Page 14

Chapter 14

Kaneko

T he river still whispered behind us, its waters now calm, as if it had never tried to steal our lives away. The Imperial offering stone sat on the shore where we had left it, the Trial over, the test passed. It would likely remain for generations, a testament—no, a monument—to Takashi’s presence on our soil and the Divine Will he expressed in governing our Trial. It was an honor that would stand for ages, though an honor that almost cost us dearly.

I could still hear it. The river and its ravenous roar. I could still taste fear.

I’d never been so terrified.

The current, the way it had pulled at Yoshi, the way Niiro had disappeared beneath the surface before Yoshi dragged her out. The strain in my arms was nothing compared to the weight in my chest.

And Yoshi—

Yoshi stood apart, his hands on his knees, his head bowed. Dark, drenched hair stuck to his forehead. His clothes clung to him, streaked with dirt.

He was breathing hard— too hard.

The others hadn’t noticed.

Niiro was still shaking out her limbs, half laughing with relief. Soga had already moved to lean against a tree, his arms crossed like he didn’t care.

But I saw.

I saw the way Yoshi’s shoulders rose and fell too quickly, the tension coiled tight in his spine, the way his hands balled into fists that wouldn’t unclench.

He wasn’t all right.

None of us were.

I walked to him, feeling the ache of the Trial still deep in my muscles.

He didn’t look up as I approached, just stared at the ground as if trying to force his breathing to slow.

I touched his arm. “Yosh.”

His breath caught.

His eyes snapped up to meet mine, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something—but words wouldn’t come.

That’s when I realized it.

He was shaken.

Not because of the river.

Not because we had almost lost the stone.

Because he had almost lost Niiro.

And me.

I swallowed hard and tightened my grip on his arm. “Come with me.”

He let me lead him away, past the watching eyes of the court, past the murmuring priests who stood in silent witness to our success. I didn’t stop until we stood beneath the shadow of an old cedar, the scent of damp earth rich in the air, the river a distant whisper.

Yoshi let out a harsh breath and pressed his back against the tree, tipping his head up toward the sky. His fingers still refused to relax.

“That was too close,” he muttered. “We nearly—”

His voice broke.

He cut himself off before it could go any further, shaking his head—and just shaking .

I understood.

Because I felt it, too.

I stepped closer. The space between us evaporated. I wanted him to feel me there, solid and unshaken, a presence that would never be torn away by any current.

“But we didn’t,” I said softly. “We made it.”

He exhaled like he wanted to believe me but couldn’t let go of his own fears yet.

So I did something I never would have done before.

I touched his face.

His breath stilled as my fingertips brushed along the damp line of his jaw, tracing his tension, his unspoken fear.

Yoshi always carried himself like someone unbreakable, like someone who could withstand anything, but today had shaken him to his core. Today, he had faced what it meant to lose.

And I couldn’t stand seeing him like this.

So I didn’t think.

I just leaned in.

The moment my forehead touched his, his entire body relaxed. His fists unclenched. His shoulders dropped. His breath left him in a shudder, and something broke open between us.

For a long moment, neither of us dared move.

His hands lifted, hesitated, then settled on my waist.

Lightly.

Barely there.

But firm enough that my pulse roared louder than the river had.

Aside from a few blessed moments in his bedchamber and a million others when we sparred, I had never been this close to him. Not like this. Not with the world feeling like it had just shifted beneath our feet.

His breath was warm against my cheek when he finally whispered, “I thought—” He swallowed. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

The weight of those words dug into me, deep and unmovable.

I turned my head slightly, just enough that my nose brushed against his. His breath hitched, but he still didn’t pull away.

The urge to kiss him was almost too strong to resist, but I would never take advantage, never claim what wasn’t rightfully mine, especially after what we’d just survived. So rather than my lips, I used my voice.

“You didn’t,” I whispered. “You couldn’t.”

And then, finally—

He closed what space remained.

His lips were warm, soft, hesitant, and my heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest. He exhaled against my mouth, into me, like he had been holding his breath for days—until this moment. I tilted my head, deepening our touch so that I felt the tremble in his fingers as he gripped my waist tighter.

Like he needed me to hold him up.

Like he didn’t want to let go.

When we pulled back, he didn’t move away. His forehead still pressed against mine, his breath shallow and uneven.

I let my hands slide down to his wrists, grounding him there. “You are here,” I murmured. “I am here. We are both here.”

Yoshi’s eyes opened, and there was something new in them, something that hadn’t been there before.

Not just trust.

Something deeper.

He let out a breath that felt like a confession.

“Kaneko.”

My heart stumbled at the way he said my name.

I smiled—just a little, just enough that I knew he saw it.

And I pleaded for the one thing I needed above sunlight or nourishment or air to breathe.

I prayed for what rooted me to the earth and gave my heart hope.

I begged him, “Don’t let go.”

And he didn’t.