Cids3
Cid felt heat rise to his face as Frieren laughed softly beside him, her eyes twinkling with gentle amusement at his obvious embarrassment.
"You should go," she suggested, her voice surprisingly mischievous for one normally so reserved. "The tether would be more comfortable for everyone if we maintained closer proximity during bathing."
"That sounds suspiciously like something Lucoa would say," Cid observed, narrowing his eyes at the ancient elf.
"Perhaps her perspective is rubbing off on me," Frieren admitted. "After a thousand years of solitude, I find I enjoy the... chaos of our arrangement more than I expected."
Another splash from the bathhouse, followed by Florence's clinical voice: "Nero, your elevated heart rate suggests either cardiac abnormality or emotional arousal. Which requires different treatment protocols."
"It's neither!" Nero protested loudly. "It's imperial dignity under assault!"
"Your imperial dignity seems easily assaulted in bath settings," Kiss-Shot remarked dryly.
Cid shook his head, torn between mortification and affection. "I'll pass on the bath for now. Some things are better left to imagination."
"Coward," Frieren teased gently, rising to her feet with fluid grace. "I, however, shall join them. A thousand years has taught me to seize small pleasures when they present themselves."
As she glided toward the bathhouse, Cid called after her: "Since when did you develop a sense of humor?"
Frieren paused, looking back over her shoulder with an enigmatic smile. "Perhaps I always had one. Perhaps it just needed the right company to emerge."
Left alone in the moonlit courtyard, Cid returned to his practice with renewed focus, trying desperately to keep his mind off the mental images of five extraordinary women sharing a bath just meters away. His concentration was so intense that he failed to notice the approaching visitor until a polite cough broke his focus.
He turned to find a young Corps messenger standing at the compound entrance, looking somewhat intimidated.
"Master Kagenou? Lord Ubuyashiki requests your presence. Alone."
"Now?" Cid asked, surprised by the late hour of the summons.
The messenger nodded. "He said it was a matter that would interest the Shadow Master specifically."
Cid felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. Lord Ubuyashiki had never addressed him by that title before—had never given any indication that he saw through Cid's carefully constructed persona to the childish fantasy beneath.
"I'll come right away," he agreed, sheathing his practice blade. "Let me inform my companions first."
The messenger shuffled awkwardly. "Lord Ubuyashiki was most specific that you should come alone, without alerting the others."
This was even more concerning. The tether between them made true separation impossible—the physical discomfort would begin before he reached Lord Ubuyashiki's quarters. Unless...
"How far is the meeting location?" Cid asked carefully.
"The west pavilion," the messenger replied. "Near the koi pond."
Cid calculated quickly. The west pavilion was close enough to their compound that he might remain within the tether's comfortable range, especially if his companions were distributed throughout the bathhouse rather than clustered together.
"Very well," he decided. "Lead on."
The west pavilion was a small, elegant structure overlooking a pond where ornamental koi fish glided like living jewels beneath the moon-silvered surface. As Cid approached, he felt the first uncomfortable tugging of the tether, but it remained bearable—a persistent awareness rather than actual pain.
Lord Ubuyashiki sat alone on the pavilion's raised platform, his bandaged face turned toward the pond as if he could see the fish despite his blindness. He did not turn as Cid approached, but spoke as if continuing a conversation already in progress.
"Fascinating creatures, koi fish," he observed softly. "They begin life as simple gray fry, indistinguishable from one another. Only through proper conditions and careful nurturing do they develop their extraordinary colors."
Cid remained silent, sensing this was leading somewhere significant.
"You began as an ordinary young man," Lord Ubuyashiki continued, "playing at being extraordinary. Yet here you stand, genuinely becoming the shadow master you once only pretended to be." Now he turned his bandaged face toward Cid with eerie precision. "Life has a curious way of shaping us into the very thing we imagine ourselves to be, doesn't it?"
Cid felt exposed, as if the Corps leader could see straight through his carefully constructed facade to the truth beneath. "How long have you known?" he asked quietly.
"That your Shadow Garden was initially a fiction? From our first meeting," Lord Ubuyashiki replied with gentle amusement. "That your companions are not of this world? Also from the beginning. The spiritual essence of beings from beyond our realm has a... distinctive quality."
"Then why accept us? Why grant us position, resources, trust?"
"Because intentions matter more than origins," Lord Ubuyashiki answered simply. "And your intentions, however hidden beneath layers of fantasy and posturing, are fundamentally good. You wish to protect, to serve something greater than yourself. The rest is merely... decoration."
He gestured to the space beside him, inviting Cid to sit. As Cid did so, the Corps leader continued in a more serious tone.
"I've summoned you privately because I have information that concerns your unique situation. Information about bonds between worlds and the beings who traverse them."
Cid's full attention sharpened. "You know something about how my companions came to be here? About the tether that binds us?"
"Legends speak of cosmic convergences—rare moments when the boundaries between worlds grow thin," Lord Ubuyashiki explained. "When beings of one realm can pass into another, though rarely without cost. Your companions have paid that cost in their diminished powers."
"Can they ever regain what they lost?" Cid asked, thinking of how each of them, despite their adaptation, sometimes looked at the sky with such longing it broke his heart.
Lord Ubuyashiki was silent for a long moment. "The ancient texts suggest two possibilities," he finally said. "Either they remain as they are, gradually becoming fully human over time... or they return to their worlds, severing the tether that binds them to you."
"Severing the tether?" Cid repeated, a strange hollowness opening in his chest at the thought. "Is that possible?"
"Only at a convergence point—a place where the worlds naturally touch," Lord Ubuyashiki nodded. "And only at great cost."
"What kind of cost?"
The Corps leader's voice grew softer, more somber. "The life of the one who anchors them to this world. Your life, Shadow Master."
Cid sat very still, absorbing this information. "Does this convergence point exist in our world? In our time?"
"Indeed," Lord Ubuyashiki confirmed. "It appears approximately once every fifty years, at the summit of Mount Fujisan during the winter solstice. Which happens to be three months from now."
The implications were staggering. In three months, his companions could potentially return to their worlds, regain their powers, resume their extraordinary existences—if Cid were willing to sacrifice himself.
"Why tell me this?" he asked finally. "Why not them?"
"Because the choice belongs first to you," Lord Ubuyashiki replied simply. "It is your life in the balance. And because I believe in informed decisions, in understanding the full measure of one's path before walking it."
"Do you think I should tell them?"
Lord Ubuyashiki smiled gently. "That, Shadow Master, is a question only you can answer. But I will say this—true bonds, whether formed through cosmic accident or years of companionship, are founded on truth. Secrets create shadows that even a Shadow Master cannot control."
With those cryptic words, the Corps leader dismissed him, leaving Cid to walk back to the compound with his thoughts in turmoil. The information weighed on him like a physical burden—knowledge that could either strengthen their strange family or tear it apart completely.
As he approached their quarters, the discomfort from the tether eased, replaced by the warm awareness of five distinct presences that had, somehow, become essential to his existence. The thought of severing that connection, even to restore them to their rightful places and powers, was unexpectedly painful.
He found them gathered in the central room, fresh from their bath and dressed in the simple yukata provided by the Corps. They looked up as he entered, their expressions shifting from relaxed contentment to alert concern as they read his troubled demeanor.
"What happened?" Kiss-Shot demanded immediately, her crimson eyes narrowing. "You're distressed."
