The Oaths of Gods

The Great Temple’s halls shuddered and shook under the clashing voices of the gods. Storm and river, sun and moon, each voice fought to become louder than the other. Accusations and warnings flew like spears, and Shion, weary and wounded, stood in the center of it all, her form as taut as a bowstring. She signed again and again, desperately, but no one looked at her. No one except Yahata was also feeling the weight of it all.

“Stop.” “Enough!” “Listen…please!”

But her silent pleas were drowned out in the flurry of shouts and insults. And then, through the storm of angry gods, another sound broke forth.

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

The voice itself was raw, ragged, but commanding. Everyone froze and stared in silence. Shion looked over with a start, her heart hammering throughout her entire body. Yahata, standing apart from the other, rubbed at his throat as his eyes blazed with pure anger. For the first time since she had encountered him, his voice rang out. It was harsh and jagged, but it was alive; the silence that had cloaked him for two centuries had shattered in one single outcry.

“This farce,” Yahata growled, his voice roughened with disuse, grew steadier with each word, even as he tasted copper in the back of his throat. “You continue to bicker like carrion over a corpse while that child has fallen into the hands of those who would twist her soul and use her to destroy us all. I have had enough!”

Shosei stared in awe while a small smile tugged at the corner of Yuue’s lips. Mizuchi nodded softly, and Chishan stood silent, though his posture gave a knowing air, as if he had already seen the possibility that Yahata’s voice would be found once more to protect. Amayori's eyes, wide with shock, turned to look at Raikuro. His own storm-worn eyes were wide with shock.

Yahata turned and strode slowly forward, his gaze locked on Shion’s. She watched him curiously as he took another step toward her before going down on one knee, his sword catching the dim light as he drove the tip of it into the stone between the two of them. He kept his head bowed and placed both hands atop the hilt.

“I was born into this world as a war god,” he said with a low voice that carried through the worn-down halls. “Once, my voice brought fear, ruin, and death. I used it to command armies, and once it resulted in the ultimate ruin, I sealed it away. But from this day forward,” he breathed sharply. He slowly lifted his head, crimson eyes meeting gray; his gaze was unguarded and raw. “From today on, this voice belongs to you. I will serve as your sword and your shield until my last breath if it means our salvation.”

Shion’s knees shook, and she reached forward slowly, placing quivering hands atop his where they rested on the hilt of the sword. It was a silent oath shared between the two of them, and the cold of the steel hilt bit into her palms, grounding her instantly. She raised one hand and signed slowly and deliberately. “Then I will not falter. We will save her, and I will prove to you, to everyone, that I am not here to destroy.”

Once more, the meaning was felt throughout the temple as strength flickered in her eyes, causing the War God’s breath to catch in his throat. He was stunned not by the vow itself, but at her conviction and the fire that lived within her, a flame that was greater than any war. Their bond, unspoken yet undeniable, deepened in that moment.

The hall erupted in furious voices once more, but differently this time. Raikuro was the first to surge forward, a storm crackling in his veins. “So, this is how it is, then?” He laughed bitterly. “The great War God on his knees to a mortal woman. Your weakness is disguised as affection,” he spat the word like venom, his features contouring further. 

“First, your voice leads to the slaughter of Shijima’s followers, and now you reawaken it only to chain yourself to another mortal woman? You will doom us all again!”

Yahata rose to his feet, his sword still planted and his voice a low growl. Shion gently squeezed his hand, steadying him somewhat. “Izumo is already doomed if we cling to fear and silence. Is it not better to fight than waste away with nothing?”

Raikuro sneered and shook his head before turning sharply on his heel, “So be it then. But mark my words, Yahata – you will carry all the blame when our end comes. You and the faker.” He pointed harshly at Shosei before turning his back on them. His heavy steps echoed as he stormed from the temple, leaving behind a suffocating silence.

Amayori’s orange eyes darted between Shosei, Yahata, Shion, and her brother’s retreating back. Her lips parted as if she had something to say, but she pursed them instead. Confusion shadowed her radiant feature; it was not anger but something more fragile.

Yuue stepped forward, and the Mood Goddess’s calm remained, even now. She took Shion’s trembling hand in her own, cool and steady. When she spoke, it was a low and soothing sound, like a lullaby. “I believe in you, Shion. And I believe in that little girl. She was born from love and sheltered carefully.”

Shion nodded and lowered herself to the ground to rest a bit. Yuue turned her attention now to Yahata, her midnight eyes, flecked with silver, softened as she looked at Yahata. “The moon sees all that is hidden in the night. You need not speak your secret aloud. I have kept it, and I have kept her safe.”

Shion watched as Yahata’s body stiffened, though she did not hear the words exchanged between the Mood Goddess and the War God. She watched as a knowing look lingered in the goddess’s eyes for a long time before she gently retreated, leaving the hall with grace.

. . .

In the quiet that followed, Chishan had not yet moved, but he kept his gaze affixed on Shosei. “Shosei. A word,” he said softly, drawing the other god to the side, away from the group. Shosei obeyed in silence, his hands trembling slightly.

