The Loom of Destiny Part Two

After a couple of hours of sleep, the gods were the first to stir – Shosei in particular. He sat and stretched, yawning softly, before his eyes landed on Shion and the book in her arms. He smiled a bit to himself and waited. It was not long before Shion was awake as well, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She stood and went to the lake to splash water on her face. Shosei picked up his book and knelt beside her.

“So…you know more about me,” he began. “I believe it’s only fair for me to learn about you. After all, I am certainly writing the chronicle of the one who is restoring our world.”

She felt her cheeks warm at the idea that she was so important that one day, a book about her would join Shosei’s library. She changed her sitting position, crossing her legs and looking at him. “We’re very similar. There is not a lot to say,” she told him.

He watched her hands before asking anything, “Your parents?”

“Do not know my father. My mother left me with my grandma when I was six,” she signed. She glanced at Hikari’s still-sleeping form. “I was that size. I could not just leave her alone.” It would give the god a better idea of her thoughts and motives, she figured.

Shosei nodded along, watching her signs carefully to ensure he understood everything. “Oh Shion…” he frowned, his eyes full of sadness.

“Mother resented my lack of speech. My grandma taught me to sign. But she died when I was sixteen. Like you, I found comfort in reading.” She made sure to sign slowly, and Shosei nodded once more.

“Thank you for telling me. I am sure it hasn’t been easy on you…your life. But you have companionship now, right?” he offered.

Shion smiled a bit and nodded.

“Right. And I am looking forward to restoring more texts with you,” Shion signed before standing. “We’ll be moving out tomorrow. So enjoy today,” he said.

—

The days in Mizu Village had passed in fragile, uneasy peace as the restoration efforts of Mizuchi and Shion drew to a close. The few villagers that remained kept their distance when Mizuchi passed through. They bowed awkwardly, bodies bowing awkwardly to the Water God. They did not dare approach him. Where once their prayers and songs of devotion had filled the village with joy, their silence was now deafening, broken only by the creak of weathered homes and the running water that had been coaxed back to life.

“Give it time. They will trust you again,” Shion signed to him, and he nodded with a small, kind smile.

“You’re right,” he said kindly. “Shosei says you all will be traveling back to the Great Temple to pull some records for when the other gods inevitably approach you,” he remarked. She nodded softly. She was not yet ready to leave, but she knew it was time.

Their supplies were meager, but they were enough to get them to the Scriptorium and perhaps to the next god’s temple. It wasn’t much – a small handful of half-spoiled root vegetables, dried strips of fish that had been preserved for quite some time, and jars of rainwater that tasted faintly of rust and dirt. Even still, it was more than Shion had eaten since arriving in Izumo, and she was grateful for anything she was given.

Shosei, of course, had been able to find small joys in any corner of the world that he traveled. He had bartered some empty pots, cleaned and filled with water, in exchange for ink and fresh parchment. He spent much of his time muttering excitedly as he recorded their travels, quill scratching across the paper in quick bursts. Hikari often crept up behind him to mimic the motions of his pen with her finger against the air, a sight that Shion could not help but smile at.Yahata kept his distance as always, but now, it felt different somehow.

The War God had been acting differently ever since their hands had brushed on accident. Or maybe it was because she had challenged him about Hikari. From staring at her nonstop to rarely looking in her direction, and when he did, his glance looked angry. His silence felt heavier than ever, pressing down like a weight on her chest, filling the spaces between her gestures with unspoken questions neither of them could voice.

It was then, on their final night in the village, that Shion discovered the reason Yahata had been up to.

The fire had burned low, its flicker painting long shadows over the stones as it cast thin light across their small camp. Shosei had gone into Mizuchi’s shrine with the Water God and Hikari to make a bed for the child and then look for some more supplies. Yahata, per usual, sat somewhat apart from Shion and the fire. Shion recognized immediately that it was one of Shosei’s scrolls. Her signs, carefully transcribed by Shosei, had all been recorded with care and consideration.

Yahata’s crimson eyes narrowed with concentration, and his brow furrowed, his eyes flicking from the marks on the parchment to her hands when she thought he wasn’t looking. His lips moved slowly, as though mouthing shapes he could not voice. He lifted his own hand and began to stiffly attempt the gestures. His hands stumbled over gestures that he had been unable to follow. Clumsy. Wrong. His frustration was growing, and it showed in every sharp movement, even as he tried again and again.

