Chapter Text
For the eleventh hour of that day, Illumi walked, following the creature’s trail.
On both sides of the path were nothing but uniform fields of millet and barley, painted with an orange blush from the setting sun.
Not counting the colors of the sky, the view changed little as the day passed: the same plains, the same dust beneath her sandals.
Illumi stopped by the first enrichment of the landscape in a long while—a stone shrine beside the road, modest but tended. Before the altar stood fresh offerings of food and water, and the stones had been tidied, leaving no dust or leaves on their surface.
There was a wooden bench there, which Illumi made use of. She swept her muted indigo mantle behind her and sat down, the movement awakening the crimson dragon stitched across its back.
Across her knees, over layers of snow- and ash-colored robes, Illumi placed her sword.
It had not been used that day, and the layer of poison was still active, but it would have been neglectful not to refresh it, since the occasion arose.
She removed a cloth from one hidden pocket and a small green vial from another. Without taking off her gloves, she dampened the fabric with a few emerald drops and passed it along the blade. After a few strokes, the surface glittered with moisture, catching the last rays of the day.
She examined the blade and returned it to its sheath, then took out the dagger and repeated the process with the paralyzing ointment.
As the next matter in order, Illumi pulled out a small writing kit from yet another pocket. From it, she picked up a sheet of paper and placed it where the blade had rested moments before, then reached for her purple eagle’s feather and dipped it into the ink bottle. She began to write.
Mother,
During the last days, the nature of the target has become clear to me: it is a shapeshifter, able to change its form at will, human and animal alike. Only one characteristic remains consistent through its alterations, whether from unwillingness or inability to do otherwise: its golden eyes.
It avoids direct encounters, and what is more, it leaves false trails. Its cunning nature aligns with my initial thesis, confirming that the target possesses a higher intelligence.
She paused to re-ink the pen. For a moment she held the feather above the paper, and a wrinkle formed on her otherwise expressionless face.
I’m aware the hunt is taking longer than expected, but I’m positive that the precautions, along with the gathered information, will bear fruit soon. By collecting and condensing the target's residual aura, I was able to calculate its path, which leads to a village ahead. I plan to use that to my advantage and catch it there instead of chasing it into the wilderness, where it could have more opportunities to escape.
You can expect the completion of the job soon.
Your daughter,
Illumi
Keeping the letter in one hand, she reached for her medallion with the other—an oval-shaped piece of rhodium dangling on a strip of silk and carrying a crimson dragon sigil on the front. It had a small, circular cavity underneath, to which Illumi brought her thumb. When she pressed it there, a minuscule needle came out, pricked the skin, and retracted at once.
She placed her thumb underneath the signature and pressed it there. The drop of blood turned into a flat blot, and when Illumi retracted her thumb, she exposed a fingerprint buried in vermilion, as clear as a sigil in wax. The letter recognized her blood and, starting from the borders, darkened and curled up as if burned, until it was consumed in its entirety. All was gone and only the scent of iron remained where the letter had been a moment before.
While she waited on the bench, she bowed her head to the altar and said a prayer.
“Let me preserve what was given.
Let me not weaken what has been perfected.
Let me not invite doubt to our name.
Deadly hands, silent breath, rapid feet. Let my body be a blade.”
The pendant vibrated against her chest, and in the next moment specks of crimson ash burst forth from the dragon’s sigil, swirled about in the open, and composed themselves into paper, in a reverse action of the one that had taken place a moment ago.
Illumi reached for the letter, written in her mother's elegant hand.
Daughter,
In my past hunts I encountered shapeshifters myself, and they were often demanding prey, ones that required a witful approach. In short, I believe your judgment was sound.
I’ll take the opportunity to mention with this letter that just yesterday I took a walk to the wall and engraved the record of your last success, and while there, prepared the space for the next one. I will inscribe it once you finish the job.
I would say I have faith in you, but that would be incorrect. What I have is certainty.
Continue as always, in mine and your name.
K.Z.
A breeze rustled through the fields and bent the grain for a short breath.
After folding the letter and putting it away with care, Illumi rose from the bench and reached for her medallion, holding it between her fingers.
As she touched the metal, to her eye appeared the auras of all living creatures in the area, overlaid on the natural scenery. The auras looked like blotches of light, accompanied by pollen-like dust sprinkled behind them and signaling their recent movements.
She ignored the multitude of presences in her proximity—bugs, birds, livestock, and farmers alike—and focused on the trail of her prey.
