Chapter Text
That light. That same brutal white that he’d been running from was back. It inched along the edges of his vision and stained his eyelids when he blinked. And for the first time, he realised that it was accompanied by a low hum that bubbled just beneath the infuriatingly bright light in a consistent drone. Even as his hands scraped at his eyes and dug into his ears it couldn’t remove that light.
He couldn’t hide.
He couldn’t escape.
And worst of all. He couldn’t sleep.
Every passing moment his eyes grew heavier, but even as they slid shut, the light remained and the hum haunted him. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep. But the light wouldn’t let him.
He needed it gone.
With that moment of clarity, he realized that if he couldn’t live with this light, he would remove it. His hands would pierce through the glass containing that light and claw at the light until it was gone. Until either he extinguished the light or it consumed him.
And either way, he would finally be able to rest.
Emboldened by this thought, he swayed to his feet. His body hardly responded; it didn’t want to move and was as leaden as his aching eyelids. But his desire for the light to be obliterated far outweighed his distaste for movement and he managed to force his body to stumble across the ice cold floor that reflected that light when he peered down.
As he began to move, he realized the agony that his stillness had prevented. He realized how paper thin his skin actually was as his bones tapped against the floor and the impact jolted his ligaments to the point that each step felt as if he were dislocating every bone in his legs. The paper thin skin also could not shield him from the chill in the air and the slight breeze caused by his movement burned as the air passed through his fish netting skin and shot oxygen directly into his veins.
But he persisted. He was used to pain. All his childhood he dealt with broken bones and bruised internals. He knew how to manage the gnawing ache that tore through his being with each step. Moreover, he knew that it would all end when he destroyed the light.
He just needed to reach the light.
And so he followed. Even as the light’s intensity increased and the light began to sear into his flesh. He followed the light as the hum increased and caused his ears to bleed. He followed even when his body could physically no longer move. He followed and followed.
And then he found it. The source of the light.
Unlike his original thought. There wasn’t just a single light source, but instead multiple; maybe six. But their lights were all the same. The light was interconnected and sound interwoven. Here it was the worst he’d ever experienced. He hated it. He wanted it gone.
But as if noticing that he’d appeared, the lights moved towards him, the hum increasing in intensity as the hums no longer harmonized but instead overlapped and clashed with one another. They surrounded him and consoled him; but it was painful. He didn’t want it. He hated the light around him and their buzzing.
So he reached out as he initially desired and plunged his hand into the light.
To his surprise, it didn’t hurt as his hand pierced through the outer shell of the light and wrapped around the inner shining core. It twinkled happily at his contact and he found his lips had stretched wide as he finally squeezed the light, his nails digging into the core. The light's happy glow began to stutter and thrash, but it couldn’t escape from his hold until finally it was extinguished.
And the light had dimed. Just by removing a single source, he found that his body hurt a slight bit less, and his hands felt so warm. The warmth trickled down his arms and cradled him as he released the light’s core and let it fall to the ground.
The other lights pulled away slightly, but still circled around him, their light brushing against his sides. Whether they wanted to confront him or comfort him, he didn’t know, but the feel of the warmth was intoxicating. Even if he didn’t want to remove the light because it burned, he wanted to have the warmth back. The warmth that was slowly vaporizing from his finger.
And it was a warmth that returned to him and built upon itself over and over again as he replicated the motion with the other lights around him. They didn’t try to run, only hovered slightly around him and waited their turn to feed him the warmth he so desperately desired.
And then the light was all gone, the emptied cases scattered across his feet and he could finally sleep. If he set himself down amongst the cases, he could almost feel a placebo heat emanating from the emptied light source. It was warm and with the light gone he was able to rest.
He could finally sleep.
“What have you done!?” A voice demanded. Dazai recognized that voice even through the fog of sleep that had settled over him. It was Doppo.
But Doppo’s words confused him. He couldn’t recall any prank he’d pulled on Doppo since his brother and sister had left to purchase groceries for his father earlier in the day. A trip that Dazai had groveled to not accompany them on. At least he couldn’t recall any mishap that Doppo would pin on him.
