Chapter 20: Bloodstained Sisterhood
The silence that followed us back to the academy was a heavy, shared thing. It wasn’t the quiet of exhaustion, but the thick, anticipatory hush before a storm. We knew what waited. The main gates loomed, and the usual nighttime sounds of the campus—distant shouts from training fields, the hum of the perimeter wards—felt muted, as if the very stones were holding their breath.
Drill Instructor Borros was waiting for us in the Grand Foyer, a space usually bustling with students. At this hour, it was a cavern of echoing footsteps and cold, judgmental air. He stood beneath the great crest of the Academy, arms crossed over his barrel chest. He wasn’t a tall man, but he seemed to occupy all the available space, his presence a physical wall. The scar that cut from his temple to his jaw seemed to gleam in the torchlight.
He didn’t shout. His voice was a low, grinding stone, each word precise and meant to flay.
“Santoro.” His eyes, like chips of flint, landed on Aria first. “Reckless extern. A fifth-year, supposedly mentoring, yet you lead a raw recruit into a Code Silent Crown. You disregarded chain of command. You prioritized personal sentiment over protocol.” He took a single step forward, and the air grew colder. “Your shadowing experience is a privilege, not a right. You have proven you cannot handle privilege.”
He shifted his gaze to me. I felt it like a weight, pushing down on my shoulders, forcing me to stand straighter, to meet it.
“Kashikoi. Idiotic fourth-year. You possess a spark of competence, which makes your stupidity all the more galling. You followed. You did not question. You saw a rift and thought, ‘what a splendid opportunity for a field trip.’ You are a weapon with no sense of direction, and that makes you the most dangerous thing on any battlefield.” He let that hang, let the truth of it sink its hooks into me. “Your punishment will be served after your externship concludes. You will report to me the morning after your final evaluation. Santoro,” he said, turning back to Aria, “yours begins at 0500 tomorrow. The Obelisk Courtyard. Bring your sword, and your humility. Assuming you can find it.”
He didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t care about the monsters we’d killed or the line we’d held. We had broken the rule. That was all that mattered.
“Dismissed.”
The word was a release of pressure, but not relief. It was the sensation of a blade being pulled from a wound. We turned, a ragged, bloodstained unit, and shuffled out toward the squad barracks.
Tsubaki was waiting outside the heavy oak door, pacing a trench into the dirt path. When she saw us, her whole body sagged, then tensed again. Her eyes, wide and dark, swept over us, cataloging the gore splattered across our gear, the deep fatigue in our movements, the hollow look in our eyes that hadn’t been there when we left. Relief and worry warred on her face.
“You’re all in one piece,” she said, her voice tight. It wasn’t a question. She was reassuring herself. “You look like hell.”
“Feel like it, too,” Alex mumbled, shouldering past her to push the barracks door open. “Come on. It’s witching hour and I smell like Shambler bile. It’s not a good look.”
Inside, the common room was dark and still. Hannah flicked on a lamp, its weak light doing little to dispel the gloom. “You two may as well stay the night,” she said, gesturing vaguely at me and Tsubaki. “It’s getting really late anyway. Beds are free.”
The shower room was a cramped, tiled closet off the bunkroom. Four showerheads, three toilet stalls, everything smelling of cheap soap and mildew. There was no privacy, just flimsy, stained curtains that didn’t fully close. I stood frozen for a moment, my gear stiff with drying blood, while the others began stripping off without a second thought.
Aria unclipped her chest plate, her movements efficient and unselfconscious. Hannah and Alex were already under the spray, talking in low tones about Borros. Tsubaki gave me a small, understanding shrug and turned her back as she undressed.
I fumbled with my buckles, my fingers clumsy. The images I was trying to suppress pressed in: the head tumbling, the heart clutched in a shadowy fist, the hot spray of blood across my face. The water, when I finally stepped under it, was scalding. I scrubbed at my skin until it turned pink, but the feeling of grime, of that other life violently ended, seemed to linger in a layer beneath.
The others moved with a casual familiarity, a comfort in their own skins and with each other that I couldn’t fathom. I kept my eyes on the cracked tile in front of me, trying to become small, trying to let the roar of the water drown out the memories.
They gave us standard-issue pajamas—soft, grey cotton. Tsubaki and I took two vacant cots at the end of the row in the bunkroom. Alex and Hannah claimed theirs, and Aria took the one nearest the door. Lying there in the semi-darkness, listening to the rhythmic breathing, the faint creak of springs, felt oddly nostalgic. It was like being kids again at a fraught sleepover, the three of us—me, Tsubaki, Aria—in the same room. Only now, the stakes were silent and sleeping inches away, and the ghosts in the room weren’t imaginary.
