Chapter Eight:

  “The Eternal Veil”

  Dawn broke slowly over the Spirit Wilds. The last tendrils of mist clung to the forest floor, curling around roots and crumbled stone. Behind them, the Archway stood silent, its fox carvings dimming to pale etchings as the protective wards faded. The power that had held back the yokai now receded like a tide, its purpose fulfilled.

  John leaned against a thick tree trunk just beyond the arch, catching his breath. His hands still trembled faintly from the fight, the adrenaline leaving his body in slow waves. The weight of his katana felt heavier now, not just in mass but meaning. It wasn’t just a weapon anymore. It had been tested. So had he.

  Around him, the others recovered in their own ways. Taro crouched low, checking his arrows with ritual care. Kinu paced in a slow circle, her nose twitching, her single tail flicking with each passing scent. Rai stood farther off, her eyes scanning the treetops, war fan resting lightly in one hand.

  "Your movements back there," Rai said without looking at him, her tone cool but curious. "Against the Kamaitachi. You read them well. That wasn’t just instinct."

  John wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “I cooked. Professionally. Long shifts with knives and heat. You learn to move fast, stay sharp.”

  Rai turned toward him, her gaze measuring. "There’s more to it than that. Your body reacts like it remembers something you don’t."

  He hesitated, unsure how to answer. The memory of Astralis shimmered at the edges of his thoughts. Knives, heat, neon. But that wasn’t combat. Not like this.

  Yumi stepped to his side, her twin tails swaying softly behind her. Her closeness eased something in his chest.

  "Whatever the reason," she said gently, "we're lucky you can keep up."

  John managed a weak smile. "I doubt I’ll be teaching sword lessons anytime soon."

  Akira said nothing, but his silence was its own language. He studied John like he was a puzzle with missing pieces.

  RW’s flame-fur glowed a soft blue as she trotted between mossy roots. "Combat recall without full memory retention is a fascinating neurological overlap. Could be latent conditioning, or perhaps the Dive pulls from deeper cognitive wells than even Gameweaver never meant for anyone to remember.”

  “Let’s not test that theory today,” John muttered.

  Kinu stopped abruptly. Her ears twitched. "We're not alone."

  Taro was already turning, bow half-raised.

  Two figures stepped from the thinning mist, both dressed in scout gear. One was older, human, with a longbow slung across his back. The other, younger, Kitsune like Kinu, though with two tails. Both froze when they saw the group.

  "Kinu?" the older scout asked, his tone slipping from relief to disbelief. "What have you done?"

  "I brought them here," she said simply. "They need to speak to the Elders."

  The younger scout's gaze swept the group. His hand moved instinctively to his weapon. "These are Players! You brought Players to Kagemura?"

  "I wasn’t going to leave them in the Wilds to die, Masashi."

  The name hung there a moment.

  Masashi exhaled slowly. "The Elders will want answers. And so will everyone else."

  The second scout stepped forward. "They shouldn't be here."

  Masashi raised a hand. "They're already seen. The villagers will know before long. Better it come from us than through panic."

  His eyes found Rai. "You’ll speak to the Elders. But understand, their patience is thinner than their legends."

  "Then let’s not waste time," Rai said.

  John fell into step beside Yumi as the group moved forward, deeper into the heart of the Thousand Isles. The Spirit Wilds gave way to something older, something watching. Overhead, through twisted branches, a single ray of sunlight broke through the mist. The worst was behind them.

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  But the truth was still ahead.

  The path to Kagemura wound like a ribbon through the trees, narrowing where roots knotted and old stones broke the surface. Fog still clung low to the ground, but the first true warmth of day pressed through the canopy in dappled light. It gave the forest a hushed, waiting quality, as if the woods knew they were being watched.

  Masashi led with steady pace, one hand always near his weapon. Kinu stayed at his side, her single tail flicking irritably each time his tone slipped toward scolding. Behind them, the group walked in silence, listening to the crunch of soil, the rustle of leaves, and the occasional chirp of RW as she darted ahead, sniffing the air with quiet interest.

  Yumi walked beside John. Close, but not too close. Her expression was calm, but her ears were angled slightly back, and her twin tails had lost their usual rhythm.

  "You okay?" John asked softly.

  She nodded, then after a beat, added, "Yes. Just... strange being this close to the kind of place I used to dream about."

  "You dreamt about a place like this?"

  "In a way," she said, glancing toward the trees. "But this realm, these forests—they're familiar in ways that don’t come from memory. It’s like something old brushing against something new. Makes it hard to know what’s really mine."

  John didn’t know how to answer that, so he just nodded. The trees ahead shifted, revealing a rise in the path. RW was already there, waiting.