Shion’s heart twisted, and she tried to hide her smile. ‘He’s trying… to understand me.’

Then, without warning, Yahata’s fist connected with the tree beside him, causing the bark to split like the tree had been hit by lightning. The impact exploded through the small encampment, and Shion jumped a bit, feeling startled. She watched as blood blossomed on Yahata’s knuckles, but he neither cried out nor flinched. He merely pressed his lips together and lowered his hand to his side, flexing his hand before bowing his head in silence.

Shosei scrambled out of the temple, Mizuchi trailing closely behind him, clutching a sleeping Hikari in his arms. Shosei saw the blood and sighed loudly, sounding exasperated.

“Shion, my dear, can you grab the bandages in my satchel?” he asked.

Shion nodded and stood. After walking over and fetching a roll of bandage from Shosei’s bag, she walked over and held it out to him.

He took it gratefully and shook his head. “You stubborn ox,” he muttered, wrapping Yahata’s hand. “You know our bodies rebel without our full powers. You will not heal right away.”

Yahata didn’t pull away. He only shrugged and turned his face from them, jaw tight, shame and anger simmering inside of him. Shion wanted to reach for him, to sign “thank you” or “I see you,” but her courage faltered. He likely wouldn’t understand her anyway. Not yet. Instead, she placed her hands in her pockets and sat back down a few feet away, the ache of his silence pressing heavier than ever.

—

After resting and with several provisions from Mizuchi, they set off toward the Scriptorium. Yahata walked ahead of them, shoulders tense and his bandaged hand balled into a fist at his side. Hikari skipped between them, clutching Shion’s fingers when she grew tired, her tiny hands glowing faintly each time she copied a sign that Shion made or showed her. Their road wound northward, past valleys and through gnarled trees, their branches brittle and bare like bones. It was there, on the second day, that the air thickened.

The threads of silver mist wove themselves loosely between the trees, parting the branches until a tall figure stepped from the shadows. A strange chill crept over Shion’s skin, and she shivered as something threadlike brushed across her arm, like an ethereal touch meant to signal an omen. The mist seemed to cling to them, its presence weaving an unseen pattern of tension and foreboding.

“Shion Takahashi. You’ve been walking blind upon a fraying weave,” he intoned.

Chishan. The God of Fate.

Shion’s heart pounded hard, and Shosei froze, his hands clasping together tightly in an attempt to ground himself.

Shion stared at the god; he was beautiful, otherworldly, and a bit scary. Her hands trembled as she raised them, signing, “I don’t understand.”

Before Shosei was able to translate, Yahata took a wide step and moved, placing his body in front of Shion, acting as a shield as he rested his hand on the hilt of his blade.

Chishan’s cloudy gaze lingered for a moment on Yahata before it landed on Shosei. The God of Knowledge had stiffened, his blue eyes wide and his feet rooted for a moment.

“…Chi,” Shosei breathed at last, unable to stop himself. The nickname slipped out, softer than a sigh.

Chishan’s eyes lingered on him, and the world seemed to hold its breath in the short pause before Shosei began to fill the silence with his voice.

Shosei gathered his bearings and straightened his posture before speaking with a somewhat sharper and far less familiar tone. “Chishan,” he corrected, “You’ve seen it, right? You can see what’s happening? Shion she– she isn’t unraveling the loom, she’s teaching us to listen again. And not just us, but the world itself.”

The taller god’s lips curved faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “You always spoke with too much hope.”

Something old, something fragile, passed between them in that glance. Shion caught it only as a shiver, an ache in Shosei’s tone when he answered the one that had given him eternal life, “Hope is all we have left. It’s been 2000 years.”

Chishan lifted a pallid hand, the mist around him writhed like threads plucked on an invisible string. Images shimmered in the air softly before them—Shion was standing among ruins, her hands glowing with light too bright to look at. And then, Shion was cradling a broken child, rivers of flowing blood at her feet. Each vision flickered before them before it unraveled. The visions painted a future rife with uncertainty: would Shion's powers bring healing and renewal, or would they usher in further destruction with Hikari at her side? The stakes were high, and these foreshadowed moments weighed heavily on those watching, pressing the question of what destiny held Izumo.

“I may not be able to control fate anymore, but I can still see it. You know that my loom shows me every possible path,” Chishan said, his voice heavy. “But her presence here in Izumo twists them all. Savior or destroyer? It is impossible to know.”

