The hot water pummeled my face with relentless force, a torrent almost violent in its intensity, as if trying to wash away more than just dirt. Steam fogged the dark tiles of the enormous bathroom, creating a private, intimate haze.

  Every droplet that rolled down my shoulders, descending along the curve of my back and hips, seemed to carry away a superficial layer of something... but the stench remained.

  It was my third shower in less than an hour. The damn smell of smoke, of failure, and of charred flesh clung stubbornly to my skin, to my nostrils, to my memory.

  We had arrived at the Arakawa mansion around three in the morning, under a moonless sky that seemed to swallow the headlights' beams whole.

  I spent the next two hours locked in the tense silence of my mother's office, reporting my failure. I had failed miserably to retrieve the jewel, but I presented an alternative plan — one involving the mutilated remains of a poor human wretch and the intervention of one of our oldest kind.

  By the way her lips pressed into a thin line and her golden eyes — so much like mine — narrowed, I could tell she didn’t like my idea at all.

  As usual, we argued.

  Our wills clashed like two storms meeting over the ocean. But, as rarely happened, she relented — with a reluctance that seemed to freeze the air around us.

  This afternoon, I would meet with Tamamo-no-Mae-sama to see what could be done about... the package.

  When I finally escaped the oppressive atmosphere of my mother's office, I found Takumi waiting for me in the corridor lit by delicate rice paper lanterns.

  He was awake, leaning against the wall with that abandoned puppy look he always carried: his shoulders slightly slumped, his large, dark eyes filled with unsolicited devotion, his straight black hair falling messily over his forehead.

  He was tall and lean but wiry, the result of countless hours training with the sword — something I knew my mother approved of. He was one of the three candidates she had meticulously selected for me to marry, men of pure bloodlines and strong potential for producing powerful future generations.

  "I'm not in the mood tonight, Takumi," I told him, my voice harsher than necessary.

  I watched disappointment flash across his face before he masked it behind a facade of forced understanding.

  He bowed slightly and walked away, and I could almost imagine his tail — metaphorical, of course, he wasn't one of us, merely a human from a family allied with ours for generations — tucked between his legs.

  Seeing him so easily dismissed made me smile.

  It wasn't a smile of joy — something darker twisted inside me.

  Perhaps it was the thrill of the power I had over him without even trying?

  He wasn't bad-looking, objectively speaking, but the idea of a formal engagement, of a bond so permanent... I wasn’t ready for that yet.

  "The choice of your first is the most important decision in a Kitsune’s life," my mother’s voice echoed in my head, a lesson hammered into me a thousand times.

  "The others may be whims, mistakes, even passing loves that teach you or entertain you. But the first... the first is your foundation, your pillar. He will give you the best chance, the strongest genetic and spiritual base, to birth a Kyūbi."

  A nine-tailed fox.

  The pinnacle of our power, the almost divine manifestation of our essence.

  I placed a hand over my bare, wet stomach under the spray of the shower.

  A Kyūbi, born from me?

  Hard to imagine at that moment, with the stink of failure clinging to my skin.

  The water kept falling, a futile attempt to erase an invisible stain.

  Maybe the smell was only in my mind, a phantom born from my own incompetence, when a timid voice pulled me from my thoughts.

  "Kiriko-sama..."

  "Can't you see I'm busy?" I snapped from inside the smoky glass stall.

  "A thousand apologies, Kiriko-sama... but... but... Tamamo-no-Mae-sama requests your presence."

  I stiffened.

  "Now?"

  "Yes, Kiriko-sama... immediately."

  I turned off the faucet.

  The sudden silence was almost as overwhelming as the water’s roar had been.

  I stepped out of the shower, leaving wet footprints across the black marble floor, and raised my hands impatiently.

  There she was — my faithful maid, Koyoko-chan. Small, agile, with frightened eyes and an impeccably neat bun, always one step behind me, always anticipating my needs.

  "Then hurry," I ordered, irritation creeping into my voice at the interruption and urgency.

  She already had a thick, soft towel in her hands and rushed to dry me with practiced efficiency.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, dressed in a formal deep indigo silk kimono, I stood before the legendary Tamamo-no-Mae-sama.

