Before dawn, Mikagura Mountain was silent. Silent—or rather, it was the kind of silence that held its breath. The cedar trees drank in the mist, and the first light of morning had only just begun to seep along the edge of the sky. The south wall of Tsukikage's hermitage lay in ruins from last night's storm, a tangle of splintered wood and mud. The garden fence was gone without a trace. The turnip seedlings that Touka tended to every morning lay trampled across the churned earth. Yozora knelt on the hermitage's veranda. The cloth wrapped around her left shoulder had darkened to a deep color. The wound was deep. Still, her hands did not move—both of them held Touka's hand without letting go. Touka lay on the futon. Her eyes were closed. She was breathing. But that was all. Since last night, she had not regained consciousness. Yozora's silver eyes traced the shape of the spiritual meridians flowing through Touka's body. (It's still advancing.) The curse was moving toward the depths. Slowly. Certainly. Even when Yozora sent her own meridian energy to push it back, her wounded shoulder could only output about seventy percent of her power. It was being held back, not stopped. Yozora looked at the sky. The eastern edge was faintly white. (I have to do something before dawn comes.) Do something—and she already knew what was missing from herself to accomplish that. She knew, and yet her hands had remained still all this time. For centuries, she had guarded this mountain. She had never once joined hands with a human spell-caster. She knew the meaning of the "Non-Interference Pact" down to her very bones. She knew all about the complexity of human onmyoji society, the circumstances of the spiritual professional world—everything. And yet. Touka's hand was faintly warm. Thin, and growing cold. But still warm. Yozora closed her eyes quietly, facing toward the south of the mountain. She drew her meridian energy out like a thread, thin and fine. She sent it into the southern air, riding on Mikagura Mountain's spiritual energy. A signal calling for help—in eight hundred years of life, this was her first time doing such a thing. (…I really have never done this to a human before.) She felt a sense of exasperation in her heart. Even as she felt it, she did not let go of Touka's hand. ＊ Sakura felt it from a different place than the signal. At the edge of Hibari village, she stood in the mist of early dawn. Night dew clung to her chestnut-colored hair. The family crest carved into the armband at her wrist glowed faintly. Her awareness as a shrine maiden—it trembled violently for just an instant. (Touka-chan.) It was a scream. Not a voice. Something spiritual. But Sakura heard it clearly. Her daughter's scream pierced through the mist and reached her here. "[serious]Taishi-san, let's go." Taishi, standing beside her, was already moving. He formed seals and sent his meridian energy flowing, concentrating toward the mountain. Night dew glimmered in his short dark hair, with just a hint of white at the temples. The thin scar between his eyebrows was clearly visible in the pale light of dawn. "[serious]There's a tear. In the barrier—something struck it last night. We can get in through there." His voice was calm. His hands trembled slightly. He hid it by forming the seals more deeply. The two of them began climbing the mountain path. The earth beneath their feet was damp with mist. As the elevation increased, the air grew heavier. The density of spiritual energy changed. Taishi traced the thread of his meridian energy, following the tear in the barrier—the wound where the shikigami had struck on the night of the fifth incident—as he advanced along the path. Sakura walked slightly behind him, keeping her awareness turned toward the direction where she could sense her daughter's presence. The hermitage came into view. The collapsed south wall. Scattered wood. The trampled remains of the garden. Sakura's feet stopped. Her eyes took in the devastation. And then—she saw Yozora kneeling on the veranda. Touka lay cradled in her arms. Sakura felt her strength draining away. Her knees nearly buckled. She bit her lip. She held herself up with a sharp breath. She was standing only on the strength of the thought that she couldn't collapse now—not as a mother. Yozora stood up. She moved to the edge of the veranda and turned to face the two of them. Her black hair, which fell to her waist, was disheveled. The shoulder of her kimono was stained dark. Her silver eyes quietly scanned through the bodies of both humans. Humans had entered the dwelling of the mountain's guardian. Possibly to see the wounded Touka. Or perhaps—to deliver a finishing blow. Yozora considered both possibilities as she carefully read the depths of their meridian energy. Sakura took a step forward. "[crying]We are Touka's parents. Please—let us help our daughter." Her voice trembled. But it did not break. Her soft brown eyes looked at Yozora while holding back tears. Taishi did not speak. He knelt where he stood. He placed both hands on the ground. He bowed his head—so deeply that his forehead nearly touched the earth scattered with mud and wood before the collapsed hermitage. His hands trembled slightly. Yozora watched them for a while. She continued her scan. In the depths of the meridians—even in humans, if they were long-lived spell-casters, their true feelings would seep into their meridians. The meridians of someone telling a lie and the meridians of someone telling the truth felt different. In the depths of both their meridians, there was no lie. More than that. Love for their daughter and years of guilt, mixed with their power as spell-casters, had dissolved deep within their bodies. Sakura's meridian was warm and trembling. Taishi's meridian was shaking. But the way it shook—it was the trembling of someone enduring something right up to the point of collapse. "[serious]Come in." She said it