Then Hikari stepped out from behind Shion, holding tightly to the young woman’s leg. With wide eyes, the little girl looked at him and copied Shion’s sign that she had previously been taught. “Protect.”

A small barrier formed in front of Shion for less than two seconds. The thread attached to the little shimmered violently, sparking before dissolving completely.

Chishan’s eyes widened, the first true crack in his solemn mask. “The child…” he murmured. He finally looked away from Shosei and stared at Yahata, who responded with a deep scowl. “You. Did I not warn you to–”Shion dropped to one knee and pulled Hikari close, signing quickly, “She is only a girl.”

But Chishan shook his head, the mist that surrounded him unraveled as his voice darkened. “Every vessel begins as an innocent.”

Yahata’s blade hissed from its sheath, and his hand gripped his sword tightly. Shosei raised a hand sharply in warning, ink-stained fingers trembling.

“Don’t,” he warned Yahata, but his gaze was locked on Chishan as he spoke. “Has my knowledge ever failed you? Have I ever once led your fateful decisions astray?” Shosei challenged him before adding, “She isn’t what you fear. Neither of them is. You’ll see—please, you’ll see. Just have faith in me if you have no faith in anyone else. Please…”

For a moment, Chishan’s expression softened, his hand drifting as though he might reach for Shosei. But then the moment passed, and he shook his head. Just as quickly as he had come, he was gone, leaving behind the following words: “You always hoped too much.”​Silence stretched heavy in the clearing, leaving them all with their thoughts for a moment. Yahata slid his blade back into its scabbard, eyes burning like embers as he glanced at Shion, then Shosei.Shosei exhaled shakily, clutching his quill pen to his chest. His voice was steady when he finally spoke, but the pain in it was plain. “Then we’ll just have to prove him wrong.”

The words were for Shion, but his hand twitched faintly. His mind was turning with thoughts. What exactly had Chishan begun to say to Yahata? What had he commanded of the War God? He was amazed to find that there were still things that even he did not know, that he had not recorded. Shion looked between them all. Yahata had his silent suspicions and was brooding over something. Shosei held a quiet sorrow, and Hikari’s outline was still glowing faintly as she held the child in her arms. If she closed her eyes, it felt like the threads of fate were tightening, pulling them all toward a truth none of them could yet see.

After wandering a bit longer, they set up camp in a shallow hollow protected by boulders and fallen trees. The cold wind was subdued by the stone surrounding them. That night, they made camp in a shallow hollow between boulders, the cold wind muted by the stone. Shosei lit a small fire, coaxing it to life while Yahata sat on the far side.

Hikari nestled her tiny against Shion’s side, already falling asleep. Her tiny fingers were curled into Shion’s sleeve, as though afraid she might vanish if let go.

Shion had just finished re-bandaging Yahata’s hand. His knuckles were still raw and swollen. She had wrapped them in strips of cloth that Shosei had torn from the hem of his own robe. He had packed far fewer bandages than they needed. Yahata hadn’t flinched during the binding, but his jaw was tight, his crimson eyes dark in the firelight.

She hesitated, then lifted her hands. “You should rest.”

Yahata stared at her for a long time, gaze flicking from her fingers to her face back to his own fingers. For what felt like an eternity, he did not even offer a nod of thanks. Then, deliberately, he raised his uninjured hand and shaped a crude echo of the signs he had seen her make. His form was clumsy and incomplete, but unmistakably hers.

It was the first time he had tried to answer in her own language. The weight of it startled her more than if he had spoken to her.

Shion opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure what to do with the knot tightening in her chest. Finally, she offered a small smile. She signed slowly, gently, “Thank you.”

The War God’s lips pressed into a thin line. After offering the simplest nod he could muster, he turned away from her and watched the fire closely, as if it held the only answers to all the questions of the universe. Theirs and hers.

Across from them, Shosei was quietly scribbling on his scroll, though his eyes kept straying to Yahata, to Shion, and to Hikari’s sleeping form. His quill moved faster, almost manically. He wrote as if he were afraid that the night itself would swallow up these moments if he did not capture them.

The fire crackled, and the wind whispered through the stones. Soft ambiance that Shion had come to find comforting. And though they sat side by side, the silence between them felt like a thread stretched too tight, ready to snap. After a long time, Yahata stood with a small grunt and a bow of his head, signalling that he was going to rest – just as she had told him to. And for the first time since they had set off on their journey, the War God rested.