"Your pallor suggests acute psychological stress," Florence observed, already rising to check his pulse. "Did something occur during your audience with Lord Ubuyashiki?"
"Nothing bad," Cid assured them quickly. "Just... thought-provoking."
"The Praetor should not keep secrets from his imperial council," Nero declared, crossing her arms imperiously. "Full disclosure is required!"
Frieren simply watched him with her ancient, knowing eyes, while Lucoa tilted her head, her mismatched gaze unusually serious.
"It's about us, isn't it?" the former dragon goddess asked softly. "About the tether."
Cid hesitated, torn between Lord Ubuyashiki's revelation and his own reluctance to disrupt the harmony they had achieved. These five extraordinary women had adapted to their diminished state with remarkable resilience, had embraced their new purpose alongside him. To suggest now that they might return to their former glory—at the cost of his life—seemed almost cruel.
"It can wait until morning," he decided finally. "We should rest. Tomorrow brings new challenges."
They accepted this deflection with varying degrees of skepticism, but did not press further. As they settled into their sleeping arrangement—futons arranged in a circle with Cid at the center, close enough to maintain tether comfort during rest—he felt the weight of his unspoken knowledge like a stone in his chest.
His last conscious thought before sleep claimed him was a question he had no answer for: If given the choice between their happiness and his life, what would he choose? And more troublingly—what would they choose, if they knew?
## Chapter 10: Midnight Confessions
Cid couldn't sleep. Long after his companions had drifted into slumber, he lay awake, Lord Ubuyashiki's revelation turning endlessly in his mind. The soft breathing of five extraordinary women surrounded him, each lost in dreams of worlds he could barely imagine.
What right did he have to keep this information from them? The possibility of returning to their homes, regaining their powers, resuming their extraordinary existences—surely they deserved to know this choice existed.
Yet the thought of them leaving, of the tether breaking, of losing this strange family that had formed around him... it was like contemplating the removal of his own heart.
"Your thoughts are very loud," came Kiss-Shot's soft voice from the darkness, startling him. "Some of us are trying to sleep."
Cid turned his head to find the former vampire queen watching him, her crimson eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight filtering through the paper screens.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You've been disturbed since you returned from meeting Lord Ubuyashiki," she observed with unexpected perceptiveness. "It radiates through the tether like ripples in still water."
Cid hesitated, then decided that perhaps sharing the burden with one might be easier than telling all at once. "He told me something... about the tether. About all of you."
Kiss-Shot's eyes sharpened with interest. "Go on."
In hushed tones, careful not to wake the others, Cid explained what Lord Ubuyashiki had revealed—about the convergence point, about the possibility of them returning to their worlds and regaining their powers, about the cost of such a return.
When he finished, Kiss-Shot was silent for so long that Cid wondered if she'd somehow fallen asleep with her eyes open. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it.
"And you didn't tell us immediately because...?"
"Because I don't know what's right," Cid admitted. "Because offering you a way home that requires my death feels like emotional manipulation. Because..." he swallowed hard, "because I've grown selfish enough to want you all to stay, even knowing you could be more elsewhere."
To his surprise, Kiss-Shot laughed—a quiet, genuine sound without her usual sardonic edge. "For someone who spent years pretending to be a shadow master, you can be remarkably transparent." She shifted closer, until he could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. "Did it occur to you that perhaps we've grown equally selfish about keeping you?"
Before Cid could process this startling statement, another voice joined the conversation.
"Indeed," Florence agreed from her position, apparently also awake. "The tether provides mutual benefits beyond mere proximity requirement. Breaking it would be medically inadvisable."
"Are we all awake?" Cid asked in disbelief.
"The Praetor should know by now that imperial sleep is highly attuned to subjects' distress," Nero contributed, not bothering to open her eyes. "The emperor senses all within her domain."
"I was meditating, not sleeping," Frieren added softly. "A thousand-year habit is difficult to break."
"And I was just enjoying listening to all of you pretend to be asleep," Lucoa admitted with a lazy chuckle. "It was quite entertaining."
Cid sat up, looking around at his companions with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "So everyone heard everything?"
"Every word," Kiss-Shot confirmed. "And since we're all awake and the secret is out, perhaps we should discuss this properly."
They moved to the central room, lighting a single lamp that cast their faces in soft golden light. Seated in a circle, they looked to Cid expectantly, waiting for him to lead the conversation he'd been avoiding.
"Lord Ubuyashiki believes you could all return to your worlds," he began directly, seeing no point in further evasion. "At the winter solstice, on Mount Fujisan, there will be a convergence point—a place where the barriers between worlds thin. You could cross back, regain your powers, resume your lives."
"At the cost of yours," Frieren stated quietly, her ancient eyes unreadable.
Cid nodded. "Apparently the tether works both ways. It anchors you here, but it also sustains your existence in this world. Breaking it would... well, the energy has to go somewhere."
"Into you," Florence concluded clinically. "Causing catastrophic spiritual overload and physical termination."
"That's one way to put it," Cid agreed wryly.
"This is unacceptable!" Nero declared, pounding her fist on the floor with imperial certainty. "The Praetor's life is not currency to be exchanged!"
"But don't you want to go back?" Cid asked, looking from one extraordinary face to another. "Don't you miss your worlds, your powers, your real lives?"
His question was met with unexpected silence, each woman seeming to consider her answer carefully.
"I ruled as Emperor of Rome," Nero finally said, her usual bombast subdued. "I commanded legions, built monuments, was worshipped as divine. And yet..." she looked around the circle, an unusual vulnerability in her green eyes, "I was never part of something like this. A true fellowship, bound by choice as much as necessity."
"I spent a thousand years wandering alone," Frieren continued softly. "Magic was my constant companion, but also my isolation. Here, limited as I am, I've found connections I had forgotten were possible."
"Medical analysis indicates significant psychological benefits from current arrangement," Florence stated, though her clinical tone was belied by the slight softening of her expression. "Group dynamic provides optimal support structure previously absent in independent existence."
"I've been everywhere and nowhere," Lucoa added, her mismatched eyes unusually serious. "Divinity is its own kind of prison, with rules and restrictions you wouldn't believe. This..." she gestured around the circle, "this beautiful, chaotic arrangement has given me something I haven't felt in eons: freedom."
All eyes turned to Kiss-Shot, who had remained silent throughout these confessions. The former vampire queen met their gazes with regal composure before finally speaking.
"I was powerful," she said simply. "Feared, worshipped, eternal. And utterly alone." Her crimson eyes met Cid's directly. "Power without purpose becomes merely existence, not life. Here, diminished as I am, I have found something worth protecting beyond myself. It is... not unpleasant."
Cid looked around at these extraordinary women—each a legend in her own world, each seemingly content with the lesser existence they now shared—and felt both humbled and confused.
"But you've lost so much," he protested weakly. "Your powers, your immortality, your whole worlds..."
"And gained others," Frieren pointed out gently. "Nothing is ever truly lost, Cid. It merely transforms."
"Besides," Lucoa added with a hint of her usual mischief, "who says we want to leave our adorable Shadow Master just when he's becoming genuinely interesting?"
"The strategic advantages of our current arrangement outweigh potential benefits of return," Florence assessed pragmatically. "Unit cohesion has reached optimal levels."
"Translation: we're staying," Kiss-Shot stated flatly. "So you can stop martyring yourself in your head, Shadow Master. It's becoming tedious."
"The empire has spoken!" Nero declared with finality. "This discussion is concluded! We remain together, as the Hexagon!"
