They reached the next village before nightfall.
If it could still be called a village.
Ten houses scattered across a small hill like broken teeth. Six collapsed completely, their roofs caved in from snow and neglect. Three partially burned, with blackened walls and empty window frames that stared like dead eyes. Only one stood at the far end, somehow untouched by whatever disaster had claimed the rest.
The wind had cleared the paths between homes, creating natural walkways through the destruction. Snow piled high against the remaining walls, burying doors and windows until only the peaks of roofs showed. There were no footprints in the white powder. No fresh blood staining the ground. No signs of recent life.
Just the feeling of something missing—like a scream that had already happened, leaving only echoes behind.
Chi stood at the edge of the road, hand resting lightly on her sword hilt. Her red eyes swept across the scene, taking in every detail. The way the snow had settled. The angle of the collapsed beams. The complete absence of any movement.
It felt wrong. Dead places usually held some trace of what had happened. But this village felt... empty. Hollowed out.
Hinata stepped beside her, golden eyes scanning the rooftops with practiced intensity. Her warrior instincts were on high alert, every muscle ready.
"There's no smoke," she muttered, noting the cold chimneys.
"No Pulse either," Chi replied, her voice flat.
That was the strangest part. Even dead places held traces of life force, the Pulse energy that flowed through all living things. But here, there was nothing. As if someone had drained it all away.
Hinata looked over, eyebrows raised. "You feel it too?"
Chi nodded once, a sharp movement. "Something swept through here. Something that knew what it was doing."
Hinata unslung one of her twin blades, the steel catching the last rays of sunlight. The familiar weight was comforting. "Think it's the same thing from the fire circle? That mimic creature?"
"No."
"What, then?"
Chi's gaze swept the homes again, searching for clues in the destruction. "Something smarter. More organized."
The mimic had been dangerous but chaotic. This felt different. More Calculated. More Professional.
They advanced slowly into the village.
Chi took point, her boots crunching lightly through the snow. Each step was careful, deliberate, making as little noise as possible. Hinata flanked at an angle—half-formation, half-instinct. They'd worked together long enough to move without words, each anticipating the other's actions.
The silence was oppressive. Not even the sound of wind through the broken buildings. Just their breathing and the soft crunch of snow beneath their feet.
They found the first corpse near the well in the center of the village.
It had been gutted clean. Not just killed—emptied.
No blood pooled around the body. No organs spilled across the ground. Just skin and bone, collapsed like a discarded husk. The person—it had been a woman, from the clothing—looked like a deflated balloon. As if everything inside had simply vanished.
Hinata crouched beside it, her expression grim. She'd seen plenty of death, but this was different. Unnatural. "This wasn't a Maskborn."
Chi said nothing, but her jaw tightened.
"Too precise," Hinata added, studying the body's position. "And look here."
She pointed to the side of the corpse—etched into the flesh with surgical precision, a mark.
A curved blade crossed by a black flame. The symbol was burned into the skin, still faintly glowing with dark energy.
Chi's eyes narrowed as recognition hit her like a physical blow. "Bloodbinders."
Hinata stood fast, her hand instinctively moving to her second blade. "They're not supposed to be this far north. The Queen keeps them in the southern territories."
Chi drew her sword in one fluid motion, Red Crescent singing as it left its sheath.
"They are now."
Bloodbinders. The name alone was enough to make seasoned warriors nervous.
Demon cultists who served the Queen, but not in the traditional way. Most demons sought power through conquest or magic. Bloodbinders were different. They were humans who worshipped the Queen not for strength or immortality, but for the pure experience of pain and suffering.
Their Pulse was warped, twisted into something half-alive. They didn't consume blood for nourishment—they carved it from their victims like artists working with paint. Not to kill quickly. To remember. Each death was a ceremony, a ritual designed to please their dark mistress.
And they never, ever traveled alone.
Chi moved quickly now, her earlier caution replaced by urgency.
They found two more bodies on their way to the last house. Both drained in the same way. Both marked with the same symbol. The work was too clean, too organized to be random violence.
They reached the last house—the only one still standing completely intact.
