The Vessel of Silence

The stronghold reeked of damp, mildewed stone and smoke; its walls were painted with crude symbols that appeared to be drawn in blood and ash. In the center of the room was a ritual circle stretched across the floor, jagged runes carved deep into the blackened stone. And at the heart of it all was Hikari, her tiny frame dwarfed by the altar’s black marble. Her small hands trembled as cultists guided her fingers into gestures that were far too great for her arm, creating signs that shimmered with a sickly glow.

The cult leader, a man draped in deep purple robes as tattered as his sanity, watched with feverish eyes, his face twisted into a demented glee.

The Wordless one will rise through her once more,” he intoned, his voice shook with manic conviction. “That silence that once devoured will return to Izumo and finish what was started. It will devour once more. And when all is unmade, only those who served will be carried into the void. We will march forward into an eternity that is beyond suffering and beyond death itself!”

Another follower cried out in agreement, “We will be spared for we are chosen!”

Another, however, whispered in a trembling voice, “Or…we will be consumed as well.”

The leader turned on him, eyes wild and burning like coals, “Do you not understand, young one? To be consumed is to be chosen! To be unmade is to become one with the void for all of eternity. 

The silence will cleanse us of the gods’ chains. There is no higher salvation than that!”

A cacophony of cheers and chants rose up. The room trembled with the madness of belief.

. . .

They had followed the river, just as Mizuchi had suggested, and had found the stronghold relatively quickly. Though she was injured, Shion had continued to press on with all her might, only resting once or twice for about an hour.

In the shadows, she now stood with her back pressed against the wall, her chest tight with pure dread. These people were willing to destroy even a child to bring back the Wordless One. She shook her head at the notion. Unmaking everything, including themselves, and believing it to be salvation was absolute madness.

She felt bile rise in her throat at the thought of Hikari, innocent, wide-eyed, and barely knowing how to speak, being twisted into some vessel for annihilation sent a deep ache through her. But more than that, it filled her with anger. She remembered her own abandonment, the years of silence she had endured alone, and her rage flared hot in her chest.

Shosei leaned in beside her, his voice barely audible. "The cult was born of stragglers related to Shijima's followers, who had been wiped out. They believe that the Wordless One is purity, a freedom from fate, from gods, and even from the world itself. They believe that by offering themselves as fuel to bring back the Wordless One, they will transcend. However, what they refuse to see is that, should they succeed, nothing will remain. Not even them." He paused, remembering a conversation he once overheard among the cultists, their voices fervent and full of conviction. 

"'To be unmade is to become one with the void,' one of them had claimed, 'a return to the true essence of existence. The world is shackled by the gods. By breaking these bonds, we free ourselves from this endless cycle of suffering.' The others had nodded in agreement, lost in the promise of liberation, blind to the doom their faith invited,” he explained softly.

Shion bit her lip and closed her fists and then opened them. She watched as Hikari’s small hands formed the signs forced upon her. The glow from the child’s fingertips, once radiant, was now wrong, and it made her heart ache. It was then that one gesture cracked too brightly, causing an outward flash of light. It lashed out like a whip and shot across the room, striking Shion across the chest and hurling her back against the stone wall. Pain tore through her ribs, searing hot, and her breath stuttered.

Still, Shion pushed herself upright, biting back pain. The sound of her body hitting the wall had alerted the cultists, and Yahata had moved to her side. He tapped her on the shoulder reassuringly, a firm and grounding gesture. His gaze was as steely as the sword in his hand. His silence was no longer emptiness but a vow. And Shion nodded. ‘We fight together.’

—

The assault began with Yahata swiftly moving to his right, where he first encountered a cluster of cultists near the altar. With a fluid motion, he dispatched them with his sword, creating a crimson arc that painted the air. From there, he charged toward the center of the room, dodging a swipe from the left. His blade was a streak of light as it cut through the flow of robes, each swing deliberate and decisive. Halfway across the chamber, near a looming column, another cultist lunged at him, only to fall as Yahata’s blade found its mark with unerring precision. Hikari remained behind, some distance to the left, and every cultist that dared to approach her found their end swiftly. Lives were extinguished before they could whisper a warning, Yahata’s path leaving a trail of fallen cloaks and vacant eyes.

Shosei moved forward with equal fury, skillfully throwing quills like darts, stabbing and slashing hands in order to disarm. He reached down for another, only to find his belt empty. Gritting his teeth, he redirected his attention to his satchel. He produced handfuls of parchment that came to life all around him. Sheets of paper folded into sharp, swirling shapes that distracted and disarmed.

In the heart of the chaos and carnage was Shion, and across from her, Hikari. Blood pounded in Shion’s ears as she took another tentative step forward. For a fleeting moment, an image flashed in her mind—a memory of her own childhood spent in fearful silence, hiding under a worn blanket as her mother’s angry voice cut through the silence, loudly complaining about her daughter’s lack of voice and how she had been “acting out.” She had only wanted to be understood by her own mother, just like any child.

The feelings of powerlessness and isolation clawed their way back to her, anchoring her terror as she looked at Hikari. Hikari’s red eyes were wide, rimmed with tears, as her tiny hands continued to form corrupt gestures of summoning, movements no longer belonging to her. Shion’s heart ached at the sight, a deep-rooted fear threatening to overtake her determination.

