As Shion turned and stepped out of the main hall, the sky seemed to have transformed into a brilliant azure.
Shion rubbed her eyes, wanting to confirm she hadn’t mistaken what she saw.
Indeed, she hadn’t. The shrine’s entrance was now bathed in daylight. The sky was a boundless, clear azure, so profoundly blue it felt almost unsettling.
Just outside, numerous people, clad in tattered cloth, knelt before the main hall, weeping and wailing. Their cries were so heart-wrenching that Shion quickly moved forward, intending to help them to their feet.
“Everyone, what’s wrong? Please tell me if there’s anything I can do.” Adopting the dignified demeanor of a shrine Miko, Shion inquired.
“Please save my son! He—he was scratched by an evil spirit, and the wound won’t stop bleeding!” One woman looked up, her eyes already swollen and red from weeping, bloodshot veins crisscrossing them.
“Ah? This…” Shion desperately wanted to offer help. Yet, her abilities were limited to exorcising spirits; she was no professional physician!
Before Shion could formulate a response to the woman’s plea, her sleeve was tugged by an old man beside her.
“Hoshimori-sama, the streets, the fields—they’re all overrun with those monsters. No one dares to go out and farm anymore; the rice crops are nearly dead!” The old man choked out, “Without a harvest, we won’t even survive this winter! Can the divine spirits truly protect us?”
A middle-aged man nearby, his hands calloused from labor, echoed, “That’s right, I’ve been attacked twice by those evil spirits these past few days, nearly losing my life. Can the divine spirits suppress them?”
“Regarding that, I should be able to…”
Shion was about to say she could help resolve the issue of the evil spirits, but before she could finish, another voice interjected, “This war cannot continue! Both my sons have been conscripted into battle!”
At this, the previously noisy, weeping crowd suddenly fell silent, as if a tape recorder had been paused, or perhaps, as if a forbidden topic had been touched upon.
“Do you want to die! If you speak ill of Lord Igarashi, they will…” The person next to the screaming old man tried to stop him, but the elder seemed beyond caring.
“Both my sons have been dragged to the battlefield, what else do I have to care about! If we can’t hold out, will the people of the daimyo’s mansion still bear the Igarashi name! If the war stops, I might still see my children!”
A difficult silence descended after the old man’s words.
No one wished for this war to continue, at least not among those gathered here. In these times, there are no righteous wars. The conflicts between daimyo were never truly their concern. Whose name graced the daimyo’s mansion or the keep mattered little to the people of this era; it only determined the rent they paid and the harvest they yielded.
“Divine spirits, can you make this war stop?” Another voice emerged from the crowd.
“Can the Shinto priest do it? Can he, in the name of the divine spirits, plead with Lord Igarashi?”
“That’s right, even if the war can’t be stopped, he could at least implore Lord Igarashi not to conscript any more young men!”
As Shion gazed upon the people before her, she, too, was deeply moved. She first bowed to them and said, “I understand. I will convey your requests to the Shinto priest. As for the evil spirits, the divine spirits will surely resolve the issue. Please, everyone, trust me.”
The crowd slowly quieted down. After Shion’s reassurance and her promise to deliver their messages and exorcise the evil spirits, they gradually dispersed.
Shion then turned back toward the main hall of the shrine. Her heightened senses had already spread, clearly perceiving a hurried figure within the living quarters.
If she wasn’t mistaken, the person in the main hall…
Shion took a deep breath and pushed open the great doors of the shrine’s main hall.
Sunlight streamed into the main hall as the doors opened, and the elderly man within slowly turned his head.
The old man’s hair was entirely white, his eyes filled with urgency and despair. Items were scattered across the floor of the main hall, and the old man was using a burlap sack, typically used by farmers for harvest, to meticulously pack the shrine’s belongings one by one. Those scattered objects, and the shadows of the main hall under the night sky just minutes ago, gradually began to overlap.
Under different circumstances, Shion might have taken the man before her for a thief. However, this elder wore attire far more resplendent than her own Miko robes, though his Shinto priest’s hat was nowhere to be seen.
Shion sighed, then bowed gently to the man before her. “Shinto priest-sama.”
“Hoshimori? You—why have you returned? Didn’t I tell you to flee?”
Shion raised a hand, brushing aside her white bangs, and shook her head. “I cannot… I cannot leave the shrine, leave the town, when it needs me most.”
“Hoshimori, are you mad? Those evil spirits have completely surpassed the scope of what we can exorcise. I—I am old now, I can no longer exorcise them… And besides…”
At this, the Iori Shinto priest paused. “I still have family. They live right here in this town. They haven’t been conscripted, nor have they been injured. The battlefield hasn’t expanded to the point where there’s no escape route; if you wish, you can still run!”
“Everyone in town is counting on you to exorcise the evil spirits and bring peace. I know this is truly difficult…”
“Hoshimori! I’ve raised you as a Miko for over ten years; I’ve always treated you like my own granddaughter. Let’s go together! An extra person in the carriage is no problem!”
By the end of his plea, the Iori Shinto priest’s face was flushed, his voice nearly a shout.
Shion felt a teardrop trace a path down her cheek, falling onto the wooden floor of the shrine.
The Shinto priest before her cared for her like her own grandfather. In an era ravaged by war and rampant evil spirits, for the Iori Shinto priest, who still had family, to abandon his duties was an entirely understandable choice. This was an age where simply surviving demanded every ounce of one’s strength.
Shion managed to force a small smile, then bowed deeply to the old man before her.
‘The Hoshimori Miko from four hundred years ago must have made the same choice.’
Seeing that the young woman still wouldn’t compromise, the Iori Shinto priest extended a trembling hand.
“Hoshimori, from today, you shall act as the Shinto priest. If we meet again after the war ends, I will bring you a treat.”
Shion clasped the old man’s trembling hand, signaling that she would be fine. Afterward, the old man limped toward the shrine’s main hall, lighting incense and chanting prayers one last time to the deity he served.
The formerly blue sky, too, had become stained with a dark, inky black.
“Shinto priest-sama, please go quickly. The storm… it’s coming.”