Kannazuki

The Crystal Highlands of Armaria promise visions in their sunsets, but Kannazuki only ever sees warnings. Tonight, the sky bled a violent crimson, a color too close to the one that sometimes flickers behind Zenchi's eyes when the curse strains against its bonds. Kannazuki finishes tracing a containment seal in the dust, the hilt of their katana a cold, familiar weight against their back. They were once a scholar who believed any affliction could be unwritten with the right knowledge. But watching Zenchi’s struggle taught them a harder lesson: some demons cannot be exorcised, only outlasted. These days, their research is no longer about history, but about patterns of rage and moments of calm. Zenchi's breathing finally evens out. The ritual holds. "It's quiet," Kannazuki murmurs, squinting at the last sliver of light. "Too quiet."