Chapter 1 – The Names We Inherit (名を継ぐ者 / Na o Tsugu Mono)

October 1907 — Hinokizawa, Kiso Valley

Harukichi waited outside the ancestral room, despite being told to stay away. 

“Will it hurt?” he asked as Sayo approached.

“Father says I'll manage.”

“That doesn't sound good. Are you nervous?”

“Of course not,” she said, attempting to hide her fear.

Her brother caught her sleeve before she could pass. At eleven, he had to stand on his toes to straighten her kimono collar.

“You'll still be my sister tomorrow, right?” 

Sayo touched his hair gently. “Unfortunately for you.”

He grinned but fell silent when the door slid open.

Their father, Masanori, stood inside, wearing a dark haori adorned with the Shinohara crest. Behind him, oil lamps illuminated the cedar beams and the new tatami laid out for the ceremony. 

He glanced at Harukichi, then at the boy's hand gripping his sister's sleeve.

“Your sister will need her strength. Go to bed,” he instructed.

“Will she scream?” Harukichi asked.

“Harukichi,” Sayo said softly.

Masanori crouched to the boy's height. “When she comes out, you can ask her anything you wish. But tonight, you'll have to trust me.”

Reluctantly, Harukichi let go of Sayo's sleeve.

Sayo watched him disappear down the corridor. She had waited years to inherit the duty her grandfather and father had carried before her.

Masanori closed the door behind them.

The room had only a low table, a ledger wrapped in red thread, and a black lacquered box. Masanori opened the box and lifted out a long iron needle.

“Sit, Sayo,” he said.

She knelt opposite him.

Outside, the wind rustled the hinoki trees. The wood of the house creaked around them. She recalled falling asleep against her father's shoulder as he reviewed timber accounts by lamplight. 

“I’m proud of you,” he said. 

His words helped calm her racing thoughts. 

He took her left hand, palm up. “Don’t pull away. Whatever you feel, the rite must finish once it’s started.” 

“How long will it take?” Sayo asked. 

“Until every name has been carved into your skin,” Masanori replied. 

The needle pierced her palm with a sharp sting. Sayo clenched her teeth, feeling the rush of pain as Masanori pulled the needle away, leaving a bloody thread trailing from the wound.

To her horror, the thread began to sink into her hand. Terrified, she tried to pry her fingers open, but something inside her gripped her wrist, twisting and coiling around in her flesh.

“Father?” she gasped.

“Stay still,” he commanded.

A burning sensation coursed through her, starting at the puncture wound. It was as though someone were inscribing a mark beneath her skin, painstakingly crafting a character with an agonizing slowness. 

Another stroke began near her elbow.

Sayo's screams shattered the silence. 

Her father’s grip tightened as the pain intensified. The air had a musty odor, and she heard a door locking from the other side. For a brief, disorienting moment, panic enveloped her, drowning out her surroundings.

Voices echoed in her mind, overlapping one another. They faded away before she could understand their meaning, but the heaviness of their sorrow sank deep within her, feeling more intense than the pain in her body. She fought to break free, but Masanori held her arm firmly against the table.

“Almost there,” he murmured, but Sayo couldn’t tell if his words were meant to soothe her or to encourage her through the pain.

She bit her lip, tasting the warmth of her blood. An unexpected surge of hunger erupted in her stomach, distracting her from the agony.

Then, she heard Harukichi’s heartbeat, clear and rhythmic, resonating from beyond the door. Each thud was painfully enticing.

The final name etched itself into her neck, and Sayo fell forward, barely avoiding hitting her face on the ledger. Her father caught her just in time, holding her steady.

For a moment, she could only concentrate on her breathing.

Masanori brushed her damp hair away from her face. “You’ve honored us all,” he said softly, before handing her a small mirror.

As she gazed into the mirror, the writing beneath her skin shimmered a deep red. There were twelve names, but she couldn't recall who they belonged to. She tilted the mirror and noticed three characters beside her throat.

川瀬 文

Sayo read them twice. Fumi had taught her to write those characters when she was a child. She could still picture Fumi’s ink-stained fingers guiding her brush. Four years ago, her father had told her that Fumi had left for work in another town.

Sayo lowered the mirror. "Why is Kawase Fumi's name written here?"

Masanori’s hand froze above the open box.