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 ~ Ⅶ ~
The forest gave way to open plains, the scent of wildflowers mingling with the fresh breeze. Kazuha and Scaramouche walked in silence for much of the morning, their earlier bickering giving way to an unspoken truce. Though neither would admit it, the rhythm of their steps felt oddly in sync.
It wasn’t until the sun hung high in the sky that they caught sight of the village. Nestled in a valley, it looked peaceful from a distance, smoke rising from chimneys and fields bustling with activity. Kazuha’s sharp eyes, however, noticed something amiss.
“Smoke,” he murmured, halting in his tracks.
Scaramouche glanced at him. “And? Villages have fires.”
“Not like that,” Kazuha said, his voice unusually grave. “That’s no cooking fire.”
The words had barely left his lips when a faint cry reached their ears, carried by the wind. It was followed by another, louder this time—desperate shouts and the clanging of metal.
Scaramouche tensed, his instincts sharpening. “Looks like trouble.”
Kazuha’s expression darkened, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “We should hurry.”
“Since when do you care about other people’s problems?” Scaramouche asked, though he followed without hesitation.
Kazuha didn’t answer, his pace quickening as they descended into the valley.
---
The scene that greeted them was chaos. The once-peaceful village was now a battlefield, Fatui agents swarming through the streets with calculated brutality. Villagers armed with pitchforks, hoes, and crude weapons fought back desperately, their faces etched with fear and defiance.
Several homes were ablaze, thick black smoke curling into the sky. Bodies littered the ground—some Fatui, but many were villagers, their lifeless forms a grim reminder of the violence that had erupted.
Kazuha’s breath hitched, his grip on his blade tightening. For a moment, the sights and sounds of the battle blurred, replaced by a distant memory—a stormy night, the crackle of fire, and the anguished cries of someone he could not save.
“Kazuha,” Scaramouche’s sharp voice snapped him back to the present. “Are you just going to stand there?”
The omega blinked, his focus sharpening. “No,” he said quietly, drawing his sword with practiced ease.