Unlike the others, this building showed no signs of damage. The walls were solid. The roof was whole. Even the windows still had glass in them, though they were dark and empty.
The door creaked open at Chi's touch.
Inside: silence thick enough to cut.
The main room was simple. A few pieces of furniture covered in dust sheets. A cold fireplace. Nothing unusual.
Then—
Steel whistled through the air.
Chi deflected the incoming dagger without looking, her sword moving on pure instinct. The blade sparked against Red Crescent and went flying. Hinata darted in behind her, both swords up and ready.
Three attackers emerged from the shadows.
Hooded figures in dark robes. Masked faces that revealed nothing human underneath. Their movements were sharp, unhinged, but deliberate. Each strike calculated for maximum damage.
They were definitely human—probably. But the way they moved suggested their humanity was more of a technicality than a reality.
Chi moved first.
Red Crescent flashed once in a perfect arc—two limbs fell to the floor, severed cleanly. The first attacker dropped without a sound.
Hinata spun, flames licking around her boots as her Pulse flared. She struck the second assailant across the chest with both blades in a scissor motion. The cultist crumpled.
But the third attacker didn't fight.
He stood perfectly still in the center of the room, watching them through his mask.
Then—
He said Chi's name.
It wasn't her usual titles. Not "demon" or "monster" or any of the names her enemies usually called her.
Her real name. The one from before. The one she'd buried along with everything else from her past.
"Chi of Kurohama."
The words hit her like a physical blow.
She froze mid-step.
Red Crescent paused in its deadly swing, the blade trembling in her suddenly unsteady grip.
Kurohama. The village where she'd been born. Where she'd grown up. Where everything had gone wrong.
How could he possibly know that name?
Hinata shouted from behind her, "Chi—"
But it was too late.
The Bloodbinder smiled beneath his mask. She could hear it in his voice.
And detonated his own body.
The explosion wasn't fire—it was Pulse inversion.
A technique that turned life energy inside out, creating a blast of pure destructive force. The air itself seemed to tear apart around the cultist's body.
Chi was thrown through the side wall of the house like a rag doll. Her shoulder struck a wooden beam with a sickening crack. Her body rolled across the packed snow outside, leaving a trail of crimson drops.
Everything rang in her ears. The world spun in lazy circles.
Hinata staggered outside a moment later, dragging herself through the smoke and debris. Blood trickled from a cut on her forehead, but she was still moving.
Chi pushed herself up slowly, tasting copper in her mouth. Her shoulder throbbed, but nothing felt broken.
The house was gone.
Nothing left but ash and fragments scattered across the snow like black confetti.
And something else—a sigil, burning with dark fire in the white powder where the building had stood.
Not the simple mark they'd found on the bodies. This was complex. Layered. Powerful.
Not Maskborn work.
Not even standard Demon Queen symbology.
But still familiar.
Too familiar.
Hinata limped over to her, breathing hard. "He knew your name. Your real name."
Chi didn't answer. Couldn't find words that would make sense.
"You never told me where you're from," Hinata continued, her voice careful but insistent.
"I didn't forget to mention it."
Hinata stepped closer, her golden eyes searching Chi's face. "You want to explain how a Bloodbinder cultist knows who you are? How he knows about some place called Kurohama?"
Chi stared at the burning sigil in the snow.
Her grip on Red Crescent tightened until her knuckles went white.
"I don't," she said coldly.
Hinata's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Are they hunting you? Is that what this is about?"
Chi turned away from the destruction, away from the questions, away from the memories that the name had stirred up.
"No," she said finally. "They're not hunting me."
She started walking toward the hills beyond the village.
"They're warning me."
Later, they made camp at the edge of the hills, far from the destroyed village.
Chi didn't speak again.
Not even when Hinata tried to start conversations. Not when the wind howled through the rocks around them. Not when her companion asked direct questions about what had happened.
The wind howled like a living thing.
Her Pulse stayed silent, as if it too was afraid of what they'd discovered.
But Chi's mind was racing.
Kurohama. After all these years, that name had found her again.
And if the Bloodbinders knew about her past, then others might know too.
Others who had much better reasons to want her dead.
But her name echoed louder than anything the snow could bury.