The Crystal's Whisper and The Wind's Embrace

Chapter 68: The Castle That Eats the Sky

The room held its breath.

Light filtered through the towering, ever-shifting panels above like dying stars. Every inch of the Infinity Castle creaked with movement, like bones cracking beneath skin.

And in the stillness, a door groaned open.

Tsukiyo stepped into the chamber.

Her sword was already drawn.

Eyes scanning, body tense, breath low and measured.

Then—

"Tsukiyo."

Her heart stopped.

She turned.

Sanemi stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving, blood on his sleeve, his white hair damp with sweat.

Time stilled. Neither moved.

She stepped forward, and so did he.

No words.

She crashed into his chest, and his arms wrapped around her with instinctive desperation.

He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath since they were torn apart.

"You're okay..." he murmured against her hair.

She nodded into him. "So are you."

They didn't cling for long—they weren't the type. But their hands lingered at each other's backs, fingers curling into fabric like anchors.

"I thought I'd lost you," he said, quietly.

"You won't lose me that easily," she replied.

He finally pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

A smirk ghosted across his lips. "Damn right."

She smiled faintly, though her hand trembled slightly where it gripped his sleeve.

"I felt you," she whispered. "Through the walls. Through this place."

His throat bobbed. "Me too."

Their foreheads nearly touched again—but neither leaned in.

There wasn't time for that. Not now.

Not when something colder was slithering into the room.

It began as a shift in pressure.

Tsukiyo's breath caught.

Sanemi straightened, already sliding in front of her.

His eyes narrowed.

From the far end of the room, he emerged.

A man—no, a monster—drifting forward with the elegance of a shadow.

Upper Moon One. Kokushibo.

His form was cloaked in layered robes, hair long and dark like blood drying at the edge of the moon. Six eyes bore down on them—none blinking. None merciful.

The very air seemed to darken around him.

Tsukiyo's grip on her blade tightened.

Sanemi didn't blink.

Kokushibo's voice was soft.

"Two blades. One thread. How fragile the ties between hearts are."

Neither of them replied.

He continued forward.

"Love," he murmured, almost distastefully. "A burden the weak cling to before they die."

Sanemi stepped forward, shielding Tsukiyo with an arm.

"You'll be dust before you get to her."

Tsukiyo stepped beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

"I'm not hiding behind him. You'll face us both."

Kokushibo's six eyes shifted, the bottom two narrowing faintly.

"...So be it."

The floor cracked beneath them.

The air exploded with sudden, suffocating pressure.

Kokushibo's blade—black, jagged, alive—slid into his hand like it had been waiting.

Tsukiyo's breathing steadied.

Sanemi's wind began to stir around him.

And in that fragile moment before motion, before blood, before everything they knew might end, their hands brushed one last time.

He didn't speak.

But his eyes told her everything.

And then—

The battle began.