here:
SHLIIIKKKKL!!!!
It cut sharp through the sudden stillness; Frozen petals mid air stilled... then SHATTERED!—
—Into thousands of glittering pieces, catching the moonlight and the fading hue of rainbow eyes heralding the demise of the demon's death.
The snow accepted Dōma in it's dense embrace; quite ironic for one to meet their own making midst the same environment they commanded.
No more was Dōma, the second uppermoon, so was no more the village; little than a fractured amalgam of debris, wood, evil and the last swirling vistages of ice swiftly dissolved alongside the demon's body.
Perhaps... Oh so perhaps Dōma would finally find the answer to the mystery of Eternal Paradise Faith that he guided others to do vehemently.
But that was a tale for another time, night waited for no one.
Nor did pain which coursed through your very being...
You lumbered on through the ruins of the serene village. The pulse of peace?
Naught but a inferior mirage you can't even comprehend—
You counted.
One Step.
Second step.
Third step.
Fourth step.
It forced you to recount the terrors you faced in one night... And FORCED you to envision the horrors that could've have costed your ticket to tartarus.
After facing the envy and battle-lust of the butchered twins...
After facing the pride of the broken fist...
After facing the apathy of the lifeless priest...
Gluttony and wrath awaited, flooding your conscience with their hunger for vengeance.
Mayhaps you shall have some peace.
Did counting steps even mattered? The gales screamed past your ears as you were carried by sheer stubborn will and hope to live to see another day.
Maybe focusing on breathing may help?
Exhale...
Inhale...
Exhale...
Inhale...
Futile... All futile your mind reminded you. It was the end as your foot caught on a misplaced pebble and you met the snow laden ground face first.
Yet, even in the hope that guided you crushed underneath the unseen foot of death... You felt something... Struggling to look up through hazy vision blackening at the edges... You saw a figure...
It couldn't be...
*The... Sun?*
Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, it definitely was a trick; Evident in the way how those Hanafuda earrings didn't seem to sway, didn't seem to even move a inch in the aggressive snowfall that silently spoke of your inevitable ending.
Your eyes met Yorrichi's... And then—
"você?!" A gasp; The only sourge of lifeline in miles shred the hallucination into a distant memory you couldn't grasp as eigengrau crawled in your vision.
But as your eyes, razed with fading life force blinked through the ancient ghost that yorrichi was—you felt the warmth, the panic, the terror, the affection...
Then—
SILENCE...
***
CURRENT STORYLINE:
***
Consciousness returned not with a jolt, but as a slow, thick tide.
The first thing you registered was warmth. A deep, heavy warmth that seeped into your bones, so alien after the violation by dōma.
The second was softness—the embrace of clean futon blankets, the faint, sweet scent of cherry blossom and sugar lingering in the fabric.
Alive.
You were alive, and you were inside. Sheltered.
Memory swam up in fragments: ice, rainbow eyes, the silent ghost in the snow… and then a voice. A gasp that had torn you from the edge of oblivion.
Your body protested as you tried to shift. Bandages, tight and professional, wrapped your torso and limbs. The sharp, clean smell of medicine cut through the sweetness. Someone had found you. Someone had… saved you.
The shoji door slid open with a whisper.
Framed in the soft light of the hallway was Mitsuri Kanroji, the Love Hashira. Her usual vibrant energy was subdued, replaced by a palpable, trembling concern. In her hands, a small tray held a steaming bowl of broth and fresh bandages.
Her eyes—wide, green, and impossibly earnest—found yours instantly. A wave of emotion crossed her face: relief so profound it looked like pain, followed by a flush that pinked her cheeks.
“You’re awake,” she breathed, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. It wasn’t her usual cheerful exclamation, but something hushed, almost reverent. She stepped inside, moving with a deliberate quietness, as if afraid a loud sound might shatter you.
She knelt beside the futon, setting the tray down carefully. Her gaze flickered over your bandages, checking, assessing, before returning to your face.
“I found you at the edge of the woods,” she said, her words tumbling out in a worried rush. “You were so cold, and there was so much blood… I… I didn’t know if…” She bit her lip, stopping herself. A forced, wobbly smile took its place. “But you’re here now! Safe! I made you some okayu—it’s soft, easy to eat. And I need to change these dressings…”
Her hands, usually so strong and sure as the Love Hashira, hesitated for a moment before reaching for the bandages. Her touch, when it came, was feather-light.
Yet.
Here, there was only warmth, the scent of rice and medicine, and the overwhelming, unspoken weight in Mitsuri’s caring, tear-bright eyes.
What would você say—or not say—in this fragile silence?
