Yuzume had always believed the shrine was a constant.
The grass always grew in neat little tufts between the stones. The lanterns flickered back to life if you whispered to them sweetly. The river sang lullabies in the morning, and the moon cast its silver net each night.
But today… the moss clung too tightly to the edges. The moonlight looked brittle. And she could swear the shadows beneath the old tree near the offering pit had shifted when she wasn't looking.
"Stop it," she muttered aloud, tying back her sleeves. "You're letting your tail get in your head."
From inside, Riku called out, "Did you just scold yourself?"
"No!"
A beat.
"Yes."
He poked his head out from behind the door frame, arms dusted in cobwebs. "You're losing to the broom closet again?"
"Spiders reorganized the entire shelf. I think they've unionized."
He grinned. "Need backup?"
"I can handle a few spindly legs, thank you."
She didn't mention the way the incense she lit earlier had burned out in half the time. Or that the floorboards in the back room had begun to… hum.
Instead, she dusted, swept, polished, and folded. The rhythm helped. It always did.
Until she found Riku sitting cross-legged in the main hall, holding a very old, very worn journal.
Her breath caught. "Where did you get that?"
"It was behind the incense drawers," he said, carefully flipping the page. "Buried under a box of dried peaches and two extremely offended beetles."
Yuzume walked closer, heart pounding.
The handwriting was delicate. Faded ink. The edges of the pages were curled like flower petals left out too long. She recognized it instantly.
Her voice came out small. "Sensei's…"
"Yeah," Riku said softly. "I thought I'd already read everything. But this one's different."
He turned the book toward her.
There, scrawled with a hesitant hand, was a passage she didn't remember seeing before. Riku read aloud, slow and reverent:
The veil bends more each season. I worry she may not be able to stay. The stone keeps her anchored, but I fear it is not forever. She is... not from here. Not really. And when her purpose is fulfilled, the spirits may call her back.
Yuzume stared, lips parted. Her fingers trembled at her sides.
She turned away before he could see her face and muttered, "Old men write strange things. You shouldn't take it seriously."
Riku didn't respond immediately. She could feel his gaze on her back.
"Is that true?" he asked quietly. "About you?"
"I don't know," she whispered.
But she did. Somewhere inside, she did.
Outside, the wind picked up. The chimes still didn't ring.
And for the first time, even Riku felt the silence.