Chapter 2

Yajima Merchant House.

While a soothing moonlight and twinkling stars graced the night beyond, an unnatural twilight deepened over the Yajima Merchant House, the air thick with the scent of evening preparations. Waitresses moved with silent, practiced grace, setting the table with meticulous care. Misaki, her world a tapestry of remembered scents and tactile whispers, cooked under the Mistress's ever-watchful command. No one was permitted to help; a single flaw in the meal would bring brutal punishment, a stark contrast to the sparse meals she received.

A few maids, their hearts heavy with unspoken sorrow, attempted to offer a moment of secret aid. But Misaki, her senses keenly aware, offered a gentle, unseeing smile. "You have your own peace to protect, and burdens to carry. If Madam Yajima finds out, we'll all suffer twice—for helping me, and for neglecting your duties. Please, don't risk your peace for mine. I will endure, as I always have."

The kitchen, a place of quiet toil and suffering, held the weight of her words, a testament to a spirit that refused to break, even in the face of relentless cruelty."

The old maid, affectionately called Grandma by Misaki and all the house staff, gently stroked Misaki's head and sighed, "Misaki-chan, does the Divine not witness your pain? Are they so heartless, or are they blind as well?!" 

Misaki softly clasped her hand, a delicate smile blooming on her lips. "Oh, Grandma, please don't speak so. Remember Mother's words? When despair threatens to drown us, we must not name the Divine in bitterness—it wounds them. And who says I suffer? See, I smile."

She offered a smile, a fragile blossom amidst her pain, her sightless eyes shimmering like dew in the dawn light. "I cannot see, Grandma, so tell me... how does my smile feel to you?"

Despite the relentless torment she endured, Misaki always smiled. It had become a second skin, a practiced grace. Yet, deep within her, a silent longing bloomed—to feel the tender embrace of Mother Nature, to witness the countless springs awaken anew. Before the final darkness descended, she yearned to truly live, to cherish this uncertain, fragile, fleeting life."

Misaki labored alone, just as she always had, but today, Madam Yajima's fury burned with an unusual intensity. Gently placing a bowl of miso soup upon the table, Misaki asked, "Madam Yajima, is there anything else you desire?"

Madam Yajima's voice sliced through the air. "Enough with this charade! Your insolence is intolerable." A sneer twisted her lips. "You feign obedience, yet dare to argue? Have you deafened yourself along with your vision? I commanded sushi and miso soup for lunch — nothing more! Why then did you serve soba noodles? And why now, miso soup at dinner? Answer me! Do you think marriage will free you from my grasp?"

Misaki, her smile unwavering, her visionless eyes soft with quiet affection, replied, "The necessary ingredients were unavailable this morning. I procured them, but time had slipped away. Thus, I prepared this instead. Please… temper your anger. Taste it — I cooked it with love, for you both."

Before Madam Yajima could retort, her daughter's voice, sharp as glass, cut through the room.

"How dare you speak to Mother so?"

In a fit of rage, she seized the bowl of scalding miso soup and hurled it at Misaki.

The burning liquid seared Misaki's chest, causing her to crumple in agony, clutching at her scalded skin as tears welled in her visionless eyes.

"Mother, she served me miso soup instead of the soba noodles and grilled fish I asked for." A dark smile curled on her lips. "I returned the favor. Even that feels too easy. Don't you agree this witch deserves a fitting punishment?"

Misaki, trembling and breathless, pressed her hand to her chest, the sharp sting of pain radiating beneath her fingertips. At last, she cried out — the raw sound of pain tearing from her throat, echoing through the cold silence of the room.

A cruel smile curled at the corners of Mrs. Yajima's lips as she turned to her daughter, slowly heating a metal chopstick in the candle's flame. The flickering light danced wickedly across her face.

"Indeed, you are right," she murmured darkly. "She deserves a reckoning — no petty torment will suffice."

Misaki lay on the floor, her scalded chest a canvas of agony, her sobs breaking into ragged gasps. Her trembling fingers clawed weakly at her worn hanfu, as though she could somehow soothe the burning pain.

Mrs. Yajima knelt before her, cold and deliberate. She seized Misaki's left hand in a crushing grip — fingers like iron wrapped around her wrist.

"Hold still," she hissed.

The heated chopstick met Misaki's forearm — once, twice, again and again — each searing brand biting deeper than the last. Eight times in total, fire kissed her skin, the acrid scent of scorched flesh curling into the air.

