Chapter Six:

  “Quiet Moments”

  The fire from the sparring ring had died down, but the air still hummed with the aftershock of movement. John sat near one of the perimeter torches, blade across his knees, breath slower now but not steady. Sweat clung to his skin under the borrowed tunic. Around him, the camp resumed its rhythm.

  “Not bad out there,” said a voice, calm and amused.

  He looked up.

  The fox-tailed girl from the tent approached with a casual grace, a water skin in one hand. Her hair caught the torchlight like flame, and her twin tails moved with a quiet rhythm behind her.

  She held out the water. “Yumi.”

  “John.”

  “I know.” She gave him a small, knowing smile. “Rai wants you geared properly if you’re staying. Come on, armory’s quieter at night. Less mouths, more metal. You’ll have time to think."

  He followed.

  They walked in silence at first. The path sloped gently toward a separate tent lit from within by golden lanterns. Equipment cast long shadows across canvas walls—shields, spears, blade racks. It smelled of oiled leather and old iron.

  Inside, she moved with familiarity. “Start with light armor. Don’t weigh yourself down before you know how you move.”

  She helped him sort through what he needed. Tunics. Gauntlets. A shoulder guard that didn’t pinch. She was fast but careful, like she’d done this a hundred times.

  “You hold a blade like someone who’s worked with knives before,” she said.

  “I did,” he said. “Back home.”

  “You’re not from Tokyo, are you?”

  “No.”

  She didn’t press.

  She adjusted one of the straps on his gear, then paused. “Back home, I worked in one of the farms. Tower fields. Hydroponics. Twenty stories of artificial sunlight and nutrient mist. My grandmother ran it. I used to think growing anything in plastic trays was pathetic.”

  John watched her. “And now?”

  “I miss the smell of mint on my fingers.”

  He smiled—small, tired. “Why the fox?”

  She turned slightly, her tails curling. “Trickster. Survivor. Some of us chose forms when we crossed. Kitsune weren’t built for brute force, but we see angles. We adapt.”

  Her eyes met his. “You’re adapting too.”

  He shrugged. “Trying.”

  They finished the fitting. She handed him a cloth-wrapped bundle—basic rations, a blade oil kit, and a small charm: a carved wooden fox no larger than a thumb, tied in red twine around its middle.

  “For luck,” she said. “Don’t tell anyone I’m sentimental.”

  He turned it over in his fingers. The wood was warm from her hands.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “I won’t.”

  Outside, the camp had quieted. Lanterns burned low. The wind carried the scent of cedar and ash.

  She led him to a small tent at the edge of the barracks. “This one’s yours for now.”

  He stepped inside, dropped the bundle near the cot.

  Yumi lingered at the entrance. “Good night, John.”

  He turned back toward her. “Good night.”

  She lingered like she wanted to say something else, like maybe she’d already said too much. Then she turned and walked into the dark.

  RW padded in a few seconds later, tail swaying, her glow dimmed to a low ember. “I like her,” she said.

  John sat down on the cot. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

  The inside of the tent was quiet, dark but not empty. The cot creaked as John sat, setting the cloth-wrapped bundle beside him.

  RW circled once, then settled near the entrance like a living ember, tail curled around her legs. Her flame pulsed low and slow.

  John lay back, staring at the canvas ceiling. “So,” he whispered. “What did Gameweaver mean? When she said I was already playing.”

  RW didn’t answer right away. For a moment, the tent felt too still.

  Finally, she stirred. “I don’t know.”

  He blinked. “Really?”

  “I’m not just pretending. There are gaps in my access. Deliberate ones. Gameweaver built me to help you, not to spy for her. She doesn’t want me to see everything.”

  John stared at the ceiling. “Weird thing to say to someone. That they were already playing. I wasn’t doing anything. Just... existing.”

  RW’s voice softened. “Maybe that’s the point.”

  He was quiet a long time.

  “You sleep?” he asked finally.

  She gave a small huff. “Of course I sleep. What do you think I am, a drone?”

  John turned on his side, pulling the thin blanket up to his chest. “You glow. It’s weird.”

  “Then close your eyes.”

  The tent dimmed as her flames faded to near-nothing, just a breath of blue against the night. John’s eyes closed, and for the first time since this all began, his body remembered what it felt like to rest.

  Outside, the mountain wind moved softly through the camp, lanterns flickering in time with dreams not yet begun.

  Morning came slow to the mountains.

  John woke to the scent of pine smoke and the sound of distant clanging—steel against steel, drills already underway. Light slipped through the seams in the tent, pale and golden. RW was already up, seated at the tent’s entrance with her tail flicking idly, flame a shade brighter than the night before.

  “You snore,” she said casually.

  “I don’t.”

  “You absolutely do.”

  He rubbed his eyes and sat up, blanket sliding off his shoulder. His muscles ached in familiar ways. Not pain. Just proof he’d survived the day before.

  He was halfway through tightening the straps on his gear when the first shout rang out.

  “Camp perimeter! Two figures approaching!”

  RW stood. “Here we go.”

  John stepped outside, blinking against the light. A few Players were already moving toward the eastern ridge, weapons sheathed but hands close to hilts. He followed, falling in behind a tall Kitsune with a spear and a quiet, watchful pace.

  By the time they reached the ridge path, the visitors were already being escorted toward the central fire. Two of the camp’s scouts flanked them, eyes sharp but not hostile.

  One was a young Kitsune girl—barely older than sixteen by the look of her—with a single tail and a nervous grip on her travel pouch. The other was a grizzled human with the eyes of someone who’d lived a long time off paths others forgot. A bow hung across his back, and his movements were sure despite his age.

  “They’re not Players,” RW noted, her voice low.

  John nodded. That much was obvious.

  The camp gathered fast—Rai already waiting near the fire, arms crossed. Yumi stood beside her, quiet but alert. The tall man from yesterday—Katashi, John remembered now—watched with a hand resting casually on his blade.

  Rai spoke first. “You crossed into our camp without invitation. Why?”

  The old scout bowed slightly. “We saw the watchfires. Our village elders sent us to see who had come.”

  The Kitsune girl stepped forward. “You’re Players,” she said, wide-eyed. “Just like in the stories.”

  John glanced at RW, who tilted her head slightly.

  Rai’s eyes narrowed. “What stories?”

  “The ones passed down,” the scout said. “Tales of the first Players. Of how they helped save—and nearly destroy—Eldoria. Of how the Thousand Isles sealed themselves off to survive what came after.”

  That landed heavy. Even RW was quiet.

  “Our village remembers,” the scout continued. “But memories fade. The elders believe some knowledge should not be buried forever. If you’re here... it may be time to understand what was lost.”

  The Kitsune girl lifted her chin slightly. “If you want answers about what this realm used to be, our village is where you’ll find them. But you shouldn’t come in force. A small group will be safer.”

  Rai looked at her people. Thoughtful. Then her eyes landed on John.

  “You’re coming with me,” she said simply. “You, Yumi... and you,” she added, glancing toward the silent figure who’d just emerged from the shadows near the tent edge.

  Akira didn’t argue. Just nodded once.

  John looked around the circle of firelight. “Anyone want to tell me where we’re going?”

  The Kitsune girl smiled nervously. “Kagemura,” she said. “Our home.”