  One of the oldest and most powerful Kyūbi still walking among us, a being over four hundred years old, yet appearing no older than a woman in her early thirties.

  Her flawless porcelain skin, blood-red lips, and cascading jet-black hair, pinned into an elaborate style adorned with jade and gold hairpieces, made her look otherworldly.

  Her eyes, though — they carried the wisdom and burden of centuries, with a golden glow that betrayed her immense power.

  We were in her private chambers, a wide, serene room decorated with exquisite hand-painted folding screens depicting mythological scenes.

  The air was perfumed with the subtle scent of expensive incense.

  At the center, on a low black lacquered table, rested a set of ancient ceramic tea cups.

  And in the corner, grotesquely out of place, stood a metal table.

  Upon it — the black body bag we had brought.

  "This is not a morgue, Kiriko," Tamamo-no-Mae said, her voice soft but colder than ice, gesturing languidly toward the package with her long, manicured fingers.

  The bag was partially unzipped, revealing a glimpse of its contents.

  "Tamamo-no-Mae-sama, I thought perhaps you could—"

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  "No," she cut me off sharply, her gaze fixed on me, merciless.

  "But... it's the only way..."

  "I said no. I do not defile the dead on the whims of impatient pups."

  Stubborn old crone, I thought, clenching my jaw.

  I approached the metal table and finished unzipping the bag, exposing the corpse completely.

  The stench that rolled out was... strange.

  Metallic, ozonic, with a sweet undertone of early decomposition — but not as overpoweringly disgusting as I had expected.

  It was the body of the human — or what was left of him.

  "Tamamo-no-Mae-sama, he is the key," I insisted, keeping my voice as respectful as possible. "He's our only clue to retrieving the Twilight Jewel... the Tasogare no Tama. Without him, without what he saw or touched before dying—"

  Tamamo-no-Mae shrugged, a barely perceptible motion.

  She poured herself tea with infuriating calm.

  "And what does that have to do with me? The Arakawa have always been too ambitious with such artifacts. They bring nothing but trouble."

  "But it’s a relic of our clan! We can't allow it to fall into the wrong hands! Tamamo-no-Mae-sama... please..."

  My voice cracked slightly at the end, the first thread of desperation weaving into it.

  A long silence followed, broken only by the delicate sipping of her tea.

  Finally, she sighed, a sound almost human.

  "It will not be easy," she said, her tone slightly less frigid. "The body is in poor condition. The threads of fate that once bound it to its soul are thin, almost severed. Rebuilding that connection will require... specific ingredients."

  "I'll help however I can. I’ll do whatever it takes," I declared, feeling a flicker of hope.

  Tamamo-no-Mae gave me a calculating look, as if she had seen this conversation unfolding long before it began.

  Then, with a motion that momentarily stunned me, she slipped her hand into the generous neckline of her kimono and drew out a small leather-bound booklet.

  Heavens, who keeps things there?, I thought, half in awe, half in disbelief.

  She handed it to me.

  "Fetch everything listed here. Then I’ll see what can be done."

  I took the booklet cautiously.

  It was still warm from the contact with her skin and carried her exotic, expensive floral perfume.

  I opened it and scanned the list written in an elegant, firm script.

  Each item made me frown deeper:

  A petrified tear of a Griffin at dawn.

  The echo of a forest spirit’s last breath trapped in amber.

  Three iridescent scales from the back of a deep river Naga.

  Bone dust from an Oni defeated under a full moon…

  The list went on, each item more esoteric and dangerous than the last.

  For a fleeting moment, I felt like I had stumbled into one of those fantasy tales that fascinated my younger sister, Setsuna — who, although only a few seconds younger than me, often seemed much more naive.

  "This... this could take me months to gather," I murmured, my newly sparked hope fading fast.

  "Then you had better start immediately," Tamamo-no-Mae replied, turning back to her tea without another glance in my direction.

  ***

  "I’m sorry, Kiriko-sama, but Yoishiro-san is currently in a meeting with Arakawa-sama," one of the servants informed me as I rushed past him in the hallway.

  I barely nodded, offering a quick, shallow bow without slowing down.

  No time. No time.

  The words pounded inside my skull with every frantic step.

  The Arakawa estate stretched before me—a sprawling and curious blend of ancient Japanese tradition and lavish Western opulence.

