The cracks in the mask deepened. A low hum pulsed through the clearing, reverberating in Denzan's bones. He couldn't look away. It felt like something inside the mask—someone—was staring back at him.
"Denzan," Renshin warned, stepping closer.
He barely heard her. His fingers twitched around the porcelain as a strange sensation washed over him—not pain, not fear. Something older. Deeper. A memory that wasn't his.
Then—
A whisper, soft as falling rain.
"Have you come to break the chains, or forge them anew?"
Denzan's breath caught.
That voice—
It was familiar.
No. That didn't make sense. How could she possibly know—?
The world tilted.
For a brief moment,images flickered—like firelight dancing on the edge of a blade.
A forge, glowing with violet embers.
Hands shaping metal, delicate yet strong.
Laughter, rich and knowing.
A fox's tail curling around his wrist.
And then—
Lightning. A storm. The sound of chains snapping.
Denzan staggered back with a sharp inhale. The vision shattered. The clearing snapped into focus again, the mask still in his grip—*but the cracks had spread further*.
The Veilkeeper was watching him closely. "You saw something."
Denzan shook his head, his pulse hammering. "That was—" He stopped himself. Took a breath. Tried to make sense of it. "She knows me."
Thoma frowned. "What do you mean? She's been sealed for centuries."
Renshin's expression darkened. "Maybe not completely."
The Traveler looked between them. "You think she's been reaching out? Through the mask?"
Denzan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't just a vision. It felt real. Like I was there."
The Veilkeeper finally spoke. "Because you were."
Silence.
Denzan slowly turned to face them. "...What?"
The masked figure took a step closer. "The Fox of the Forgotten Shrine was many things—a guardian, a warrior, a wanderer. But she was also a creator." Their golden eyes gleamed. "She forged weapons unlike any in Inazuma. And those she deemed worthy… she marked them."
Denzan stiffened. His mind raced back - to the moment his Vision awakened. To the way the lightning had felt, different from ordinary storms.
His katana. His gun. His own craft.
Had he been following a path that had been laid long before he was born?
Paimon hesitated. "Wait… are you saying Denzan was chosen by her?"
The Veilkeeper inclined their head. "Not chosen. Bound."
Denzan's fingers curled around the mask. His voice came out quieter than he intended. "And if she wakes up?"
The petals in the air twisted, caught in an unseen current.
"If she remembers you," the Veilkeeper said, "then you will have to decide—"
Their golden eyes seemed to burn.
"Will you stand against her?"
The air crackled.
"Or with her?"
The mask cracked in his hands.
The first crack was barely a whisper. A faint snap, like ice fracturing beneath a boot.
Then—
The mask shattered.
A pulse of energy erupted from the broken porcelain, violet light flooding the clearing. The force sent Denzan stumbling back, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. The petals around them were caught in the surge, spiraling into the air like embers in a wildfire.
And in the center of it all—
She stood.
Tall, poised, wrapped in flowing silks that shimmered between white and purple. Her long silver hair cascaded past her shoulders, strands shifting like mist in the wind. Nine ghostly tails flickered behind her, barely touching the ground. Her golden eyes, sharp and knowing, locked onto Denzan.
The Fox of the Forgotten Shrine had returned.
A slow, amused smile curled her lips. "So… it is you."
Denzan swallowed. His grip tightened around the empty air where the mask had been. He couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
Because he knew her.
Not from stories. Not from legends.
But from the moment he grabbed a hammer.
The visions, the whispers—they hadn't been tricks. She had been reaching for him, even in her slumber. And now, awake, she looked at him with something unsettlingly familiar.
Renshin tensed, hand hovering over her sword. Thoma took an instinctive step closer to the Traveler, who stood firm, their expression unreadable.
Paimon, eyes wide, whispered, "Uh… guys?"
The Veilkeeper, who had remained silent until now, slowly lowered their head. "Lady Kuzunoha."
The Fox turned her gaze to them. "Veilkeeper." Her voice was smooth, laced with something unreadable. "Still playing at secrets?"
The Veilkeeper did not answer.
Denzan exhaled sharply, forcing his body to move. "You knew me," he said, his voice rougher than he intended. "Back then."
Kuzunoha's golden eyes flicked back to him. She took a step forward. "I knew your hands," she murmured. "Your craft. The fire in your heart." A small, knowing smile. "And I knew the storm that would one day call to you."
Denzan's jaw clenched. "What does that mean?"
She lifted a hand—elegant, claw-tipped fingers tracing the air. Sparks of violet lightning danced between them. "It means, little smith, that your fate was forged long before you ever held a hammer."
The words sank deep. Too deep.
Denzan had always lived by his own will. Even when he left the forge behind, even when the sea called to him—he had made his own choices. Hadn't he?
Then why did it feel like she was telling him otherwise?
Renshin's voice cut through the moment. "So what now?"
Kuzunoha tilted her head. "Now?" Her smile sharpened, fangs just barely visible. "Now, I take back what was stolen."
A storm rumbled in the distance.
The Traveler tensed. "From the Shogun?"
Kuzunoha's eyes gleamed.
"Who else?"
The sky cracked with lightning. The earth trembled beneath them.
And Denzan knew—
This wasn't just history waking up.
It was war.