When she woke, the first thing she noticed was the smell. Medicinal herbs—slightly green and acrid, yet strangely calming. Then came the sweet smoke of burning charcoal. An unfamiliar ceiling. Old wooden planks, their beams darkened by a thin film of soot. (Where am I...?) Touka tried to sit up slowly, but pain shot through her feet and she grimaced. Looking down, she saw white cloth wound tightly around her bare feet and ankles. The green herb smell was coming from there. Someone had tended to her wounds. The bedding was thin, but the warmth from the hearth filled the entire room. It was only now, in this moment, that Touka realized how cold she had been all this time. The chill of river water on her feet, the damp mountain air of the night, the feel of mud—all of it faded like distant memory. "[gentle]You're awake." A voice. Touka turned her head. Across the hearth, at some distance, a woman sat. Black hair that fell to her waist, lustrous and gleaming. Eyes of transparent silver-white, watching her quietly. Her skin was pale, and even sitting, she commanded the space around her with an undeniable presence. Her features were refined, yet her expression was unreadable. Not smiling, not displeased—simply there, in stillness. And her ears. The tips of her ears, visible through the gaps in her hair, came to a point unlike any human's. (A yokai...) Touka's instinct was to scramble backward. But her legs wouldn't obey. Pain and exhaustion—she had no strength left to flee. The woman didn't even move to stand. She simply reached for the earthen pot beside her and slowly returned it to the hearth. "[gentle]I am Kagari. I keep watch over this mountain. My name is Yozora." Kagari. Touka knew that word. A high-ranking yokai who lived in harmony with the spiritual energy of mountains and forests. They could take a form close to human, and their lifespans exceeded a thousand years. Her grandfather had spoken of them sometimes—that in the deep places of mountains, such things existed. So this place was... "Tsukikage's hermitage... halfway up Mikagura Mountain...?" "[serious]Yes. About 1,100 meters in elevation. You collapsed here." Collapsed. The word brought back last night. Running through the mist, pursued by spirit servants, her feet catching—and then she saw light. The light from this hermitage. "Did you... save me?" Yozora paused for a moment. "[gentle]I only treated your wounds. I didn't intend to save you." The answer was matter-of-fact. But the fact remained that she had tended to her. Touka looked at her own ankles. The wrapping was careful, the choice of herbs appropriate. Just treatment—that's what someone would say while wrapping wounds with such meticulous care. (What kind of person is she?) Then the earthen pot began to bubble. White steam rose. Yozora ladled rice porridge into a small bowl and placed it before Touka. Then she set down a cup of clear water. The bowl held white porridge with finely chopped vegetables. Steam rose to Touka's face. Warm. "[gentle]Are you alright?" Just one phrase. Four words. Touka froze the moment she heard them. (—Are you alright?) When was the last time someone had asked her that? She couldn't remember. It was so long ago she couldn't recall—or perhaps it had never happened at all. Her grandfather always asked "Did you succeed?" or "Why couldn't you?" Her grandmother said "You are a tool of the clan." When she failed, she was locked in a barrier. When she succeeded, she was given the next task. Are you alright— Her throat grew hot. She tried to answer, but no sound came. Instead, tears spilled from her eyes. They wouldn't stop. Tears from somewhere she couldn't identify, streaming down her cheeks, falling onto the rim of the bowl. (Why am I crying... really...) She didn't understand the reason herself. But the moment she heard those four words, something broke. Fifteen years of something broke. She wiped her face with her sleeve, but it made no difference. She knew it was pathetic, but she couldn't stop. Yozora didn't comfort her. She didn't offer "words of pity" or say "It's alright." She simply pushed the bowl slightly closer with her finger. "[gentle]If you want to cry, then cry. But eat the porridge before it gets cold." That was all. That simple, matter-of-fact statement only made Touka's tears flow harder. But this time it felt different. Not sadness. Not pain. Just a slow warmth spreading through the center of her chest. After some time, Touka finally picked up her chopsticks. She tasted broth. A flavor that seemed somehow familiar, yet she had no memory of it. ＊ When Touka finished the porridge, Yozora spoke quietly. "[serious]Show me your arm." Touka hesitated, then rolled up her sleeve. Near her wrist, thin marks were carved into her skin. Dark patterns sunken into the flesh. The scar of a qi-pathway curse—a binding mark placed by her grandparents. Because she had talent as an onmyoji, they had carved it to control that talent. Yozora's fingertip touched the mark gently. In the next instant, Yozora's expression changed for the first time. The face that had been quiet and unreadable now showed the faintest hint of severity. Her brows drew together slightly. Her fingertip recoiled as if repelled—not visibly, but Touka felt it. The curse had rejected her touch. "[serious]This is—" Something nearly escaped Yozora's lips. But she closed her mouth. Her silver-white eyes gazed quietly at the curse mark. As if confirming something. As if measuring something. "It's a curse," Touka said. "My grandparents placed it." "[serious]I know." The answer was brief. But the weight of those words—"I know"—caught in Touka's chest. That she could understand it just by looking. What Yozora had learned