Red lily

The city officials had arranged the celebratory festival within the week. The city centre pulsed with unbridled joy, lanterns strung like fireflies across the smooth pavement that had once been the pit's open sinkhole. Stalls lined the blocks, hawking takoyaki steaming in little boats, cotton candy swirling in pink clouds, and games with cute prizes dangling for all to see. Music thrummed from speakers, taiko drums blending with pop beats, drawing cheers from families clustered around the stage.

Kumi and Yuna wove through the crowd in frilly yukata dresses, giggling as they chased Rin, who darted ahead in the form of a cat.​ Rin slipped under passing legs and between swinging shopping bags, far beyond Kumi and Yuna’s sight as if she were leading them through some impossible obstacle course.

Rin skidded right in front of a yakisoba stall and popped back into human shape, her cat ears giving one last twitch before fading away. Her yukata swished around her ankles as she leaned in to sniff, the savoury steam rising from the griddle. A few passersby stared, doing double takes at the girl who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, but Rin ignored them.

“Smells great! Three, please!” Kumi and Yuna caught up, panting. The vendor flipped noodles on his sizzling teppan, then held out a card machine. “Yuna, you got this right?” Rin stepped aside as Yuna swiped her new card with a nod – conjured through one of her wishes with the more traditional-looking genie in her golden lamp. After careful plotting, she’d managed to game the system for unlimited wishes, her most recent being:

“I wish for one hundred million yen to appear in my bank account immediately, fully documented as legitimate national lottery winnings, with all taxes prepaid, forever undetectable by investigation, causing zero issues or negative consequences to me, or anyone else.” The blue genie scowled, likely since she’d dodged some awful loopholes, but snapped its fingers anyway. Kumi had just blinked at the whole performance and, ever since, had let Yuna keep showering her with the same easy generosity.

The man handed over three steaming paper plates piled high with yakisoba, topped with aonori flakes and beni shoga, and each of the girls took one. Rin promptly transformed into a tanuki and scarfed her food in an instant – an act that made the vendor pause for half a second before he decided he hadn’t seen anything and turned to the next customer.

Kumi’s father caught up to the girls at a leisurely pace, almost light on his feet, a grin tugging so wide at his mouth it made him look years younger. She remembered the evening she’d first shown him her powers, coming home still buzzing after helping Hiro fight the Kaen king and sealing up the pit. He’d looked sceptical, clearly not buying every wild detail, but he’d still taken her hands, eyes shining, and told her he was just glad to see her as happy as she was.

A microphone whined with a high pitch. Hiro climbed the stage amid roaring applause, suited and booted in a pristine suit, a flower pinned to his lapel. Kumi wove closer to the front with her plate still in hand, Yuna beside her and Rin perched on Yuna’s shoulder as a bird. Hiro held the mic up to speak.

“We stand today over the wound that once pierced this city's heart. A wound that took what we held dearest." Kumi spotted classmates cheering in the crowd. Teacher was waving at the stage from somewhere in the back. “But with that wound healed, we need only face the scars left behind. So that we can move forward and honour the memories of those we have lost!" The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles. Hiro paced the stage slowly, letting the noise roll over him like a tide before he spoke again. “I dedicate this victory to all those who couldn’t be here with us today. And to everyone who stood by me throughout this battle with their friendship, love, and strength.” Kumi’s eyes met Hiro’s across the sea of faces, and for an instant, the noise of the festival dropped away, leaving just the two of them and the glowing city between. “Thank you.” Kumi shifted her plate to one hand. Hiro set his hand ablaze. “This day marks our rebirth!”

Hiro surged his arm, and his fire blitzed skyward, lighting up the sky with a speckled star. A slew of fireworks shot out from behind the stage to complement them. Kumi called in precise banks of cloud and threaded them with lightning that didn’t stab down, but ran sideways – white veins racing from horizon to horizon, outlining the shapes Hiro painted in fire. Other clouds she packed cold to trickle snow and glittering ice, drifting down in tiny, harmless crystals that melted on cheeks and hair.

Hiro arced a ribbon of flame into a giant looping circle; Kumi filled its centre with a spinning halo of rain, catching the light so it became a huge, glowing ring over the crowd’s heads. As the droplets thickened, the full moon broke through a gap in the clouds behind them, its pale light slicing through the mist. Colour bled into the curve – first a faint ghost of red at the top, then orange, yellow and green – until a soft moonbow stretched inside the fiery circle, a dim, opal rainbow hanging in the night.

Then she tugged the wind, and the ring slowly tipped and broke apart into a slow fall of shimmering droplets, the moonbow smearing and dripping with it like wet paint. Hiro chased the falling arc with small, playful fireballs that burst on contact into soft, coloured puffs—pink, blue, and gold – until the whole city shimmered like a snow globe filled with rain, sparks and drifting colours.

Pieces rained down like pixie dust, soft enough to kiss bare arms without a sting. The crowd broke into cheers, families pointing as kids squealed and tried to catch the falling lights on their tongues. Rin fluttered up as a bigger bird and made a game of looping through the glittering trails. Yuna laughed, lifting a hand trying to scoop the colours out of the air.