Misaki's cries shattered the silence — jagged, broken sounds that seemed to cut through the walls themselves. But no one came. No voice rose in protest.

No mercy reached her that night.

With each searing blow, Mrs. Yajima's voice slashed through the silence. "Will you dare repeat this? Answer me!"

Misaki's cries fractured the stillness, raw and trembling. The burning metal seared into her skin; a cruel echo of past wounds reopened. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she fought to endure the mounting agony.

"Silence… or the next will be far worse."

Misaki's trembling fingers clutched at the worn fabric of her hanfu, the heat radiating from her scalded skin making her entire body quiver. Tears welled beneath her visionless eyes, threatening to spill — yet she bit down the pain, forcing herself to swallow the sobs rising in her throat.

The maids stood frozen, love and helplessness warring on their stricken faces. Silent tears slipped down their cheeks; a few clasped their hands over their mouths to stifle their sobs. One maid's hand trembled at her side, inching forward — but a warning glance from another stilled her. Their hearts screamed to protect Misaki, but fear of Mrs. Yajima's wrath caged them in place.

As Mrs. Yajima raised the chopstick for the ninth strike, Mizuki's voice cut through the heavy air.

"Mother, spare her this time." Her tone was calm, deliberate. "Her wedding is next month. If her in-laws discover this and inform Father, we risk everything."

Misaki's breath tightened at the mention of marriage. Even through the pain, a quiet dread stirred within her chest. Their plan… How deeply did it run?

Mrs. Yajima's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. Slowly, she lowered the chopstick.

"You are wise," she purred, her gaze dark with approval. "Sacrificing fleeting indulgences for a grander design… I am proud."

Misaki's hand drifted to her forearm, brushing against the raised burns seared into her flesh. The pain was sharp, relentless — yet the betrayal beneath Mizuki's carefully measured words cut deeper.

Her trembling lips parted, but no sound emerged. The quiet weight of her unspoken pain filled the room.

Mrs. Yajima cast Misaki a venomous glare. "Dare to repeat such insolence, and you will find no mercy." With a swift, brutal kick to Misaki's stomach, she turned and strode away, her heels cutting through the silence like a blade.

Mizuki lingered, the candle's flickering light casting fractured shadows across her delicate features. Her gaze darkened as Misaki struggled to breathe.

"I should set your clothes and hair ablaze," she whispered, extinguishing the flame with a slow breath. Her fingers curled into Misaki's glossy brunette hair, yanking it until Misaki's head snapped back with a choked gasp. Mizuki's lips curled into a twisted smile. "Even your hair outshines mine… Why do you possess everything, blind witch?"

Turning toward the maids, Mizuki's eyes sharpened with quiet malice. "Clean this mess and reset the table. Remove her before Mother returns. And tonight—no food or water for her. Disobey, and you'll suffer alongside her. Understood?"

The maids bowed; their fear palpable in the trembling of their hands.

"Then move!" Mizuki's voice cracked like a whip.

Misaki lay half-conscious on the cold floor, her breath ragged, the sharp sting of her wounds burning beneath the deeper ache of betrayal. Mizuki's gaze lingered on her crumpled form, a glint of cold satisfaction in her eyes. Then, with a scoff, she turned on her heel and strode down the brightly lit corridor, her attendants trailing silently behind.

Misaki collapsed, pain consuming her. Her cries had weakened to fragile whispers. "Mother… I can't bear this anymore. Where are you? You always said we are born free—then why must some live as puppets, their strings pulled by merciless hands? Why must we endure this? Are we truly so weak? Tell me… why does my dark life keep growing darker?"

Slowly, she sat up, wiping her tears with trembling hands. "Everything we have was given by God, not taken by force. But why? Why?" Her sobs escaped her chest—raw and untamed, echoing through the hollow silence.

The attendants stood motionless, their gazes lowered, hearts aching. Not out of fear—but out of quiet reverence and helpless devotion. Misaki understood—they were just as lost, just as abandoned, as she had been for as long as she could remember.

And then, as the weight of that realization settled in her chest, Misaki wiped her eyes, steadied her breath, and rose to her feet. With quiet grace, she walked toward her room, knowing—perhaps no one here was truly free.

And with that quiet, haunting truth, the light dimmed, leaving only darkness.

