“So many years have passed, and your choice remains the same, sister…”
A long sigh seemed to echo in her ears.
Hoshimori Shion looked towards the main hall of the shrine. She didn’t know why her gaze had suddenly been drawn in that direction; the main hall was where the Deity was enshrined, its true form seated within.
Yet, everything here felt like a dream. Even the events that had just transpired were like blurred shadows, like snowflakes melting into the ocean, leaving no trace in the depths of her memory.
The unfolding story played before her eyes, much like a film projected onto a screen. At times, the large screen flickered with a static-like distortion, making it difficult for Shion to discern the details. Nevertheless, she could still perceive the narrative on the screen with striking clarity.
From that day forward, the Shinto priest of the shrine chose to abandon his duties amidst the raging war. The Miko of the shrine, however, opted to remain, steadfastly upholding her responsibilities. In a time ravaged by conflict, it was difficult to assign blame or praise. After all, life transcended all else, an undeniable truth.
Yet, one couldn’t help but wonder if the outcome might have been different had the priest chosen to stay.
Hundreds of days and nights passed, marked by hundreds of sunrises and sunsets. The vegetation withered, then became blanketed by pristine white snow. Old trees sprouted new buds under the spring breeze, followed by scorching, fiery summers, and then, a wisp of autumn wind would stir the wind chime hanging before the shrine’s living quarters.
The war, at last, had ended.
From a military perspective, Lord Igarashi emerged victorious from the war. The daimyo who had led a vast army from the east eventually opted to retreat due to inadequate supplies. However, the conflict had reduced the once bustling merchant town to little more than ruins. Where prosperity had once thrived, only a few solitary, dilapidated thatched huts remained.
Beyond the scars left by the war, the land of this broken town was now plagued by a proliferation of malevolent spirits. Their appearance instilled such fear that almost no one dared to step outside their homes.
Once more, the season of cherry blossoms arrived. An old man, trembling with age, made his way to the shrine.
The shrine itself, in contrast to the devastated town, remained remarkably intact. The grand red torii still stood proudly atop the mountain, as if awaiting long-absent visitors. When the wind blew, the rusted wind chime could still barely produce a discordant melody.
“Hoshimori, are you still here?” The old man reached the entrance of the shrine’s main hall and called out softly. His eyes were filled with remorse, as if… he were asking a question to which he already knew the answer.
The main doors were not closed; as he pushed them open, the gentle afternoon sun streamed inside. The main hall was thick with stirred-up dust, causing the old man to cough a few times.
Yet, despite the pervasive dust, it was evident that, just a few years prior, this place had been diligently cleaned every single day.
This old man was none other than the Iori Shinto priest, who had chosen to depart during the war.
He bowed deeply, offering his respects to the Deity enshrined in the main hall. He wondered, however, if the Deity could ever forgive his abandonment.
The Iori Shinto priest then slowly made his way towards the living quarters. As the living room door was pushed open, another cloud of dust rose, illuminated by the incoming sunlight. The afternoon sun stretched the old man’s shadow long, long across the floor.
“What about the Miko from back then?” Shion couldn’t help but ask, seeing this unfold.
“She’s already dead, you know.”
A familiar voice came from right beside her. Shion turned her head to find Hoshimori Ayane seated next to her.
It was then that Shion fully took in her surroundings. She appeared to be in a projection room of a cinema, seated on a soft chair upholstered in red velvet. High above, an old projector cast images onto the colossal screen.
The scenes of the Iori Shinto priest she had just witnessed were all part of this cinematic display.
Shion felt no surprise; rather, an inner voice assured her that Ayane’s presence here was entirely natural.
Or perhaps, was this all a dream? In a dream, nothing was truly strange.
Ayane wore a simple white Miko outfit, much plainer than Shion’s own attire. She sat quietly beside Shion. When Shion looked at her, Ayane offered a faint smile in return.
“It’s precisely because that Miko is dead that we can only watch from here now. Big sister can no longer ‘immerse’ herself.”
“I see.” Shion nodded, then asked, “And then what happened?”
As Shion’s gaze returned to the screen, the images there began to flow once more.
The Iori Shinto priest once again entered the main hall of the shrine. The Deity’s sacred body was still enshrined there. He lit incense and candles for the Deity, then prostrated himself before the sacred form.
“Deity, the people of the town, and my family, are still being relentlessly tormented by malevolent spirits. People are dying every day. I am too old; I can no longer exorcise these spirits. I beg you, please save them!”
The Iori Shinto priest remained prostrate before the sacred form for a long time, his forehead already bearing marks of blood from repeated kowtows. The flickering light of the incense and candles seemed to suggest the Deity was in contemplation.
After an indeterminate period, one of the *ema* — votive tablets bearing people’s wishes — fell from where it hung. It tumbled several times before landing directly in front of the Iori Shinto priest.
As the old man picked up the *ema*, a flicker of fear crossed his eyes, quickly followed by a sense of profound relief.
“Thank you, Deity! Thank you!” Large tears streamed from the old man’s eyes, splattering onto the ground with soft taps.
“What was written on the *ema*?” Shion asked from outside the screen.
“It was a method to slow the erosion by malevolent spirits, which is also the origin of Iori Shigure’s ‘curse.’ It involves ‘bearing’ the malevolent spirits within oneself to alleviate their rampant spread throughout the town.” Ayane seemed remarkably familiar with the underlying reasons.
Hoshimori Shion was startled. “But… wouldn’t doing that lead to death? Such a massive number of malevolent spirits couldn’t possibly be borne by them! This must be a curse from the Deity, given to the Iori Shinto priest because he left!”
Ayane shook her head. “It’s not a curse, but a blessing. It is, in essence, a blessing that significantly slows the erosion by malevolent spirits, serving to counteract the side effects of ‘bearing’ them. Had he not done so at the time, the Iori Shinto priest’s son would have perished due to the malevolent spirits. He undertook this because he sought to shoulder the responsibility he had forsaken.”
“But this responsibility has continued for so long, now passed down to Iori Shigure… Is there truly no solution?”
“I believe, Big sister, you already know the solution.” Ayane’s eyes were filled with both heartache and affection. “The blessing upon you, Big sister, is far more potent than the blessing the Iori Shinto priest received all those years ago.”
Hoshimori Shion nodded.
The screen, at that moment, went dark.