The sun rose weak and pale over the ridge, casting a grey light across the valley. It made the ruins of the Sando Estate look even more miserable.
Up on the ridge, the four watchers had gone from tense to completely bored.
Gojo no Kenji sat against a mossy rock, telescope tossed in the grass beside him. He wasn't even pretending to watch anymore — he was just picking dirt out from under his fingernails with a small knife.
"Forty-eight hours," he muttered. "We're sitting in the mud eating dried rations, watching that thing do absolutely nothing. Are we sure this spirit is even still active? Maybe the village was its last meal."
The Zenin scout was sprawled on his side in the grass. "I'm so bored I actually caught myself hoping it would do something. Anything."
The Kamo scout leaned against a tree, arms crossed. "Its cursed energy hasn't changed at all. No spikes, no dips. It's completely flat. I've seen Grade 4 curses with more personality than this."
The Abe onmyoji gestured tiredly toward the estate below. "Look at the courtyard though…"
Down in the ruins, the spirit sat motionless on its throne like a discarded porcelain doll. Dozens of fly-head curses buzzed slowly around it in a brain-numbing rhythm. Every few minutes, more weak little curses crawled out of the forest and settled at its feet like loyal dogs.
Kenji finally glanced up as a weak ray of sunlight hit his face.
"She's a complete waste of time. She's not doing anything, so the small fry think she's safe. We're basically watching a graveyard grow."
The Zenin scout groaned and rolled onto his back. "I'd honestly rather be doing literally anything else right now."
Inside her mind, everything was white.
Endless, blinding white. No sky, no ground, no sense of time. Just nothing stretching on forever.
Then the white began to change.
A low rumble rolled through the void. Suddenly black shards started raining down from above — hundreds, then thousands — falling like jagged obsidian rain.
None of them touched her. Every shard that came close simply bounced off her porcelain body and fell to the ground.
The shards that hit the white floor didn't disappear.
Instead, they started to rise.
Right in front of her, they began fusing together, slowly trying to form a throne. The seat took shape, then a tall backrest. One armrest formed cleanly, but the other twisted and cracked halfway through. The whole thing looked wrong — uneven, broken, struggling to complete itself.
More shards rained down, piling up in messy heaps that tried to become walls and steps, only to collapse back into scattered black glass.
Himiko stood motionless in the middle of it all, watching the shards desperately try — and fail — to build her a proper throne room.
Her low, rasping voice echoed through the white void.
"…It's not right."
She stepped forward and placed one hand on the crooked armrest.
That was when the memories came.
Her mother, Yuna — kind, gentle, always smelling of fresh rice and lavender. She remembered being held in those warm arms as a child, hearing soft lullabies. Even when she was grown, her mother was still there, patient and loving.
Then the sickness came. Yuna grew thinner and thinner until she was gone. Himiko remembered holding her cold hand, whispering "Don't leave me…" while her father stood beside her, trying to stay strong.
The black shards reacted to the grief. The rain grew heavier, falling faster. The crooked armrest began to straighten. The twisted backrest started to smooth out.
More memories flooded in.
The funeral. Her father performing the rites with stiff dignity while she felt completely alone. Then a quiet carpenter named Haruto arrived to help repair the shrine. He didn't say much at first — he just stood beside her at the grave, offering silent company.
They talked for hours that day. Two years later they were married.
When she turned thirty-six, everything started falling apart again. Her father grew sick. The elders saw their chance and began plotting to replace her with a man. They spread rumours that she was too weak to lead, that she cared more about her husband and newborn son than the clan.
They planted evidence. Forged documents. They even claimed she was planning to kill her own father.
That lie was what finally turned the entire clan against her.
She remembered the night they dragged her from her home while Haruto tried to protect her and little Ren screamed in his crib. She remembered the cold chains around her wrists as they marched her to the execution ground.
The black rain turned into a violent storm. The half-formed throne room shook and cracked as the shards slammed together. The throne beneath her hand grew sharper and darker.
Her voice came out raw and small.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
She hunched forward, porcelain shoulders shaking.
"I was going to kill you… I had my hand around your throat… but you looked at me and said 'Please don't do this, my love. Let us live. I'll take our son far away. He'll never know any of this.'"
Cracks spread across her porcelain face.
"Haruto… you ran into the forest with our baby. Ren is still just a one-year-old. You're probably hiding somewhere quiet, raising him alone, never telling him what happened to his mother."
Her voice cracked completely.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come with you… I'm sorry I turned into this thing… I'm sorry you have to raise him alone because I stayed behind…"
She clutched the throne so hard the black shards cut into her fingers.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
The guilt fed the shards. The throne grew taller, darker, sharper with every ounce of regret she poured out.
Himiko stayed hunched over it, whispering the same broken apology into the storm.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"