briefly. That was all. ＊ Three people gathered on the veranda. With Touka in the middle. Yozora explained briefly. The curse was a composite spell-form that could not be broken alone. The erosion into the depths was continuing. There was no time. And—the division of roles. "[serious]I will read the structure of the curse. Breaking down the framework. Sakura, use your shrine maiden purification to neutralize the toxins. Flow it in through the gaps I open in the structure. Taishi, seal it with a containment barrier so the curse doesn't go berserk again. Don't let any of Touka's power overflow outside her body." Taishi immediately formed seals. The barrier technique of an onmyoji—the practiced movements of a spell-caster who had handled yokai-related requests for years in Kasuga City. There was no hesitation. His hands still trembled slightly, but his fingers moved with certainty as he formed the seals. Sakura gently placed her hand on Touka's forehead. She closed her eyes. A prayer began, quietly. The moment Yozora heard that voice, she paused for just an instant. Sakura's voice was calm and warm. Each word carried spiritual energy as it dissolved into the air. It flowed down like rain upon Touka's body. In eight hundred years of life as a Kagari, Yozora had never listened so intently to a human voice. She could not remember the last time. Yozora began to insert the tips of her meridian energy into the structure of the curse, still holding Touka's hand. It was a composite spell-form. Something two old spell-casters had assembled over decades was tangled within Touka's body. Pull one thread and two tighten. Loosen two and three push back. The floor shook. The curse reacted violently. The remaining pillars of the hermitage creaked. Taishi's barrier formed a membrane, containing the energy that threatened to overflow. Sakura's prayer continued without faltering. Yozora loosened one thread of the structure. Sakura's purification flowed through the gap. Another thread. Another. The three of them were not moving separately—Yozora could sense that. Taishi's barrier adjusted its tension while feeling the movements of Yozora and Sakura. Sakura's purification flowed in time with Yozora's pace of loosening. It was the coordinated movement of an onmyoji and a shrine maiden who had walked together for many years. (…Humans can do it, after all.) The whisper in her heart was heard by no one. ＊ Touka's spiritual world was pitch black. There was only voice. Your talent belongs to the clan—. You have no freedom—. Forget about your parents—. Voices surrounding her like walls. Every time she tried to escape, the walls closed in. In a place without light, Touka sat curled up with her knees drawn to her chest. She had begun to think it might be okay to stay here. To remain like this forever. Because even if she went outside—she would hurt someone again. The scene of Yozora bleeding was stuck to the back of her eyelids. It had been so frightening then. Frightening and sad, and yet at the very bottom, she had thought a word—. (I shouldn't exist.) The moment that word surfaced—a different voice reached her from far away. Touka. She reflexively lifted her head. The wall of voices interfered violently. They overlapped like noise, trying to keep her from hearing. But—they did not disappear. Because Sakura's purification was scraping away the curse's toxins, the voice-blocking function was weakening. It reached her again. Touka-chan, Mama is here. —Pain did not come. Until now, every time she tried to remember her mother, a sharp pain had shot through her head. And yet this voice reached her without bringing pain with it. "[surprised]…Mom?" She was not sure if she had spoken aloud or not. But the voice grew clearer and louder. It was warm. She felt it as body heat before she understood the words. Something flowing into her chest—it was completely different from anything she had felt before. Not forced. Not trembling with fear. Just warm. Tears welled up in Touka's eyes. Something burst open in her chest. ＊ An anomaly reached Yozora's fingertips. In the place where she had inserted her meridian energy into the curse's structure, suddenly—a pushing-back force came. Not a rebound. Something cleaner, more ordered. Yozora's eyes widened. (This child's meridian is…moving on its own.) Taishi's barrier was containing the rampage with all its strength. But the power now rising from Touka's body was not a rampage. It was not chaotic. It was ordered. The true meridian that had been bound and put to sleep by the curse—was beginning to awaken from within. Touka's body glowed. A pale crimson light, soft and gentle. From her wrists, from her neck, from her back—light erupted from the places where the curse's marks had been carved. A pillar of light was the only way to describe it. Rising straight from inside to outside, the light began to peel away the roots of her grandparents' curse one by one. A sound rang out. Ga—n. Sharper than breaking glass, heavier than splitting stone, a sound echoed across Mikagura Mountain's dawn air. The sound of the curse shattering. One root shattered, then another. In a chain reaction, the tangled composite spell-form unraveled all at once. Sakura wept as she chanted the prayer. Her voice trembled. But it did not stop. Taishi maintained the barrier technique, his lips shaking. Emotion showed on his face. Yet he did not release the seals. Yozora did not let go of Touka's hand. She quietly watched the pillar of light subside. —The aftershock came. A Donn—a concussion shook the entire hermitage. Taishi's barrier absorbed it with elasticity. And all the remaining windows of the hermitage opened at once. Yozora's hair, which fell to her waist, was swept up dramatically by the wind that rushed in, thoroughly disheveled. For a while, no one moved. The air had changed. It was clear. The air of Mikagura Mountain before dawn flowed into the veranda. Yozora silent