Chapter 44:

Where the prayers don't reach

Downtown Spectres

The climb pulls them away from the city lights and into the forest's quiet, where sound thins and shadows deepen. The route Avery follows isn't a path—not even a neglected one. There's no worn ground, no broken branches, no signs that anyone was ever meant to walk here.

Just trees.

The higher they go, the tighter Atsunori's chest becomes. Avery had warned him this was restricted territory, but the word feels inadequate now.

Because he recognizes this section.

Sacred ground.

That was the answer he'd been given, years ago, when he asked why this part of the hill was sealed away. A place to be respected, not questioned.

For a moment, he slows.

Turning back would be easy. Instinctive, even.

But it would require an active decision.

And he has no strength left for those.

So he keeps walking.

They move deeper between the trees, Avery several steps ahead, her pace unhurried but precise. She adjusts her route by inches, veering left, then right, stepping over roots that look no different than the rest. Atsunori only notices the talismans because she stops before each one—thin strips of paper nailed high into trunks, half-swallowed by bark and frost.

Detection wards? Traps?

He wouldn't know the difference.

When did she learn to see these things?

Avery guides them around invisible boundaries, places his instincts insist are wrong to cross, even though nothing marks them. The forest seems to lean inward, dense and watchful, until it abruptly gives way.

Stone juts from the hillside ahead, split open beneath a veil of ivy and ice. Not an entrance, more like a wound in the earth.

"This isn't part of the estate."

"No, it's underneath it."

Before he can respond, a voice cuts through the stillness.

"Munakata Atsunori?"

His heart drops.

A guard steps out from behind the trees, firearm in hand—a Munakata. His weapon is not raised, not aggressive. Simply alert. His gaze darts from Atsunori to Avery, confusion knitting his brow.

"You know this area is off-limits. What brings you two here?"

Atsunori's body locks in place.

Apologies crowd his throat, alongside explanations and confessions—none of them fit. The guard's eyes hold something worse than suspicion.

Recognition.

Avery moves before the silence can break.

Her hand shifts. For an instant her skin blurs, then orange fur blooms along her fingers. She flicks her wrist, releasing a pale mist that drifts forward like a cold breath.

The guard's protest dies halfway through forming. His body sways, knees failing as he collapses softly onto the snow, already asleep.

An exhale and a shake of her hand follow, fur fading.

"Heh! Wish I'd thought of that when I was facing Kairi. Worked pretty well for a first try."

Atsunori stares at the unconscious guard.

Then at the cave.

Something tightens inside him—not fear, but the certainty that whatever lies beyond won't allow him to look away again.

Avery's expression darkens, as if she senses it too.

"Let's go."

She steps inside, he follows, and the forest seals itself behind them.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The air within is milder, preserved—as though the temperature itself has been curated.

The passage slopes downward at a shallow angle, its stone smooth from design rather than age. Lamps are set into the walls, their pale glow steady and unblinking.

Lamps—not torches.

Less sacred. More practical.

Atsunori's fingers brush the wall, tracing grooves carved with care.

This isn't some forgotten tunnel.

It's infrastructure.

Above them, the estate settles in his thoughts like a weight: polished halls, swept gardens, servants moving in silent loops of duty. The immaculate heart of the Munakata, elevated and serene.

And beneath it…

This.

Avery doesn't rush him. She walks ahead, then slows, matching his pace without comment.

The silence here feels wrong. Not empty—padded. Sound dies quickly, swallowed by stone. Even their footsteps refuse to echo, as if the space itself discourages sound.

They reach a sealed door. Avery forms an illusory key with neither effort nor hesitation.

Beyond it, the corridor widens and the ceiling lifts. The walls straighten, angles sharpening into something rigid, architectural. Support beams appear at regular intervals. Carved stone, etched with talismans.

Avery studies them with partial transformation—feeling rather than reading them.

"Containment," she murmurs. "And not for humans…"

Atsunori's mouth goes dry. He tells himself there must be something dangerous sealed beyond. Something that needs to be locked away.

But why are the two of them even here?

Then he realizes—this wasn't discovered by accident.

It was learned.

Kairi.

The corridor opens into a huge chamber.

Clean. Bright. Structured.

The tiled floor gleams faintly. To the left, a second passage yawns wide—large enough for a truck to pass through.

An alternate entrance? Or a deeper layer?

Avery doesn't look at it. Her attention is fixed straight ahead, jaw set, shoulders squared—tight with resolve.

At the far end of the chamber the wall is lined with tall, evenly spaced alcoves. Control panels hum softly. Inscriptions glow and pulse in slow, steady rhythm, magic strong enough to prick Atsunori's skin.

Ancient seals, reinforced with modern technology.

Not in the estate. Not where prayers are recited and traditions preserved.

Here. Where no one is meant to look.

Then—

Movement.

His eyes catch it before his mind can react—shapes inside the alcoves, standing, shifting their weight. Some turn to look at them, others don't respond at all.

Yokai, enclosed in cages.

Behind thick glass, transparent and reinforced—the kind meant to withstand bullets.

Atsunori forgets to breathe.

His first thought is absurdly practical.

They must be dangerous, right? There aren't even that many. Ten, maybe fewer.

Locked up for the safety of everyone, surely.

…

That's a lie, and he knows it.

At least half of them are unmistakably benign. Neutral at worst. The kind of Yokai that wouldn't harm a human unless provoked—some not even then.

And they're alive.

Some watch warily. Some stare dully. One tilts its head, curious.

Atsunori's knees nearly give out.