KAZUSCARA / KAZUHA × SCARAMOUCHE
In a world where alphas and omegas navigate a dangerous balance of power, Kazuha, a calm and composed omega, crosses paths with Scaramouche, a sharp-tongued and prideful alpha.
‼️I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS IN...
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❀❃☆❃❀ ~ ❀❃☆❃❀ ~ ❀❃☆❃❀ ~ ❀❃☆❃❀
Strangers on Opposite Winds ~ Ⅲ ~
The storm had subsided by morning, leaving the village wrapped in a misty haze. Kazuha awoke to the faint light of dawn filtering through the shutters of his room. The air smelled of wet earth and firewood, a comforting scent that eased the tension in his shoulders.
He dressed quietly, securing his blade at his side before heading downstairs. The innkeeper greeted him with a warm nod and set a modest breakfast on the table—a bowl of rice, a cup of green tea, and a few slices of dried fish.
“You’ll be traveling today, I assume?” the innkeeper asked as Kazuha ate.
Kazuha nodded. “The storm has passed, and the road ahead calls to me. Thank you for your hospitality.”
The innkeeper smiled. “Safe travels, then. And keep an eye out—there have been strange occurrences in these parts recently. Unusual visitors, unsettling rumors… best to tread carefully.”
Kazuha inclined his head, his expression calm. “I’ll heed your warning.”
As he stepped outside, the village was coming to life. Merchants set up their stalls in the square, and the blacksmith’s hammer rang out in rhythmic strikes. Kazuha adjusted the strap of his pack and set off toward the mountains, following the narrow trail that wound its way through the trees.
The air was cool and crisp, the kind that carried whispers of distant storms. Kazuha walked in silence, his steps light and deliberate as he let the wind guide him.
Yet, despite the tranquility of the forest, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
---
Miles away, Scaramouche’s sandals crunched against the damp earth as he trudged through the undergrowth. His mood was no better than the previous night, and his patience—already a fragile thing—was wearing thin.
He had returned to the site of their initial encounter, searching for any trace of the omega’s path. The storm had washed away most tracks, but Scaramouche was not easily deterred. He had questions, and he intended to get answers—whether Kazuha wanted to give them or not.
The thought of the omega’s serene expression only served to stoke his irritation. How dare he be so calm, so unbothered, when Scaramouche had tried to unsettle him? Most people cowered or groveled in the face of his power. Kazuha had merely walked away.
“Tch,” Scaramouche muttered under his breath, electricity sparking at his fingertips. “Who does he think he is?”
Still, the memory of their brief clash lingered in his mind—the fluidity of Kazuha’s movements, the way his Anemo energy seemed to blend effortlessly with the wind around him. It was impressive, though Scaramouche would never admit it aloud.
The trail was faint but present—bent blades of grass, a broken branch here and there, the slight lingering scent of an omega. Scaramouche smirked to himself. “You can’t hide forever, little bird.”
---
Kazuha’s journey led him higher into the mountains, where the trees thinned and the air grew colder. By midday, he had reached a quiet clearing overlooking a deep valley. He stopped to rest, sitting cross-legged on a flat stone as he let the wind cool his skin.
From his vantage point, he could see the expanse of the forest stretching out below, its emerald hues dotted with the gray of lingering mist. The sight was breathtaking, yet Kazuha couldn’t ignore the unease prickling at the edges of his consciousness.
The wind carried whispers—faint, fragmented, but insistent. They spoke of pursuit, of something—or someone—drawing closer.
Kazuha closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing as he sought clarity. His connection to the wind was more than mere instinct; it was a bond forged through years of attunement and practice. The wind did not lie, but its messages were often cryptic.
“Who chases the wind?” he murmured softly, his voice blending with the rustle of leaves.
There was no answer, only the faint howl of the breeze through the trees.
---
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Scaramouche found himself nearing the mountains. The trail had grown steeper and more treacherous, but he pressed on with a dogged determination that bordered on obsession.
The omega was close—he could smell it.
Scaramouche paused at the base of a rocky incline, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain. There were faint traces of a campfire nearby—no longer warm, but recent enough to confirm he was on the right path.
He smirked to himself, his frustration easing into satisfaction. “You’re running out of places to hide, little bird.”
Still, something about this pursuit unsettled him. It wasn’t just the challenge of finding Kazuha or the frustration of their earlier encounter. There was a pull—subtle but undeniable—that Scaramouche couldn’t explain. It irritated him to no end, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
With a huff, he continued up the trail, the sky above painted in hues of orange and violet. The hunt was far from over, and Scaramouche intended to see it through.
---
As twilight descended, Kazuha stood at the edge of the clearing, his amber eyes fixed on the distant horizon. The wind had grown restless, carrying with it the faintest trace of something electric.
He sighed softly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “The storm comes again,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the rustling trees.
Though he did not yet see his pursuer, Kazuha knew their paths would cross again. It was only a matter of time.
---
Author's note-
I'm kinda already getting bored of writing... I WANT THEM TO MEET AGAIN RAHHH I already have a lot of ideas in mind for this fic