Sleep came like an ambush, and brought the battle with it.
It wasn’t a coherent dream. It was a sensory barrage. The shriek of tearing reality. The wet impact of steel on flesh. The copper taste of blood in my mouth. The confusion on that Protector’s face as he looked at the hole where his heart should be. I heard the screams, not as echoes, but as present, urgent things. And through it all, a faint, melodic sound threading the chaos—a woman’s laughter. Light, almost girlish, utterly out of place. It curled around the violence, a counterpoint that was more terrifying than any roar.
I woke with a start, my throat closed, the grey blanket twisted around my legs. My skin was slick with a cold sweat that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.
Early morning light filtered weakly through the high, narrow windows. I looked around. The other cots were empty, blankets hastily thrown back. Only Tsubaki still slept in the bunk across from mine, her face peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil still churning in my chest. The time on my academy phone glowed 0730. Late. We’d slept in.
The unfamiliarity of the barracks bunkroom disoriented me for a second before yesterday slammed back—the breach, the fire, Xenon’s kiss, Borros’s verdict. A low hum, the aftershock of unleashed power and terror, still vibrated in my veins, a tuning fork struck and left to resonate.
I heard faded voices from the common room. Muffled words. “…slipped in around 5AM, hasn’t come out since…”
I pulled on my boots, not bothering to change, and padded out of the bunkroom.
Aria, Alex, and Hannah were in the small kitchen nook. The smell of coffee and frying batter filled the air. Aria was at the stove, flipping pancakes with a focused intensity. Alex was setting plates, and Hannah was pouring juice. They weren’t speaking, but a whole conversation was happening in the glances they exchanged, in the tight set of Aria’s shoulders, in the way Hannah’s eyes kept flicking toward the hallway that led to the private rooms.
They all looked up as I approached. The silent conversation cut off abruptly.
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Alex said, but her usual levity was forced.
Aria wordlessly handed me a chipped mug full of black coffee and then slid a plate with a stack of pancakes onto the small table. I took them automatically, but my attention was glued to the tension I’d walked in on.
“Is Ren back?” I asked.
The three of them shared a look. It was a complicated exchange—apprehension, reluctance, a silent argument.
Alex sighed, the sound deflating her. “Yes. He came back early this morning. Around 5AM. Me and Hannah tried to talk to him…” She trailed off, rubbing at the cut on her temple. “He threw us out. Literally. Told us to get the fuck out before he rearranged our faces.” She looked at me, a strange, weary hope in her eyes. “Maybe… you could talk to him, Arisa? You seem to have… a way with him.”
Aria’s hand slammed down on the countertop. The spatula jumped. “Absolutely not.” Her violet eyes were sharp, protective, almost furious. “Let the piss master sort out his own issues. Don’t you dare get her involved. He’s volatile. He’s not safe right now.”
I looked at Aria’s warning, then at Alex’s desperate hope, then at Hannah’s plain terror. Without a word, I set the mug and plate down, turned, and walked toward the hallway.
“Arisa, don’t!” Aria’s voice was a hissed command.
I ignored her. The hallway was short, lined with doors. Ren’s was at the end. I knocked, my knuckles sounding too loud in the quiet.
No answer.
“Ren?”
Silence from within. A thick, consuming silence that felt heavier than any noise. I glanced back at the common room. Alex gave me a weary, encouraging thumbs-up. Hannah looked like she might be sick. Aria’s expression was pure, frustrated annoyance.
I reached for the doorknob. It was cold in my hand. I turned it and slipped inside, closing the door softly behind me.
The room was generous for a single person, but it felt suffocating. A large, unmade bed dominated the space. A desk was buried under cascading piles of papers, maps, and strange, dull-metal artifacts. A dresser, a stand holding his polished armor. A few practice weapons—a wooden sword, a staff—lay thrown haphazardly in a corner as if discarded in anger.
And there he was.
Ren sat on the edge of his bed, his back to me, hunched over as if bearing a tremendous weight. He wore only a pair of dark trousers, his olive-skinned back a landscape of taut muscle and old, silvery scars. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, but the darkness around him was different. It was a living thing, a palpable mist that clung to his skin, seeping from him, making the air in the room feel thick and hard to breathe.
When the door clicked shut, he spoke.
“Get out.”
The voice was a low growl, ripped from somewhere deep and raw. It wasn’t angry. It was a warning of pure, unadulterated danger.
I gulped, my mouth dry. But I didn’t move.
I took one slow step into the room. Then another. The floorboards creaked under my weight. The darkness seemed to pulse.
