The rain had passed by morning. What was left behind shimmered: droplets clinging to leaves like tiny stars, the air washed clean and sharp, the earth soft beneath bare feet.
Riku sat on the stone steps with a steaming bowl in his hands. The rice wasn't burnt for once. He wasn't sure if that meant he was getting better, or just lucky.
Yuzume wandered nearby, sleeves pushed up, sweeping dew off the veranda planks with practiced swishes of her broom. Her tail flicked side to side like it had its own opinion about the morning.
She looked unusually quiet today. Not sad, exactly. Just thoughtful.
"You're going to wear a hole in the wood," he called out gently.
"I'm distributing morning blessings," she replied without missing a beat. "The planks told me they appreciate it."
"You talk to wood now?"
"They're better listeners than you."
He laughed into his tea. That same easy comfort had crept between them again, unspoken but steady.
A pause stretched between them.
"Did you sleep alright?" she asked finally.
He looked down into his bowl. "Eventually."
She stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom, her gaze softening.
"I read a bit of your sensei's journal yesterday."
Yuzume blinked. "Oh?"
"I think he was… waiting for me. Or for someone like me." He hesitated, fingers tightening around the ceramic. "My mom… she told me to come here. Told me to say she was sorry."
Yuzume didn't speak. Her expression didn't change, but her tail slowed to a still.
"I didn't understand it then. But now, it's like pieces are falling into place. Like something I never knew I lost is suddenly sitting in my hands."
She walked over quietly, stepping barefoot through the wet garden stones until she stood in front of him. Her lavender eyes searched his face.
"You feel it too?" she asked.
He nodded. "This place. You. Him. It all feels like… like it was always meant to be part of me."
Yuzume crouched beside him, resting her chin on her arms as she looked out toward the misty woods.
"I think," she whispered, "you were always meant to come here. I just didn't know it was you."
They sat like that for a while, in the gentle hush of the post-rain morning.
"I'm still figuring it out," Riku said eventually, his voice quiet. "But I want to stay. For now."
She smiled faintly, looking at the damp planks as if the shrine itself had sighed in relief.
"Good. I'd miss your terrible sweeping."
"I was improving."
"You knocked over the offering bowl last night."
"That was gravity's fault."
"You stepped on your own broom."
"It was dark."
"You mistook a spirit lantern for a fox."
He narrowed his eyes. "Okay, that one wasn't entirely my— wait, how do you even mistake a floating light for a—?"
Her giggle interrupted him, bright and airy. She stood, spun the broom once dramatically, and bowed.
"Breakfast duty is yours tomorrow. Consider it a sacred task."
"Yes, high priestess of sarcasm."
"I prefer Mistress of Moonlight Grace."
He gave her a look, and she stuck out her tongue in response.
As she twirled away down the hall, tail bouncing behind her, Riku couldn't help the smile that lingered. Something had shifted again — gentle, but sure.
Less mystery.
More belonging.
The shrine had begun to feel like home.
And maybe, just maybe, so had she.