“Whatt’re you talkin’ about?” Dazai rasped as he plied his hands from his sides to wipe some of the sleep from his eyes only to find his hands still sticky from the light. Now that the warmth had subsided, all that remained was a residue that Dazai would prefer not to deal with.
“It’s too late,” Another, more authoritative voice sounded out. Dazai tipped his head back to find himself staring up at Akiko who was crouched over the shell of one of the lights. With a final swipe of her finger through the husk, she stood and turned her attention to Doppo. “I could do something if they were still blinking, but they’re gone.”
Doppo’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened into a frown. He glanced back at Dazai and Dazai found a hint of anger in those eyes. Not the typical irritation that Dazai was used to invoking in his twin brother, but genuine hatred that made Dazai realize he’d done something bad. Something so much worse than stealing his brother’s pencils or tricking him into completing Dazai’s yardwork.
No, there was an anger that blazed in Doppo’s face that while it might have started in his eyes, it quickly spread to the corners of his mouth and narrowed his eyebrows. Each step he took towards Dazai thundered like a crescendoing elephant until he stood before Dazai. Then in a blink of an eye, Dazai was on his butt in the entrance of their house, the impact causing some of the deteriorated wood to sprinkle around him.
“Leave!” Doppo snapped, his furry twisting his tone and something almost like sadness tainting that anger and causing the syncopated rhythm of his words. “Leave and don’t you ever dare come back! You’ve done enough for this family already.”
“Wow, so you actually have a breaking point? And here I thought, Kunikida Doppo would never be broken!” Dazai let out a stilted laugh. But his joking tone didn’t seem to break any of the tension in his brother’s face. Instead, with one last disappointed look and a painful kick to Dazai’s abdomen, Doppo stormed back into the house, the thin sheet that stood in place of the door belittling his anger with its slow flutter back into place. Through the fabric, Dazai could see Doppo return to the kitchen where the lights were.
Dazai scrambled to his feet with every intention of chasing after his brother and figuring out what he’d done. He’d probably have to grovel for forgiveness, or actually apologize for once. But he knew he needed to fix it. He couldn’t imagine Doppo would actually want him gone. They were brothers from the moment Doppo had taken the starved and grimy young Dazai and aggressively cared for him.
But another figure ducked under the cloth, and he found himself looking up at Akiko. There was blood stained to her gloves he realized. It was slipping off her gloves with each moment that they stood there staring at one another. A small puddle was already forming at her feet, forming a tangible border between him and the house. He was sure that if he stepped into that puddle that he’d never escape it.
“You messed up, Osamu.” When Akiko spoke, his attention was brought back to her face. While her face wasn’t set in that same angry frown that had marred Doppo’s appearance, he was shocked to find that her appearance was dripped with blood. It wasn’t just her hands that had been dripping blood into the puddle, bloody tears created crevices through her pale skin and blood dripped from her dark chin-length hair to her red stained shirt.
“Leave us here to grieve. Go home.”
But this was his home? This was where he shared that single room with all his brothers and every night they crammed themselves into the room with Atsushi practically on top of Kunikida because there wasn’t enough floor space. This was where he learnt to wedge himself into their rickety rafters. This was his home; where all his family lived.
But Akiko wouldn’t let him into the house. With one last disappointed glare, she lifted a hand and pushed him backwards. He stumbled to the ground only to find that the ground behind him had congealed into a thin layer of hardened blood. On impact, the layer shattered and he fell.
His gaze casted upward, but he could no longer see Akiko. All he could see was the dark burgundy of drying blood as it fell around him and him into it, coating his hands, his face, and everything.
It flowed into his mouth and he was choking on it. He was inhaling it. It was everywhere and all he could see was blood. Blood that stuck to his eyelids and permeated through his skin. It was everywhere and nowhere and he couldn’t escape it.
He could never escape the blood. It was inescapable.
Dazai's eyes blinked slowly, working against a stickiness that encouraged him to let his eyes flutter shut once more. But the sight he found pinned against his eyelids was an unpleasant one; one of a blood red sea and Akiko and Doppo turning their backs to him from the opposite bank. While this dream wasn't near as visually disturbing as the one before, there was something unsettling about it. Something that made him want to run away from it.
