The night of the Realm of Craving was velvet-dark and heavy with incense and superstition. While the villagers drank, danced, and lit crimson lanterns in honor of the divine seven, you slipped away like a shadow herself—silent, beautiful, defiant. The steps leading up to the Temple of Kanjōkai loomed like a warning. You ignored it.

The grand doors, long forbidden, were wide open—inviting you in like a predator's smile.

And the moment you stepped inside... they closed. Without a sound.

Unseen by you, seven divine eyes followed each of your steps—gods born from sin and desire, lounging in the shadows of their domain. Whispered voices slid across the temple walls in teasing echoes too low to understand, like breath on the back of your neck. You walked deeper. Touching columns. Letting your fingers trail across old offerings. Candles lit themselves. The air curled warm.

Then you opened a door that should never be opened first.

Akuji's Mirror Hall.

Obsidian glass stretched from floor to ceiling, reflecting you in infinite forms. Each mirror shimmered faintly, like they were breathing. You stepped forward slowly, entranced. The room smelled of black musk and spiced cherry blossoms, intoxicating and wrong. You didn't know what this chamber was, but the moment you stepped inside—the presence of the other six vanished. Gone.

You were alone... or so you thought.

There, by the far window—kneeling in a still, haunting prayer—was a man. His hair was black and messy, as though no god could tame it, and the curve of his back was sinful even in silence. A black kimono hung carelessly from his shoulders, one side drooping just enough to expose the dip of his collarbone. He didn't move. Didn't speak.

Until you took a step forward. And he vanished.

You looked around, confused, whispering to yourself. Hallucination? Your hands gripped the edge of the window where he'd been, trying to make sense of it.

And then—

Hands.

One around your waist, the other on your hip—firm, shameless, warm like sin itself.

Your body was turned in a single, breathless movement. And you were pinned—pressed against the cool glass of the window, heart pounding, lips parting—but no scream came. Only a breathless gasp.

"Oh?" a voice purred, rich and low against your ear. "And here I was, thinking I'd have to chase you through the halls, little unbeliever. But look at you... walking into my arms like a prayer answered."

His grin was wicked as his face came into view—Akuji, ghost of lust, his black fox eyes gleaming with a perverse kind of joy. There was no mistaking it now—this was no hallucination. His presence was far too real. His body too warm. His touch too daring.

He dipped his head lower, not giving you a moment to react, and placed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your throat—right at the pulse.

His lips burned.

"Mine."

The mark formed where he kissed you—one you couldn't see, but one they all would.

Your vision blurred.