A Language Unspoken

The wreckage left behind from the Scriptorium still smoked, and the scent of ash clung tightly to Shion’s hair and clothes, making her eyes and nose burn. She wanted to stay put and help Shosei continue his search through the rubble until there was nothing left to overturn, but Yahata’s posture put her on edge. He had stiffened further, hand tightly gripping the hilt of his blade as his eyes swept the horizon. He knew something was coming, and she could see it in the way he held himself.

There was no time to mourn the centuries-old library crafted by Shosei and other scribes before him for millions of hours.

The first arrow zipped through the air and cracked against a fallen pillar. Shion jumped with a start but instinctively pulled Hikari close. In the blink of an eye, dozens of cloaked figures spilled into the area around them, their chants overlapping in a nauseating chorus that made Shion’s head spin. “The vessel—take her!”
 One voice commanded loudly, raising a sword from under his deep purple cloak.

“The child, she carries the spark!” Another proclaimed loudly.


“Silence will reign again!” This phrase in particular sent the rest of the cultists into a rallying cry. Hikari whimpered in Shion’s arms, her tiny hands clutching Shion’s sweater tightly, leaving tiny soot stains on the beige knit as the cultists surged forward.

Yahata moved with a swiftness that Shion’s eyes could not keep track of, steel flashing. And though his voice remained lost, his presence alone roared louder than any shout or scream she had heard in her entire life. His blade swept silver arcs through the dusky sky. The attackers who dared to come too close to the War God fell with far less grace than the ash fluttering through the air like snow.

Shion signed sharply to Shosei, "Behind me!" Her hands moved with a fierceness that contradicted the careful way she placed him. As she spread her arms in front of her, her fingers trembled for only a moment as she recalled the exact signs she needed. Light curved from the palms of her delicate hands, forming a shield in front of them. The moment the cultist's blade collided with the barrier, it sent a shockwave through her system, rattling her bones from fingers to toes. 

It left her breathless and lightheaded. Each use of her power drained her significantly, eating away at her physical strength and mental clarity. She knew the risks: If she pushed herself too far, she could collapse under the strain, or worse, permanently harm herself. Nevertheless, the barrier stood firm, underscoring her willingness to pay any price to protect those she loved.

Yahata’s eyes quickly flicked toward her, and for the most fleeting instant, he looked startled. And then recognition flashed in his eyes. He had seen it before. She was not as frail as she might seem at first glance – of this he had to remind himself.

With little effort and no words exchanged between them, the two fell into a rhythm. When Shion’s hands rose to create a shield, Yahata’s blade struck in the space where her light opened, just enough. When he faltered or lost track of his blind spots, she moved to cover him. Their movements formed an entirely new language between them, one they had not practiced together, yet their very souls understood it. It was absolutely exhilarating and a bit terrifying.

But then, one cultist slipped past, eyes wide as he sprinted straight for Hikari, who had broken away from Shosei, trying to get to Shion.

She could not scream, but her face contorted in a mixture of horror and anger. She rushed forward, faster than her legs had ever carried her before. She threw herself between the child and the attacker with one hand raised and signing while the other wrapped around the little girl. A huge, shimmering wall erupted between them, knocking the cultist off his feet and launching Shion and Hikari in the opposite direction. Shion tucked Hikari tightly against her chest as her own body tumbled harshly some feet away.

Yahata was standing above the cultist in less than a heartbeat, his sword plunging deep into the man’s chest. Blood painted the scorched earth, and Shion tried to cover the child’s tiny eyes. But she pulled herself from Shion’s arms as the young woman struggled to sit up, still dazed from the kickback of her own shield. Hikari’s eyes were wide with terror, but remained unblinking as her small hands raised, once more mimicking Shion’s. The gesture was clumsy but earnest. “Protect. Shield.”

Light sparked across her fingers, and then a small, fragile bubble shimmered in front of her and Shion. It was not much, but it was enough to protect them from an arrow as it hurled through the air and bounced off the shield.

Shosei, meanwhile, had finally reached his breaking point. His usually lighthearted grin had been erased from his features, replaced with a snarl that could only be described as feral. He hurled himself at the cultist who had just loosed an arrow at them, his fingers curled tightly around his quill as if it were a dagger.

“I will carve every word from you,” he growled.