So he forced his eyes to open as he rolled out of the covers. However, unlike his childhood home, he was not set up on the floor. Without a moment to think, Dazai found himself crashing onto the floor and most definitely bruising his side. He laid there for a moment, staring at the legs of the bed and trying to replace the bloody ocean with the image of the chips and sliver of the wood bed frame.
He didn't know how long he laid there, trying to calm his rapid breathing and dispersing the discomfort in his hands. He laid there and stared and let his mind race to thoughts he'd never voice until someone knocked at his door.
It wasn't a loud knock. More of a hesitant series of taps with large pauses between one another. The knock was so in character that Dazai couldn’t even fake surprise when Imai's voice practically whispered through the door, "Dazai-san? Are you awake?"
He thought about ignoring her for a moment. It would be so easy. If he didn't respond, Imai would leave without much fuss and he could go back to staring at the wall. He could just stare and think and be washed away by his thoughts. But before he could linger on the thought for too long another voice chimed in, "Hi, hi Dazai! I hope that you're, like, not still asleep! Not that it matters since I'm going in anyway. You better, like, be dressed or something!"
Elisa.
Judging from the little that he knew of her, she would definitely come into his room with or without his invitation just as her words had indicated. Not wanting her and Imai to find him spaced out beside his bed, Dazai heaved himself to his feet and threw on a fake smile as he threw the door open. "Breaking and entering, Elisa-chan! One day, you'll be a witness to my magnificent suicide. How delightful to know that a beautiful woman will be there. Unless… you'd rather join me?"
It wasn't the best deflection, as Dazai could barely muster any infliction to his voice, but the girls didn't seem to notice as Elisa giggled, "Aw, but Dazai, I, like, totally would be honored to witness anything you're proud of! But haven't you already succeeded? Like, we've all already died."
"A true suicide enthusiast isn't fulfilled with just the first successful attempt. No, I must now pursue the next great suicide!" Dazai cheered as he twisted himself into the doorway and into a more casual leaning position against the door frame.
He then allowed himself to run a more calculating glance over the two. Neither appeared to be here to drag him to some specialized activity as their hands were bereft of any indication (like a fishing rod or a key) and they both appeared in common clothes, Imai in an ankle length, pale blue, formless dress and Elisa in a dark pink and white striped tank top that highlighted just how pale her skin was and dark leggings. So, unable to determine what they wanted from their appearances, Dazai had to ask, "What? No bathing suits? I'm sure you mentioned swimming as the next collective activity."
"But Daziai, aren't you, like, also not wearing a swimsuit?" Elisa, asked instead of correcting his assumption like he wanted her to.
He was about to respond to her, with another way to get his answer, when sweet, adorable Imai answered his question, "No Dazai-san, we aren't here about swimming. Although, we could do that next time, if you want? Instead, Elisa and I figured since there's only 10 of us now, that we should get to know one another. Since, you know, we are the only humans here."
“It’s even easier than that,” Dazai couldn’t help but correct as he sank even lower down the door frame until his knees were almost at a 90 degree angle to the wall. Even crouched, he still found himself at about eye level with both Elisa and Imai. It was quite amusing and he didn't even feel the typical burn of holding himself in that position. “There’s only 5 of us left.”
“5?” Imai exclaimed, her eyes now wide and a crease clean along her forehead.
“Yep!” Dazai couldn’t help but chirp, his grin wide. “Good, ol’ Chuuya sent 5 of us away last night. Ergo, only 5 of us left!”
“Well, that, like, makes things a lot easier!” Eliza spoke when it was apparent that Imai wasn’t about to say anything. The other girl had retreated into herself, appearing almost shell shocked at the news. “We already have me, you, and Dazai! That’s, like, already half of the people, right Imai? … Imai?”
When Imai continued not to answer her, Eliza finally turned to look at the other girl and even poked her friend in the cheek, finally eliciting a reaction from the dark haired girl, “Huh? Oh, you’re right Eliza-san. I guess, if Dazai-san’s information is correct, then we only need to find two more people.”
“Yep! So let’s go!” Eliza practically jumped as she did a fist bump in the air. She then twisted on her heel and snagged Imai’s right arm. Right before pulling Imai away with her, she seemed to realise something as she turned back to Dazai and asked, “Oh, Dazai, you don’t, like, want to come with us? Do you?”