“Get out, Kashikoi.”
The words were a threat, a final line drawn. But I was already crossing it. Because I was close enough now to see what the gloom and his posture had concealed.
The subtle, barely-perceptible shake of his shoulders. The rigid control of his spine, holding everything in, and failing. The quiet, ragged intake of breath that wasn’t a sigh, but a fracture.
He was kneeling over the abyss of his own pain, and the great, terrible Ren Kurogane, the ruthless squad leader, the strategic mind, the weapon of the Academy, was trembling.
Silently.
Like a wounded man crying.
Like a wounded man crying.
I looked at him, this crying man, leader, fearsome battle-born Protector who had run away to the Capital after his precious Nanami, when we needed him most. The proctor woman whose head was severed in front of me flashed before my eyes, the man whose heart was ripped out, the scattered bodies of falling Protectors from last night. And this man, was crying over a girl? She didn’t know exactly what happened to him in the Capital, but judging by his state, it wasn’t good.
Arisa stepped closer.
Ren stiffened, and he grabbed a practice dagger from the bed beside him and threw it at me with deep hatred in his eyes. I caught it before it made contact with my arm, impressing myself with my quick reflexes. I threw the dagger at the ground and it embedded itself into the floor.
“I said get the fuck out, Kashikoi.”
His eyes seemed practically hysterical. She kept walking towards him, seeing the swollen redness around his eyes, him trying desperately to hide his heartbreak with anger. When she reached him, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pinned her against the wall, choking her.
I felt the squeeze of his hands around my throat as he threatened to crush my airway. I gasped for breath, and saw the darkness swirling in his rage-fueled eyes.
“R-Ren,” I choked out, but he didn’t answer.
I did the only thing I could think of and I punched him as hard as I could on his face. I felt and heard the sharp crack of cartilage. I seemed to shock not only myself with the strength but him as well. He doubled over onto his knees, blood gushing from his nose. He was spitting out curses at me. I rubbed at my sore neck, knowing bruises would form there.
I stood over him.
“You are pathetic.”
I said it so confidently. I had never spoken to anyone this way, but the words came out before I could stop them, somehow knowing this was exactly what he needed to hear.
“Are you crying over a girl? Well, wake the fuck up, mister. There is a war going on around us, and shadow beasts have no time for your ‘feelings’,” echoing the words he had said to me countless times in training.
I knelt down to his level on the floor, my actions seeming to contradict my words, and I wrapped my arms around him in a comforting embrace. His sobs broke out then, and he leaned onto my chest. I shushed him and petted his hair, comforting him like a pet. He sobbed for what felt like hours, but I knew it had only been minutes.
He looked up at me and said, “I went to see her, my girlfriend, in the Capital. She had said she wanted to make up after our fight, and when I walked into her apartment, she was fucking a man from the Military Police.
He took a ragged breath that shuddered through his entire frame, his forehead pressing harder against my collarbone. “She was fucking him right in front of me,” he whispered, the words raw and stripped of all his usual ferocity. “Looking at me like… ‘look how this man can please me more than you.’ Can you believe it? One of those lousy bastards from the Military Police. And, apparently, she's been doing it for a long time.”
He went silent then, as if trying to contain the vast, ugly weight of his sorrow. The living darkness in the room seemed to recede, pulling back into his skin, leaving only the man and his shattered pride.
He finally pulled back, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, smearing the blood from his nose. His eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, lifted to meet mine. They widened slightly, focusing past my eyes to the side of my neck. A fresh, cold horror dawned in them.
He reached up, his fingers surprisingly gentle, and touched the blossoming bruise there—the livid mark left by his own hands. I flinched at the sharp, tender pain.
He snatched his hand back as if burned. “I… I didn’t know what came over me,” he murmured, the words thick with self-loathing. “Arisa, I’m—”
“Don’t.” My own voice surprised me, flat and firm. I shook my head and reached out, not to strike him, but to awkwardly pat his damp, messy hair. It was a gesture I’d seen in old videos, something you’d do to soothe a distressed animal. “Alright, sir. You’ve cried it out. Now it’s time to get back out there.”
I stood, my legs protesting, and offered him my hand.
He looked at it, then up at my face, with a moment of unfound disbelief. He searched my eyes for mockery, for pity, and found neither—just a grim, exhausted pragmatism. His larger, calloused hand closed around mine, and I hauled him to his feet. He swayed slightly, steadying himself against the wall.
He nodded, once, a soldier accepting an order. “Yes, ma’am.”
I cringed internally at that. Ma’am. It felt wrong, a title for someone far older and less stained than me. “Come on,” I said, turning toward the door. “We have to debrief you about what happened yesterday.”