Shosei froze where he stood, feeling a pulsating feeling around his wrist. He looked down to see Hikari’s strand of fate begin to blacken. She was teetering on the edge of corruption. His instinct screamed to act – to take the only quill left on his person, the one Chishan had given him when he became a god – and to use it to attempt to break the thread that even the God of Fate could not. 

But his hand stayed as he saw the shine on Shion’s strand glow even brighter; it was turning gold, much like his had done when his fate changed forever. He had always been the one who watched, who waited. Had Chishan seen another path that he had not revealed to others? And was he leaving the choice to the God of Knowledge once more? Shosei clutched his wrist to his chest once more. So that’s how it was. If this were to be Shion’s fate, he would witness it all. He would witness the prophecy that he alone had heard and recorded.

“Shion!” He shouted, “She needs you!”

Shion looked at him with surprise before turning her attention to Hikari. She shook her head and signed carefully, her fingers trembling from the pain radiating through her body. “Not this way. Not you. This is not your purpose.”

Shion’s hands glowed brightly, brighter than ever before, each motion trailing light. Her signs became threads of radiance, weaving protection rather than destruction. The light stretched outward, wrapping around the child like a mother’s arms. Each thread made it more difficult for Hikari’s small fingers to continue moving against her will.

All the words she weaved through the air with agile fingers were words she wished her mother had said to her, rather than shutting her out for her differences. "I will not abandon you. I accept you. I will watch you grow. Protect you. Keep you safe. You are loved."

The air held still. Each unspoken word resonated, echoing stronger than any chaos could quell. Each gesture pulsed with her heart, her longing, and her grief. But more than that, each gesture pulsed with determination and promise. Each promise wove another strand of light around Hikari, creating a blinding shield of warmth.

Hikari blinked; her small hands finally began to falter, becoming free of the signs of the cult. Hesitantly and shakily, she began to mimic Shion’s signs once more. “Protect. Safe. Love.” The child’s glowing fingers trembled, and as they reached forward to touch the strands of light around her, the barrier only blazed brighter, officially halting the summoning ritual.

The remaining cultists roared in panic, and the glow around Shion surged even brighter.

On Shosei’s wrist, her strand shone even brighter, becoming thicker, and the blackness was slowly fading away from Hikari’s. He watched intently as Shion’s body shone like the sun behind thick storm clouds, her hands guided by an even greater power. He swore he could see it. The silhouette enveloping her body was the faint, gentle shape of Shijima no Kami, hands over hers, guiding each movement like an orchestra conductor. The deity of silence had been reborn through Shion, just as he had predicted, and the child was being led away from the darkness.

“She defies the rite! The vessel is slipping out of our control!” One cultist screamed, charging at Shion’s side with a knife.

Yahata silenced the cultist with his blade in a flash and pivoted quickly to cut down any that dared come close to Shion. One after another, they fell until the floor was stained red. His eye burned like fire, his rage unbound and surging through every fiber of his being.

“Yahata! The gem!” Shosei called.

“On it!” he replied gruffly, fighting his way to the altar, cutting down the last of the cultists standing in his way. With a roar of anger, frustration, and triumph, he plunged his blade into the blackened gem at the center of the altar, shattering it.

The stronghold fell quiet in a matter of seconds, save for Shion's gasping breaths. Her body sagged forward, her hands limp as the light around her faded. She collapsed to her knees, clutching Hikari against her chest as the child sobbed into her shoulder, grasping Shion's tattered robes.

Silence settled like a thick blanket over them as their victory hung suspended in the air, fragile and bittersweet. Shion's mind reeled as relief began to seep through the pain, and tears of disbelief glistened in her eyes though they did not fall. Hikari's small frame trembled with each heaving sob, her cries mingling with the quiet shudders of Shion's own breaths. All the unspoken fears poured out in those tears; fears that had somehow melted away with each thread of light Shion had woven around them.

Yahata stood close by, his breath heavy and his heart pounding an unsteady rhythm. He sheathed his sword with a weary sigh, the weight lifted briefly, but it left him hollow and uncertain. Shosei knelt beside them, his face a mix of relief and guilt, the shadow of the blade that had found Shion's side lurking in his periphery. It was only when he saw the knife wound, blood beginning to bloom across her robe, that the true cost of their desperate battle crystallized in his mind. In the midst of victory, a cold wave of realization swept over him, driving home the fragile line they all walked between hope and oblivion.

Shosei rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside them. He looked to Yahata, who stood at the shattered altar, his chest heaving, his clothes and face dripping with blood. For the first time since the Silence fell, he felt strength pulsing through him. It was not complete, but it was awakening. But as soon as he saw her, the thought left his mind quicker than it had come.

Shion lay trembling, pale and bloodied on the ground, the glow still clinging to her skin faintly. She had broken the rite, and she had saved Hikari, but the cost was carved into her body.

All the gods’ questions, the madness of the cult, and even the weight of destiny itself—none of it mattered in that moment. Yahata rushed forward to be at her side. All that mattered in that moment was the fragile quiet after the battle.

Only the sound of Hikari’s sobs against Shion’s chest and the determination burning in Shion’s heart. 'I will never let you go.'

That was all that mattered to her.