Morning came unwillingly.

  The sun rose over broken trees and a shattered home, its light catching on bloodstains that refused to fade. The forest did not feel cleansed — only exposed.

  Kanae sat where the night had left her.

  She hadn’t moved.

  Her knees were drawn to her chest, fingers digging into dirt so hard they bled. She stared at the ground ahead — not searching, not hoping — just empty.

  Shinobu knelt beside her, eyes swollen, throat raw from screaming a name that no longer answered.

  They had searched.

  They had searched until their legs gave out.

  There was nothing.

  No body.

  No sound.

  No sign of life.

  In the world of demons, that meant death.

  Heavy footsteps approached through the forest.

  Kanae barely lifted her head.

  A towering figure emerged between the trees — broad shoulders, prayer beads clicking softly with each step. His presence pressed down on the air itself, calm and immovable.

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  The Stone Hashira had arrived.

  He stopped when he saw them.

  For a long moment, he said nothing.

  Then he bowed his head.

  “…I am sorry,” he said quietly.

  The words struck harder than any blade.

  Shinobu’s breath hitched.

  Kanae’s hands clenched.

  The man knelt before them, massive form lowering until he was level with their grief.

  “I sensed the demon too late,” he continued. “By the time I arrived, the battle was already over.”

  Kanae swallowed, her voice barely audible. “We couldn’t find her.”

  Silence.

  The kind that confirms what the heart already knows.

  The Stone Hashira did not deny it.

  He reached into his haori and removed a cloth, carefully wrapping Kanae’s injured arm with practiced precision.

  “There was no body,” Shinobu whispered desperately. “Doesn’t that mean—?”

  “In some cases,” he said gently. “But not here.”

  Shinobu froze.

  “There was no scent of movement,” he continued. “No lingering warmth. No trace of struggle beyond the initial impact.”

  His blind eyes lowered.

  “The child did not escape.”

  The words shattered what little remained.

  Shinobu broke.

  She collapsed forward, clutching Kanae’s haori, sobbing so violently she could barely breathe.

  Kanae didn’t cry.

  She simply bowed her head until her forehead touched the dirt.

  “I failed her,” she whispered.

  “No,” the man said firmly. “A demon failed you.”

  He stood.

  “The dead cannot be returned,” he said. “But others can still be saved.”

  Kanae lifted her head slowly.

  “If we had been stronger…” she said.

  The Stone Hashira turned toward the rising sun.

  “Then you must become stronger,” he replied.

  Shinobu’s hands trembled as she wiped her tears.

  Kanae rose unsteadily to her feet.

  The forest was quiet now.

  Too quiet.

  The place where Kocho Tsukiko had vanished was nothing more than crushed leaves and scorched earth.

  No miracle.

  No hope.

  Only absence.

  And far beyond their reach — beyond grief, beyond dawn —

  Tsukiko lived.

  But to the world she would one day return to,

  Kocho Tsukiko died that night.