CHAPTER XXXVIII
~The Shrine of a Thousand Tears~
Cold sweat broke out across Yuzuki’s skin, dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. Her knees trembled as the weight of the message sank in, mixing fear with a flicker of determination. With a hesitant, shaky nod, she steeled herself for what lay ahead.
Yuzuki sat with her knees delicately folded, the silence wrapping around her as the incense smoke curled from the vase at the center of the low wooden table. She unraveled the crumpled paper left behind by the disappearing Nakime. Dark, intricate kanji filled the page—cryptic and archaic, their meaning twisting beyond ordinary comprehension.
Her eyes scanned the riddle, mind racing:
“If you wish to move beyond sorrow, take from the source of grief and inscribe that which none but the resolute can write.”
She puzzled over the words, feeling the ancient weight in their phrasing. The incense—the ever-present marker of mourning—became the “source of grief.” The fallen ashes, delicate and gray on the table, glimmered in the faint light. The solution clicked in her mind: the answer lay in the incense itself.
Yuzuki reached forward with trembling fingers, gently removing an incense stick from the vase. She let the fine, fragrant ash fall into her palm, cold and soft. Her gaze settled on the empty wooden surface before her.
With a shaky breath, she dipped the very tip of her finger in the incense ash and began to write. Not an ordinary word—this was a word shrouded in challenge and mystery, a kanji whose strokes curled and overlapped with daunting complexity: 「鬱」—“utsu”, meaning profound sorrow, depression, or melancholy.
It was a word rarely chosen by the uninitiated—thick with history, its every line a challenge to both memory and hand.
With painstaking care, Yuzuki inscribed the character onto the wood, the ash clinging as if drawn by fate. As the last stroke settled, the air shifted. The atmosphere of the shrine grew solemn and reverent, as if the spirits themselves acknowledged her resolve. The test of the Nakime, for now, was met—not through force, but by deciphering grief itself and inscribing its name with courage.
A faint warmth pulsed through Yuzuki’s chest—a signal that she had chosen wisely, and the path ahead would open, if only for those bold enough to name sorrow as their own.
Yuzuki’s thighs ached as she sat seiza-style in the incense-tinged gloom. The last ash stroke of the kanji for “sorrow” faded on the table, and the shrine seemed to exhale in cautious recognition. But then, as if testing her resolve, another vignette of sorrow materialized before her.
A Nakime spirit faced Yuzuki, cradling a foggy hand mirror streaked with dried tears. The paper at her side read in archaic Japanese:
「涙に曇る鏡には、本当の痛みしか映らない。」
Only true pain can be reflected in a mirror clouded by tears.
Yuzuki remembered how the living, in grief, often looked not for themselves in mirrors but for traces of someone lost. She blinked at the reflection, then realized her own face meant nothing to this sorrow. Softly, she angled the mirror to reflect the incense altar behind her—a place built for remembrance. When the Nakime saw grief honored behind her, the mirror cleared, and so did the vision.
Then, a kneeling specter with a long, inky braid and a streak of silver in her black hair sobbed quietly, clutching a crimson cord. The riddle read:
「切れた髪には、終わらぬ誓いあり。」
In severed hair there lies a promise unfinished.
Yuzuki recognized the image: a gesture from folklore—cutting hair to mourn love lost. She approached carefully, recalling her own brushes with parting and betrayal. Bowing her head, she reached for the cord, untying it with trembling fingers. The spirit’s tears ceased, and the braid fell, symbolic of letting old promises rest.
As Yuzuki approached, she saw a Nakime spirit kneeling beside a small, ancient bronze bell resting on a woven mat. The air was heavy and still, broken only by the faint scent of incense.
The paper beside the bell bore this riddle in elegantly faded kanji:
「鳴らぬ鈴には、心の声が封じられている。
震わせよ、その鎮まりし音を。
響けば、真実の涙が流れる。」
Naranu suzu ni wa, kokoro no koe ga fūjirete iru.
Furuwaseyo, sono shizumarishi oto wo.
Hibikeba, shinjitsu no namida ga nagareru.
Translation:
A silent bell holds a heart’s voice imprisoned.
Awaken its quiet sound.
If it rings, the true tears will flow.
Yuzuki’s breath caught. There was no visible way to strike the bell — no clapper inside, no hammer beside it. She studied it, the smooth cool metal glowing faintly with an otherworldly hue, as if listening.
Recalling the incense ash she still carried, an idea sparked. She gently sprinkled a fine layer of ash atop the bell’s surface, then whispered softly a prayer for release and truth.
As she spoke, the bell trembled faintly — a whisper of sound blossomed, fragile yet clear, echoing through the shrine’s hushed depths.
The Nakime’s weeping softened, the spirit’s form shimmering with peaceful acceptance as the bell’s tone seemed to unlock the heart’s silence.
With that ringing, a locked sorrow found release, and Yuzuki felt herself draw closer to the memory she sought — one held captive in shadows, waiting for the right sound to bring it to light.
