Temple Maidens

Arata found Minakasa’s night sky brutal and foreboding these days. Inky black, thick with low clouds that blocked the moon’s radiance. From their hiding spot near the temple wall, Arata and Toma watched as groups of cultists scurried around the outer courtyard. Their low chants echoed against the stone walls, reverberating in Arata’s chest.

“They’ve doubled the guards since this afternoon,” Arata whispered, peeking over the crumbling wall. His palms were clammy despite the cold. “This is... suicide.”

“Not if we’re smart,” Toma replied, crouched beside him, digging through a battered duffel bag. They had called a truce given the current crisis.

Arata was already feeling guilty for decking him, but he couldn’t find the words, especially as Toma’s usual playful grin was absent. For once, he was taking everything dead seriously.

Arata let go of his ring. He could feel his dread pooling in his gut like acid. “This... this might be it, Toma. The vision where Hamta shoots me.”

Toma’s mauve eyes regarded him shrewdly. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.”

“And?”

“And I think you’re worrying too much,” he muttered, tugging the zipper of the bag down slowly. “We’ve established all the flashes you had were in order. You still have that cliffside honeymoon with Hana to look forward to, so we can assume you both survive.”

Arata’s throat tightened. He nodded in response, but he didn’t speak into existence his real fear.

Toma wasn’t present on that cliffside and what if he misunderstood that vision with the gun, what if the bullet was meant for someone next to him?”

Arata shook his head. He wouldn’t let that happen.

“What’s your plan?” He finally found himself saying.

Toma gave him an evil grin and showed him what was inside the bag. Two neatly folded bundles of white and crimson fabric. “Those girls I spoke to earlier, this is what they gave me. Took a great deal of bribing. Now get dressed.”

Arata blinked, staring down at the costumes. He swore to himself he’d get Toma for this.

******

Hana paced in her room. Or rather her cage. It might look like one of those old inn style rooms traditional temples housed, but this wasn’t some innocent stay. She was forced to be here.

It was quiet except for the soft crackle of a candle’s flame and the distant chanting outside.

She threw herself at her mattress and punched her pillow several times. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying.

She had fought hard. First with her parents, whose glassy eyed explanation cut deeper than any knife. Then, with the zealots who dragged her up here.

Her own blood sold her out. They were brainwashed. She had screamed at them till she felt her throat go raw, but it was useless. No matter what she said, they just kept whispering blessings, telling her they’d all be rewarded in the next life.

Now, she sat drained. But not broken.

The door creaked open, and she stiffened, expecting the guard again.

It was Hamta herself. She stepped inside, without shame, her dark robes trailing along the floor like a dark snake tracing her path.

Her black eyes were deep abysses that seemed to appraise Hana like livestock.

They bore into her, illuminated by the candle light. It was strange, her features suddenly softened.

“I wanted to see you,” Hamta said quietly, her voice monotone.

Hana glared at her, standing up despite the ache in her limbs. “Come to make sure the cow is ready for slaughter?”

Hamta’s lips twitched. “You’re brave. Fierce. Like me.”

“You’re an insane opportunist,” Hana snapped. “Don’t compare yourself to me.”

Hamta’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do you know what it’s like to grow up under the weight of prophecy? My father dedicated his life to visions, to warning people about the end. I thought he was mad. Until it all came true.”

Hana’s breath became laboured, she listened but she kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t stand looking at her face, “So now you think killing me will save you?”

“This isn’t just about me.” Hamta replied “My father, he was harsh and distant, but I know he cared about me… about everyone. He was a true prophet, and I… I can’t squander this chance to make things right! I must do all I can to save my folk. The doctrine of sacrifice is contested, but I believe we must do everything in our power to follow Minakasa’s path!”

Hana met the woman’s insane gaze and couldn’t help but laugh. “You sound just like my friend Arata. The poor fool. He’s also clinging to some warped rationalization about his dad” She snorted. “You think you can earn your father's love by finishing his work? You think that makes this okay?”

Hamta’s eyes flashed. “He did love me, but he had a higher calling.”

