinted left, then flickered to Muichiro’s right, claws streaking for his neck.

Amaya moved.

Silver light flared across the alley—not enough to reveal her fully, but just enough to halt the claws mid‑strike. The katana’s edge caught the moonlight as it intercepted the blow, sparks scattering like fireflies before dying into the night.

Muichiro’s eyes darted toward the glow. He saw nothing but the impression of a figure—tall, hair like starlight, face obscured by the spill of her fringe and the shadows of the mist. And then she was gone, the alley empty except for him and the demon.

The creature snarled, distracted for a fraction of a second too long.

Muichiro’s blade swept upward, cutting deep into its shoulder. It shrieked, retreating to the rooftops in a blur of motion.

Amaya followed it, unseen.

The demon landed in the courtyard of an abandoned shrine, its breathing ragged. It didn’t sense her on the rooftop above—until a faint scattering of silver dust drifted past its face.

It froze. The air seemed to grow colder.

Then the voice came—soft, feminine, calm.

“Leave this place.”

The demon’s grin twitched wider. “You… are no ordinary slayer.”

Amaya didn’t answer. She stepped from the roofline—but the moonlight caught only the edge of her blade, the faint shimmer of her hair. Her face remained hidden, her form blurring at the edges like heat haze.

The demon lunged. She moved like a thread of light weaving between shadows, her blade tracing arcs that bled silver into the air.

“Celestial Breathing… Fourth Form—Starfall Waltz.”

Each strike landed with precision, burning silver into its flesh, forcing it back. The technique was as beautiful as it was deadly—Muichiro, arriving seconds later, caught only the tail end of it.

From his view, she was a phantom—her blade a streak of silver, her form dissolving into mist as though she were never there.

The demon’s final scream split the night. Its body broke apart into dust that spiraled upward before vanishing entirely.

The courtyard fell silent.

Muichiro lowered his blade, his eyes scanning for the mysterious figure. For a moment, he thought he saw her—perched on the far roof, hair catching the moonlight like spun glass. But the image wavered, then was gone, as if the night had swallowed her whole.

“Who…” he began, his voice low.

Only the wind answered.

Amaya didn’t wait for him to ask again. She was already gone, melting into the upper streets, her heartbeat steady. The Master had been clear: no one was to know she existed. And yet… she had broken that rule, if only for a heartbeat.

The fight replayed in her mind—the way the mist curled around her movements, the way Muichiro’s gaze had tried to pierce the shadows to see her.

A dangerous thought took root.

If she hadn’t pulled back—if she had let him see her fully—would he have understood?

That night, back at the Celestial Estate, she stood at the Star Pond. The constellations rippled faintly in its surface, their light steady, ancient.

“I only gave him a glimpse,” she murmured to the sky.

The stars, as always, did not answer in words. But one blinked—bright, quick, like the beat of a heart.

Far away, in his own quarters, Muichiro sat with his blade resting across his knees. His mind kept drifting back to the phantom figure—the shimmer of hair, the silver light of her blade, the way her voice had carried both strength and stillness.

He didn’t know who she was.

But some part of him, buried deep, wanted to.

And somewhere high above them both, the stars kept their secrets.

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