Cid looked from one face to another, searching for hesitation or regret and finding none. These five extraordinary beings, who had walked as goddesses and immortals, had chosen—at least for now—to remain as they were, bound to him and to each other.
"Well," he said finally, his voice slightly rough with emotion he couldn't quite suppress, "I guess that's settled then."
"Indeed," Frieren agreed softly. "Though there is one aspect we haven't addressed."
"What's that?" Cid asked.
A faint blush colored the ancient elf's cheeks. "If we're choosing to remain permanently bonded, perhaps we should discuss the... nature of those bonds going forward."
"Imperial clarification requested," Nero demanded, leaning forward with interest. "What nature does the elf suggest?"
"I believe," Lucoa interjected with a knowing smile, "our sweet Frieren is suggesting that if we're committing to a lifetime together, perhaps the more... intimate aspects of such an arrangement should be considered."
Cid felt heat rush to his face as he suddenly understood the direction of the conversation. "That's not—we don't need to—this is perfectly fine as it is—" he stammered.
"The Praetor protests, yet his elevated heart rate suggests contrary desires," Nero observed slyly.
"Physiological responses indicate significant interest despite verbal negation," Florence agreed, studying Cid with clinical detachment that somehow made her observation even more embarrassing.
"Perhaps this discussion should resume after proper rest," Kiss-Shot suggested, though her crimson eyes held a predatory gleam that did nothing to ease Cid's discomfort. "We have time to explore... all aspects of our arrangement."
"Lots of time," Lucoa agreed cheerfully, stretching in a way that emphasized her generous curves. "A lifetime, in fact."
As they returned to their sleeping arrangements, Cid found the dynamics subtly shifted. The careful distance they had maintained before was reduced, each woman finding some small way to maintain contact—Frieren's hand resting lightly against his, Nero's foot pressed against his ankle, Florence's arm just brushing his shoulder, Kiss-Shot's hair deliberately arranged to drape across his pillow, and Lucoa... well, Lucoa had simply draped herself half across him with her usual disregard for personal space.
The tether between them seemed to hum with contentment, the invisible threads of their connection strengthened by choice rather than mere cosmic accident. As sleep finally claimed him, Cid's last thought was that his childish fantasy of being a shadow master with loyal followers had evolved into something far more meaningful—a family bound by choice, facing whatever challenges this world would bring together.
The morning brought new purpose with it. The knowledge that they had each chosen this path—this bond—transformed their dynamic in subtle but significant ways. Training became more focused, their coordination more intuitive, as if the conscious choice to remain together had strengthened the tether beyond its original parameters.
They were testing this enhanced connection in the training yard when a Corps messenger arrived with unexpected news—Lord Ubuyashiki had assigned them their first official mission as a special division.
"A demon sighting in the capital," Cid informed his companions after reading the mission scroll. "Not just any demon—a Blood Moon."
"Blood Moon?" Kiss-Shot repeated, her crimson eyes narrowing. "I'm unfamiliar with this classification."
"It's not a standard Corps designation," Cid explained grimly. "It's what survivors have called it—a demon that appears only during the full moon and leaves victims completely drained of blood, down to the last drop."
"Vampiric behavior pattern," Florence observed, glancing at Kiss-Shot. "Specialized feeding methodology."
"I take offense at the comparison," Kiss-Shot sniffed haughtily. "True vampires have elegance and discretion. This sounds like crude butchery."
"The pattern is concerning," Frieren noted quietly. "Such specific timing suggests ritual purpose rather than mere feeding."
"Connected to the blood ceremonies we disrupted at the mine?" Lucoa wondered, her usually carefree expression serious.
"Possibly," Cid nodded. "Which is why Lord Ubuyashiki wants us to investigate. The next full moon is in three days—we leave for the capital immediately."
"The Hexagon shall vanquish this crude blood-stealer!" Nero declared, already striding toward their quarters to pack. "Rome—I mean, Shadow Garden—shall triumph!"
As they prepared for departure, Haganezuka, the Corps' legendary swordsmith, arrived with six packages wrapped in black cloth. The eccentric craftsman, his face covered by a tengu mask as always, practically vibrated with manic energy as he presented his creations.
"Special blades!" he announced, his voice rising to near-hysterical levels of excitement. "For special techniques! Never done before! Revolutionary!"
He unwrapped the packages with reverent hands to reveal six Nichirin swords, each unlike any standard Corps weapon. Rather than the uniform design of typical Nichirin blades, these were individualized to an extraordinary degree.
Cid's blade was deep obsidian that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, with a hilt wrapped in midnight-blue cord patterned with silver stars. When he drew it experimentally, the blade appeared to trail whispers of shadow, as if the very air darkened in its wake.
"Shadow Nichirin!" Haganezuka exclaimed proudly. "Absorbs light! Extends darkness! Perfect for Shadow Breathing!"
Each of the others received equally unique weapons. Kiss-Shot's blade had a crimson edge that faded to black at the spine, its hilt decorated with what appeared to be actual rubies. Frieren's was iridescent silver that shifted colors like moonlight on water, delicate elven patterns etched along its length. Florence's was precise and clinical in design, with a blade that split into twin edges near the tip and a hilt that incorporated medical symbols. Nero's was flamboyantly golden with imperial Roman motifs somehow worked into the Japanese styling. And Lucoa's was the most unusual of all—a blade that seemed unable to decide on a single color, shifting chaotically between turquoise, gold, and deep violet as the light hit it from different angles.
"How did you know their fighting styles?" Cid asked in amazement. "They've barely begun training with the Corps."
Haganezuka's mask tilted in what might have been confusion. "The blades told me," he said, as if this explained everything. "Metal remembers what it must become. I merely listen."
With that cryptic statement, the eccentric swordsmith departed as abruptly as he had arrived, leaving them holding weapons that seemed unnervingly perfect for both their fighting styles and their original natures.
"These are remarkable," Frieren breathed, studying the shifting colors of her blade with scholarly fascination. "The craftsmanship transcends mere physical forging. There's almost a spiritual element to it."
"The balance is perfect," Kiss-Shot agreed, executing a series of lightning-fast forms with her new weapon. "It moves as if it knows my intentions before I do."
"Optimal design ergonomics," Florence noted, testing the unusual split-tipped blade with clinical precision. "Functionality precisely calibrated to individual parameters."
"A weapon worthy of an emperor!" Nero declared, already practicing elaborate flourishes with her golden blade.
Lucoa simply smiled, watching her chaotic-colored blade shift and dance with light. "I think I'm going to enjoy this," she murmured, executing a move that seemed physically impossible given normal human limitations.
Cid observed his companions with their new weapons, each somehow more formidable than before, and felt a surge of pride mixed with anticipation. Whatever this Blood Moon demon was, whatever connection it had to Muzan's plans, they would face it together—no longer as stranded beings bound by cosmic accident, but as willing partners in a shared purpose.
The Shadow Garden, once merely his childish fantasy, had become real in ways he had never imagined possible. And now, armed with blades that seemed born of their very essences, they would put that reality to the test in the heart of the capital.
## Chapter 11: Blood Moon Rising
The capital was a maze of contradictions—ancient temples and shrines nestled against modern government buildings, traditional wooden machiya houses overshadowed by Western-inspired brick structures, narrow alleyways opening suddenly into broad avenues. By day, it bustled with the energy of a nation racing toward modernity. By night, it transformed into a shadowy labyrinth where old superstitions still held sway.
