The Crystal's Whisper and The Wind's Embrace

Chapter 57: Cracks Between

The days after Hiroshi's reappearance passed like drifting ash—quiet, unsettling, and heavy.

Tsukiyo hadn't spoken much since the mission. She trained harder, longer, throwing herself into every movement like it could drown out the echo of Hiroshi's voice. She bore her exhaustion with grace, but Sanemi saw through it. He always had.

From a distance, he watched her in the training grounds, her sword slicing crystal arcs through the morning air. Her breath was tight. Her footwork lacked rhythm. Her usual clarity was dulled by unrest.

"Tch." He scowled to himself, arms folded. "She's pushing too hard again."

"You could say something, you know," came a voice from behind.

It was Mitsuri. She stood with her fingers laced in front of her, eyes watching Tsukiyo with quiet concern.

"You care," she said gently, "but you keep putting up walls."

"I don't put up walls," Sanemi snapped, then glanced away. "...She's the one pulling away."

Mitsuri gave him a look that was far too knowing. "Or maybe she's just waiting for you to reach out first."

The next morning, the air was laced with quiet fog, curling over the training grounds like breath from unseen lungs. Most of the compound was still asleep, the crows silent, the wind gentle.

Sanemi stood just outside the inner courtyard, clutching something awkwardly in his hand.

A small parcel. Bandages. A new crystal polishing cloth he had snagged from the supply store.

Ridiculous, he knew. She probably didn't need any of it.

But it was the only excuse he had to knock on her door.

He raised his hand. Paused. Lowered it again.

Just as he was turning to leave, the door slid open.

Tsukiyo stood there, her hair loose and slightly tousled, dressed in a simple lavender yukata. Her eyes blinked at him in surprise.

"Sanemi?"

He quickly looked away. "You're... up early."

"You're here early," she replied, voice softer than he expected.

He held out the cloth, shoving it toward her. "Saw this at the store. Figured you... might use it."

Her expression flickered—surprise, then warmth. "You remembered the one I lost."

Sanemi muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like of course I did.

She took it gently, her fingers brushing his. "Thank you."

"I was going to train," she said after a moment.

"I'll come with you," he replied, more quickly than intended.

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. "You? Volunteering?"

"Tch. Don't make me regret it."

Tsukiyo smiled, stepping beside him and drawing her sword. "Then you better not fall behind, Sanemi."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "In your dreams."

They moved together in the early morning mist, blades slicing through the cool air with grace and power. Each swing was measured, mirrored, fluid. Sanemi's strikes were forceful—controlled violence wrapped in precision. Tsukiyo's were elegant, crystalline and fluid, like wind weaving through glass. They didn't speak, but their bodies spoke loud enough. Two warriors learning how to breathe together.