The city of Hoshigahara lay beneath a moon drowned in mist, its towering structures half-lost in shadows. Beneath the veil of night, the chains began to move—unseen by those who slept, yet rattling in the hearts of those who still carried suspicion in silence.
Shinomiya Reiji stood atop a derelict rooftop, his cloak whipping faintly in the cold wind. The echoes of the last confrontation still burned through his veins, but tonight, the battlefield was not of blades—it was of lies, half-truths, and betrayals strung together like an intricate web. He tightened his grip on the sheathed katana at his side, as though grounding himself against the invisible pull of deceit that threaded through the city.
Below, the plaza was alive with secret gatherings. Agents who once claimed loyalty to the Court of Shadows now whispered in corners, exchanging promises too quiet to be recorded. The fracture that had begun in silence now grew into something undeniable. The Court itself was rotting, and Reiji knew that every whisper was another chain being fastened—chains meant to bind him, and chains meant to suffocate the truth.
"Chains don't always bind the body," he muttered under his breath. "Sometimes, they bind the soul."
A faint footstep broke through the air behind him. He didn't turn. He had already recognized the sound—the deliberate yet cautious gait of someone torn between trust and fear.
"You knew I would come," the figure spoke. It was Ayaka, her eyes sharp, though exhaustion dulled the fire within them. She stepped into the pale light of the moon, her hand clutching a folded parchment.
"I counted on it," Reiji replied flatly. His gaze flicked toward the paper. "That's not a message. It's bait."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She unfolded the parchment, revealing sigils that burned faintly in red ink—an encoded summons from one of the Inner Court members. "They're planning something at dawn. A trial. Not against you directly, but against everyone who has ever stood near you. If they can't bind the shadow, they'll bind those who shelter it."
Reiji's jaw tightened. A trial meant spectacle, and spectacle meant manipulation of truth before the eyes of the masses. The Court would shackle him indirectly, chain by chain, until there was nothing left to fight for.
"Do you believe this?" he asked, his voice low, almost accusing.
Ayaka hesitated. Her silence was louder than any lie. "I don't know what to believe anymore."
That pause was enough to confirm what Reiji had suspected: even those closest to him were being pulled apart by the Court's deception.
The chains were not merely political. They were psychological. And they were closing in.
---
By the time Reiji infiltrated the chamber where the Court's whispers converged, the scent of betrayal already hung thick in the air. The great hall was lit by pale torches, their flames bending unnaturally, as if reluctant to reveal the conspirators in full. Robed figures stood in a circle, their faces obscured by carved masks.
"The Shadow has grown too bold," one voice hissed.
"His existence endangers the balance," another chimed in.
"And yet his blade is necessary," a third countered. "To destroy him now would unravel the city before the war begins."
Reiji's hand brushed the edge of the wall, his ears attuned to every fracture in their voices. Lies within lies. Each speaker chained by their own fears, their own ambitions. The deception was no longer hidden—it was celebrated.
Then came the sentence that froze his blood.
"We will not kill him. We will let him bind himself. With chains forged from those he swore to protect."
Reiji's body stiffened, his breath shallow. This was their design. Not the destruction of the Shadow—but his entanglement. A battlefield where the blade meant nothing, where truth itself was shackled until all that remained was silence.
---
When Reiji slipped back into the night, Ayaka followed in silence, her eyes searching his face for some sign of resolve.
"They won't strike at you directly," she said softly. "They'll strike at us. At me. At anyone who stands beside you."
Reiji finally looked at her, and in that gaze lay both fire and despair. "Then they've already begun winning. Every chain is another lie. Every betrayal another weight. And if I can't cut them…" He drew his blade just slightly, the steel catching a fragment of moonlight. "…then I will become the deception they fear most."
Ayaka flinched. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Reiji whispered, his voice edged with steel, "that if they insist on binding me with chains of betrayal, then I will shatter the chains from within. To fight a deception, you must become the silence between truths."
The night seemed to recoil at his words. The mist thickened, the air tightening as though the city itself knew of the storm to come.
And somewhere deep in the labyrinth of power, the chains rattled louder, waiting to claim their prey.