Mist gathered low along the mountain path that evening, settling between the stones below the dojo and curling through the cedar roots like pale smoke. The last light of day had begun to drain from the sky, leaving behind a dim wash of blue and amber. From the porch, the forest looked calm. Helgi no longer trusted calm at first glance. He sat near the edge of the wooden walkway with his practice sword resting across his knees, listening to the mountain settle into night. Water dripped from...

The forest swallowed the last sounds of the dojo behind them. At first the re had been the hard rush of retreat—feet over roots, claws on wet stone, breath sharp in the cold night air. Then even that began to settle. The lantern glow at the gate disappeared behind trunks of cedar and pine. The raised voices faded. The ring of alarm was gone. Only the mountain remained. Yumi ran at the front without speaking. Aiko moved lightly behind her, hardly stirring the ferns. Taro came last, quicker...

The days after the village theft passed with an uneasy stillness. Though the forest around Takeru’s dojo remained beautiful as ever, Helgi could no longer move through it with the same easy peace. Every rustle in the underbrush seemed suspicious. Every broken twig seemed like a message. The Crimson Paw had made their presence known, and that knowledge hung over the dojo like a gathering storm. At dawn each morning, Takeru trained Helgi and Kenji with greater intensity. Their drills were no...