They arrived two days before the full moon, establishing themselves in a small ryokan on the city's eastern edge. The inn's elderly proprietress raised no eyebrows at their unusual group—five striking women and one young man requesting a single large room. In a city swelling with foreigners and modernization, they were merely another curiosity.
"We should establish patrol parameters," Florence suggested as they gathered around a map of the city spread on the tatami floor. "Previous attack locations indicate a pattern centered on the Kamo River district."
"Six victims over six months," Cid confirmed, marking locations on the map. "All found at dawn following the full moon, completely drained of blood, with a single puncture wound at the throat."
"Theatrical," Kiss-Shot noted with disdain. "A true predator doesn't draw attention with repetitive hunting grounds or signature kills."
"Unless attention is precisely what it wants," Frieren observed quietly. "Remember the blood ceremonies at the mine. If this demon is collecting blood for ritual purposes, the dramatic presentation may be intentional—a form of tribute or worship."
"The timing supports ritual theory," Lucoa agreed, her mismatched eyes studying the pattern on the map with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Full moons have powerful symbolic value in almost every culture I've encountered."
"Then we shall thwart its ceremonies!" Nero declared confidently, her golden blade gleaming at her side. "The Shadow Garden shall strike from darkness as befits our name!"
They spent the following day scouting the attack sites individually, moving in carefully calculated patterns that kept them within the tether's comfortable range while covering maximum territory. The strategy required precise coordination but allowed them to gather significantly more information than they could have working as a single unit.
By evening, they reconvened at the ryokan to share their findings over a meal of grilled fish and seasonal vegetables.
"The victims share no obvious characteristics," Florence reported clinically. "Varied ages, genders, social positions. Selection appears random."
"Not random," Kiss-Shot countered, delicately picking bones from her fish with aristocratic precision. "Each was killed at a location with water access—river, canal, or public bath house."
"Water carries blood efficiently," Frieren noted thoughtfully. "If the demon is collecting blood for ritual purposes, water access would be practical."
"I found something else," Lucoa added, for once completely serious. "Each murder site corresponds to a point on this." She unfolded a piece of paper on which she had drawn a complex magical diagram. "It's an ancient summoning circle, designed to thin the barriers between worlds."
The others fell silent, staring at the diagram with varying degrees of comprehension and concern.
"You think this is connected to the convergence point Lord Ubuyashiki mentioned?" Cid asked finally. "To the thinning of barriers between worlds?"
"I think," Lucoa replied carefully, "that Muzan may be trying to create his own convergence point rather than waiting for a natural one. The blood rituals, the precise locations, the lunar timing—it all suggests an attempt to force open what normally opens only once every fifty years."
"But why?" Nero wondered, uncharacteristically subdued. "What could Muzan want from other worlds?"
"Power," Kiss-Shot stated flatly. "What else? If he can access other worlds, he can potentially draw energy, abilities, perhaps even beings that would help him overcome his weaknesses."
"The full moon is tomorrow night," Cid reminded them, returning to the immediate threat. "According to this diagram, where would the next murder occur?"
Lucoa studied the map, comparing it to her diagram. "Here," she finally said, placing her finger on a point near a small shrine overlooking the Kamo River. "The pattern would be completed with a kill at this location."
"Then that's where we'll intercept the Blood Moon," Cid decided. "But we'll need to be careful. If this demon is involved in Muzan's larger plans, it may be more powerful than its behavior suggests."
"A trap is possible," Florence agreed, already formulating contingencies. "Tactical approach should prioritize ambush prevention."
As night fell over the capital, they finalized their strategy for the following evening. Unlike their previous encounters with demons, where circumstances had forced reactive combat, this would be a planned interception with carefully designated positions and backup plans.
The following day passed in tense preparation. They rested in shifts, checked and rechecked their new Nichirin blades, and reviewed the terrain around the shrine where they expected the Blood Moon to appear.
As dusk approached, they moved into position, concealing themselves around the shrine with a precision that spoke of their growing coordination. The full moon rose slowly over the city, bathing the shrine in silvery light that cast deep, complex shadows across the stone pathways and torii gates.
Hours passed in silent vigilance. Midnight came and went with no sign of the demon. Cid, positioned behind the main shrine building, began to wonder if they had misinterpreted the pattern or if perhaps the demon had somehow sensed their trap.
Then, just as the moon reached its zenith, he felt it—a subtle change in the air, as if the world had taken a breath and held it. The shadows across the shrine grounds deepened, flowing together like ink in water, coalescing near the stone steps that led down to the river.
From these gathered shadows rose a figure of terrible elegance—a woman in a traditional kimono of deepest crimson, her hair flowing down her back like a river of midnight. She moved with unnatural grace, each step as fluid as water, as she approached the shrine's offering box.
Cid signaled to the others, each positioned strategically around the shrine grounds. They began to close in silently, their new Nichirin blades drawn but concealed from moonlight to prevent premature detection.
The demon paused at the shrine, clapping her hands twice in mockery of human prayer before turning toward the steps that led to the river. As she did, her gaze swept the grounds, stopping abruptly as it landed on Cid despite his concealment in deep shadow.
"How interesting," she spoke, her voice as beautiful and terrible as her appearance. "The shadows themselves have come to greet me." She smiled, revealing fangs of startling length. "Or perhaps... to feed me."
She moved with blinding speed, crossing the distance to Cid in the space between heartbeats. But as her claws reached for him, they met the obsidian edge of his Shadow Nichirin blade.
"Shadow Breathing," Cid intoned, settling into the stance that had begun as fantasy and evolved into lethal reality. "First Form: Phantom Presence."
He seemed to flicker like a candle flame in wind, his body shifting just enough that the demon's strikes found only empty air where he should have been. It wasn't supernatural speed—it was perfect economy of movement, enhanced by the tether connecting him to his companions, who were now moving to surround the demon.
"A Demon Slayer," the Blood Moon observed, her beautiful face contorting slightly with irritation. "But not like any I've encountered before. Your scent is... complex. Layered. As if multiple beings occupy the same space."
"The Shadow Garden operates differently from standard Corps units," Cid replied, maintaining his stance as his companions closed into their formation around the demon. "As you're about to discover."
The Blood Moon's eyes widened as she sensed the others, her head whipping around to take in the five women now positioned in a perfect pentagram with Cid at the center. "What is this?" she hissed, genuine alarm replacing her earlier confidence. "What are you?"
"We are the Hexagon," Kiss-Shot declared with aristocratic disdain, her crimson blade gleaming in the moonlight. "And you, pretender, have offended me personally with your crude imitation of vampiric feeding."
"Your technique lacks precision," Florence added clinically, her split-tipped blade held with surgical exactness. "Excessive blood loss indicates inefficient consumption methodology."
"Your victims' spirits cry out for justice," Frieren observed softly, her iridescent blade shifting colors like moonlight on water. "They deserve better than to fuel dark rituals."
"Your dramatic presentation is uninspired," Nero criticized imperiously, her golden blade flashing as she struck a theatrical pose. "True terror requires imperial grandeur!"
"And honestly," Lucoa concluded with deceptive lightness, her chaotic-colored blade dancing with unpredictable patterns, "your timing is really inconvenient. We had plans "And honestly," Lucoa concluded with deceptive lightness, her chaotic-colored blade dancing with unpredictable patterns, "your timing is really inconvenient. We had plans for a moonlight picnic after this."
