A few seconds ago, a playful smile had lit up Baiyu's face. Now it was gone replaced by a calm, tender stillness. Her steps slowed, losing their usual bounce. Without a word, she gently set Nezumi down still clinging to her back like a sack of potatoes.
Everything had changed the moment the shrine came into view.
Nezumi understood why. The shrine stood tall and proud a sacred place where people's beliefs lived, connecting their hearts to the divine. But for some, such a place could also become a cage one that cost them their freedom, their rights, their happiness… even the ability to feel. And the one who had lost all of that was none other than Lady Baiyu.
Baiyu's steps grew slower still, each one tighter, closer, as if her feet wished to leave no space between them no hesitation, no escape. The silence broke when Nezumi's voice called out behind her.
"Lady Baiyu… I heard a rumor. They say when there's a drought or famine… it might be because of the priestess."
Baiyu gave a faint smile the kind one wears to blend into a beautiful scene, like a stone-carved fish trying to mimic the currents.
"You might be right," she said softly, her voice as calm as still water. "Sometimes, the reason for drought or famine can point to a priestess. But… not every rumor is truth."
Her gaze lingered on the distant shrine, unreadable. Inside, she whispered the rest of the words she would never say aloud because some truths were too heavy, even for silence.
"But it's not entirely false either," she added quietly. "If the gods were truly upset… or if a priestess ever wronged a demigod… then perhaps the balance would break. Still, it's her duty to look into every possibility, to seek every cause and consequence. That is what being a priestess means."
It still stung deep in her heart the thought that even Nezumi, so close to her, might carry a trace of those rumors. But it meant nothing now. A priestess had long since learned to accept reality.
They walked on in heavy silence until at last they reached the foot of the shrine's stairs.
Now, there was no escape for Baiyu, or for her little rat.
Baiyu's fins drooped, settling near the ground like fallen petals, directionless. Nezumi's shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the sky had finally found a place to rest.
At the stair, an old caretaker approached, his back slightly bent. He moved with the uneven gait of someone who had lost his left leg long ago.
"Lady Baiyu, greeting you," he said.
Baiyu returned the greeting with a gentle nod. Nezumi, however, shrank back, slipping behind her like a rat evading the gaze of a cat.
The old man led Baiyu along the moss-covered path, their steps slow but steady. When they reached the shrine's gate, Baiyu turned to Nezumi, her voice gentle yet edged with authority.
"Nezumi, could you please wait outside? There are matters that should be discussed between adults."
Nezumi's fingers tightened at her sides. She didn't want to leave the priestess alone with this man. Priestess… I want to stop you, but it's beyond my reach. You may wish to hide the truth from me, yet the thought of it is unbearable. I can only hope there's something anything I can still do for you.
The priestess gave Nezumi one last, unreadable glance before following the old man through the gate. Her white robes brushed the worn stone as she stepped into the shrine, where the air was thick with incense.
Inside, the outer hall held the sacred hush of worship. From beyond the walls, faint chanting floated in priests so deep in their rituals they seemed unaware of time's passing.
But the old man did not stop there. His limp carried him into a part of the shrine where even the wind seemed to have forgotten to pass. He stopped before an old wooden door, its surface heavy with dust, as if untouched for years.
With a slow, deliberate push, he opened it. The hinges groaned in protest.
Baiyu's face tightened, lips dry and pale like a fish pulled from the water. Yet she followed him into the shadowed space without a word.
Outside, Nezumi sat beside a cold, lichen-covered rock, folding her arms tightly around her legs. She trembled, her breath shallow, her eyes burning as tears threatened.
Memories she had tried to bury came rushing back that day, long ago, when Baiyu had been accused of failing her sacred duties. She could still see it: the dim light spilling across the towering pillars of the inner hall, the flicker of candles casting long shadows. The pain in the priestess's eyes, hidden behind a gentle smile. The cruel whispers, cloaked in the name of faith.
Back then, Nezumi had been just a small, frightened child, newly left at the shrine by her parents. She had seen it all. And now, watching the priestess disappear through that door, she feared history was about to repeat itself.
The room beyond was dim, lit only by a lone oil lamp whose flame trembled in its stand. Dust drifted in the air, catching the faint light like specks of ash adrift in twilight. A thin, almost imperceptible draft whispered through unseen cracks in the walls.
The old man entered first, leaning heavily on his cane. When he turned, his shadow stretched long across the floorboards, curling toward Baiyu's feet like a silent warning.
"Lady Baiyu," he said, his voice like gravel scraping against silence, "do you know why the rains have abandoned us?"
It was you .