This wasn't the first night Misaki went to bed starving. Since her mother's death and Mrs. Yajima's arrival, hunger had become routine. But tonight was different—they had denied her even water. Still, they overlooked one truth: a girl born with the vastness of the ocean in her visionless eyes, a wellspring of inner strength, did not fear thirst.

Some maids sneaked in with food and water, their hands trembling with guilt. Misaki smiled faintly, shaking her head. "I'm not hungry. I'm just a little unwell today. You should eat and rest."

They insisted, their eyes glistening with pure compassion. Misaki's smile wavered, her voice growing thin. "They punished me today, like every other day. But if they find out you came to feed me, they'll make you suffer too—and that would hurt me more than any pain I endure myself. I can withstand hunger… but not the thought of you suffering for me. Please, go. It's just one night. I'll eat in the morning."

Grandma's tears, a silent torrent, fell freely. "Hearing you speak… it feels as though our beloved Izumi still lives through you. You truly are her child. I have nothing but blessings for you. May happiness floods your life."

She knelt beside Misaki, brushing a tender hand through her long, glossy brunette hair. "Sleep, child," she whispered. Misaki's breath steadied beneath that tender touch, and with the warmth of Grandma's hand resting on her hair, she drifted into sleep.

Late night in Akemitsu's temple (At the Genesis).

The quiet hum of the night pressed close as Mitsuo Sensei sat at his desk, the world outside fading into shadow.

He dipped his pen into the ink, the silence broken only by its delicate scratch, and began to write: "The tale of a valiant warrior, beloved child of Mother Nature. A paragon of strength, yet his heart yearned only for peace…"

He paused, the word "peace" hanging in the air. A long, drawn breath escaped his lips, his hand hovering over the parchment. A vision bloomed in his mind—a woman's face, an eternal smile, radiant as if joy itself flowed through her veins.

"She is pure spirit, a soul of exquisite beauty. True beauty lies not in form, but in essence, and she embodied this truth. Her presence scattered light, an endless cascade of diamond fragments, an enchantment beyond mortal words. She dwelled where sanctity reigned, where peace held sway. Simplicity defined her, yet she overflowed with life—kind, forgiving, boundless in her love for all. She was the very heartbeat of Mother Nature, her affection a balm to all who crossed her path. She was, and is, the most divine creation of my God and Mother Nature."

His eyes softened, her name a breath upon his lips— "Kiyoko… Goddess of Love…"

A shadow of sorrow veiled his face. "Where have you vanished? Even The Gem of Wisdom, the wellspring of my sight, refuses to yield any trace, not a whisper, not an echo." His hand trembled, his grip tightening on the pen.

"And what deepens the mystery? Upon my arrival in the mortal realm, Izumi, Chimon, and Aito were also gone. But the most chilling truth—the Sword of Justice had erased all memory of them from the chest of wind, the very archive of existence. As if they had never been."

His jaw clenched. "Why? Why does everyone I hold dear… disappear, one by one? Is my love a curse, Kiyoko? Did I err in fulfilling my duty to creation with such detachment? Or was this fate preordained?"

A hollow sigh escaped him. "No… I must find a remedy. I must. For I believe, Kiyoko, if I find you… I will unravel this enigma. Every thread of chaos, every unanswered question. I will set it all right."

His voice dropped to a near-inaudible whisper. "Where are you, Kiyoko? Is this your will? Have you hidden yourself, or has your essence faded? If so…, do you walk among mortals, in human form? But why?"

His chest tightened, his fingers a white-knuckled fist around the pen. "That day… the Court of the Universe fell silent, time itself fractured. You vanished behind those sealed doors—and when time resumed, you were gone. Why did none question it? Not Enya, not the others, not even I."

His eyes closed, a wave of helplessness washing over him. "I failed you, Kiyoko… I beg your forgiveness."

Silence, a heavy shroud, enveloped him. Then, like a fragile dawn breaking through the night, a new thought emerged.

Misaki.

His eyes snapped open. "Misaki-chan… you hold answers. I am certain. Will you speak with me again? Will you… help me?"

Steadying his breath, Mitsuo Sensei straightened, dipped his pen once more, and resumed his writing.

Yajima Merchant House.

In the middle of the night, Misaki had an astonishing dream—she had drifted back to her childhood. Strangely, the fresh burn wounds from dinner that night were also present on little Misaki's chest and left hand, eight marks in total in her hand. She saw her mother, kneeling before her, lovingly applying the magical ointment that had always soothed her pain. As a child, this ointment worked wonders, dissolving the sting almost instantly, like a whispered lullaby from the heavens.

