Run. Just run. Don't look back. That was all Touka repeated in her mind as she sprinted down the mountain path in the darkness. Her feet were bare. The hem of her training hakama clung to her legs, soaked through with mud and night dew, and the soles of her feet had long since lost all sensation. Her violet hair plastered itself against her cheeks. In her pale crimson eyes, mist and tears blurred together. Just past midnight, Touka had fled the mansion. At the rear wall of the compound—a thick stone barrier more than two meters high—she had pressed both palms against the surface. Folding her fingers, she wove the hand seal. She felt the spiritual energy flowing through the stone's cracks and disturbed it, just slightly. A section of the wall cracked with a sharp sound and crumbled. The opening was just large enough for a person to squeeze through. Touka pushed herself into that gap. Beyond it lay the outside world. Soil beneath her feet for the first time in her life, outside the mansion grounds. It was soft and cold, and it smelled of grass. Had such a scent existed in the world all along? Touka thought this hazily. But there was no time for such idle wondering. From deep within the mansion, from the direction of the underground altar, a low voice carried through the night. "[cold]...Release the shikigami." Grandfather. He had noticed. Touka began to run. ＊ There exists a world invisible to ordinary people. Deep in the mountains, in forests where humans do not tread. Behind the grounds of ancient shrines, in places even further removed. In such locations, a "reverse side" exists separate from the human world. The realm of yokai. A world that one would not notice at first glance, yet undeniably present. Beyond the mist, beyond the light—such places exist. Onmyoji and shrine maidens are specialists who manage that boundary. The estimated eight hundred onmyoji scattered across the nation manipulate the spiritual energy flowing through earth and air—the ki-meridians—to negotiate with yokai, erect barriers, and break curses. Shrine maidens work differently; they excel at "receiving" the voices of gods and spirits. Neither officially exists in ordinary society. Touka had been raised for fifteen years to become an onmyoji. Whether "raised" was the correct word, she was not entirely certain. ＊ As the mountain path deepened, the mist grew thicker. This was the northern foothills of the Mikagura mountain range. A chain of peaks spanning from eight hundred to sixteen hundred meters in elevation, long considered sacred ground. Ordinary hikers naturally avoided it. The mountain itself possessed a power that kept humans at a distance. Touka knew this. But it did not matter now. She could only move forward. Her breath came in ragged gasps. The soles of her feet throbbed with pain. She could feel the sharp sting of pebbles piercing her skin, yet it seemed distant, as though happening to someone else. After running for about fifteen minutes, she heard the sound of flowing water. The Towatari River. The riverbed was roughly fifteen meters across, with a depth of about two meters. There was no bridge. Touka stood at the riverbank—at the crossing point known as Kawase no Fuchi—and looked down at the cold current. Moonlight trembled across the water's surface. (I have to cross.) She stepped into the water barefoot. Cold. A cold that penetrated to the bone. The depth rose gradually from below her knees to near her waist. The stones on the river bottom cut mercilessly at her feet. A sharp sensation, and the water bloomed red with blood. Halfway across the river, Touka glanced behind her. Two points of light glowed in the distance, deep within the dark mountain path. The eyes of the shikigami. Shikigami were servant spirits commanded by onmyoji. The ones her grandfather created took the form of thin, luminescent serpents and excelled at pursuit. Those two lights were drawing steadily closer. (I have to do this.) Standing in the water, Touka moved her fingers. Weaving the hand seal—the fundamental technique of ki-meridian manipulation. Ki-meridians were the energy flowing through earth and air. Onmyoji sensed and manipulated them. By combining hand seals with words of power, one could move the ki-meridians. She had practiced this hundreds, thousands of times in training. But it had always been "for grandfather." For the clan. For someone else's command. Moving ki-meridians under another's direction and moving them by one's own will were— (Completely different.) Spiritual noise radiated from her fingertips. A technique to confuse the shikigami's senses. But her control was crude. She felt the energy pouring out at more than double the intended level. A dull ache throbbed deep in her skull. Overusing ki-meridian techniques caused "ki-exhaustion"—a draining of both spiritual and physical vitality. In the worst