It revealed itself easily, appearing to veer into the fields not far from where she stood, but once Illumi studied it closer, she recognized it for what it was: a decoy.
The creature had a habit of luring her onto false paths, which Illumi assumed were meant both to distance itself from her and to lead her into traps. Knowing about them made the tricks easier to detect, but even so, they were a hindrance to her search.
Illumi located the real aura, which was suppressed and thin. In accordance with her previous assessment, the creature’s path was leading to a village ahead, where even from a distance, Illumi could already feel the dozens of auras gathered there.
She let go of the medallion and resumed her journey on the same path as before. By the time she saw the village gates, it was already dark, and the only sources of light were the lanterns on the horizon, along with the crescent slice that had joined the sky.
Even without the pendant in her hand, Illumi could sense the density of the auras ahead, as expected in a settlement such as this.
But soon another change in energy caught her attention.
Illumi stopped where she was. The creature abandoned its camouflage, showing, or rather boasting, its aura all at once, not dissimilar to a lamp being lit in a dark room, revealing what lay in the darkness. Illumi could immediately tell—it was strong, stronger than she had first predicted.
Illumi reached for her pendant and looked for the creature, but she quickly realized the futility of her endeavour: the air was saturated with its presence, heavy like humidity before the rain, making it impossible to isolate a single trace. It confirmed what Illumi already suspected: that somewhere in the village or its vicinity, the creature must have a lair. Had she been lured into another trap?
Her eyes moved through the fields, trying to spot movement in the darkness. While she was considering her next step, she felt something brushing against her aura.
A filament of condensed aura glued itself to her arm and, with a pull, straightened into a rigid cord. Through it travelled a vibration, and along with it, a voice.
Hello, little hunter.
A woman’s voice blew by her right ear, disturbingly close, warm and breezy.
Her mother had told her about monsters capable of talking through aura, but she had never encountered one herself. The way the creature communicated with her reminded her of the silk-string games she played as a child, when a voice could travel from one end of a line to the other, clear as if the speaker stood beside you.
Only this was not a game.
You’ve followed me this far, the voice continued. It would be rude not to welcome you.
Illumi focused on the cord, observing how it vanished into the blackness. The distance was impossible to measure, whether it was a few meters or far more, but the direction was clear.
And Illumi was certain that she saw something akin to a pair of golden eyes gleaming in the field ahead.
Come a little closer.
Illumi reached for one of her special darts and threw it toward the luminescent specks. Even if it wouldn't be a perfect hit, it didn’t need to be. The dart only needed to land near enough to activate the paper talisman attached to its length and immobilize any supernatural presence in its proximity.
She unsheathed her sword and advanced, but even before she reached the spot, she knew something had gone wrong. There was no smell of burned paper in the air. The charm had not activated.
Between the grain, wings beat, and an owl burst upward in a storm of feathers. At the same moment, Illumi’s ear rang with the creature’s laugh, an anomalous sound entrapped between sumptuous and raw, human and animal.
You’re more interesting than the others.
Abandoning any subtlety, Illumi barged in the cord’s direction. The creature detached it a moment later, retracting it into the darkness.
Not yet, little hunter. See you soon.
Illumi remained submerged in the barley, hearing only the sizzle of the insects, sensing only the residual heat of the day, seeing even less. She pointed her sword forward, now here, now there, while holding the medallion in search of some further lead.
The prospect of continuing the hunt and finishing the job by the end of the day was tempting, but the creature’s aura was as diffused as before and there was no single point that would indicate in what direction to advance.
It would be a blind chase, in more than one way.
Illumi returned the sword to its sheath and rejoined the path leading toward the village. From afar she could see the glow of the lanterns, as well as the outline of the rooflines, and the column of smoke rising from them.
She entered the village grounds and felt the increase in aura density, typical of human settlements. She could sense it swelling where the inhabitants strolled along the roads and gathering in dense clumps inside their homes.
While she walked through the main street, the villagers stared at her, some discreetly, some not, like the two men intent on making their way to her, until a third one pointed to the dragon stitched on her mantle.
Along with her mother’s lifetime work came success, and along with success came recognition. Her mother’s hunts continued through Illumi’s hands now, on a path meant to cement the professional image and demonstrate through action what it meant to trust your kills to the Zoldyck household.
Her mother’s teachings were many, among them a warning not to let the pride so common in manhunters cloud her mind, and not to push the day’s hunt past the point of senseless stubbornness. Her body was a blade, and as a blade it must be not only lethal, but also kept in prime condition. When there was nothing left to do for the day, it was her duty to be well fed and rested.