  Paper sliding doors stood alongside heavy, ornate wooden arches; delicate tatami mats gave way to long stone corridors lined with oil paintings and iron sconces.

  A strange marriage of styles, like two cultures at war and yet somehow... dancing.

  Strangely enough, Tamamo-no-Mae-sama favored the Western style more. No idea why.

  I had grown up in these halls, but now they felt almost alien—too big, too cold, too drenched in whispers and expectation.

  My sandals whispered against the tatami as I veered through the eastern wing. The scent of cherry wood and sandalwood incense wove itself around me, clinging to my hair, my clothes.

  Passing by, I caught glimpses of ancestral portraits staring down from gilded frames, their painted eyes full of judgment.

  You were born for more than this, they seemed to say. Don't fail. Not again.

  I pushed the thoughts aside.

  Past the grand atrium, with its foreign marble fountain shaped like a twisting dragon, past the narrow koi ponds where scarlet fish darted in lazy circles.

  I barely registered the beauty. Only the urgency clawing at my chest mattered.

  The deeper I went, the colder the air became.

  In my mother’s wing, everything was still and severe—polished floors like dark glass, lanterns casting long, watchful shadows.

  Every step echoed too loudly.

  Too slow. Faster.

  I reached the heavy door at the far end and stopped short.

  There she was—a two-tailed Kitsune, standing sentinel, her figure taut with restrained power.

  She extended an arm across the doorway, barring my path with mechanical precision, her ceremonial uniform perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place. Her golden eyes, usually blank, flickered—just for an instant—with something human.

  "Arakawa-sama is in an important meeting at this moment, Kiriko-sama," she said, her voice smooth but firm.

  Respectful. Dutiful. But... hesitant.

  Good.

  Hesitation meant opportunity.

  I pushed her aside with a sharp, practiced motion—firm enough to send a message but not an insult—and seized the door handle.

  "This is more important," I said, my voice low, hard as steel.

  Without waiting for permission, I yanked the door open and stepped inside.

  "Yoishiro," I called out as I entered, unannounced. "We have work to do."

  My mother shot me one of those glares that could freeze molten lava. She was not alone.

  Besides Yoishiro, who stood respectfully near her desk, one of my sisters lounged lazily across one of the velvet sofas, as if she owned the entire room.

  Setsuna.

  "Kiriko-chan," she purred, her voice syrupy sweet but dripping with malice. "I heard your little adventure didn’t quite reach a safe harbor... Get it? Harbor? Hah! I crack myself up."

  Setsuna and I were littermates, born under the same moon, sharing not just an age but a life of inevitable rivalry.

  Where I was practical and direct, she was all curves, seduction, and subtle manipulation.

  Her hair blazed a fiery red that starkly contrasted my own black-blue strands, and she always wore vibrant kimonos that accentuated her every move.

  Her eyes, though golden like mine, held a mocking, calculating glint that never failed to set my nerves on edge.

  "Setsuna, I don't have time for your nonsense," I snapped, brushing off her attempt to provoke me.

  "Enough, both of you!" my mother cut in sharply, her voice resonating with unchallengeable authority.

  "Kiriko, what are you doing here? I gave strict orders not to be disturbed." Her anger simmered just beneath her composed exterior.

  "I don't need anything from you, Mother," I retorted—perhaps with more insolence than wisdom.

  "I’m just here for Yoishiro."

  I pulled out the list Tamamo-no-Mae had given me and handed it to him.

  "We need these."

  Yoishiro accepted the paper, his eyes scanning the list quickly. His brow furrowed slightly.

  "Kiriko-sama, this will take—"

  "Yes, yes, I know," I interrupted impatiently. "But we need it by tomorrow."

  He exhaled a nearly imperceptible sigh—a mix of resignation and acceptance of the task—then turned to my mother and gave her a deep, respectful bow before heading for the door.

  I followed, offering my mother a quick, almost perfunctory bow, deliberately ignoring Setsuna altogether.

  As I exited behind Yoishiro, I heard my sister's mocking voice float after me:

  "Good luck on your little treasure hunt, dear sister! Try not to trip over any stones... or another failure."

  I clenched my jaw but kept walking.

  There was too much work to do, and very, very little time.