cases, grandfather had said, the soul itself could fracture. The shikigami's light wavered. The confusion was working. Touka finished crossing the river. ＊ Beyond the river, the mountain path grew steeper still. As she ran, images flooded unbidden through Touka's mind. Not consciously summoned, yet appearing of their own accord. Waking at five in the morning. In the still-dark room, grandfather sat waiting in seiza. Touka also sat in seiza and wove the hand seal. If her precision wavered even 0.1 seconds, grandfather would say nothing—he would simply activate the room's barrier. The walls, ceiling, and floor would glow, and the space would contract. Narrow. Dark. Touka trapped within. After several hours, she would be released. Then the practice would begin again. This repeated. For fifteen years. Grandmother's voice echoed back to her. "[cold]Your talent belongs to the clan. It does not belong to you alone." Touka had believed this was normal. Always. Because she had talent, she existed here. Because she had talent, she had value. Without talent, she had nothing. She had believed this. One night, lying in her futon, Touka had wondered idly: What kind of person was Father? She tried to picture his face—and a sharp pain lanced through her head, consciousness nearly slipping away. It was strange. But she did not understand why. Thinking of her parents caused her head to ache. She simply accepted this and stopped thinking about it. Touka's foot caught on a stone in the path. She stumbled. Nearly fell. (If I fall here now, that would be pathetic. No—it would be far worse than pathetic.) She knew this was not the time for such thoughts. Yet she thought them anyway. Touka continued running. ＊ An hour had passed since entering the mountains. Her legs had grown heavy. Her breath came in constant, labored gasps. Blood seeped from the wounds on her feet, staining the soil. Because of this, she sensed the presence again behind her. The shikigami tracked by scent as well. Touka stopped and looked back. Beyond the mist, the glowing points had closed the distance again. (I'll confuse it once more.) She tried to weave the hand seal. But her fingers trembled, and the form collapsed. (No good. Ki-exhaustion is close.) Her mind grew hazy. The edges of her vision wavered and swayed. The mist thickened, and the outlines of the cedar trees blurred. The tree roots seemed to float up from the ground, and her feet tangled. She fell to her knees. The cold earth transmitted through her knees. She tried to steady her breathing but could not. Her shoulders heaved. She pressed her palms to the ground. Blood-tinged mud spread across her hands. (It's over.) The moment that thought formed— A light appeared beyond the mist. A small, orange glow. It seemed to be an old wooden house. The building's outline floated vaguely within the mist. The shape of the roof, the light in the window. A house, here in these mountains. (I'm saved.) That was all. Why was there a house here? Who lived in it? Was it safe? Touka's mind had no capacity left for such questions. Summoning her last reserves of strength, she pushed herself to her feet. Swaying, she walked toward the light. A branch scraped her cheek. She felt nothing in the soles of her feet. Yet she walked. The light drew nearer. The door of the house came into view. An old wooden sliding door. Touka pushed it open. She threw her full weight against it and collapsed inside. Her hands struck the earthen floor. Cold. Hard. Somewhere deeper in the house, she caught the faint scent of a hearth. The warm, subtly sweet smell of charcoal and smoke. Her body crumpled to the side. ＊ As consciousness faded, Touka sensed something vaguely. From deeper within the house, from the darkness, came a faint presence. Not human. Not yokai either—at least, not like any yokai she had ever known. Something quiet, ancient, and profound. Like the mountain itself breathing. That kind of presence. A low, calm voice spoke. She could not make out the words. But. (It's not frightening.) Strangely, it was not frightening at all. It felt as though she were hearing a voice this gentle for the very first time in her life. Her consciousness faded away. ＊ After Touka lost consciousness, something was happening outside the hermitage. The shikigami—the thin, luminescent serpent form—that had been swimming through the mist of the mountain path was repelled just before reaching the house. As though struck by an invisible wall, it bounced back and vanished into the mist. Touka knew nothing of this. Tsukikage Hermitage. An old house standing at the midpoint of Mikagura Mountain, at an elevation of 1,100 meters. A place that should not appear to human eyes, protected by the barrier of Yozora—the high-ranking yokai who was this mountain's guardian. Yet Touka had reached it. Why had she been able to reach it? That answer—no one yet knew.