Chishan extended his wrist to reveal two glowing threads wound around it like bracelets, faintly pulsing in the dim light of the temple. He took Shosei’s hand, and the threads wrapped around Shosei’s wrist.

“These are lifelines,” Chishand began, “One for the girl and one for the woman. Useless to me, but perhaps not to you. Should either of them falter beyond saving, you must try to break the thread. End their part in the loom before we are destroyed for good.”

“Chi…you…you would trust me with this task?” Shosei asked, his voice tight as he stared at the glowing strands coiled around his wrists.

“Not at all,” Chishan replied, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “I trust fate with you. And your judgment has never steered me wrong.”

“But I don’t– I can’t…And I swore that I would never take a life,” Shosei stammered. There was no way he could cut the threads if Chishan could not.

With a sigh, Chishan pressed on, “You were mortal once. Perhaps that alone grants you freedom even I do not possess. After all, you can still wield some of your abilities.”

Shosei looked at his wrist before clutching it to his chest, horror and awe mingling on his features. “I swear…I will never need to use them. They will not need to be broken.”

Chishan tilted his head, his eyes softer than the word he offered Shosei, “You are ever the hopeful fool. Though you are not so different from me.” He glanced at Yahata and Shion before looking back at Shosei. He stepped closer and took one of Shosei’s delicate, ink-stained hands in both of his hands before he spoke. “Shosei. You must promise me that you will return. You have to write down all of this, after all.”

Shosei swallowed hard, his eyes steady even as they glistened. He nodded, “I promise.”

Chishan gripped his hand tightly, as if unwilling to release it. Finally, with a flicker of something long since unspoken – regret, longing, perhaps even affection – he turned away at last and disappeared into the shadows.

Shosei’s chest ached softly, and he clutched the hand that Chishan had held tightly to his own chest; the threads were impossibly thin, but they felt heavy.

He forced his voice to be firm as he rejoined the others, “We have wasted enough time here. Hikari is out there and she is in danger. The cult will gain strength with every breath we spend in this temple,” he said. He then turned to Shion, “There is a change of clothes in the room to the side, they will be more comfortable to move in than your current attire.”

Shion nodded and got to her feet, staggering a bit. She leaned on the wall and made her way down the hall into the other room. Shosei waited for her return before he gave out any more instructions.

“Mizuchi, my friend,” Shosei said, turning to the Water God, whose calm had returned once more, “I think it will be best if you stay behind. The people need a beacon of hope and a level-headed god to look to. If we do not return, your serenity, as well as Yuue’s, will be of the utmost importance.” Mizuchi smiled sadly and bowed his head, “Please return quickly, then. Do not burden me to bear hope alone once more.”

“Of course,” Shosei told him.

Shion’s eyes met Mizuchi’s, then Shosei’s, and finally, Yahata’s. Her signs were firm and carried a weighty promise. “We will bring her home. Soon.”

The gods surrounding her did not doubt her, and she could see it in their eyes.

. . .

The silence in the temple held for only a breath longer before Yahata pulled his sword from the stone floor with a ringing scrape. He eased it into its sheath, the weight of it at his side no longer felt like a burden now that his purpose was clear. He threw his haori back on and turned to the others.

Shosei adjusted the strap of his satchel as well as the quills at his belt; his fingers lingered on the faint glow of the threads hidden beneath his sleeve. His eyes swept the room, finally landing on Shion, where fear and faith alike were evident on his features.

Shion straightened her posture and offered him a small smile to ease his concerns. Her exhaustion was heavy, but her resolve was far heavier. She looked at all of them before signing slowly, “I will not fail her. Or you.”

The wind stirred through the ruined pillars, as if carrying her vow into the world.

Mizuchi took another flask from his belt and uncorked it, allowing a little bit of water to trickle along the cracked floor. Where it landed, it traced tiny streams through crumbled stone, “The river will guide you. And it will remember your path, Shion,” he said. “And when you are ready to return home, it will carry you. Of this, I promise,” he told her. He then corked the flask and handed it to her, “You will need your strength. I have no more food to offer, but I do have this.”

Shion bent her head in thanks, smiling at him. She could feel that Mizuchi was hesitant to let them go, but she knew that she could not disappoint her teacher. She then turned toward the temple’s rickety doors. Yahata followed at her side closely, ensuring that she would not fall. Every step was in rhythm with hers; their synchrony, unspoken, had grown even deeper than before. Though he had found his voice, he had no need for it at this moment. His silent presence was plenty. Shosei brought up the rear of the group, the pages of the books in his satchel rustling softly, stirred by unseen hands.

And beyond the doors, the sky seemed darker than ever – black, starless, and unforgiving. Somewhere in the sky’s deep, dark expanse, a child cried out for them; perhaps it was only in their hearts. But they felt it.

Shion’s fists tightened at her side. ‘Hikari,’ her lips moved, but no sound came as she whispered into the silence.

Beside her, Yahata heard it anyway.

And together, the three of them stepped into the waiting eternal twilight – two gods and a human woman with divine powers.