A myriad of tablets hung, some forgotten and some shattered, and a few idols sat tarnished along the ash-paved hall—texts and features nigh unreadable. Tombs lay scattered across this foreboding scene, having painted the decay wrought with time, leaving only a narrow, gravel path cutting across the center. One could pry a stray shard of a lone bone or two from here occasionally, if only they’d squint their eyes hard enough.
Crossing amidst this earthen strait led to the gates marked with skulls and emblems; skulls of brass, carved with gems of ruby for its beady eyes; and emblems fostered from the bones of the fallen, etched like burnt ashes.
These were revealed by an incandescent lume raised from the paper lantern riddled with kanji, representing an olden language of the far south. Scribbles of these gargantuan gates had then elicited a sheen of gold and ivory.
“The lower levels have been cleared successfully.” A firm tone had cut through the serene silence of the dead, the girl in her seeming teens turning to the lady beside her, making a solemn bow, pressing a palm to her bosom. “With this, we beseech you to proceed with an ease of heart, Madame.”
The contours of her lips were curved high, the jet black garbed lady’s long locks remaining as still as a curtain when she had raised her lantern. Reminiscent of the night’s sky, one wouldn’t be able to see these locks from the front, for they’d blended so well with the unlit hall. As the blue frame of a hologram faded away from the wristwatch Tap of her attendant, nothing but the droplets of blood had reached her ears.
“Hoh, that is good to hear.” A finger of the older of the two had met the gates. “‘Tis but the former vessel of the Hourai which remains.”
Her eyes were fixated on the symbols bored therein, tracing a line from up to down with the tip of her finger, drawing dust and black as blood sank through. No doubt, the exterior was jagged, almost lost to the naked eye—not that she cared.
A division between the skulls and emblems was forged between the handles.
“These gates of Hihi’irokane shan’t cease my march,” she declared with finality.
Her blood was unlike others, after all.
The scarlet gates were enveloped in a faint glow, now invested with the essence of an elderly lineage. Slender strips of white had unfolded from its edges, racing to the far ends of the walls as the chamber awoke to life, shuddering! Was it quivering in fear, or celebration? But to the teenage companion, it was a mere greeting to whom she called the Ruler of the Night, who had soared through the tumultuous sea and the barren lands to visit what one would call an ancient dwelling.
A home of the dead.
“Come, Mimori,” the jet black lady had stepped forward, having lowered her lantern, “destiny awaits… as do the Bejeweled Leaves.”
The gray-haired girl strode by her side. “Yes, Madame.”
***
Meanwhile, at the street of a bazaar far beyond the home of the dead, at Susukino—
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“Have you heard ‘bout the clash at Hakagawa Street?”
“Yeah, it’s getting rowdy up there, huh?”
This was an exchange between a middle-aged vendor and a slender man in black. The former had a pair of holographic boards hovering by his fares, one listing his stock for sale as well as their prices. A great portion of this had consisted of fruits and vegetables, each with understandably mundane names, but then the foreigners passing along were curling their brows, peering over this assortment of nature to be festering with buzzing flies and crawling worms.
The rancid stench accompanying it hadn’t made it any better, not for the younger-looking man who’d towered over the kiosk, nor the entirety of this commercial street. That said, they were long used to it by now.
As for the other hologram? It displayed white figures in long robes and masks, standing stalwart side by side—as still as statues—across a street reported to be cordoned off for the day. The green insignia had stuck out to the viewer, who found himself staring even as the news coverage had gone on to highlight the deterioration of some of the buildings nearby. The subtitle read, “The Robes are clashing with rogue cultists? Hakagawa Street is sealed for the day!”
Beside some random drones humming over the wares amidst the hustle and bustle of the place, enthusiasm had filled the atmosphere with the variety of adverts playing off numerous boards of holograms, coupled with the calls of the many hawkers running their stalls. It was a tough world in itself to eye over, one could certainly smell the competition here.
“Ah,” the young man had turned away from the news-displaying hologram as a thought had occurred to him, “no wonder they had told me to keep the kids away from the northern parts.”
“Aye, get yer folks on a leash. White Robes runnin’ ‘bout north… means more of the Triads runnin’ free ‘ere. Either they want money, turf… or blood.” The vendor was all but huffing, a foul breath adding to the gamy air. “And oh boy do they want ‘em bad.”
The one in black just wore a nervous smile, one mixed with a shred of apologeticness. His arm tightened over the bag he held. “I’ll warn the kids as usual, but I doubt they’d—”
Heads craned up to the blanketed heavens shrouded in gray, voices quelling across the street. More specifically, the denizens were facing the distant mountain to the west, just as he did. Terse flashes emanated, thunders of the arcing lightnings were heard only as distant grumbles born of nature’s whims. Or were they?
“…Wanna bet some fat nutcase of an utter arse had bothered the great Monk Acala?”
“Perhaps he’s just angered over a lack of pilgrims?” He gave his shoulders a jerk, now the smile wearing off altogether. “But really though, I have condolences for whoever’s facing his wrath. As for whether they’d leave alive—”
“Not even in seven hell’s name they can!” The older man struck his nose high, eyes closed in surety. “What fool would even bother?”
“Even just crossing those mists to get there…”
“Yee, hence why we hawkers give and take.” His index finger was rolled about as he spoke in a matter of factly tone. “It’s how it is ‘ere in Kamui, Keigo: don’t trot to the forbidden ST☆R of Naraku, the Maou’s Realm, the Holy Mount of Hourai, and whatever ya know flays thy hide; you follow your lane like the Leylines.”
“Right, right.” Keigo nodded, stopping himself from raising both his arms lest he’d drop his bag. “I’ll keep it in mind as always, Mister.”
Just about every Common he’d shared words with had this saying to share: “Follow the lane like the Leylines do,” or some variation of it. He shook his head on his way out of the marketplace after thanking the vendor, heaving a sigh.
The Temple’s after cultists in Hakagawa… What if—?
“Suppose a detour’s in order.”
