Gungi

Chapter 3 — Gungi

The storm arrived before sunset.

At first it was only wind threading through the mountains, cold enough to sting exposed skin. Then the clouds rolled over the forest in thick layers of iron gray, swallowing the last traces of light until the entire world became dim and silver.

By the time the fighting stopped, snow was falling so heavily neither side could see more than several feet ahead.

The ambush had scattered everyone.

Imperial soldiers lost formation in the forest. Rebels disappeared into the mountains they knew too well. Horses panicked. Torches died in the wind.

And somehow—

against all logic—

Akiharu and Renji ended up alone.

Again.

Akiharu walked carefully through the trees, one hand resting near his sword while snow gathered across his shoulders. Blood darkened the sleeve near his forearm where an arrow had grazed him earlier, though he barely noticed the pain anymore.

The storm muffled everything.

No voices. No footsteps. Only wind.

Then—

a branch cracked somewhere ahead.

Akiharu turned instantly.

Renji stood several feet away beneath the trees, equally startled to see him.

For a long moment neither moved.

“This is becoming suspicious,” Renji said finally.

Akiharu stared at him flatly. “You attacked my unit.”

“You invaded my mountains.”

“Your rebels shot first.”

“You burned villages first.”

Silence.

The wind howled between them.

Neither could argue that one away.

Renji adjusted the bow hanging over his shoulder, snow clinging heavily to his dark hair now. He looked exhausted. There was dirt smeared along his jaw, and one side of his cloak had torn during the ambush.

Akiharu noticed these things immediately. Annoyingly.

Another violent gust swept through the forest.

Renji glanced toward the darkening sky and clicked his tongue softly. “Wonderful.”

“You’re lost.”

“You are too.”

Akiharu hated that this was true.

The mountain paths had disappeared beneath the storm already. Even worse, the temperature was dropping rapidly now that night approached. Staying outside much longer would become dangerous.

Renji seemed to reach the same conclusion reluctantly.

“There’s an abandoned shrine nearby,” he said after a pause. “Northwest trail.”

Akiharu narrowed his eyes slightly. “And why would you tell me that?”

Renji looked equally unimpressed. “Because freezing to death beside an imperial soldier would embarrass me spiritually.”

Despite himself—

Akiharu almost laughed.

The realization startled him enough that his expression hardened immediately afterward.

Renji noticed.

That was the irritating part. He noticed everything.

“Come on,” Renji muttered, already turning away. “Unless you’d rather die honorably in a snowbank.”

Akiharu should not have followed him.

Every instinct built into him over years of military discipline screamed against this situation. Renji was dangerous. Intelligent. Wanted by the empire. Allowing proximity like this was reckless at best.

And yet—

Akiharu followed anyway.

The shrine appeared nearly half an hour later through the blizzard.

Old wooden beams emerged from the snowfall first, followed by stone lanterns buried nearly halfway beneath ice. The structure was larger than the first shrine they had met at, though age and storms had worn most of the paint away years ago.

Renji slid the doors open carefully.

Dust stirred through the darkness inside.

“At least the roof still exists,” he said.

Akiharu stepped in after him.

The air smelled faintly of cedar, old incense, and cold wood.

Small. Quiet. Forgotten.

Renji immediately crouched near the center of the room and began searching through old supplies left behind near the walls. After a moment he held up a half-used bundle of candles triumphantly.

“See? The gods still tolerate me.”

“You steal offerings from shrines?”

“I borrow spiritually.”

“That is not a real phrase.”

“It is now.”

A tiny flame flickered alive moments later, casting warm gold light across the dark room.

And suddenly—

everything changed.

Outside, the storm still raged violently.

But inside the shrine, the world became strangely small.

Contained.

Akiharu removed his outer gloves slowly, flexing numb fingers near the candlelight while Renji moved around the room checking for leaks in the roof.

“You’re bleeding,” Renji said casually.

Akiharu looked toward his arm.