As Yuzuki ventured deeper, another Nakime knelt in the shadows, clutching a faded camellia flower. The petals were dry and crumbling, scattered on a tatami mat. A slip of paper at her feet read:
「散りし椿は誰のため。
色褪せぬ想いを、形にして捧げよ。
咲かぬ花に、名を与えよ。」
Chirishi tsubaki wa dare no tame.
Iro asenu omoi wo, katachi ni shite sasageyo.
Sakanu hana ni, na wo atae yo.
Translation:
A fallen camellia: for whom did it bloom?
Give unwavering feelings form and offer them.
To a flower that cannot bloom, bestow a name.
Yuzuki pondered—the camellia, famous in Japan for symbolizing a life cut short, spoke to grief unexpressed. She found another petal, gently placed it with the others to form a complete flower, and in the incense ash on the mat, she wrote the word 永遠 (“eien” — eternity). The Nakime’s spirit calmed, as if finally the love and loss had been given a name and a place.
A faint melody resonated from the far corner, where a broken shamisen lay across a lap of a quietly weeping Nakime. On a yellowed scroll beside her, the riddle declared:
「辿り着けぬ旋律が、胸を締め付ける。
音なき歌には、どの想いが込められているか。
心で唄い、弦を越えよ。」
Tadoritsukenu senritsu ga, mune wo shimetsukeru.
Otonaki uta ni wa, dono omoi ga komerarete iru ka.
Kokoro de utai, gen wo koeyo.
Translation:
A melody unfinished tightens the heart.
What feelings lie in a song with no sound?
Sing with your heart; surpass the broken string.
Yuzuki understood. She couldn’t play the shamisen, the strings frayed and snapped, but she could honor the lost melody. Holding the shamisen gently, she closed her eyes and hummed a peaceful tune filled with compassion and hope. The melody, though only in her heart, seemed to ripple through the room. The Nakime’s sadness eased, grateful for a song only the soul could hear.
Deeper inside the shrine, Yuzuki found a dimly glowing lantern hanging loosely from a crooked wooden beam. The lantern’s light flickered as if struggling against an unseen wind. Near its base lay a note inscribed with:
「消えゆく灯火は、希望か絶望か。
揺れる心に光を灯せ。
その明かりは真実の涙を照らす。」
Kieyuku tomoshibi wa, kibō ka zetsubō ka.
Yureru kokoro ni hikari wo tomose.
Sono akari wa shinjitsu no namida wo terasu.
Translation:
A flickering flame—hope or despair?
Light the wavering heart’s fire.
That light will reveal true tears.
Yuzuki studied the lantern, noticing it was missing a candle. Using the incense from earlier, she carefully lit a small ember and placed it inside. As the flame steadied, the lantern’s glow brightened, illuminating hidden tear-shaped symbols etched on the shrine’s beams. The warmth comforted the sorrowful spirits nearby, who began to whisper softly in gratitude.
Yuzuki entered a small alcove where countless thin red threads hung suspended from the ceiling, weaving an intricate web. A scroll pinned to the wall read:
「絡まる糸は、運命の証。
解きほぐし、繋がれぬ絆を結べ。
真実の情は糸の如く。」
Karamaru ito wa, unmei no akashi.
Tokihogushi, tsunagare nu kizuna wo musube.
Shinjitsu no jō wa ito no gotoku.
Translation:
Tangled threads signify fate’s proof.
Untangle and bind unconnected bonds.
True feelings are like threads.
Carefully, Yuzuki found the knotted points and gently loosened and retied the threads into a perfect, harmonious pattern. As the web rearranged, glowing symbols appeared, linking faces she recognized—friends and spirits alike—showing the bonds she shared. The Nakime nearby smiled softly, their burdens eased.
Further still, Yuzuki came upon a stone basin where water should have rippled, but instead the surface was completely still, smooth as glass. The riddle etched on the basin’s rim read:
「落ちる水音は遠く消え、今日は何も語らず。
静けさの底には言葉なき悲しみが流れる。
動かぬ水面に心を映せ。」
Ochiru mizuoto wa tōku kie, kyō wa nani mo katarazu.
Shizukesa no soko ni wa kotoba naki kanashimi ga nagareru.
Ugokanu minamo ni kokoro wo utsuse.
Translation:
The falling water’s sound is gone, silent today.
Beneath the stillness flows unspoken sadness.
Reflect your heart on the unmoving surface.
Yuzuki knelt and looked deeply into the pond, focusing on her own beating heart and the sorrow she carried. Slowly, ripples appeared, and hidden beneath the stillness, faint ghostly faces shimmered—memories calling for acknowledgment. She whispered promises of remembrance, and the water’s surface pulsed gently in response.
As Yuzuki completed the final riddle, a quiet stillness settled over the shrine’s shadowed alcove. The Nakimes that remained, once plagued by endless grief, now floated more gently, their spectral forms softened with gratitude. The once-endless parade of tears slowed; and, for the first time, one turned toward Yuzuki, a weary but genuine smile pulling at her pale lips.