The Blood Moon's beautiful face contorted with rage at their cavalier dismissal. "You dare mock me? Do you have any idea what I am?"
"A pale imitation of true vampiric nobility," Kiss-Shot replied with aristocratic boredom. "Your theatrics are tedious."
With a shriek of fury, the demon launched herself at Kiss-Shot, clearly considering her the most direct insult to her pride. It was a mistake. Despite her diminished state, Kiss-Shot's combat reflexes remained supernatural by human standards. She sidestepped with fluid grace, her crimson blade slicing through the demon's extended arm as she passed.
The Blood Moon howled in pain, clutching the stump where her hand had been. "Impossible! No human moves that fast!"
"Bold of you to assume any of us are merely human," Kiss-Shot smirked, her crimson eyes gleaming with predatory satisfaction.
The demon's severed hand dissolved into ash, but unlike lower-ranked demons, the Blood Moon showed no signs of disintegrating completely. Instead, the stump bubbled and writhed, a new hand forming in a matter of seconds.
"High-speed regeneration," Florence noted clinically. "Indicates upper hierarchical position within demon taxonomy."
"Complete decapitation required," Cid confirmed, adjusting his stance as the demon assessed her opponents with newfound caution.
"Six against one seems hardly fair," the Blood Moon observed, her initial rage giving way to calculating assessment. "Perhaps I should even the odds."
The demon's body contorted unnaturally, her back arching at an impossible angle as her mouth stretched open with a sickening crack of bone. From between her lips poured a river of blood—not her own, but the harvested life force of her victims. The blood spread across the shrine grounds like sentient mercury, forming into humanoid shapes that solidified into blood-red replicas of the demon herself.
"Blood Moon Technique: Crimson Reflection," the demon announced with terrible pride. "Now the odds are more... appropriate."
Six blood clones faced off against the six members of the Hexagon, each mimicking the original demon's beauty and grace, though their features were fluid and indistinct, like faces seen beneath the surface of disturbed water.
"Tactical reassessment required," Florence stated, back-to-back with Nero as two blood clones circled them. "Multiple hostiles complicate engagement parameters."
"The empire fears no numbers!" Nero declared, her golden blade flashing as she struck a dramatic pose. "Let them come!"
"The clones are connected to the original," Frieren observed quietly, her ancient eyes noting the subtle threads of energy between the Blood Moon and her creations. "Defeat her, and they should dissipate."
"Divide and distract," Cid decided quickly. "You five handle the clones. I'll take the original."
"Inadvisable," Kiss-Shot countered sharply. "The Blood Moon clearly outranks standard demons. Solo engagement presents unacceptable risk."
"Trust me," Cid replied with a confidence he didn't entirely feel. "The tether works both ways, remember? You'll be with me even while facing the clones."
Before anyone could object further, the Blood Moon and her creations attacked as one, forcing them to separate across the shrine grounds. The night erupted into a chaotic dance of blades and blood, moonlight gleaming on Nichirin steel as it cut through crimson flesh.
Cid found himself forced backward down the stone steps leading to the river, the Blood Moon pursuing him with relentless fury. Each strike of her claws came within millimeters of his flesh, only his Shadow Breathing techniques keeping him just beyond her reach.
"I sense it now," the demon hissed as they fought. "The connection between you and those women. How fascinating. When I drain you dry, I wonder if they'll feel it through your precious bond?"
"You're welcome to try," Cid replied, maintaining his focus despite the demon's taunts. "Others have found it more difficult than expected."
The Blood Moon lunged forward with blinding speed, her claws transforming into foot-long blades of bone that sliced through Cid's sleeve, drawing a thin line of blood across his forearm. "First blood," she smiled, bringing her claw to her lips and licking his blood with obscene pleasure. "Delicious... and strange. Your essence carries echoes of others. How intriguing."
Cid felt a surge of energy through the tether—Frieren's contribution, cool and calculating, sharpening his senses. Above on the shrine grounds, he knew she was locked in combat with a blood clone, yet still able to share her strength with him.
"Shadow Breathing, Second Form," he announced, his stance shifting subtly. "Eclipse Step."
He moved like a shadow across moonlit water, his body flowing around the demon's attacks with impossible precision. It wasn't superhuman speed, but perfect economy of movement, anticipating strikes before they were fully formed.
The Blood Moon's beautiful face contorted with frustration as her attacks found only empty air. "Stop dancing and fight!" she snarled, her composure cracking.
"As you wish," Cid replied, feeling another surge through the tether—Kiss-Shot's this time, predatory and precise. "Shadow Breathing, Third Form: Darkstar Convergence."
His obsidian blade became a blur of motion, not with supernatural speed but with perfect precision, each strike building on the last in a complex pattern that the demon, for all her power and experience, couldn't quite predict. Small cuts appeared across her body, each drawing a hiss of pain and surprise.
Above on the shrine grounds, his companions were holding their own against the blood clones. Florence and Nero fought back-to-back, their contrasting styles—clinical precision and imperial flair—somehow complementing each other perfectly. Frieren moved with ethereal grace, her ancient knowledge allowing her to predict the clone's attacks before they manifested. Lucoa was a chaotic whirlwind, her fighting style so unpredictable that her opponent couldn't establish any effective counter. And Kiss-Shot fought with aristocratic disdain, treating her opponent as an unworthy pest rather than a genuine threat.
Yet for all their individual prowess, the blood clones were formidable opponents, regenerating from every wound that wasn't immediately fatal. The battle was reaching a stalemate—until Cid realized something crucial about the blood that formed the clones.
"The river!" he called out to his companions. "Force them toward the river!"
Understanding dawned in five sets of eyes simultaneously. Without verbal coordination, they began maneuvering their opponents toward the stone steps where Cid and the Blood Moon continued their deadly dance.
The Blood Moon sensed the shift in momentum and redoubled her attacks, her beautiful face contorted with growing desperation. "Whatever you're planning, it won't work," she snarled. "I've served Lord Muzan for centuries. I won't be defeated by a human playing at shadow games!"
"I'm not playing," Cid replied with quiet certainty, feeling a third surge through the tether—Nero's imperial confidence flowing into him like liquid gold. "And I'm not alone."
He parried a vicious claw strike, using the demon's momentum to force her back another step toward the river's edge. Above, his companions had nearly reached the top of the stone steps, the blood clones in close pursuit.
"Now!" Cid called, feeling the final two surges through the tether simultaneously—Florence's tactical precision and Lucoa's chaotic creativity combining into perfect clarity of purpose.
As one, the five women disengaged from their opponents and leapt to Cid's side, forming their hexagon formation in an instant. The blood clones, momentarily confused by the sudden withdrawal, hesitated at the top of the steps.
"Shadow Breathing, Final Form," Cid announced, his voice carrying in the night air. "Void Eclipse."
The six of them moved in perfect synchronization, their Nichirin blades tracing identical patterns that somehow amplified each other, creating a visual effect like overlapping ripples in still water. The Blood Moon found herself caught in the center of these ripples, her movements suddenly sluggish, as if the very air around her had thickened.
"What is this?" she gasped, her limbs moving with visible effort. "What have you done?"
"Shadow dominion," Cid replied simply. "Within this space, we control the darkness—and you're made of nothing but."
With a unified motion, the six of them completed their technique, their blades driving the Blood Moon and her clones backward into the Kamo River. As the blood clones touched the flowing water, they began to dissolve, their semi-solid forms unable to maintain cohesion against the current.