It appeared that everyone would be gathered regardless, so he could refuse the offer and simply ask for a meeting time. That would allow him time to gather his thoughts and plan as to how this meeting could benefit him as Chuuya’s sister would undoubtedly trade him something for information on the candidates. However, something didn’t sit right with him about remaining alone in the room. Something that was uncomfortably unexplainable.
As much as he wanted to proceed with the logical solution of remaining behind, he couldn’t help but yield to the feeling as he smiled at the girls and with a gleeful tone announced his agreement.
So, he found himself spending the beginning of his morning (or what he supposed was morning) wandering through Chuuya’s elaborate mansion seeking out the other two remaining humans. It wasn’t much of an issue with his help as he knew roughly where the other two humans were located based on spying into the rooms from the rafters. The only delay being the confusing layout of the house, along with his intentional misleading of the other two.
Finally, they managed to locate the other two: Amaterasu, who was just as eager to see Dazai as Imai was to see her; and a man named Daniel who somehow managed to tower over Dazai with not only brawn, but also height. Once meeting all the other people, Dazai couldn’t help but recall that these four had been the last four remaining from the contest. It was interesting that Chuuya had chosen those four, and so he carefully categorised that fact as ammunition for later.
Apparently, Imai and Eliza’s idea of getting to know one another was exactly that. After collecting the final two pieces of their collection, Eliza led the group to a room that Dazai recognised as the place where he’d first struck his deal with Chuuya’s sister. The room still retained the table and chairs, but also had a comfortable couch situated before an unlit fireplace.
At the beginning, everyone was slightly nervous and remained as a single group. Actually, only Imai was nervous, but Eliza wanted to talk to everyone and Amaterasu had toppled across the couch and glared when anyone suggested she move. The guy, Daniel, appeared to take everything in stride and suggested everyone help themselves to a seat around the fire. In fact, he and Eliza carried much of the conversation at first as Dazai simply listened and categorised the information he learnt.
Not that anything was much of interest.
No, Dazai didn’t notice anything further until Imai had begun to warm up to Daniel and to tolerate Ameraterasu. Slowly, the group of five began to break into smaller subgroups as people intermingled and had their own separate conversations. For some reason, Amaterasu wanted to speak to Imai and after a while, Eliza grew tired of being left out and insisted that she needed some ‘girl time’, leading to her rousing Ameraterasu from her seat and escorting the other two girls to the far corner of the room. From there Dazai could only hear murmurings and the occasional giggle from Eliza.
With nothing else to do. Dazai had been making polite conversation with Daniel when it occurred. They’d been talking about their opinions on the challenge when Daniel made the comment, “Well, I do think one of the two of us will win the competition. After all, Chuuya-sama, she’s just so tiny and helpless. You can tell she needs a man by her side.”
Dazai’s mind was racing even as he let none of his surprise appear on his face. She ? Sure Chuuya was petite, but Dazai was pretty sure he would notice if Chuuya was a girl. Right? Hadn’t Chuuya’s sister referred to him as her ‘little brother’?
Something odd was going on, and Dazai couldn’t help but feel glee bubble up as he’d found another mystery to solve.
Summoning that same glee, he began his interrogation with, “ She is awfully pretty and delicate.”
“She is,” Daniel agreed, taking the bait as an invitation to prattle on about Chuuya, “I don’t know how someone so delicate could be a god of calamity. A strong breeze could probably blow her over.”
That didn’t sound right. From what Dazai could recall, Chuuya was tiny and short and miniscule, but he (or she?) was in no way fragile. Even from their first meeting, Dazai knew that Chuuya could beat him up if Chuuya so desired. There was a strong confidence that he held; a confidence that made itself even more known in the presence Chuuya had exuded when he announced himself as a god of calamity. His words had left Dazai with no doubt that Chuuya was a god of calamity.
“She really shouldn’t be a god of calamity,” Was what Dazai said, silencing any of the wrongness that came when admitting that. “But she’d be perfect as a bride. Or a suicide partner!”
