From
(1912)
That night, Kagura did not linger by the window.
The events of the day clung to her thoughts—the empty harbor, the ship that had already left, and the child who had vanished as if she had never belonged to that time at all.
For someone who had lived more than two centuries, it should not have unsettled her.
And yet, it did.
Kagura retired early in the quiet residence she maintained far from the city. The house was large, built for a family that never existed, its corridors echoing with a silence she had long accepted as her companion.
When she closed her eyes, sleep claimed her almost immediately.
And the dream returned.
People would later say it was only a nightmare.
A mind replaying old fears.
But Kagura knew the truth.
This was not imagination.
This was her past.
She stood once more in the village of her birth.
The land was dying.
Crops had withered despite careful tending. Animals collapsed without illness. The soil itself seemed brittle, unwilling to give life. Fear ruled the village, and fear demanded an explanation.
The villagers had found one.
The land god is displeased.
They believed the earth demanded repayment.
Balance.
A sacrifice.
Children between eleven and thirteen were chosen—old enough to understand what was being taken from them, young enough to be considered pure.
Kagura remembered living with her parents in a modest home at the edge of the fields. She remembered the sound of voices outside, low and urgent.
And then she remembered hearing her name.
"I don't understand," young Kagura said, standing frozen in the doorway. "Why are they here?"
Her parents did not answer immediately.
Her father sat with his hands folded, eyes lowered. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady—too steady.
"You must prepare," he said. "The ceremony will be tomorrow."
For a moment, Kagura thought she had misheard.
"Prepare… for what?" she asked softly.
Her mother approached and smoothed Kagura's hair, fingers trembling despite the practiced motion
"You should be proud," her mother said. "You were chosen."
Chosen.
Kagura felt the world tilt.
"You'll stop them," she said, turning to her father. "You're my father."
Silence filled the room.
In that moment, Kagura learned something that time would never erase:
Fear can silence love.
The ceremony took place beneath a colorless sky.
The village chief spoke of tradition and survival. Of how the land must be appeased so others could live. Kagura stood quietly, her hands bound loosely—not to restrain her, but to remind her of her role.
A small cup was placed into her hands.
"Drink," the chief said.
The liquid tasted bitter, like crushed roots and earth.
She waited for pain.
None came.
Her body weakened, but her mind remained painfully clear.
They lowered her into a narrow pit carved into
the ground. Soil fell against her legs, her chest, her face. Darkness swallowed the world as villagers filled the grave.
She was still breathing.
Still aware.
Still alive.
Then—nothing.
Two years passed.
Kagura did not remember clawing her way out.
She did not remember the earth breaking apart.
She did not remember surviving something no human should.
Consciousness returned slowly.
She was sitting behind the tree line, moonlight filtering through leaves. Her clothes were torn, stained with dried soil. Her body was thin—but unchanged.
Her heart beat steadily.
Confusion came first.
Then fear.
Then instinct.
Kagura stood and walked away.
She never looked back at the village.
She never returned.
Kagura woke abruptly in 1912, breath steady but eyes wide open.
The room was dark. Silent.
She sat up slowly, hands resting in her lap, as if grounding herself in the present. The dream—no, the memory—lingered with cruel clarity.
That night, after the child's disappearance.
After missing the ship that would sink.
After fate quietly stepped aside.
Kagura rose and moved to the window.
Moonlight spilled across the floor, illuminating a woman untouched by time.
"That," she whispered to the empty room,
"was the day I stopped belonging to the past."
Outside, the world slept—unaware that one of its oldest witnesses was still awake.