The sun hung low, its golden light stretching like sleepy fingers across the garden paths.Lavender swayed lazily in the breeze, their sweet scent curling through the shrine's corridors. Somewhere far off, a bell chimed, though neither of them had rung it.
Yuzume stood at the edge of the inner courtyard, broom in hand, staring at the outer walkway.
She hadn't been past it in days.
"Something wrong?" Riku asked, poking his head out from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting his cheek.
"No," she said quietly. "Just... thinking."
He watched her for a moment, then disappeared back inside. A few minutes later, the smell of sweet rice and toasted miso filled the air. He was getting good at this. Too good. She didn't even need to guide him anymore.
She turned back to sweeping, but the effort made her arms ache more than usual. She shook it off and kept going. When her tail brushed the lavender bushes, they trembled like they recognized her, or were trying to hold her back.
The center of the shrine was where she felt strongest now. The closer she stayed to the moonstone altar, the lighter her steps became. But past the peach tree, her body moved slower, heavier, like she was wading through dreams.
She hadn't told Riku.
Not because she didn't trust him, but because she didn't know how. She didn't even have the words for it. There was no illness, no visible wound. Just... something fading. Quietly. Gently.
As if the shrine had whispered, thank you. You can rest now.
But she wasn't ready to hear that.
So she worked twice as hard. Dusted the prayer boxes, replaced the charm ribbons, lit incense even when there were no spirits present. She smiled through the weight in her bones and made jokes when her knees buckled.
That evening, she found herself dozing near the altar, head resting against the stone, warmth buzzing faintly beneath her cheek.
She woke to Riku placing a blanket over her shoulders.
"You didn't come in for dinner," he said, kneeling beside her.
"Just... taking a break," she murmured.
"You've been taking a lot of those lately."
"Maybe I've earned them," she teased.
He didn't laugh. Not this time. He just reached forward and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You're glowing again," he whispered.
She blinked. "Am I?"
"A little."
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
They sat there a while, both of them pretending it was just another quiet evening. That nothing had changed. That the moonstone's light didn't flicker like a dying candle.
When the stars came out, she rested her head on his shoulder.
"I like it here," she said softly.
"I do too."
"If one day I'm... not around," she started, then paused, "do you think the shrine will remember me?"
He turned to her. "Yuzume—"
"No, it's okay. It's a silly question." She forced a small laugh. "Ignore me. I think I'm just sleepy."
But she knew.
Not fully. Not clearly. But somewhere in the edges of her spirit, something was shifting.
The veil shimmered.
And the shrine grew quieter.