The Blood Moon shrieked in fury as her creations dissipated, leaving her alone against six opponents. "This isn't over!" she declared, her body beginning to transform into a more monstrous form. "I am Blood Moon Akane, favored servant of Lord Muzan! I cannot be—"
Her declaration was cut short as six Nichirin blades struck simultaneously, forming a perfect hexagram pattern that caught her neck, torso, and limbs in a single coordinated attack. For a moment, the demon hung suspended, her beautiful face frozen in an expression of shock and disbelief.
Then she crumbled to ash, the remains carried away by the flowing river.
Silence fell over the shrine grounds as the six of them stood catching their breath, the tether between them humming with shared exhilaration and relief.
"That was..." Nero began, for once at a loss for imperial proclamations.
"Effective," Florence concluded pragmatically, already examining the others for injuries. "Synchronized combat efficacy exceeded previous engagements."
"The tether is strengthening," Frieren observed quietly, her ancient eyes thoughtful. "I could feel all of you during the battle, not just Cid."
"A concerning development," Kiss-Shot remarked, though her tone suggested the opposite. "Soon we'll be sharing thoughts as well as energy."
"That could be fun," Lucoa grinned mischievously. "Though some of you might find my thoughts a bit... overwhelming."
Cid opened his mouth to respond when a sharp pain lanced through his arm where the Blood Moon had scratched him. He glanced down to see the wound glowing with an unnatural crimson light.
"That's not good," he managed before his knees buckled.
Five pairs of hands caught him before he hit the ground, lowering him gently to the stone steps. Florence was immediately examining the wound, her expression shifting from clinical assessment to genuine concern.
"Blood toxin," she diagnosed grimly. "Localized initially, but spreading through the circulatory system with increasing velocity."
"Can you treat it?" Kiss-Shot demanded, her usual haughty demeanor cracking to reveal real fear.
"Conventional medical countermeasures insufficient," Florence replied, her fingers pressed to Cid's pulse point. "Heart rate increasing, temperature elevated, respiration shallow."
"The river," Frieren suggested urgently. "The flow purifies. If the toxin is blood-based—"
"No time for debate," Lucoa interrupted, already lifting Cid with surprising strength. "Into the water. Now."
They carried him into the Kamo River, the cool water closing around them as they waded to waist depth. Cid was only half-conscious, the toxin burning through his veins like liquid fire, but he was aware of being supported by five pairs of hands, his body partially submerged in the flowing water.
"It's not enough," Kiss-Shot hissed after several moments, her crimson eyes fixed on the wound that continued to glow with malevolent light. "The toxin is too deeply embedded."
"There is another option," Frieren said softly, her ancient eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "But it requires something from all of us."
"Name it," Nero demanded without hesitation.
"Blood calls to blood," Frieren explained. "The demon's toxin can be neutralized by offering an equal measure of freely given essence. Five drops from each of us, placed directly on the wound."
"Essence transfer protocols untested," Florence noted, though she was already rolling up her sleeve. "But theoretical basis appears sound."
"I've performed similar rituals in my divine form," Lucoa confirmed, her mismatched eyes unusually serious. "The principle should translate."
Without further discussion, each woman drew her Nichirin blade across her palm, careful to create the smallest wound needed. Five drops of blood from five extraordinary beings, each once divine or immortal, fell upon Cid's infected wound.
For a terrible moment, nothing happened. Then the crimson glow began to fade, replaced by a softer light that pulsed in rhythm with the tether connecting them all. Cid gasped as the burning sensation receded, his vision clearing as the toxin was neutralized by something far more powerful—the freely given essence of five beings who had chosen him above their former glory.
"That was..." he started, then found himself at a loss for words.
"Dramatic?" Lucoa suggested with a returning smile.
"Medically unprecedented," Florence offered, already checking his vital signs with professional thoroughness.
"Imperial intervention," Nero declared proudly. "Your emperor would never allow poison to claim her subject!"
"Practical necessity," Kiss-Shot stated, though her crimson eyes remained soft with relief. "We're bound to you. Your death would be... inconvenient."
"It was a gift," Frieren said simply, her ancient wisdom cutting through the others' deflections. "Freely given. As you would have done for any of us."
Cid looked around at these five extraordinary women—former goddesses, immortals, and legends—standing waist-deep in the Kamo River, their clothes clinging to their bodies in ways that reminded him forcefully that for all their power and age, they were also beautiful women who had, for reasons he still couldn't fully comprehend, chosen to bind their fates to his.
"Thank you," he said finally, the simple words carrying the weight of everything he couldn't articulate.
He tried to stand on his own, but his legs buckled again—not from poison this time, but simple exhaustion. Five pairs of hands steadied him once more, supporting him as they made their way back to the riverbank.
"The Praetor requires imperial assistance!" Nero declared, positioning herself under one of his arms. "I shall bear the weight of your magnificent form!"
"You're barely tall enough to reach his shoulder," Kiss-Shot observed dryly, taking position on Cid's other side. "I'll provide counter-balance to ensure proper load distribution."
"Motor function requires dual support parameters," Florence agreed, moving to stabilize his back. "Posture alignment essential for recovery."
Frieren took one of his hands in both of hers, her touch gentle but grounding. "I'll monitor your energy flow," she said softly. "The essence transfer may have unexpected resonances."
"And I'll go ahead to secure our path," Lucoa offered with a wink. "And maybe find us that moonlight picnic I mentioned earlier. Near-death experiences always make me hungry."
As they made their slow, careful way back toward their ryokan, Cid found himself overwhelmed by a sensation he had rarely experienced in his life before these five women had fallen from the sky into his world: belonging. Not the belonging of fantasy and make-believe, of imagined shadow organizations and fabricated followers, but the real, messy, complicated belonging of people who had seen him at his weakest and chosen him anyway.
The tether between them seemed to hum with contentment, the invisible threads of their connection strengthened further by blood freely given and received. Whatever came next—whether Muzan's plots with blood rituals and convergence points, or simply the day-to-day challenges of six extraordinary beings bound in one small compound—they would face it together, as the most unusual family the Demon Slayer Corps had ever seen.
The Shadow Garden was no longer just Cid's fantasy. It had become something far more real and precious: a home.
## Chapter 12: Morning Light and Midnight Whispers
The aftermath of their encounter with the Blood Moon brought unexpected changes to the dynamic of the Hexagon. The essence transfer—blood freely given from five extraordinary beings to save Cid from the demon's toxin—had altered the tether binding them in subtle but significant ways.
"The connection is deeper," Frieren observed during their journey back to the Butterfly Estate. "I can sense your emotions more clearly, not just your presence."
"An invasion of privacy," Kiss-Shot complained, though without real heat. "My thoughts are my own, thank you very much."
"Not thoughts," Frieren clarified. "Just emotional states. Contentment, irritation, concern..."
"Attraction," Lucoa added with a mischievous smile, causing Cid to nearly trip over his own feet. "That one comes through quite strongly from certain directions."
"Merely physiological response to adrenaline and proximity," Florence stated clinically, though a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Combat situations often trigger misattributed arousal patterns."
"The empire does not misattribute anything!" Nero declared indignantly. "Imperial attraction is precisely calculated and appropriately magnificent!"
Cid kept his eyes firmly on the path ahead, refusing to engage with this particular conversation for the sake of his sanity. The enhanced tether was embarrassing enough without acknowledging the undercurrents of attraction that had been building since their decision to remain bound to each other by choice.