Watching the scene unfold, as if from the other side of a glass window, Misaki felt the warmth of her lost childhood wrap around her heart. She saw herself hugging her mother's neck, her voice soft and curious.

"Mom, what magic lies within this ointment, that it heals so swiftly?"

Izumi smiled, a gentle radiance that could calm the wildest storms.

"Maybe it carries the blessing of Lord Akimitsu's affection."

"Mom, who is Akimitsu? And who taught you this wondrous art?"

Izumi's gaze softened, drifting into the depths of memory.

"Misaki, dear… never speak about Lord Akimitsu with such ease. His presence illuminates the world with the light of knowledge."

"What does that mean?" Misaki's childish curiosity remained untamed.

"He is The God of Wisdom. Delving into the depths of wisdom is no simple endeavor—it requires a true guide. But, you know, a belief resides within this heart—that one day, a great Guru will appear. Or, who knows, perhaps he already has. Under his sacred guidance, you will shine like a radiant lamp, and then, all the shadows of ignorance in your life will be pierced." A sigh, soft and deep, followed.

Izumi's eyes glistened with quiet emotion. Little Misaki, filled with excitement, twirled with joy.

"Yay! I'll gain knowledge!" Then, a thought struck her.

"Mom, did Lord Akimitsu teach you how to make this magical ointment?"

Izumi smiled, a gentle mystery cloaking her expression.

"Who knows…"

Misaki giggled, hugging her mother tightly.

"I know he's The God of Wisdom… hehe."

They laughed together, their bond glowing with quiet magic. Then, Izumi scooped up more ointment and gently applied it to Misaki's wound.

"You know, my dear," her voice seems like a forgotten melody, "everything taught to your mother came from her teacher. This ointment, which you call magical, is also his gift. He is an ocean of knowledge a depth from which one never wishes to rise."

Izumi continued, her voice touched with reverence.

"You know, Misaki, within the sacred halls of the temple's gurukula—the temple's learning hall—each lecture held a soul spellbound, drawn to Sensei's brilliance like a moth to an eternal flame. His wisdom shone, a beacon in the endless twilight of the unknown. And in the quiet chambers of her heart, a voice murmured, 'This is none other than Lord Akimitsu walking among us.' Yet, like a shadow in moonlight, doubt would whisper, 'Why would a god so luminous choose mere mortals as his beloved disciples?'"

She paused, her gaze steady and deep.

"Misaki, can you guess who that soul was?"

Misaki's eyes widened.

"Who, Mom?"

Izumi smiled, her eyes shimmering like the stars.

"That soul… was your mother, Misaki."

Misaki gasped. A breath caught in her throat.

"Mom, it was you?"

Izumi did not answer right away. Instead, a knowing smile graced her lips before she began to sing—a melody woven with tenderness, a song that had cradled Misaki's heart since the moment words first held meaning. Often, she hummed it in solitude, seeking comfort in its embrace. Yet, nothing in the world could rival the enchantment of hearing it in her mother's mesmerizing voice.

As Izumi finished applying the ointment, she stroked Misaki's hair, a tender caress.

"Misaki, this melody has comforted you since the day you were born. Each time you wept, it gently soothed you. Do you know whose hand composed it?"

Misaki shook her head, lost in the memory.

"It was woven by the hands of your mother's teacher," Izumi revealed, her voice steeped in tenderness. "A melody dear to him, yet he once confided… Lord Akimitsu holds it close to His heart as well. But there was something more—something far beyond the tune itself. He believed its true essence did not lie in its melody, but in the soul of its words. And that belief… was not born of his own thoughts, but bestowed upon him by one he held in the deepest reverence."

Misaki's curiosity sparked, a flame in the darkness.

"Mom, is there a story behind this song? Is that why they both love it?"

Izumi took a deep breath, a sigh of ancient wisdom.

"Misaki, dear… seek the answer yourself. And one day, when I'll return, share what you've found. ok?"

Misaki sighed, pressing her cheek against her mother's hand, a child's yearning.

"But I want to know now, Mom…"

Izumi chuckled, a gentle sound in the dream.

"Sweetheart, when you meet Lord Akimitsu or Sensei, ask them. You'll understand when the time is right."

