Falling Walls

Mythology had always had a way of disappointing Soriko.

She reached out a hand, trembling slightly. It couldn’t be true. At any moment she expected to feel the Barrier, but the most she got was a slight breeze. An echo of the burst of air a moment ago.

“It’s gone,” a voice from behind, “It’s… it’s gone!”

Her fellow miko were sounding increasingly panicked. Soriko envied them, being able to actually sense their surroundings and all. Rituals and traditions were great, until someone came along who couldn’t see through a blindfold with magic.

She itched to take it off, but she could be executed over something like that. This was sacred ground, the infamous Dueling Ground where two Saints had been sealed in combat for a thousand years. Most thought of it as the legendary pair’s final resting place, and, for her sake, Soriko really hoped they were right.

“What do we do?” another voice, shaking, “I feel someone there!”

Just her luck.

“One of us needs to approach him,”

Of course. Someone expendable.

“How about Soriko?”

Figured. Maybe she deserved it for acting like a shut-in, she was the only one here who wasn’t part of the tight knit friend group.

“Me?” she protested, “I can’t even see!”

Silence as they thought up a good excuse.

“That’s because of your gift, isn’t it?” one piped up, “You’re special, maybe this is what you were born for,”

Likely story. No mythological lore could convince Soriko her eyes were anything but a curse. But, well, she wasn’t the type to put up a fight.

“I’ll… try,” she took a deep breath, “But could the rest of you follow behind, give me a few cues?”

More silence. She knew what that meant.

“We… should really get back to the shrine and let everyone know as soon as possible,”

The four started to turn away.

“Sorry!”

“Good luck!”

Their footsteps broke into a run, and she was left all alone.

Just like usual.

With a deep breath out, she took a hesitant step over the short retaining wall, feeling carefully. It seemed that without the barrier to lean on the bricks had mostly toppled, but it wouldn’t have been difficult to step over either way.

Her next step sunk slightly into the ground with a soft crunch, it felt like an incredibly fine powder. At least it hadn’t instantly vaporized her or anything. Now she’d just have to guess where on earth the man they’d seen was.

She took another step, and paused. The sand was sloped slightly inwards, like a massive crater. The center of the dip seemed like a decent bet, but she’d keep her ears peeled.

It took a minute or so of treading through the sand before the slope approached flat, and Soriko didn’t want to get too near the center. This was it.

She took a shaky breath.

“O Great–”

No sooner than she began a burst of energy tore through the air, sending her flying back in a wave of sand. She hit the slope with a thud that knocked the wind out of her, skidding back the way she’d come. Several frills of her ornamental clothing tore off in the impact, including her blindfold.

And so, as she came to a stop, breathing in gasps, clothing ragged, blinking sand out of her eyes and coughing, she had a realization.

The view from the mountain was really quite beautiful. From her position lying on the slope, she actually had a decent view out into the valley. The skyscrapers, the lake, the sun still lingering on the horizon. All shone brilliantly. It was a shame no one ever got to see it.

The light almost even blinded her to the figure looming in front of her, black clothing blending with the sand, which, it turned out, was also a scorched black.

Indeed, a perfect view to be the last thing Soriko ever saw.

But… it didn’t seem the figure had any intention of finishing her off. He was just standing there, face deadpan, pale blue eyes wide. Was this really one of the mythical founding Saints? She knew that Hikara and Kairou had been much younger than they were usually depicted, barely adults rather than wise old men. With the black clothing and blade at his waist, this must be Hikara, Patron Saint of the Art of Combat.

But the more she looked… he had a demeanor not unlike that of a scared cat. Cautious and defensive, although unquestionably dangerous.

Another moment passed, his blue eyes staring directly into hers. It was rare that she felt someone else’s gaze was more dangerous than hers.

And, well, she was still alive. If she had any chance, she’d better make use of it.

As smoothly as she could, she forced herself up and onto her knees, placing her forehead on the sand.

“O Great Saint,” her voice wavered, but nothing happened this time, “I am honored by your presence,”

She resisted the urge to look up as she continued.

“I… We would be honored to receive you into our hospitality. Please, guide us, we are at your service,”

No response.

An excruciating moment passed, although the sand was surprisingly comfortable on her forehead. It still prickled, though.

Finally, she raised her head as respectfully as she could.

His demeanor had changed. No longer quite as defensive, almost… confused.

“Kgh–” a ragged sound came from his throat, and he involuntarily coughed. His eyes never wavered. And when he next spoke, his voice was somehow perfectly smooth.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” He phrased the words like a fact he had no confidence in.

Soriko wasn’t sure how to respond.

“The honor is all mine,” she tried.

More unnerving staring.

“What…” his defensive posture didn’t waver, but a trace of doubt entered his eyes, “what… where… am… I?”

It really did seem like he was rediscovering language right in front of her.

“What… do I… do?”

Soriko had no idea how to answer.

“This is a shrine to your glory. We believe you were in a duel, but it seems like it’s ended,”

“End… Duel…” something deeply disturbed emerged in his eyes, “Did I… win?”

The concept seemed equally fantastical and horrifying to him.

“It… seems like it?”

His eyes fixated on her once again, and widened.

“Your eyes… they… are you like us?”

Soriko immediately winced and directed her gaze downwards.

“I apologize,” she wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘us’, but curses had only emerged centuries after the age of the Saints, “It is an… affliction of mine. I’m dangerous, I should remove myself from your presence,”

“But you’re… not dangerous,”

Soriko’s eyes widened.

“You’re not him. He was always trying to hurt me. You haven’t even tried. Where is he?”

He was getting more eloquent by the second. But before she could respond, a shout came from behind her.

“O! Great Saint, I address thee in eternal humility!”

That was High Priest Sanctor, personally come down to address the situation.

He trod past, surrounded by the grandest entourage the shrine could offer. She noticed her group from earlier avoiding her gaze. Their black skirts blended with the black sand, almost like they were being swallowed up.

Although the High Priest was the one whose weight pushed his boots deep into the sand with every haphazard step.

The large man gasped dramatically as he came level with Soriko. He was, of course, blindfolded, but she could practically feel his red embroidered eyes meet hers angrily.

“I offer my deepest and most sincere apologies on behalf of this child, she has failed to represent us!”

Soriko winced, squeezing her eyes shut. She’d nearly forgotten about her own blindfold, now torn up in the sand.

Sanctor’s eyes danced back towards the saint, betraying a hint of fear, but it was replaced with determination in a heartbeat.

“Carry her away! We will hold her trial immediately!”

Several guards rushed to grab her arms, jostling her back and forth. As they dragged her away, she let her eyes slip open one last time.

His eyes were still fixed on her.

Was he glad this train wreck of a girl was being removed? Did he disapprove of their treatment of her?

His blank face did nothing to tell her.

But deep within his eyes… she wanted to believe she saw that same spark she’d felt before they were interrupted.

Somehow, this broken, alien, man from another era seemed her greatest hope at the moment.