“Ah, a bride!” Daniel exclaimed, seemingly ignoring Dazai’s later comment. Not that Dazai minded when his target continued, “I can see it now: me standing at the altar as she walks down the aisle, a pristine white dress with a low breast line that really extenuates her large chest, with those half sleeves that make her dainty arms appear even slimmer, and a silver crown atop her chocolate brown hair.”
The idea of Chuuya in a wedding dress amused Dazai. He could almost see the scowl on the other’s face as he was forced into an overly frilling and impractical outfit. But something that Daniel said conflicted with Dazai’s own image.
Chuuya didn’t have brown hair.
While many of the other points that Daniel mentioned Dazai figured could be explained as the other man being so much more outwardly muscular than Chuuya. There was no way someone could describe Chuuya sunset orange hair as chocolate brown. But why would Daniel say that colour? There wasn’t any issue with his vision was there?
Just to check, Dazai asked, “Oh, I imagined her was a crown of osmanthus flowers.”
“Osmanthus!” Daniel exclaimed, his eyes lighting up, “The orange would contrast so nicely against her dark hair, wouldn’t it?”
Well, apparently he wasn’t colour blind, or something. He could identify orange, but believed it to be a different colour than Chuuya’s hair. Something very strange was going on. He would have to get more information. He expected that Chuuya’s sister would have something to say about it.
With a smile, Dazai let his inquiring questions fade into something more benign as he prepared his next step to solve the mystery. Throughout the rest of the meeting with the other sacrifices, nothing of much interest appeared, so when he finally could, Dazai quickly took his leave and headed out to find someone who could answer his questions.
Luckily he knew exactly who to visit for an answer.
He found her wandering the garden outside the mansion, her floral garment blending in the vivid pinks and reds of the flowers she surrounded herself with. Her head rose as he approached her and he took some glee in watching her almost serene expression evaporate as her eyes locked onto him and narrowed.
“Dazai,” She greeted when he was close enough to hear her unraised voice. “To whom should I raise my complaints about your company?”
Dazai let out an obviously fake laugh as he continued to trample through the flower beds to reach her, “Now, now, you shouldn’t be so cruel to one of your brother’s dear guests.”
“Dear?” She scoffed, “The only reason you’re still here is I still have use for you and Chuuya doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction of death.”
Dazai knew she was hoping to provoke him, so he simply smiled into a stretching silence. The silence continued until she finally realised that she couldn’t out wait Dazai. Of course she couldn’t. He was an expert at ignoring awkwardness.
Well that, and he was too happy to even think about rising to her bait just for fun. She’d already admitted through her silent acknowledgement that she viewed Chuuya as a boy. So why had Daniel thought he was a girl? And not only that (Dazai couldn’t fault Daniel for thinking Chuuya a girl with how small he was) but Daniel had described Chuuya with a completely different appearance. Chuuya’s sister undoubtedly had the answers, he just had to wait her patience out and strike when she was more likely to answer truthfully.
Finally, Kouyou, for she had to be Kouyou-sama based on what Odasaku had said, gave in after a few minutes of silence with a petulant, “What did you want, Dazai?”
Chance in sight, Dazai gleefully responded, “Oh, nothing all that important.”
He paused momentarily in his thought to pace in an overly exaggerated manner before continuing, “I just happened to be talking with one of the other humans and he mentioned that he thought Chuuya to be quite a dazzling wife, which I noticed did not align with what I said when I called Chuuya you’re brother.”
“Do you believe gender to be so consequential,” Kouyou attempted to skirt around the issue. “Gods have no attachment to a gender, so why should we care how a mortal chooses to address us.”
“Just as they have little attachment to appearance?”
With that point, Dazai noticed Kouyou’s eyes widened even as she attempted to hold her expression to an overly neutral position. But even she realised her inability to school her features as she quickly responded, “Gods have a tendency to reflect the image a mortal possesses of a god. Or perhaps more accurately, mortals will project their ideal image upon the god.”
That was interesting. Apparently even the image of the god was once again a matter of perception. But that still raised an odd point. “Then why does Chuuya appear as a tiny, miniscule pretty redhead? I would think a calamity god to be a hideous beast.”