She cupped Misaki's face, her gaze a wellspring of love.

"A deep belief resides within my heart… but never mind."

Misaki, lost in the moment, didn't grasp the weight of her words. She clung to her mother, a child seeking comfort.

"Mom, I feel so lonely. What should I do?"

Izumi hugged her tightly, a mother's embrace against the world's cold.

"Misaki, your heart longs for peace, does it not? Then heed these words—set foot in the temple once more. This time, let fear not shadow your steps. No harm shall touch you there. Instead, perhaps, you shall find the light that has eluded you. That is why this night has drawn me to you."

Then, Izumi fell silent, her presence fading.

A subtle shift stirred within Misaki's dream—everything around her sharpened, bathed in a brilliance she had never known.

"Are these… colors?" she wondered. She had always heard that the world bloomed in countless hues, yet such beauty had never graced her sight. In dreams past, she had traced the whispers of distant scents, the echoes of hushed sounds, the faintest hints of formless shades… but tonight, the world was alive, vivid, and radiant.

Then, like a sigh woven into the night, a voice murmured behind her—soft as a drifting shadow,

"Yes… those are colors."

She trembled, yet fear did not find her—perhaps shielded by the warmth of her mother's presence, an unspoken refuge within her heart. But how? Why now? From what unseen depths had this newfound awareness risen?

Then, a sudden realization struck her, a spark of truth.

"Mom," she blurted, "what was your teacher's name?"

Izumi's eyes gleamed, a wistful smile upon her lips.

"Mitsuo Sensei."

The name echoed endlessly in Misaki's mind—Mitsuo Sensei… Mitsuo Sensei… Mitsuo Sensei…

And then, the dream dissolved, leaving only silence. Misaki awoke.

The searing pain in Misaki's chest and arms had softened to a whisper, yet one name pulsed through her mind—Mitsuo Sensei.

She sat still, her fingers tangled in her hair, the thirst in her throat long forgotten. Instead, a tempest of questions raged within her. Why now? After all these years, why a dream so vivid, so alive? I could see… truly see! And why did Mother urge me to return to the temple? Why did she sometimes speak as though she were not my birth mother? A shiver coursed through her veins. Was she truly… or was she someone else?

Then, like lightning cleaving the heart of a storm, a revelation struck. Is finding Mitsuo Sensei truly that important? Could he hold the answers I seek? Or… are we both wandering through the same endless night, searching for the same light?

A memory surfaced—yesterday, at the temple, a voice, calm yet resolute.

"Mitsuo… I am Mitsuo. Priest, teacher, and servant of this temple."

Her breath faltered. His name… is Mitsuo! Then… the song I have clung to, the melody that has soothed my soul through a lifetime of solitude… did it once flow from his own hands?

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her robe. She remembered how he had stood behind her, silent, as if caught in the echoes of a distant past. Did he recognize it? Then, her mother's voice from the dream— 'It was bestowed upon him by one he held in the deepest reverence.'

Her heartbeat quickened. Mitsuo Sensei sang that song only once. To three disciples: Mother, Uncle Aito, and Uncle Chimon.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips. That's why he reacted so strongly when I told him I learned it from my mother! He wasn't prying—he was searching! He was trying to confirm if she was one of his lost disciples. Oh, how blindly I misjudged him!

But a darker thought crept in, cold as midnight. If he has been searching… does that mean he still remains unaware of the merciless fate that befell them?

A lump rose in her throat. Where was he when the tragedy unfolded?

Hesitation coiled around her, whispering doubts. Should I tell him everything? If I do, would it not be defiance against the 'Sword of Justice'? And if I speak the truth…, will I, too, be bound to the same cruel fate as Uncle Aito and Uncle Chimon?

She inhaled, steadying herself. But what do I have left to lose? I have been a ghost in my own skin, a shadow in my own life, for far too long. If my life must end, let it be for them.

Determination burned through her veins. And besides… if there is one soul who can guide me through this abyss, it is Mitsuo Sensei. I must meet him—for both our sakes.

Her hands trembled—but not from fear.

No… why wait for morning? What is dawn or dusk to eyes that know only darkness? Delay is a prison I will not build.

With quiet resolve, she wrapped a thin stole around her shoulders, grasped her wand, and with steps light as shadows, slipped into the waiting arms of the night.

Fearless.

Drawn by an unseen hope.

To be continued...