Chapter Text
Tomo woke up in a place he found so familiar; the narrow dirt paths of Higi Village with its yellowed grass, withered for years and left to rot. Nothing much grew in his family’s garden except the seasonal carrots and potatoes that made one or two meals. The dirt was grainy, granular and dry, nothing much could grow there in the first place. It left him to fend for himself and scavenge through the neighbor’s trash or pick lavender melons from trees half an hour away.
Yet it was those small daily travels that shaped him.
Whenever he went out, there was always the fear of being ambushed by the wandering nobushi. They were always surrounded by an odd energy akin to black smoke. He knew it was the Tatarigami and, at the time, didn’t have a vision. But no matter how close he got, how often he interacted with infected individuals, he never caught it himself. He dreaded becoming one of them, with their pale eyes, peeling skin and drooling mouths. The painful grunts they made accompanied by their belligerent stance made them look almost undead. That was the conclusion he came to. They were like the monsters in the books he read.
People of the village thought he was special in a way, that he was unique since he never contracted the deadly disease. When he would go out, they would torment him to help them cure a sick relative, always mentioning that his family were once powerful exorcists and that he surely inherited those genes. Somehow, nothing was special about him, he may look different but he didn’t have a vision or anything.
The little boy he was at the time confronted his parents on the subject only to be told that he should make them pay a price for his ‘services’, which were all disguised; a ruse. He disagreed and was met with a slap to the face. All his parents saw was the money in the situation, the funds they’ve been lacking for years.
They gave him an old, dusted, white-hilted katana and a little more food for bringing in the money. They often left him alone to fight against hilichurls for ‘practice’. He thought they didn’t care if he lived or died. But the more he got injured, the more they tended to his wounds, the more they caressed him and pretended that they paid attention to his well-being, the more it would make him sick to his stomach. This was all an act and he was their helpless puppet. Would they believe a boy over his parents?
Eventually, when the villagers got fed up with the trickery, they planned on killing him for having misled them. Their precious family members died on their own; there was obviously no exorcism involved. Tomo’s parents agreed, saying his game brought dishonour to their name. That he was but a disappointment. Inside, they dreaded losing their source of income.
With the strike of his own father’s blade and the herd of the furious mob, Tomo crawled to the cliff of the Musojin Gorge. He was surrounded and knew he would face death but, in that moment, he desired to show all of them the true meaning of courage.
He wanted to tell them that he could brave this passing storm, that it was but a misunderstanding. Beneath the courageous facade he showed, he was terrified but did what he ultimately sought out to do to escape them, to gain this freedom.
He jumped in the purple waters, the currents taking him underwater. He sunk deeper the more he resisted. It felt suffocating, like the electricity was making his lungs collapse. He could barely tread through the water to get him to the surface, his airways seemingly collapsing on themselves.
But at least the torches and pitchforks were gone, everything was so silent in the electro-charged waters of the gorge. Even though he was suffering, it ultimately felt better than spending any other passing moment with those lowly excuses of humans.
Near him, his hand clutched in it a purple gem. It was the last thing he saw before passing out.
The next morning, the sun’s warm rays caressed his figure like a gentle embrace as the waves crashed against his feet. He sat up, coughing some water out of his weak lungs and realized this wasn’t what happened after death; he was truly alive.
Next to him was his rusty blade and an Electro Vision. He observed the gem intently, questioning where it came from. Ultimately, he decided to keep it as he wandered the lands for his own purpose although he had no interest or intentions on learning how to use such an actively sought out tool. But even after hearing the countless stories of children wanting to have visions, the experience didn’t affect him in any way.
The years went by and he meandered through many of the nearby islands, notably Watatsumi or some small archipelago he could reach by rowboat. Whenever he would go back to Higi Village from time to time, it would be more and more empty. It was as if everyone either died or left this barren wasteland.
As for his parents, he has no idea what fate had in store for them, yet he did not wish them harm. Deep reflections brought him to accept his situation and not resent the figures who used him for their own benefit. He felt that it would be just better to move on and congratulate himself on making it so far.
Nonetheless, the loneliness started to creep up on him despite enjoying the overall tameness of this newly acquired freedom. He started to strike conversation with the Shogunate and the Resistance, taking an interest in their point of view.
All seemed fine until he saw the atrocities in the war between the Shogun and Miss Sangonomia. Both parties seemed fed up and he was treated like an outsider rather than a friend, someone they were scared could betray them. He felt powerless, even with a vision, but finally intended on laying low despite feeling lonesome. Getting caught between a shootout was the last thing he wanted.
As the Shogunate marched forth the resistance’s defences, it became clear as day that Yashiori wasn’t a safe space anymore. The destruction of war turned beings, houses, villages and ecosystems into ashes.
Maybe if Tomo reached Narukami, he could find a home? It was all he thought about; finding his purpose, finding where he actually belonged.
A chase and a mere glance at death itself later, Tomo found himself reminiscing on Nazuchi beach. He bled profusely, his thoughts replaying his first blood. The first lives he ever took. A bitter feeling took over him as he remembered their screams of agony, the blood splashing on his face that wasn’t his, the limbs of his victims sprawled out against the sand and organs spilling out of the abdomen. It was disgusting.
As he laid on the ground, about to pass out, he wondered if it would’ve been better if he died all those years ago. He should’ve never come to be.
Finally, the rain came in droplets to wash his sins away.