from this curse, Touka couldn't ask. She pulled her sleeve back, and Yozora said nothing more. (She had the face of someone who understood something.) A small anxiety took root in Touka's chest. But she still didn't know what it was. ＊ After a moment, Touka made a decision. She sat formally and bowed her head. "[serious]Please... take me as your apprentice. I want to properly learn qi-pathway techniques." The word "properly" carried weight. She had never learned anything of her own will. She had only repeated what her grandfather commanded, what her grandmother's tasks demanded. She had never understood if that could truly be called "learning." And now—having fled her grandparents' house, she needed to gain some strength to survive. All the techniques she'd acquired over fifteen years were built on the logic of that mansion. She still had no power she could wield by her own will. After looking at Touka for a moment, Yozora answered clearly. "[cold]I refuse." The words fell cold. "...Why?" "[serious]Your heart is broken right now." Yozora's voice was calm. Not blaming, not pushing her away—but because of that, the words struck with clarity. "[serious]If I pour techniques into you while you're broken, the vessel will only shatter further." Touka lifted her head. (My heart is broken.) The words echoed in her mind. For fifteen years, she'd been told she had value because she had talent. Polish your talent, improve, use it for the clan. She'd never thought of anything else. Talent was a tool, and she was the container for that tool. Not being accepted as an apprentice—didn't that mean she had no value? That she wasn't a usable vessel? Something rose in her throat. (After all, I'm—) "[serious]I'm not telling you to leave." Yozora's voice cut through that thought. Touka looked up. Yozora continued matter-of-factly. "[serious]There's a vegetable garden behind the hermitage. The weeds have grown wild. Pull them out. And first, heal your body. We'll discuss techniques after that." She wasn't being cast out. That single fact spread slowly through Touka. She couldn't become an apprentice. But she was allowed to stay here. She was given a small task—pulling weeds. Fighting back the urge to cry, Touka nodded. "[gentle]...Yes." ＊ The vegetable garden behind the hermitage was small. Radishes, some leafy vegetables, and rows where root vegetables lay buried beneath mounded earth. Weeds poked up here and there. Touka crouched before them and began pulling them out one by one, carefully. The soil was soft. Cold and damp, crumbling between her fingers. She held each weed at the base so the roots wouldn't break, and pulled—a small sound, like a whisper. (Is this... helping?) Not technique training, not curse maintenance. Just pulling weeds. Work that had no direct benefit to the clan—did such a task have meaning? That thought rose immediately. But Touka didn't force it away. She simply pulled the next weed. The sun began to set. The ridge of Mikagura Mountain turned orange, and the edge of the sky shifted from red to purple. Tree shadows grew long, creating striped patterns across the garden soil. A bird called in the distance. The cry of a bird whose name she didn't know dissolved into the mountain's silence. Touka remained crouched, gazing at that sky. No one was rushing her. No one was commanding her next task. Just time to be here. Touka had never known such time existed. Footsteps sounded. She turned to see Yozora emerge from the hermitage's sliding door. She didn't speak to Touka, simply stood beside the garden. The two of them stood side by side, watching the twilight mountains. Touka couldn't speak. She couldn't find words to say. But she wasn't afraid. It was the same presence she'd felt last night, just before losing consciousness. Something deep and quiet, like the mountain breathing. So this was her, Touka realized now. The sun sank beyond the mountains. ＊ When night fell, Yozora led Touka to a guest room. A small space. A single set of bedding pulled from the closet, an old oil lamp. That was all. But it was enough for Touka. Compared to nights spent repeating techniques that never improved, nights locked in barriers—anywhere was enough. As Yozora was closing the sliding door, Touka spoke. "[gentle]Yozora... thank you." Yozora turned slightly. Her silver-white eyes met Touka's. Then she quietly closed the door. She didn't answer. But in that brief gaze, there was something—something Touka couldn't name, but felt nonetheless. ＊ After Touka fell asleep, Yozora went outside alone. The night mountain was silent. Tree branches swayed faintly in the wind, their rustling carrying far. Mist drifted thinly. Moonlight filtered through the fog, painting the entire mountain in pale white. Yozora turned her gaze toward the south side of the mountain. Toward the base of Mikagura. Beyond the mist, barely visible without careful attention, several small points of light wavered. —Remnants of spirit servants. The spirit servants she'd repelled last night hadn't vanished. They'd lost their form, dissolved into the mist, yet still lingered there. Searching for traces, crawling along the mountain's edge, still trying to fulfill their master's command. "[whispers]Already moving." A low murmur dissolved into the night air. The sensation from this afternoon, when her fingertip touched the curse mark on Touka's arm, still lingered at her fingertips. That curse wasn't a simple binding technique. Something deeper had been carved into her. How far did it reach? Had it truly all dissolved, or did it only appear to? Within the barrier, there was no direct danger tonight. But Yozora's silver-white eyes remained fixed on the mist beyond, unmoving, for a long time.