Walking down the dark, silent arcade was like walking on the bottom of the ocean. Aiko could feel the weight of a thousand sleeping, ancient minds watching them from the shuttered storefronts. The air was thick with a quiet, humming energy. The plastic food models in the windows, usually so cheerful and fake, seemed to follow them with glassy, knowing eyes.
Their path led them to the oldest shop on the street, a place that looked more like a small temple than a store. Its name was carved on a dark, weathered wooden sign: The Soul of Steel.
Inside, the air was cool and reverent. There were no price tags or cash registers. The walls were lined with magnificent blades, from long, curving katanas to small, elegant daggers, each one resting on a silk pillow under a single, soft spotlight. These were not tools; they were venerated elders.
In the very center of the room, on a raised platform draped in black silk, rested a single, sheathed ceremonial knife, a tanto. Its wooden sheath was dark with age, and its hilt was wrapped in pure white rayskin. Even from a distance, Aiko could feel its immense presence, the dignity of a spirit that had witnessed centuries. But she could also feel its weakness. A deep, profound exhaustion, like a light bulb slowly burning out.
Kaito knelt a respectful distance from the platform. "Elder of the blade," he said, his voice low and formal. "I am Ishikawa Kaito. I have come to offer my aid."
There was no sound, but Aiko felt a response in the air. A weary, faint sense of welcome. Of acceptance. Kaito looked at her and gave a single, sharp nod. It was her turn.
Her heart pounding, Aiko approached the platform. She knelt beside the ancient blade, not daring to touch it. She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, as Kaito had taught her, projecting a wave of respect and gentle empathy. We are here to help, she thought. Please, let me understand your pain.
The connection was immediate, but it was nothing like the warmth of the teapot or the playful curiosity of the Zashiki-warashi. This was a cold, tired, and profoundly sad presence. It felt like holding a piece of frayed, ancient silk that was slowly turning to dust in her hands.
She felt the spirit's memories, but they were broken and fading. Flashes of a Shinto ceremony under cherry blossoms, the glint of its polished steel in the sun, the quiet dark of a temple shrine where it had rested for a hundred years. But the images were losing their color, turning to shades of grey.
And underneath the sadness, she felt something else. Something alien. A cold, hollow spot in the spirit's core, a tiny black hole that was drinking its light, its energy. It was a parasitic, silent presence, and it was unmaking the Elder from the inside out.
What did this to you? Aiko projected, her thought a desperate plea.
The Elder's spirit rallied, gathering its last remaining strength to give her an answer. It showed her one final, clear image.
It was not a monster or a person. It was a place. An old, derelict hospital building, its windows dark and broken. Weeds grew up its concrete walls. And on the front, there was a single, distinctive feature: a pair of heavy, double doors, painted a peeling, blood-red.
The image was so clear, so full of a cold, sterile dread, that Aiko gasped and pulled back, the connection breaking. She was panting, a cold sweat on her brow.
"Aiko?" Kaito was at her side instantly, his hand on her shoulder. "What did you see?"
"It's... it's like a void," she said, her voice shaking. "Something is inside it, draining it, unmaking it." She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and discovery. "And it showed me a place. An old, abandoned hospital with a red door."
Kaito's face went pale, his expression turning to one of grim recognition.
"The old Akitsushima Asylum," he whispered, a name that sounded like a curse. "It was shut down decades ago. The Kageyama used it for their forbidden 'cleansing' rituals. It was supposed to have been sealed, purged by a council of priests after a... containment failure."
He stared at nothing, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with a horrifying sound.
"The Silent Shrine," he said, his voice a low growl of dawning horror. "It's not a person. It's a place. A corrupted, hungry place. And it's active again."