Their return to the Butterfly Estate was met with significantly more respect than when they had departed. Word of their defeat of the Blood Moon had somehow preceded them, adding to their growing reputation within the Corps. Whispers followed them through the training grounds—some admiring, some speculative, some tinged with the inevitable jealousy that accompanies rising stars.
"The Shadow Master and his harem," one young slayer muttered just loudly enough to be overheard as they passed.
Cid cringed internally, expecting outrage from his companions. To his surprise, none of them seemed particularly bothered by the characterization.
"Technically incorrect terminology," Florence noted calmly. "Harem implies ownership structure with inherent power imbalance. Our arrangement is mutual and egalitarian."
"The empire cannot be owned," Nero agreed imperiously. "Though the Praetor is welcome to serve under imperial authority!"
"I've been part of actual harems," Lucoa remarked with casual nonchalance. "This is much more interesting. Less rules, more genuine connection."
"The term is beneath my dignity to acknowledge," Kiss-Shot sniffed haughtily, though her crimson eyes gleamed with amusement at Cid's obvious discomfort.
Only Frieren remained silent, but when Cid glanced her way, he found her ancient eyes watching him with quiet humor and something warmer that made his heart skip a beat.
Lord Ubuyashiki received their report on the Blood Moon with grave attention, particularly the details about the demon's blood rituals and apparent connection to Muzan's larger plans.
"This confirms our worst fears," the Corps leader said solemnly after they had finished. "Muzan is indeed attempting to create an artificial convergence point—a gateway between worlds that would allow him to overcome his weaknesses."
"But why the full moon cycle?" Cid asked. "Why the specific locations forming a ritual circle?"
"Because natural convergence points occur at celestial conjunctions," Lord Ubuyashiki explained. "The winter solstice at Mount Fujisan is merely the largest and most stable. Smaller, temporary points can be created with sufficient... power."
"Blood power," Kiss-Shot concluded grimly. "The life force of sacrifices."
"Precisely," Lord Ubuyashiki nodded. "By harvesting blood at locations corresponding to ritual significance, during full moons when the barrier between worlds is naturally thinner, Muzan could theoretically create a temporary convergence point of his own."
"To what purpose?" Florence asked, her tactical mind already assessing implications. "Strategic advantage unclear."
Lord Ubuyashiki's bandaged face turned toward them with unsettling precision. "Consider what you six represent—beings from other worlds, with powers and abilities beyond normal human parameters. Even diminished as you are, you've demonstrated extraordinary capabilities. Now imagine Muzan with access to such beings, but without the bond that humanizes you."
The implication hung heavy in the air. Muzan wasn't just seeking to overcome his vulnerability to sunlight—he was looking to supplement his forces with beings from beyond this world, creatures that might have no natural predators or weaknesses in this realm.
"We stopped the Blood Moon before she could complete the ritual circle," Cid pointed out. "Does that mean Muzan's plan has failed?"
"Delayed, not defeated," Lord Ubuyashiki corrected. "He will find another demon to continue the work. Which is why your next assignment is of crucial importance."
The Corps leader outlined their mission—to locate and infiltrate a gathering of Muzan's upper-rank demons, where the next phase of his plan would presumably be discussed. Intelligence suggested the meeting would occur in three weeks, at an abandoned temple deep in the mountains north of the capital.
"This mission is reconnaissance only," Lord Ubuyashiki emphasized. "Observe and retreat. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. Upper-rank demons gathered in numbers would overwhelm even the most skilled Hashira."
"Understood," Cid agreed, though he could feel the battle-hunger radiating through the tether from certain members of their group—particularly Kiss-Shot and Nero, both of whom bristled at being told to avoid direct confrontation.
As they left Lord Ubuyashiki's quarters, their next mission weighing heavily on their minds, Shinobu Kocho intercepted them with unexpected news.
"Your training schedules have been adjusted," the Insect Hashira informed them, her sweet voice at odds with her sharp gaze. "Given your unique... situation, Lord Ubuyashiki has approved specialized sessions with different Hashira to refine your individual techniques."
This was unprecedented—Hashira rarely trained anyone but their own direct subordinates. The honor reflected their rising status within the Corps hierarchy.
"Who will be training whom?" Cid asked, curious about the assignments.
Shinobu's smile took on a mischievous edge. "I'll be working with Kiss-Shot, given our mutual interest in precise strikes and... toxins."
Kiss-Shot's crimson eyes narrowed slightly. "I look forward to the exchange of techniques," she replied with aristocratic poise that didn't quite hide her competitive interest.
"Gyomei will oversee Nero's training," Shinobu continued. "The Stone Hashira feels her... enthusiastic style could benefit from his grounding influence."
"The empire shall astound the stone giant with imperial brilliance!" Nero declared predictably.
"Florence will train with Mitsuri, the Love Hashira."
Florence blinked in rare surprise. "Tactical compatibility unclear. Require clarification on selection rationale."
"Mitsuri's unconventional strength distribution and medical knowledge complement your analytical approach," Shinobu explained. "Also, she specifically requested you after observing your surgical precision during training exercises."
"Acceptable parameters," Florence nodded, though she looked subtly pleased at being specifically requested.
"Frieren will study with Muichiro, the Mist Hashira. Your... ethereal quality matches his technique rather well."
The ancient elf merely nodded her acceptance, though Cid noticed a spark of scholarly interest in her eyes at the prospect of learning a new magical system, even one based on breathing rather than mana.
"And Lucoa," Shinobu's smile widened slightly, "will work with Uzui, the Sound Hashira."
"The flamboyant one with three wives?" Lucoa grinned. "How appropriate. I look forward to comparing notes on managing multiple relationships."
Cid felt heat rise to his face at Lucoa's casual acknowledgment of their unusual arrangement, but forced himself to focus on the obvious omission.
"And me?" he asked.
"You," Shinobu replied, her sweet voice taking on an edge that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, "will be training directly with me. Your Shadow Breathing requires... refinement."
Something in her tone suggested this would be less training and more an extended interrogation about the true nature of his seemingly invented breathing style. Cid swallowed hard, already dreading the sessions to come.
The specialized training began the following day, with each member of the Hexagon assigned specific times with their designated Hashira. The schedule required careful coordination to ensure no one strayed beyond the tether's comfortable range, but the Butterfly Estate's layout allowed for simultaneous sessions in different training areas while maintaining proximity.
Cid's first session with Shinobu was exactly as intimidating as he had anticipated. The Insect Hashira's sweet demeanor belied a ruthless precision in both combat and conversation.
"Shadow Breathing," she mused as they faced each other across the private training ground. "A style that exists nowhere in Corps records, yet functions with remarkable effectiveness. How curious."
"The Shadow Garden developed it independently," Cid replied, sticking to their established cover story.
"Did you?" Shinobu smiled, the expression never reaching her eyes. "Or did you simply believe in it so strongly that it became real?"
The question hit uncomfortably close to the truth. Cid maintained his composure with effort. "Does it matter how it began if the results are effective?"
"Oh, it matters very much," Shinobu countered, her blade appearing in her hand with such speed that Cid barely registered the movement. "Because understanding the true nature of your technique is key to refining it."
What followed was less a training session and more a brutal dissection of every aspect of Cid's Shadow Breathing forms. Shinobu attacked without warning, forcing him to respond instinctively, then stopping to analyze each movement with merciless precision.
"Your body moves correctly, but your understanding is incomplete," she observed after an hour of this treatment. "You execute forms perfectly without fully comprehending their underlying principles. As if you learned them from watching rather than instruction."