In search of a place to obtain that, Illumi found an inn, one of the loudest and most crowded places along the main street. The wooden signboard above the entrance read “The World Tree.”
The first thing that Illumi noticed when she pushed the door was the robust smell of food and alcohol. The very next was the camphor tree growing in the middle of the room, with its roots gnarling across the wooden floor and branches shooting upward to the second storey.
Beyond that, the rest was typical of a village inn, right up to the stares that accompanied her as she walked to the countertop and took a seat.
There were two men working behind the bar. The first, broad-shouldered and red-cheeked, was busy preparing drinks, while the other, quicker and small-boned, moved around carrying plates to waiting patrons.
Illumi pulled out two silver coins and set them on the counter. “Good evening. I will take a room for the night and a meal.”
The broad-shouldered man gave her a look, sliding over her like a snail on the ground. “Did you lose the man who was supposed to be escorting you?” he said. “Funny-looking, you are. Is that a gimmick to catch clients? We’re not that kind of place.” He leaned in, giving her a yellow-toothed smile perfumed with garlic and rancidness. “But I’m a generous man. I can agree to arrange a place for the night… for the right price.”
“Jirō.” The other server stopped by them with two steaming bowls of soup on a wooden tray. He tried to do that with subtlety, but it didn’t escape Illumi’s attention, the way he glanced at her medallion. “How about I take it from here?” He pushed the tray to him without waiting for a reply.
The man took the tray, cursing under his breath, and walked away with the dishes.
“My apologies, my brother is a simple man. I will see that a room is prepared for you, and without any… additional expectations, of course.” The man poured some beer into a tall wooden cup and placed it before her. “Rice beer, on the house. As for the food, do you have any preferences?”
“Something warm will do.”
The man returned with two steaming bowls retrieved from the adjacent kitchen, one filled with soup, the other with rice. Before he could get back to work, Illumi put down another silver coin on the counter.
“I could make it worth your while if you shared some information with me.”
The man looked at the coin.
“That depends on the question.”
“A simple one, bearing no danger. I seek to know if anything unusual has occurred of late, such as disappearances or killings, or if there are any cursed grounds, shrines, or other places of note nearby.”
The man laughed. “You misunderstood me. It’s not that I’m unwilling to talk, it’s just that my brother and I arrived in this village less than two weeks ago and barely had time to step outside while settling in. We inherited this place, you see, and there are never enough hands, or hours in the day.”
Illumi reached for her soup, scalding hot and aromatic with seafood, both on the nose and on the tongue.
“But you’re right, people do talk, all the time,” the man continued. “I'm sure you’ll hear plenty soon enough, more than you bargained for. I swear, some of the things they say… I don’t know how they came up with all that. Like the unsavory gossip about that lady and her apprentice.”
The man looked at her with a startled expression, as if he realized he had said too much. Illumi sensed there might be some useful information buried beneath all that.
“Which lady?”
“Ehm. Well… I shouldn’t be spreading those sort of rumors any further. Wouldn’t want to cause her more trouble than she already has.”
“You don’t need to be concerned. I won’t repeat it.”
The man nodded and came a little closer. “There’s this woman in the village who runs a textile shop, and you see, people say the most awful things about her relationship with her apprentice. That she pushes him around, makes him do whatever she wants, that she’s…” A quick blush spread on the man’s cheeks. “Improper with him.”
“Ah.”
“Though if you ask me,” the man added quickly, “I don’t believe half of it. I went to her store once, and she seemed perfectly respectable. And helpful. Actually,” the man straightened up, “I think she might be able to help you. If anyone knows what’s going on in this village, it’s probably her.”
Illumi slid the coin toward him, but the man held his hand up, signaling her to stop.
“I would feel wrong getting paid for telling you this,” the man said. “Though perhaps you could tell me something in return. I was wondering… were you hired by someone from this village?”
“No. I was contracted by the son of a horse trader from a few villages away. He seeks vengeance for his father.”
The man’s peaceful face changed, as if a shadow passed through it. “I know who you’re talking about. The dead man, that is. He used to visit our old village every few weeks: I’ll spare you the details, but I’m sure more than a few households lit incense in thanks for his death.”
A couple of customers entered the inn, and the wind followed them inside. Illumi felt the gust of air on her back.
“I should get back to work. Unless you have any more questions?”
Illumi retrieved the coin and put it back into her pocket. “No, I don’t.”