His face, which had begun to harden back into its familiar lines, went slack with confusion. “What happened yesterday?”
“The parameter was breached,” I responded automatically, the official terminology clicking into place as I opened the door. “At the Edge. A significant incursion. We contained it.”
I walked out into the hallway, not looking back, trusting he would follow. He did, his bare feet padding softly behind me. “How do you know so much about it?” he asked, his voice gaining strength, suspicion seeping in.
“I was there.”
I heard his step falter behind me. “What? Why were you there?”
“I was doing my duty.” I pushed into the common room.
Aria, Alex, and Hannah were frozen in a silent tableau. Their eyes darted from my bruised neck to Ren’s bloody face and rumpled appearance behind me. The air was thick with uneaten breakfast and unasked questions.
I ignored them. I walked straight to the small table, grabbed the plate of cold pancakes I’d left, and my lukewarm coffee. I shoved a forkful into my mouth, eating greedily, my body finally registering its hollow need. The syrup was cloyingly sweet, and it was perfect.
Ren followed me out, having thrown on a grey t-shirt and a pair of shorts. He stood in the center of the room, a commander reassembling himself piece by piece. He looked at his squad, then at me wolfing down food at the table.
“Hannah,” he said, his voice back to its normal, clipped tone, though softer around the edges.
She jumped up, grabbing a clean plate and piling it with pancakes before handing it to him. He took it without thanks, his eyes never leaving Alex.
“Debrief,” he stated. “Start with why a fourth-year and a fifth-year extern were in a tactical engagement at a Code Silent Crown breach.”
Alex cleared her throat, setting her own fork down. She launched into it, her report concise and professional. She detailed our arrival, the initial containment, Xenon’s appearance, the second wave of humanoid shadows. She spoke of our defensive circle, the coordination. She didn’t embellish. She didn’t need to.
“Honestly?” Alex finished, meeting Ren’s gaze directly. “Without her, I think the fight would have been a lot different. We’d have been overrun before reinforcements arrived. She took point. She gave orders. We listened.” She paused, then added, a daring note in her voice, “I think Kashikoi would make a great addition to this team when she applies for her externship next year.”
Ren was silent for a long moment, chewing his food slowly. He looked at me, really looked, seeing past the bruises and the tired eyes. A small, almost imperceptible amount of pride flickered in his gaze, a tiny spark igniting in the ashes of his personal wreckage.
“Very well,” he said finally.
Alex let out a quiet sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping. She’d expected yelling, punishment, extra laps until we puked. This quiet acceptance was somehow more disconcerting.
“You have the day off,” Ren continued, standing up. “All of you. Recover. I have to go… catch up on everything with Xenon.” The mention of the commander’s name brought a fresh tightness to his jaw, but he controlled it. He took his plate to the sink, then left without another word, the door closing softly behind him.
The tension in the room collapsed. Hannah slumped into a chair. Alex muttered, “Holy shit,” under her breath.
Aria finally moved from her post by the counter, coming over to me. Her fingers hovered near the bruising on my neck, her violet eyes clouded with a storm of worry and anger. “You shouldn’t have gone in there,” she said, but the fight had left her voice.
“I had to,” I said simply.
The rest of the day unfolded in a strange, liminal space. Tsubaki eventually emerged, yawning, and the five of us—me, Aria, Tsubaki, Alex, and Hannah—simply existed. We played cards with a deck Hannah produced from her footlocker. We lounged on the threadbare common room couches, not talking much, just being together in the quiet aftermath. Alex made terrible jokes that almost made me spit out my drink. Hannah painted Tsubaki’s nails a dark, shimmery pink.
For a few hours, we were just people, not soldiers, not pawns in a hidden war, not victims of betrayal.
But beneath the laughter, the simple pleasure of a day with no drills, no monsters, I felt a cold, quiet dread settling in my bones. Our shadow experience was almost over. Soon, Aria would be too busy with her own squad and her punishment with Borros. Tsubaki’s externship application for the Military Police was due soon, her path diverging sharply from mine.
And I knew, with a certainty that felt like a stone in my gut, that I could not follow her there. The golden fire that slept in my veins, Xenon’s possessive interest, the sheer, terrifying scale of what lurked beyond the rifts—none of it fit within the neat, brutal order of the Military Police.
I would have to tell her. And when I did, the fragile bridge between our worlds would finally fracture. I watched her laugh at something Alex said, her face bright and unguarded, and the stone in my gut grew heavier.
Our fun was a temporary ceasefire. The war for our futures was waiting, and I was the only one who could see the battle lines.