Kumi wasn’t finished. She pulled the clouds tighter and drew a long, pale river of mist across the sky. Hiro traced along it, his fire curling into the shape of a huge koi that swam through the fog, scales flashing red and gold as lightning flickered along its spine. A second, smaller koi – cool blue and white – swam after it, born from Kumi’s rain and lit from inside by Hiro’s embers, the two fish chasing each other in an endless circle above the city.

Then the koi tightened into a messy spiral and a massive flower unfurled in their place – crimson petals outlined in Kumi’s soft, azure mist. Each petal was a separate cloud, edges lit by careful tongues of fire, so it glowed like stained glass. The lotus turned once, slowly, casting ripples of light over upturned faces, before dissolving into a soft aurora that draped the night in green and purple sheets.

The show reached its conclusion, and Hiro handed the microphone to the city mayor, who thanked everyone for being there. Kumi turned to Yuna and Rin (now a monkey), who were busy playing with other classmates, their laughter swallowed by the swell of the crowd. While they chased one another through the crush of festivalgoers, Kumi edged back a step, then another, until the noise became a blur instead of individual voices. When no one was looking her way, she slipped out of the lantern light and hopped onto a waiting cloud, letting it lift her up and away from the roar below.​ It carried her swiftly toward the cemetery, festival lights shrinking behind her until they were just a distant glow against the sky.

By the time the cloud drifted down, the world had narrowed to the hush of headstones bathed in moonlight. The festival’s noise was a faint, distant murmur now, like it belonged to another city entirely. Crickets chirped somewhere beyond the fence; a cicada buzzed once and fell silent.

Kumi stepped off, sandals touching cool grass still faintly damp from the sprinklers. The cloud thinned to mist above her and vanished. Lantern-glow from the festival smudged the horizon in soft orange, but between the rows of stone, the light was silver and still. She moved on instinct, fingers brushing the tops of grave markers as she passed, following the familiar tug of her mother’s whispers through the rows until she stood at her gravestone.

“Mum?” Kumi whispered, kneeling. Her yukata rustled softly as her knees pressed into the cool earth. “I hope you were watching. We did it. We beat the Kaen. So, no one else will die the way you did.” Her thumb traced the carved characters of her mother’s name, the stone rough under her skin. The wind stirred just enough to lift a strand of her hair, as if answering.

She heard a soft whoosh behind her. Kumi turned. Hayate was there, dropping lightly from the air as the last traces of wind settled around his shoes.

“Hayate,” Kumi said, dipping her head in a small greeting.

“Kumi.” He nodded back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“How’s your little brother?” she asked, standing and brushing grass from her knees.

“He’s better. Should be out of the hospital soon,” Hayate said. His gaze slid past her to another grave a few stones over, where a smaller bouquet drooped in a chipped vase. “We were watching your show in the sky together.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “He really enjoyed it.”

Quiet settled again, thicker this time. The two of them stood there between the stones, lantern aglow at their backs, moonlight on their faces. A breeze moved through the cemetery, rattling the leaves in the nearby trees and making the paper tags on some of the offerings flutter and tap against the stone.

“How'd you get over it?” Hayate asked softly, gaze fixed on the grave in front of him. Kumi turned to her mother.

“I don’t think you’re meant to.” Kumi’s voice came out low. She shifted her weight, wrapping her arms around herself. “You slowly forget you’re meant to be hurting.” She glanced over at him. “I think having my friends made it easier.” She shrugged. Hayate scoffed.

“I’m really sorry,” Kumi said – at the exact same moment a familiar voice behind her said, “I’m truly sorry.” They turned. Hiro stood there just beyond Kumi’s shoulder, embers fading from around the outline of his suit where he’d flickered into existence, hands jammed awkwardly into his pockets as if he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be here.

“Hey, you.” Kumi stubbed a finger at Hiro. “What happened to revealing that you’re a Kaen to everyone? You chicken out?” Kumi pressed lightly.

“I promise I fully intended to… But I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet,” he told her. Hiro tugged the flower off his lapel and moved past her to stand beside Hayate. “I am sorry for your loss. My weakness allowed the Kaen to rampage for so long. This is all my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself, man,” Hayate whispered, eyes never leaving the stone. “You, too, Kumi. You guys did your best. We just got unlucky.” Hiro twirled his little flower between his fingers.

“The Kaen do not bury the dead like you humans do,” he shared, looking at the grave. “They meet their end either from perishing in battle or being devoured by another one of their own. Like my father unto my mother.” His mouth twisted around the words, as if they hurt coming out. “When I mourn your fallen, I think fondly of her. How I would have liked to have a place like this, to visit her on the days when I felt lost.” Hiro placed his flower in Hayate’s hand. “Could you give this to your mother for me, please?” Hayate gently knelt and placed the flower on the grave, setting it carefully where the grass met the base of the stone. A faint smile touched his face as his eyes began to fill.​

The three stood in silence, the distant festival roar a soft promise of tomorrows yet to unfold. The breeze moved through the rows, brushing at their sleeves, making the flowers shiver as if they, too, were breathing. Hayate said goodbye to his mother and turned away, starting down the path. Hiro followed a step, placing a hand on his shoulder.​ Kumi loosened the drawstring of her pouch and took out the red lily she’d kept from her own mother’s funeral. She stepped forward and set it delicately on her mother’s grave, nudging the stem until it lay just right.

“Bye, Mum,” she whispered, before running off to join the others. “I love you.”