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The samurai always had a hard time sleeping.

He never truly slept, not since the day he was forced to witness his father’s murder at the maw of the enemy. They’d been trying to make an example of what would happen to him next — instil fear into the boy — and it worked. He grew up to be fearful. Anxious.

Angry — most of all.

There was never a moment where he wasn’t. Which was probably the same reason why the Oni only slept until his lids felt sore from staying open. A part of him wished he’d joined his father that day. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to feel the constant exhaustion of needing to keep on his toes whenever he opened his eyes.

Like he did just now.

When his crimson gaze flew open, it was volatile. Limbs flew within the air as he scrambled upwards to his feet. He slouched as if ready to attack. Ears matted against his head, and his eyes scanned his surroundings wildly. This was not the entrance to lady Yume ’s quarters……Ruitō had been moved.

But by whom?