Chapter 10: Two Weeks

  Two weeks.

  It had been two weeks since Yuki arrived at Tsukuyomi Shrine dead, female, and in possession of three tails she didn’t ask for.

  She sat on the front steps in the early morning—before the mist had burned off the valley, before Kuroki’s sword practice started, before Tsukuyomi materialized to announce the day’s agenda. The shrine was still. The forest behind it breathed slowly. Below the mountain, Wakaba Vilge was just beginning to show its first smoke from morning fires.

  Yuki wrapped her arms around her knees and thought about where she’d been two weeks ago.

  Dead, technically. Also in a void of divine moonlight arguing with a goddess about her gender. So—arguably an upgrade.

  Her tails spread loose around her on the stone, warmed by the same morning light touching the trees. She let them. No one was watching.

  The strange thing about the body she’d been given was that it kept doing things she recognized.

  She’d always liked mornings, back before. The stillness of them, the feeling that the world was still gathering itself before it asked anything of you. She’d liked sitting in pces that felt solid—the roof of the school building, a stairwell nding, the concrete outside the convenience store at 6 AM while she waited for it to open.

  This feeling, on these steps, was the same feeling.

  Different body, same preference.

  She’d assumed more would be different.

  She’d expected to feel like a stranger in all directions—to the world, to the shrine, to herself. And for the first few days she had. But now something had quietly shifted, without her noticing when, and she felt—

  “You’re up early.”

  Kuroki appeared from the side of the main building, already dressed, sword at her hip. She’d clearly been awake before this.

  “Couldn’t sleep te,” Yuki said. “Never could.”

  “Same.” Kuroki looked at the valley. She did that sometimes—stopped and looked at it like she was checking it was still there. “Do you want tea?”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I’m making some anyway.”

  She went inside. Yuki heard the quiet sounds of the kitchen: the soft knock of a pot, the hiss of water beginning to heat.

  Two weeks ago, Kuroki had arrived with a hand on her sword and the expression of someone calcuting threat levels. Now, she made tea in the morning without being asked.

  Yuki didn’t know exactly when that had changed. Somewhere between the broken ntern, the patrol markers, the shapeshifting chaos, and sitting on the steps eating dumplings Hana brought. Somewhere in the ordinary accumution of days.

  Before the tea, Yuki had done the morning ritual.

  She hadn’t mentioned that. But she had done it—properly, in the right order, without Tsukuyomi hovering to correct her. The incense arranged correctly. The offering bowls at the right angle. The purification chant from memory, the energy channeled through the haraegushi in a clean, even pulse. She’d felt the shrine’s boundary respond—a subtle thrumming in her fox senses, like a cable pulled taut.

  Two weeks ago she’d knocked over the incense burner on the third try and had to ask how to restart.

  She’d done it right today. Alone. Without thinking too hard.

  She hadn’t mentioned that either.

  Kuroki came back with two cups and sat down on the step beside her. Close, in the way they’d both apparently settled into—comfortable proximity, neither of them pressing into it or retreating from it.

  “The first barrier marker in the northeast is starting to fade,” Yuki said.

  “I know. You should reinscribe it today.”

  “I was pnning to.” She wrapped both hands around the tea. It was the right temperature again—she’d noticed Kuroki always seemed to know the right temperature. “After the morning ritual.”

  “I’ll come with you. Some of that terrain is—”

  “I know. You told me.” Yuki gnced sideways. “You don’t have to keep—”

  “I want to.”

  The words nded simply. Not weighted, not eborate. Just accurate.

  Yuki looked at her cup.

  Don’t, she told the part of herself that was paying attention to that. It doesn’t mean what you’re thinking. She’s conscientious. It’s her job. That’s it. The morning sat quietly around them.

  “This pce,” Yuki said eventually. “Does it feel like somewhere you were supposed to end up? Or does it just feel like wherever you nded?”

  Kuroki was quiet for long enough that Yuki thought she wasn’t going to answer.

  “Honestly,” Kuroki said, “this is the first pce I’ve slept well in two years.”

  Yuki looked at her.

  Kuroki’s expression didn’t change—still that careful neutral she kept—but it was the kind of neutral that had something behind it. Something she’d said out loud without deciding to.

  “Two years on the road?” Yuki asked.

  “More or less.”

  “And here you sleep.”

  “Here I sleep.”

  Yuki faced forward. The valley was brightening as the mist dissolved. A bird was singing somewhere below the treeline—the trilling kind, the one she’d started to recognize in the mornings.

  This is the first pce I’ve slept well in two years. She was not going to draw any conclusions from that. She was going to drink her tea, go do the morning ritual, reinscribe the barrier marker, think about how to extend the perimeter illusion, and not think about absolutely anything else.

  “I like it too,” she said. “Here. I didn’t expect to.”

  “No,” Kuroki said. “Neither did I.”

  A simple agreement. Two people who’d nded somewhere unexpected and found, against probability, that they didn’t mind it.

  That was all.

  Yuki finished her tea.

  She stood and stretched—her tails fanning briefly, catching the morning light—and headed inside to start the barrier reinscription.

  Behind her, she heard Kuroki stand as well.

  Her footsteps followed at a couple of paces back.

  Yuki didn’t look around.

  She didn’t need to.

  The note from Daichi was tucked under the shrine gate when they returned from the northeast marker.

  Short. His handwriting was cramped and efficient.

  Yuki-san. Three more cold spots reported on the south ridge path. Travelers say the forest is wrong there—no bird sounds, no insects. Please advise.

  — D

  Yuki read it twice.

  Three more. The first one she’d found had been on the west road. That was one. Now three on the south ridge.

  She handed it to Kuroki without a word. Kuroki read it. Handed it back.

  “I’ll add the south ridge to the evening patrol route,” Kuroki said.

  “I’ll start mapping where the cold spots are.” Yuki folded the note carefully. “See if there’s a pattern in the direction.”

  “Good.”

  Two weeks in and the shrine felt like home. Two weeks in and the mountain felt less like a refuge and more like the front of something she didn’t fully understand yet.

  Both things could be true at once.

  She tucked the note into her obi and went inside.

  Author's NoteHey everyone! ??

  Just a quick update for you all: alongside this story, I've been quietly working on a few other novels, and one of them has become my absolute passion project. I’ve poured about a year of work into it so far, and it's currently sitting at roughly 40,000 words (which is actually only half of the first volume!). ??

  I'll be honest—I'm a little nervous about releasing it. The truth is, zero views hurt a lot more than a bad review. ??

  This new project is a bit unique. It’s a massive blend of Sci-Fi and Cultivation, pulling in elements and cultures from all across the world. There is absolutely no plot armor, and the world-building is huge. Because it’s designed to be a super long series, the thought of it not finding an audience and having to drop it is definitely a stressful thought that sits in the back of my mind.

  I'd love to know what you guys think—does a massive, high-stakes progression world with no safety nets sound like something you'd be interested in reading? Let me know in the comments! Your support means everything. ?