Again, uncomfortably close to the truth. Cid had created these forms in his imagination, practicing them alone for years without any real understanding of combat breathing techniques.
"Perhaps," Shinobu suggested with that unsettling sweet smile, "we should start with the basics. The true fundamentals of Breathing Styles that you seem to have... skipped over."
By the time the session ended, Cid was exhausted, humbled, and paradoxically, more confident in his abilities. Shinobu had stripped his technique down to its foundation, exposing the gaps in his understanding while simultaneously confirming that the core of what he'd created was genuinely viable. Shadow Breathing wasn't just a lucky accident or a desperate improvisation—it was a legitimate style that had emerged from his years of imaginative practice, needing only proper refinement to reach its full potential.
He dragged himself back to their compound, muscles aching and mind whirling with new insights, to find his companions in similar states of exhausted enlightenment. Each had been pushed to their limits by their respective Hashira, their techniques challenged and expanded in ways they hadn't anticipated.
"The stone giant is formidable," Nero admitted, sprawled dramatically across the tatami floor. "His strength rivals imperial might, yet flows like water. Most perplexing."
"Mitsuri's physiological capabilities defy conventional medical parameters," Florence reported, methodically stretching muscle groups Cid hadn't even known existed. "Her explanation of how emotional states can enhance physical performance warrants further investigation."
"Muichiro exists half in dreams," Frieren observed softly, her ancient eyes distant with contemplation. "His mist techniques resonate with certain elven meditative states I had forgotten. There is wisdom in his apparent absentmindedness."
"Uzui is..." Lucoa began, then paused, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "Let's just say managing three wives has given him insights into balance and harmony that are surprisingly applicable to combat techniques."
"And your session with Shinobu?" Cid asked Kiss-Shot, who had been unusually quiet since returning.
The former vampire queen's crimson eyes met his with reluctant respect. "She is... not entirely without merit," Kiss-Shot admitted, which from her was practically gushing praise. "Her understanding of vulnerabilities and pressure points is... comparable to my own experience with exsanguination optimization."
"In other words," Lucoa translated with a grin, "she's as much of a perfectionist as you are, and it's driving you crazy."
"She is precise," Kiss-Shot sniffed haughtily. "I am perfect. There's a difference."
The good-natured bickering continued as they soaked in the private bath attached to their compound, the hot water easing aching muscles and the companionship soothing frayed nerves. The enhanced tether hummed with shared contentment despite their physical exhaustion, creating a bubble of warmth and belonging that wrapped around them as securely as the steam rising from the bath.
Cid found himself in the center as usual, his companions arranged around him in what had become their natural formation even outside of combat. The situation should have been awkward—one young man surrounded by five beautiful women in a state of undress—but their bond had evolved beyond simple physical awareness into something both more intimate and, paradoxically, more comfortable.
"Tomorrow's training will be more difficult," Florence predicted, clinically examining a bruise on Nero's shoulder. "First sessions typically assess baseline capabilities. Subsequent sessions target identified weaknesses."
"Bring it on!" Nero declared with undiminished enthusiasm despite her obvious fatigue. "The empire grows stronger through worthy challenges!"
"We should focus on how these individual techniques might synthesize in our group combat approach," Frieren suggested thoughtfully. "The Hashira fight as individuals, but our strength lies in our connection."
"Speaking of connection," Lucoa said, stretching languorously in a way that sent ripples across the bath's surface, "has anyone else noticed how the tether seems to... amplify certain feelings when we're in close proximity like this?"
The sudden shift in conversation created an immediate change in the atmosphere. Cid felt heat rise to his face that had nothing to do with the bath's temperature.
"Ambiguous statement," Florence noted, though her clinical tone was undermined by the faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Please specify which feelings for accurate assessment."
"You know exactly which feelings," Kiss-Shot remarked dryly, her crimson eyes gleaming with uncharacteristic playfulness. "The ones that make our Shadow Master's heart rate increase whenever any of us move too close."
"The Praetor's physiological responses to imperial presence are entirely appropriate!" Nero declared, though she too looked uncharacteristically flustered. "Subjects naturally experience elevated vital signs in the presence of beauty and authority!"
"I think," Frieren said softly, her ancient eyes meeting Cid's with gentle directness, "that we have been avoiding an important conversation about the nature of our bond going forward."
"We agreed to remain together," Cid replied carefully. "To not seek separation at the winter convergence point."
"Yes," Frieren nodded. "But we haven't discussed what 'together' means beyond proximity and combat coordination."
The implication hung in the steamy air between them, five extraordinary women and one increasingly flustered young man who had never imagined his shadow master fantasy would evolve into... whatever this was becoming.
"Perhaps," Lucoa suggested with uncharacteristic gentleness, "this is a conversation better continued in more comfortable surroundings. After we've all had time to rest and... reflect."
For once, everyone agreed with Lucoa's suggestion, the subject tabled but not forgotten as they finished their bath in contemplative silence. The tether between them thrummed with unspoken possibilities, emotions too complex to articulate flowing back and forth through their connection like whispers just below the threshold of hearing.
That night, as they settled into their usual sleeping arrangement—futons positioned in a circle with Cid at the center—the invisible threads of their bond seemed to pulse with heightened awareness. Cid lay awake long after the others had drifted off, watching moonlight filter through paper screens and casting gentle illumination over five extraordinary faces relaxed in sleep.
Kiss-Shot, her aristocratic features softened in slumber, the haughty mask set aside to reveal the vulnerable beauty beneath. Florence, her clinical precision giving way to peaceful stillness, one hand still positioned as if ready to check a pulse. Frieren, her ancient eyes closed but her expression holding the serenity of one who had seen millennia pass like seasons. Nero, sprawled dramatically even in sleep, one arm flung out in imperial abandon. And Lucoa, curled like a contented cat, her usual mischief replaced by a gentle smile that spoke of pleasant dreams.
Five extraordinary beings who had walked as goddesses and immortals, now bound to him by cosmic accident and personal choice. Five women who had given up their divine powers yet somehow made him feel more powerful than he had ever been. Five companions who had transformed his childish fantasy of being a shadow master into something far more meaningful—a true leader of something genuine and precious.
As sleep finally claimed him, Cid's last conscious thought was a question without an answer: How had he, ordinary and unremarkable, become the focal point for something so extraordinary?
The winter solstice was still months away, but in that moment, bathed in moonlight and surrounded by the gentle breathing of his chosen family, Cid knew with absolute certainty that no cosmic convergence point could offer anything more valuable than what he had found right here—not power, not glory, not even the fulfillment of his shadow master fantasies.
He had found belonging. And that was worth more than all the shadows in the world.
## Chapter 13: Echoes of Convergence
The three weeks of specialized training passed in a blur of aching muscles, new techniques, and deepening bonds. Each day brought fresh challenges as the Hashira pushed them beyond their perceived limits, forcing growth that would have taken months or years under normal circumstances.
Shinobu had been relentless in her refinement of Cid's Shadow Breathing, breaking down his instinctive movements into fundamental principles that he could consciously control and enhance. What had begun as childhood fantasy and desperate improvisation was evolving into a legitimate breathing style with its own internal logic and progression.
"You create shadows where none should exist," Shinobu observed during their final session. "Your blade doesn't just move through darkness—it generates it. Most fascinating."
"Is that unusual for a breathing style?" Cid asked, genuinely curious about how