  "You should see this," she said, tail swishing. "It explains a lot."

  John and Yumi crested the hill. What they saw below made both pause.

  The Eternal Veil.

  The great dragon-tree rose from the center of the valley like a god frozen in motion. Its bark shimmered with scale-like patterns, and its branches twisted through the sky in clawed spirals. Roots thicker than houses coiled beneath the village, threading through streets and gardens alike. Lanterns hung from the boughs, glowing with purple flame that cast long, soft shadows.

  Beneath that impossible tree, Kagemura waited. A village half-hidden in morning haze. Houses built of ancient wood and living vine. Stone pathways worn smooth by centuries. It looked untouched by time, suspended between myth and memory.

  RW gave a low whistle. "Well. This explains the energy I’ve been tracking. That tree isn’t just symbolic. It's a power anchor. Possibly divine. Definitely dangerous."

  John felt something stir deep inside. Not fear. Not exactly. But awe. The kind that made your heartbeat feel too loud.

  "We should keep moving," Masashi called from ahead. "The village is already watching."

  And they were. Faces appeared in shaded doorways. Children peeked from behind fence posts before vanishing into courtyards. A bell rang three times, slow and deliberate.

  "The morning signal," Kinu said. Her voice had softened. "It tells the village who is coming. Or what."

  Yumi touched John’s arm, her voice low. "Stay close. Something about this place feels... guarded. Like we’re not entirely welcome yet."

  John met her eyes, nodded once, and followed her down the path. Toward the village.

  Toward history.

  Kagemura unfolded in layers, like a dream John hadn’t realized he’d been having. The paths weren’t paved so much as worn into the earth by repetition. Trees bowed low in the streets, not because they were told to, but because time had shaped them to shelter those who walked beneath. Lanterns burned with purple flame, casting their light not outward, but downward, onto carved sigils embedded in the stones.

  Children trained in quiet courtyards. They moved through forms with practice swords and steady breathing, their motions fluid as stream water. Elders watched with folded arms and knowing eyes. No one laughed. No one stumbled. They moved like memory incarnate.

  The Players stayed close, flanked by their escort. Kinu and Masashi led the way, while Hideo kept his distance behind. The village watched in silence. Doors slid open. Eyes followed.

  John tried not to stare. He caught Yumi watching him out of the corner of her eye.

  "They all start so young," she murmured, voice low with awe. "It’s not just training—it’s something deeper. Like they’re part of something older than they realize."

  He nodded, absorbing the weight of it without knowing what to say.

  RW padded beside him, quiet for once. Her blue flames burned lower, contemplative.

  Behind them, Rai observed everything—counting exits, watching expressions, noting guard patterns. Her eyes moved with calculation, never quite resting. Beside her, Akira walked like a shadow with a heartbeat, his presence less a silhouette and more an impression left behind. He hadn’t spoken since they’d left the Hall, but every glance marked him as listening.

  They passed through a narrow side street where the lanterns glowed a deeper shade of violet. Masashi stopped at a lacquered doorway set beneath a sloped roof of dark tile. He turned to John.

  "This is the Sleeping Fox," he said. "Mistress Tsubaki’s place." His tone didn’t carry judgment—just duty. "You’ll be safe here. She'll have rooms ready upstairs."

  Rai gave a small nod. "Thank you."

  Masashi paused for a heartbeat longer, his gaze lingering on RW, then Yumi, then Akira. The silence stretched like silk, thin but strong. Then he turned and disappeared back into the mist.

  Inside, the room smelled of cedar and old paper. A single lantern flickered on a low table. RW hopped up to the windowsill, flames pulsing with curiosity. Rai wandered the perimeter once before settling by the far wall, fan across her lap. Akira sat near the door, unspeaking but watchful, hand resting lightly on his sheath.

  "You okay?" John asked RW.

  "Always. Just recalibrating expectations," she said, watching the lantern light dance.

  John sat down, laying his katana within arm’s reach. The silence felt heavier here. Not oppressive, just... full. Like the walls were waiting.

  Yumi lingered in the doorway. "You did well out there. Not just the fighting. You didn’t panic. That matters."

  He offered her a tired smile. "Thanks. For having my back."

  She gave a soft nod and stepped away to join Rai, exchanging a quiet word before settling beside her.

  John turned his eyes to the ceiling beams, then to RW.

  "That question you asked last night, the one about you having been playing already. I think," she said, "you were part of the Dive long before you found me. I just don’t know how yet."

  Outside, wind stirred the trees. Somewhere in the village, a drumbeat echoed like a heartbeat, slow and steady.

  John lay back, eyes tracing the shifting shadows.

  The Dive wasn't over.

  Now he wasn't even sure when it had started.