Divine Responsibility over the Tsukimori.

Dawn had barely brushed the mountaintops with pale gold when an urgent caw split the morning stillness. Yuna, already kneeling in the shrine courtyard to practice her sealing chant, paused mid-breath. Haru, chasing a wayward fox pup across the stone pathway, skidded to a halt. Kaede let her cup of tea grow cold. Ren, standing sentinel by the great torii, straightened as the massive black crow alighted on the stone lantern.

Its eyes—ancient embers—swept over the family before it bowed its head and dropped a scroll bound in Tsukimori velvet ribbon.

Airi retrieved it with trembling hands. The seal bore her husband’s swift brushstrokes: “Daijirō Tsukimori”

With the family gathered, Airi unrolled the letter:

My dearest Kaede, Ren, Haru, and Yuna

By the time you read this, I will be in the borderlands of the southern provinces, training the next generation of swordsmen. I have made arrangements for Ren to join me at once; he must master the final forms of the Moon-Sword Style before the next lunar eclipse. Ren, your journey begins tomorrow.

Kaede, my daughter, your strength and wisdom have grown beyond my hopes. I give you my blessing to solidify your bond with Takeshi. Start your own family, and may your union bring as much joy as my own marriage once did.

Haru, I know your love of spirits—seek out Onmyō-hakase Tetsuro in the village of Suzukawa. He will guide you to call forth your first familiar.

Yuna, you stand at the cusp of power and peril. Continue your training with the keepers of the east wing and press deeper into the sealing arts. We shall reunite soon.

Protect each other. I am proud beyond words.

—Father.

Kaede let out a triumphant laugh. “He actually wrote ‘start your own family!’” She spun to Takeshi, tears of happiness in her eyes. “Father approves!”

Ren’s jaw tightened, awe and determination flickering in his calm gaze. “The Moon-Sword Style... I will leave at first light.”

Haru pumped a fist. “Master Tetsuro? I’m going today!”

Yuna felt her chest tighten at the final words. “Press deeper into the sealing arts.” She closed her eyes and bowed. “I will, Father.”

The next morning, Ren donned his travel gear: a simple hakama, sword belt, and the white scarf his father had once worn. Kaede tied a small protective talisman around his wrist.

“Don’t get killed,” Kaede teased, though her voice cracked.

Ren bowed deeply. “I will return in time for the eclipse. Bring news of your marriage.”

Haru saluted awkwardly. “Show me some moves when you come back!”

Yuna pressed a final kiss to his forehead. “Remember: the Moon-Sword Style is poetry in motion.”

He smiled—a rare, warm curve. Then he was gone down the winding path, leaving white blossoms drifting in his wake.

That afternoon, the shrine’s small garden was transformed. Lanterns hung from the plum tree, and Kaede arranged peony petals in a heart shape on the stone. Takeshi arrived with a branch of red camellia—his gift and his pledge.

They exchanged rings of braided silk—one ruby, one jade—while Airi recited blessings. Haru and Ren (who had just returned for a moment’s rest) sheltered the pair under a canopy of paper cranes. Yuna stood beside her sister, Sayomi tucked in her arms, tears shining in her eyes.

Kaede whispered, “With this ring, I bind my life to yours.”

Takeshi answered, “And with this heart, I grant you mine.”

The echo of Airi’s “So be it” carried on the breeze, and the garden seemed to bloom brighter in approval.

No sooner had the wedding vows ended than Haru dashed off to Suzukawa village. Within the hour, he stood before Master Tetsuro, an aged hermit with silver hair and fox-like eyes.

Under Tetsuro’s guidance, Haru sketched the seal of his spirit—a coiled lingzhi mushroom crowned by twin firefly lights—on a bamboo tablet. Chanting the words taught by the master, Haru’s voice wavered, then grew strong.

A swirl of mist gathered, and a tiny kistune (spirit fox) no larger than his hand emerged, fur shimmering with ghost-light. It bowed to him. Haru laughed in triumph and cradled the little fox.

“I’ll call you Kiri,” he whispered. Kiri’s eyes glowed, and the earliest bond of Onmyōdō was forged.

Back at Hakushindō, Yuna immersed herself in the shrine’s restricted tomes. By candlelight she traced the final strokes of the sealing chant, her voice steady as the earth.

With Airi’s guidance, she crafted a new doll—dressed in night-black silk, heart warmed by Maerachi-infused talismans. The doll’s name was Kurayami, “shadow of night,” her purpose, to shield Yuna from unseen attack.

That night, Yuna ventured beyond the torii into the forest where dark spirits whispered. When a wailing specter lunged, Yuna called the chant:

“Kono utsuwa ni yadoru kage, awaremi naki mono yo.

Chi to tomo ni kizamare shi sadame,

Kono katashiro ni ima, tojikome yo.

Atsume yo, yami no koto no ha.

Shizume yo, arashi no ibuki.

Tsunagu wa, kami no shimesu ito.

Toki wa michita, towa no fūin.

Kore ni, osamare.”

Kurayami sprang to life, intercepting the ghost with a flash of iron-blue seal. The spirit screamed, then collapsed into mist, sealed within the doll’s non-existential heart. Yuna felt power surge through her veins—control, purpose, responsibility.

As dawn broke, she knelt in the shrine courtyard, Kurayami cradled gently at her side. A new mastery hummed in her blood, fierce and delicate as a spider’s web.

In the hush that followed, the torii stood sentinel, the lanterns glowed with promise, and the wind carried the distant caw of a crow not needed—this time—to deliver messages. Because in their hearts, they already knew: no distance could break these bonds, and no darkness could extinguish the light they’d forged by blood, love, and unwavering purpose.