The Unsettling Resolve

The day began with the soft whisper of wind through the Tsukimori garden, a sound usually soothing. But that morning, it carried a strange weight — as if the air itself had overheard something too awful to keep. It was Haru who first noticed the shadow at the front gate. A villager stood there, trembling, eyes darting as though afraid the very words he carried would summon something terrible. He hesitated before calling out. “Tsukimori-sama… there’s… news.” Airi stepped forward, her voice calm but tight. “Speak.” The man’s gaze faltered. “Your… your daughter, Kaede… and her family… they—” His voice cracked. “They were found… this morning. Dead. All of them.” The silence that followed was so heavy it seemed to press down on the earth itself. Haru, standing just behind his mother, stiffened. “Dead? How?” His voice was sharp, too quick, almost hoping for an answer that would make sense. The man swallowed hard. “Some say… a wild dog. Others… that it was no beast of this world.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Some say… a demon.” Airi’s hand clenched at her side, her knuckles pale. Her breath was slow, deliberate — as though she feared that if she let herself inhale too quickly, the grief would pour in and drown her. Yuna’s heart twisted painfully. Big Sister Kaede’s laughter, the smell of the sweets she used to make when she visited, the way she’d ruffle her hair — all of it flashed in her mind. Gone. All gone. The man left quickly, as if the news itself might cling to him if he lingered too long. For a long time, no one spoke. Haru sat at the low table, staring at the wood grain as if it held the answers. Yuna felt something hot building in her chest — sorrow, yes, but also fear. She thought of her dreams… of that malevolent girl and her demons. Her hands grew cold. Airi finally spoke, her voice low but firm. “We will honor them. And we will endure.” But even as she said it, the house felt… emptier. The air felt thinner. The Tsukimori were not strangers to loss — yet losing Kaede and her entire family in one sitting was not a wound. It was an amputation. That night, the household did not light the lanterns. The rooms were dark, shadows pooling in the corners like silent mourners. And in the quiet, Yuna thought she heard something… far away, like the toll of a shrine bell carried on the wind. That night, Yuna could not sleep. The wind outside seemed restless, rattling the shoji screens and bending the trees until their shadows danced against her walls like restless spirits. The air smelled faintly of rain — and something metallic beneath it, a coppery tang she had smelled before. She lay on her futon staring at the ceiling beams, her mind refusing to let go of the image the villager’s words had painted. Dead. All of them. No one had said it outright, but she had heard the tremor in his voice, seen the way his eyes flicked toward the forest before he left. And she had seen this before. Not in the waking world — but in her dreams. In those strange, feverish visions, she was surrounded by towering demons, their eyes glowing like molten coals. At the center was always the same girl: pale, beautiful in a way that made Yuna’s skin crawl, her smile too sharp, her voice dripping with mockery. And always… death followed her. The very first time she had seen her, the girl had looked straight into her eyes and whispered: "You’ll understand soon, little Yuna. You’ll see what I do to the ones you love." She had laughed then — a sound that had no warmth, only hunger. Yuna turned over, clutching Sayomi and Mochimaru tightly against her chest. Her pulse was loud in her ears. She didn’t want to think it. She didn’t want to believe it. But no wild dog could do what was whispered to have been done to Kaede’s family. Her eyes flicked to the window. For a moment, she thought she saw movement outside — a pale figure watching from the treeline. But when she blinked, it was gone. The next morning, the household moved through the motions of grief. Airi prepared offerings for the family altar, her movements slow but precise. Haru barely spoke at all, only muttering when addressed. Yuna slipped away quietly after breakfast, heading toward the shrine. The path was familiar — stone steps worn by years of pilgrims, lined with moss and shaded by towering cedars. Normally, the air here felt safe. Sacred. But today it felt… watchful. When she reached the shrine courtyard, she knelt before the altar, bowing her head. The incense smoke curled in the air, carrying her whispered prayers for Kaede and her family. But even here, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was listening. And then, as if on cue, the voice came — faint but clear, threading through her thoughts. "You pray so sweetly, little Yuna. Do you think it will bring them back?" Yuna’s breath caught. She knew that voice. Her gaze darted around, but there was no one. Only the wind stirring the prayer papers tied to the sacred ropes. "They screamed for you, you know. You weren’t there to help them." Yuna’s nails dug into her palms. “Shut up,” she muttered under her breath, forcing her eyes closed. "And when you dream again… maybe I’ll tell you what their eyes looked like when—" She stood abruptly, her heartbeat hammering. Enough. She wasn’t going to listen. Not here. Not now. But deep down, she knew the truth. This wasn’t coincidence. The same malevolent presence that haunted her dreams had crossed into the waking world. And it had taken Kaede — just like it had promised. That night, Yuna sat by her window long after the rest of the house had gone to bed. The moon was thin, a silver knife cutting through the darkness. Somewhere beyond the forest, she imagined the girl was watching, waiting for her. And for the first time, Yuna felt a strange certainty settle in her chest — not just fear, but something else. Resolve.

If this demon wanted her attention… it had it.