“It’s minor.”

Renji walked over anyway.

“Sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re dripping on sacred flooring.”

Akiharu frowned.

“You speak to everyone this way?”

“Only people I dislike.”

Somehow that answer felt less hostile than it should have.

Akiharu sat reluctantly near the candle while Renji unwrapped a small cloth bundle from inside his robes. Bandages. Herbs. A travel medicine kit.

“You carry supplies during ambushes?”

“I’m surrounded by idiots professionally.”

Akiharu watched him kneel beside him carefully.

Up close, Renji looked younger than he had during the fighting.

Not weak. Just less untouchable.

Snow had melted slightly into his hair, dark strands falling loosely around his face while candlelight softened the sharpness in his expression.

Akiharu became aware of how close they were.

That felt inconvenient.

“This may sting,” Renji warned.

“It won’t.”

Renji poured alcohol directly over the cut.

Akiharu didn’t react.

Renji looked disappointed. “You could at least pretend you’re mortal.”

“I was trained properly.”

“You were trained painfully.”

Akiharu said nothing to that.

Because it was true.

Renji tied the bandage neatly around his forearm before leaning back slightly. “There.”

Their eyes met briefly.

Something quiet settled between them then.

Not peace. Not trust.

Something stranger.

The candle crackled softly nearby.

Akiharu glanced around the shrine to avoid the feeling.

That was when he noticed the old wooden box near the far wall.

Half-covered in dust.

Renji followed his gaze. “What?”

Akiharu stood and crossed toward it carefully before kneeling beside the box. The wood creaked softly as he opened it.

Inside rested an old gungi board.

The pieces were worn smooth with age.

Renji blinked once in surprise. “Seriously?”

“You know how to play?”

Renji looked offended immediately. “I’m insulted you asked.”

Akiharu almost said something sharp back.

Instead:

“…Good.”

The word escaped before he could stop it.

Renji stared at him for half a second.

Then smiled slightly.

Small. Real. Dangerous.

Akiharu looked away immediately.

They sat across from each other on opposite sides of the board while the storm battered the shrine walls outside.

At first they played in silence.

The sound of wooden pieces clicking softly against the board filled the room between them.

Renji played aggressively.

Too aggressively.

“You overextend your left side,” Akiharu observed.

“You sound unbearable during training exercises.”

“You’re proving my point.”

“You noticed because you’ve been staring.”

Akiharu moved another piece calmly. “Check.”

Renji frowned at the board.

Then at him.

“You’re irritating.”

“So I’ve heard.”

The game continued.

Minutes blurred quietly into an hour.

Then two.

And somewhere during that time, the atmosphere shifted again.

Conversation began appearing naturally between moves.

Not deep. Not emotional.

But real.

“You hold the pieces like a soldier,” Renji muttered at one point.

Akiharu glanced up slightly. “What does that mean?”

“You place them too precisely.”

“That sounds imaginary.”

“It isn’t.”

Renji adjusted one of his own pieces thoughtfully. “Soldiers move like they expect hesitation to kill them.”

Akiharu went still for the briefest moment.

Renji noticed immediately.

Again.

Annoying.

“And rebels?” Akiharu asked quietly.

Renji smiled faintly without looking up. “We move like hesitation already killed us once.”

The candlelight flickered between them.

Outside, wind screamed through the mountains.

Akiharu studied him silently across the board.

For someone supposedly reckless, Renji rarely spoke carelessly. Every sentence seemed to contain layers beneath it, hidden carefully under humor and irritation.

“You hate the empire,” Akiharu said eventually.

Renji looked up.

“You don’t?”

The question landed harder than expected.

Akiharu’s expression cooled slightly. “I serve it.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Silence stretched.

Akiharu stared at the board instead.

Renji leaned back against one of the wooden pillars nearby, studying him openly now.

“You know what I think?” he asked quietly.

Akiharu ignored him.

“I think you’re exhausted.”