He lunged forward, aiming for the woman’s eye, but his attack was halted mid-motion. Something had caught his body and his wrists, as if invisible strands had tangled his arm. Shosei staggered and stared at the quill in his quivering hand. And for a fleeting second, he saw tiny silver strands fall away and dissipate, leaving not so much as a mark behind. Threads of fate? But Chishan was nowhere to be seen…though he was never far.

The cultist took the opportunity to flee, stumbling into the trees.

“Sho sho!” He heard Hikari yell, and he turned his head just as Shion pressed Hikari into his chest once more.

Her hands moved urgently. “Please. Keep her safe. Do not lose sight of yourself.” Her expression pleaded with him, and he swallowed hard.

He nodded his head and clutched the child as though she were the only anchor left to his sanity.“...Right. I’ll keep her safe.” He shifted a bit before making a break for the doors of the Great Temple of the Gods, which had somehow been relatively unscathed by the fire. He rushed inside with Hikari and closed the doors.

After some time, the noise of the battle dimmed outside, and he allowed himself to peek out. His hand rested on the back of Hikari’s head, pressing her face to his shoulder to keep her from seeing any more brutality.

The clearing had gone eerily, almost dangerously, silent. The only sounds came from the drip of scarlet blood on the scorched stones and the rasp of breath. Shion’s arms stung from holding her hands aloft; her body trembled softly as her final shield guttered out. Her jeans were ripped, and her body was scraped and bruised, and blood ran down her leg — all collateral damage from her own shield sending her and Hikari flying. Her arms dropped to her side, and she continued to breathe harshly, catching her breath.

Yahata stood only a pace away, sword still dripping tightly in his hand as it dripped scarlet. His shoulders heaved softly as his gaze lingered on one of Shion’s hands, which still flowed softly. The battlefield had been theirs and theirs alone. It had been so long since he had properly communicated with someone, and though he had long wished to use his voice, this was a tongue spoken only by them and lost to the rest of the world.

The chants of the few cult members that had escaped them troubled Shion, reminding her that they were not finished. Yahata knew this as well. They would return and strike again next time, when the group would be even more vulnerable. And they would likely take Hikari.

“Come inside,” Shosei rasped hoarsely, just loud enough for them to hear him. He shifted Hikari higher against his chest. Hikari remained quiet, her eyes wide as she balled her tiny fists into his soot-stained robes, clinging to the young god as if letting go would mean the instant return of the cult.

Hikari stumbled a bit as she made her way through the rubble toward them. The outside of the Great Temple, though destroyed alongside the beautiful Scriptorium courtyard, remained almost completely intact. Some pillars had crumbled, and a bit of the ceiling had begun to bow under the weight of rubble from the endless shelves. But it was a relatively solid structure that would likely offer them at least some comfort for the night.

As the War God and Shion stepped closer, Shosei opened the door wider for them. Shion had barely made it inside the doors before she leaned against a statue of Yahata, blackened by the smoke, and slid to the floor weakly.

Hikari wriggled free from Shosei’s arms once more and made her way to Hikari. Quickly, the little girl looked up at Shosei and began to sniffle. “Hurt…” she whined, pointing to the half-dried blood on Hikari’s knee and pants.

Shosei’s brow was laced with concern, but he nodded. “I’ll do what I can,” he promised the little girl. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, ink and ash staining his tousled red hair. He gently patted Yahata’s shoulder in a way that told him to stay alert before disappearing down one of the long halls of the temple.

Shion watched him weakly, exhausted and in pain. The pain in her scraped knee, however, did not compare to the aches she felt all over, but especially in her arms. Shosei returned in pristine white robes, his glasses clean. He had clean clothes draped over his arm.

“Shion,” his voice was soft, but where it normally held warmth, it now held exhaustion. “Do you think that you can change? We will step out or turn away, of course. Whatever makes you comfortable,” he said.

But his voice sounded far away, like a radio station that you couldn’t quite get to come in without static. Shion mustered the energy to shake her head before slumping onto her side, losing most of her consciousness.

She could feel water, likely from one of Mizuchi’s flasks, being poured onto her knee as Shosei asked for Yahata’s dagger. And then part of her tattered jeans were cut away, and Shosei began dabbing at her skin, sticky from blood, with a wet cloth before wrapping it.

She felt something being placed over her – a blanket perhaps. Hikari shuffled up next to her body, whining softly.

“She’ll be alright,” Shion heard him say gently to Hikari, whose tiny fingers were tangled in Shion’s sleeve. His voice was so defeated…was she really going to be alright? She did not finish the thought as she was pulled deeper into sleep, exhaustion swallowing her up.