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Inumaki is brought in on a cold September night, when the fireflies have come out of hiding and the ground is cool enough to trek barefoot.
Not that he would, certainly not that he would ever, of course; but that was, if only he still had that choice.
Feeling for the satchel they allowed them to carry over, when the people ransacked their village and commanded every able-bodied youth to pack a bag and hurry along, that Inumaki in his rush, only managed to salvage: a smaller version of their clan emblem, a concoction of snake eyes and fangs which his father told him to hide in earnest, a canteen of water already drained, along with enough changes of clothing that would do for two weeks at least.
His bare feet trip all over the branches, his face marred with tiny scratches as he hugs the knapsack closer to his chest. He was always the less physically inclined to do long trips, always hanging back at the sanctum of their village instead of regularly venturing out into the unknown as the rest of the kids his age.
Inumaki’s heel snags on a patch of intertwined vines, and his body lunges forward in anticipation of falling—when he feels strong arms steady him from behind. A hand gently, but firmly, holding his elbow in place. He turns to meet Yuuta’s concerned gaze.
“I’m alright,” he musters enough energy to give him a small smile. “Just a little nervous. I can’t see anything in the dark.”
Yuuta understands, Inumaki does not need to ask, because he always volunteered to stay back with him; reading age-old books, instead of joining Megumi and his friends to explore the wildlings; where he, was no doubt, made for. The lingering look he always gave the younger kids was indication enough.
"I know,” Yuuta whispers, afraid the man walking ahead of them would hear. “Just keep close. Follow my voice and my footsteps, I’ll go slow.”
The gruff man leading the pair separated them from the herd hours ago, instead took them into the discreet corner of the woods where they’ve been waddling about for the better part of an hour like animals lost in the wilderness. Todou, he was called, suddenly stopped in front of a clearing; where, in the small distance, they made out the faint silhouette of a small hut.
Todou turns to them, the frozen stupor he was then housing melted into something akin to.. warm. He was smiling, and it looked, to both their bewilderment, a little inviting.
He could have passed off a likeable human teddy bear on his good days, probably, but: they were no children in need of comfort toys anymore.
“Miss Maki is so excited to see you.”
“Plenty of people know when they’re dreaming,” Maki explains, “The ones that can bend it are those we consider candidates.”
Yuuta, ever the more cordial one of them both who kept his cards close, didn’t so much as waver from this.
Inumaki knows because he has been trying to catch his eye from the corner of the room since they were ushered into Maki’s office, where he sat opposite from him in front of her imposing desk.
She was peering at them both, through the rims of her glasses, a calculated smile so unlike Todou’s warm—albeit fake—one. “Well?”
Yuuta stares hard at her, a blank expression on his face. They know where this is going, they have heard of where the children brought into the woods go when the slumber has passed too long and their golden hands too incapable of molding the storyline; because, after all, is this not why they’ve retreated to the woods?
This is why his parents have fashioned their then proud, regal clan symbol and pounded it into that of puny metal, just enough to be enclosed with a fist when it then sent most of the nation to its knees for the pride of serving alone; or, how Rika was taken from them, back when Yuuta had yet to train with swords and Inumaki the power of words, precisely because of this.
They lure you in, easy, promising grandeurs of a life beyond the sticks of the backwoods and to be fed far more lustrous food than living off scraps of herbs and the occasional game. They stick you with other people of your supposed kind, bunching you together under their engineered puppet strings that controlled what you would do with what you could; and then, only then, when you have done their bidding and forced enough men on their knees after indoctrinating such horror in their restless moments of slumber; they consider not holding you against your will.
The last they heard of Rika, from Gojo and the others expeditions outside the barrier, she had taken down some of the Standing Generals in the South. The last of them, and this is where Inumaki pieced it together, lies just beneath the walled city past this forest.
The Westerners did not bow so easily, after all.
“Yuuta,” says Inumaki in warning, managing to channel enough nerves to break the silence and force his long-time friend to meet his eyes, because this time he was the concerned one, this time he was not blind in false hopes of bringing back younger sisters. “We have to go—”
Maki laughs then, but it comes out sadistic; more a barring of pearly-white teeth than it was a genuine display of joy. Her eyes are swimming in mirth as she taunts at them, “And go where? We have finally seized control of the capital, and with the both of you under our banner, we’re basically headed for a clean victory.”
That’s not true, Inumaki wants to say, There’s still Megumi who awakened earlier than all of them combined, probably the only one who stood to rival Rika on equal footing; and, this was why he was so heavily guarded by Yuji and Nobara and everyone else. Why both he and Yuuta offered themselves up during the raid, to give the three enough time to flee.
But instead it is Yuuta, once again, who finds the voice for both of them: “We’d sooner die than serve you,” his voice is steady, the determined gaze on his eyes never faltering. “Don’t forget, Maki-san, that it was you who told them where Rika was that day, because I sure have not.”
And with that, he relinquishes his hold on reality, submerging everyone into doctored slumbers of agony, one of the rare few who could do so and why witch hunts have plagued them since—everyone inebriated, all save for Inumaki, already waiting by the door.
His eyes are frantic, skin clammy and cold, heart beating far too quickly he was afraid he would go into cardiac arrest any moment; until Yuuta finds his hands, laces their fingers together, and tugs him forward with urgency.
“Let’s find Rika and get the hell out of here.”