“Arigatō,” the spirit whispered, voice impossibly soft—a sigh of wind and longing. “Anata wa mimi o katamuke, watashitachi no kanashimi ni yasuragi o ataete kureta. Sono orei ni, watashi wa anata ni… hisame to iu namae o sazukeru.”
(Translation: Thank you. You listened. You gave our sorrow rest. For that, I give you...the name: Hisame)
The name echoed in the incense-thick air, a sacred token, heavy with ancient power.
But before Yuzuki could respond—before the spirit’s smile could finish blooming—there was a rush of icy wind overhead. Mofumi dropped from above, his pale fur bristling and wings outstretched, eyes burning with a fierce, unnatural light.
Without warning, he struck. His form blurred as he lashed out at floating Nakime, knocking the her from the air. Her cry of pain shuddered through the room as she crashed onto the wooden planks, dark blood pooling beneath her.
“M-Mofumi—?!” Yuzuki gasped, reeling as the mood twisted from mourning to violence.
Mofumi’s gaze, no longer gentle, snapped to Yuzuki. Blood still flecked his claws. “Yuzuki! Go to the main hall—immediately!” he commanded, his voice sharp and urgent. “You must destroy the vase with the incense sticks. Do it now, before it’s too late!”
The other Nakimes wailed anew—for the fallen Nakime, for themselves, for sorrow unending. Thunder boomed outside the shrine.
Yuzuki trembled violently as she stared at the spreading, inky pool of blood beneath the Nakime, the image twisted and surreal in the incense-shrouded shrine. Confusion, fear, and shock flickered across her face—her breath stuttered in her throat. For a moment she couldn’t move; it felt as if the whole world had fallen silent except for the blood’s quiet patter on the wooden floor.
But Mofumi’s urgent words still rang in her head: ”Destroy the vase.” Gritting her teeth, Yuzuki forced herself to turn away from the wounded Nakime, willing numb legs to carry her back to the main hall. The incense’s bitter scent roiled in her lungs as she raced for the altar.
She saw the vase—the same one that held the incense sticks since her first arrival. Without pausing, and tears stinging her eyes, she lifted it in both trembling hands and, with all her gathered strength, hurled it down against the hard floor.
The vase shattered with a deafening crack. At the same instant, a brilliant white light exploded out—so intense it erased color, form, and shadow, flooding the entire shrine in sheer radiance. The air quivered, and Yuzuki instinctively threw up her arms to shield her face, the overwhelming brightness blotting out everything and everyone around her.
For several long seconds, there was nothing but the light—pure, cold, endless.
Then the blindness faded. Slowly, Yuzuki lowered her arms, heart hammering, and dared to open her eyes.
She stood, blinking, at the edge of the old graveyard she’d first entered with Mofumi. The solemn field of stones stretched out behind her in the soft, late-day light, the memory of violence and blood already receding as if it belonged to a dream. The oppressive weight of sorrow had lifted; the air tasted clearer, almost cleansing.
In front of her, Mofumi sat quietly, waiting, his tail curled neatly over his paws and a warm, enigmatic smile on his feline face.
“You did well, Yuzuki,” he said gently, his voice back to its usual, inscrutable calm.
As the last traces of the shrine’s supernatural glow faded, Mofumi’s form flickered—his neat feline silhouette shimmering for barely a breath before dissolving into nothing, leaving no trace but the faint scent of incense on the breeze. Yuzuki stood in the silence of the graveyard, her heart still thumping erratically as she processed the rush of everything that had passed.
The steady patter of rain grew louder in her ears. At the edge of the soggy schoolyard, Kaito appeared—his uniform soaked, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving with exhaustion and worry. He darted frantic glances around the gravestones, his breath coming in ragged bursts. When his gaze landed on Yuzuki, a look of mingled relief and frustration streaked across his face.
Kaito yelled her name, voice raw above the rain. “Yuzuki!”
She barely had time to process seeing him before he sprinted over, splashing through puddles and mud, skidding to a halt in front of her. Without warning, he grabbed her by the arms, shaking her—not too roughly, but hard enough for the panic in his voice to tremble through his grip.
“Where were you?! What are you doing here? Why did you run off without telling anyone? Do you have any idea how worried I was?” His voice cracked, desperation and sheer fear masking even his irritation. “You can’t just disappear like that, Yuzuki!”
Yuzuki gazed at him, momentarily stunned by both his presence and outburst. In her mind, the question rang out—Kaito?—and as he searched her face, angry and soaking wet, the weight of the real world closed in fast, grounding her after everything that had just happened.
Yuzuki wrenched herself from Kaito’s grip, pushing him away with a force that came from something rawer than fear. Breath ragged, mud streaking her shoes, she spun on him—eyes wide and wild:
“WHY IS THERE A GRAVEYARD BEHIND THE SCHOOL?” she shouted, her voice almost lost in the roar of the rain.
To be Continued...
ns216.73.216.238da2