Hana pressed on, her voice fierce. “You need to let go of the past. Stop holding onto the ghost of a man who failed you.”

For a long moment there was silence.

Finally, Hamta turned, her expression unreadable. “Your sacrifice won’t be in vain.”

She moved to the door, pausing just before stepping out. “I’ll send in the temple maidens to help you pray and prepare for the morning.”

The door slammed with a chilling echo.

Hana sank back down onto the mattress, her chest heaving. Tears pricked her eyes, but she wiped them away angrily. No. Not now.

She wouldn’t break.

Not yet.

After a few minutes, the door creaked open again. Hana looked up, expecting more blank-faced cultists.

Instead, two shrine maidens stepped in, their hoods pulled low over their faces/ Hana had heard their garb was apparently based on Minakasa's wedding dress from the legend. 

But something was... off.

The taller one glanced up—and winked.

Hana stared in disbelief, her heart lurching. “Toma?!”

The other lifted his hood slightly, revealing Arata’s blushing face. “Shhh.”

They were outfitted in traditional kimono dresses, their faces powdered and their eyeliner thick. Their faces were just feminine enough to pull it off.

A laugh came bursting out of her, wild and breathless. She shook so much it hurt.

Toma grinned, stepping forward and dropping his hood completely. “Rescue missions sometimes require you to sacrifice your pride, I guess. You’re welcome.”

Arata rolled his eyes, already moving to the window. “We have to hurry.”

Toma produced a hacksaw from under his robe, he knelt by the window and got to work. “All right, let’s make this quick before someone finds out the real maidens never showed up.”

“What did you give them? Money?” Hana asked.

“Nah, cash is worthless now,” Toma said grunting. “I had a couple of nice family heirlooms they could barter with though. A bracelet and some cufflinks. We’re lucky they weren’t already in the temple when we saw them.”

“I’m surprised they weren’t too devoted to play along.”

“Not everyone is a believer in Hamta,” Arata chimed in, “There’s plenty who are faithful to original teachings of this place, and plenty more who are just here for the steady meals.”

Arata was knotting together strips of bedsheets with quick, practiced fingers. “We’re cutting it close. We don’t have much time.”

“Story of our lives,” Toma muttered, the saw scraped loudly against the rusted metal, making Hana cringe as Toma pulled out the first bar.

The scent of rust and sweat filled the air as Toma worked, his jaw clenched tight with focus. The rhythmic biting of the saw echoing in the tight room.

Arata kept knotting, his eyes darting to the door every few seconds. His chest was tight. He knew she was coming. Hamta, she would come, draw her gun and point it at them.

Everything around him looked familiar.

“Almost done,” Toma said through gritted teeth. The metal groaned, and with one final wrench, the last bar snapped free, clattering loudly onto the floor.

“Nice,” Arata said, tossing the finished rope to Toma. “Tie it off. Hana, you’re first.”

She hesitated, glancing back at the door. Her heart was hammering in her chest. “Are you sure?”

Arata’s eyes were hard. “Go.”

Toma looped the makeshift rope tightly around the window frame, giving it a solid tug. “It’ll hold.”

Hana climbed onto the ledge, gripping the sheets with both hands, her breath ragged. “Okay... okay.”

She clambered down like a pro, Arata stepped onto the ledge next with Toma stepping after him. Arata then remembered his earlier foreboding feeling and was just turning back to insist that Toma climb down first, when he felt all the blood drain from his face.

The door was open.

Hamta was there, her eyes burned with fury. Her robe billowed around her, she searched it rapidly and produced an old looking pistol.

“No,” she whispered, stepping inside. “No!”

Time seemed to slow as Hamta’s eyes found Arata and Toma.

“Stop!” she shouted, raising the gun.

The room seemed to shrink as Arata stared down the barrel.

It was just like the vision.

Toma was shouting something, but Arata couldn’t hear him. His ears rang as he heard the shot go off.

Bang.

Toma slammed backward into him and the pair fell backward through the window, down into the night.