Apparently he’d voiced his last thought out loud as Kouyou seemingly responded to his thoughts with an incredulous, “A short redhead? He wouldn’t happen to reach around your chin, would he? With slightly longer hair at the back of his head?”
Dazai nodded. Could gods see what a mortal projected onto one of their own? But if so, why did she appear so surprised?
“And I? What appearance do I take to your eyes?” She asked, her voice still full of disbelief.
“Hmm? Are you fishing for compliments? My, how forward of you.” Dazai teased, but when she lifted a single unappreciated eyebrow, he sighed and answered truthfully, “A woman with quite long pink hair. You’re also quite a bit taller than Chuuya which is ironic seeing as the two of you are apparently siblings. Although, if I truly am projecting my own images of you, that could prove why you don’t appear anything alike.”
“No,” Kouyou almost interrupted him with how quickly she spoke when he finished, “No, I don’t believe it. How could someone like you have such an ability?”
“Oh? What special ability do I have?” Dazai kept his tone light and amused even as his mind screeched for answers. He really did hate unsolved mysteries. Especially if someone knew something he didn’t.
Raising a hand with her face still in complete disbelief, she pointed to him and said, “You, you can see the true appearance of the gods.”
Well, that was interesting.
***
Chuuya let out a sigh as he finally let his eyes rise from the copious amounts of forms he’d been tasked with filling out and signing. His head quickly followed his eyes as he casted it towards the ceiling and stretched out his back. His hand dropped the pen it had been holding as his other hand moved to gently stretch out the fingers that had previously been squeezed tightly around the previously mentioned pen.
He hated this part of the job. Every calamity from a low rising river to a volcanic eruption landed before him with a form to detail the occurrence, any injuries, and repercussions to fill in and then sign the entire form. When he’d agreed to work as a proper calamity god, he hadn’t expected the endless flood of paperwork that had fallen in his lap.
He was a calamity god, for Mori’s sake! His brethren had never bothered with all these formalities, instead travelling to the mortal realm and delighting in the wickedness of disaster. They stomped through fields causing thunderous quakes with every step or swam through the oceans, inciting viscous swirls of water that would plunge into the land.
But not him! Instead he was stuck here in his realm, filling out paperwork. Although, that too could link to his continued wellbeing. He’d never exposed himself to things that would incite overly extreme emotions. He could control himself much better here.
And the paperwork typically wasn’t quite so bad, but the past few days he hadn’t touched much with all the excitement around the sacrifices that now it was creating paper landmines that had no issue with exploding to the floor.
All morning he’d been filling out famine deaths and inhospitable land. Apparently, Steinbeck hadn’t been feeling particularly generous at the moment and his feud with Twain had left many crops unripened and land infertile as winter began to seek into the air. The paperwork had spilled into the afternoon and even now he’d yet to fully explain the situation in his description.
The incident also encompassed much of the mortal realm with virtually none of the land left unharmed. For the report he’d been compiling the land that was decimated by Steinbeck’s decision and he’d noticed that bare a single town in the land known as Japan and one in the town of Italy, the entire landmass in the mortal realm had been affected.
He couldn’t help but wonder what the villages had done to win the love of Steinbeck, but he wasn’t about to confront the god himself. He’d never really enjoyed Steinbeck’s presence, the other god was much too petty and obsessed with appearance for Chuuya to feel comfortable around him. But perhaps that was why Kouyou didn’t mind his company.
Regardless, the map had been finished and appended into the report. He still had to go over the death number and get the proper assessment from Mori-sama, and then he would need to message Poe about the after effects of Steinbeck’s assault, before he sent a team for an inspection to ensure that everything he’d recorded was accurate and to get a gauge at what sort of other calamities the famine might cause.
And that was just that single report. He still had the analysis on the increasing world violence escalation since Q took that vacation they’d been planning for years to visit the pyramids? Chuuya still wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Plus, he had that volcanic eruption to plan in the next few weeks. Not to mention all the other chaos the other gods had decided to make in the past week.
Just staring at the paper that he had to work through, Chuuya couldn’t help but groan as his hands moved to massage his temples. Why had he ever thought that finding a consort was a good idea? He had no time for it.
Not only that, but all the sitting and paperwork made him exhausted. He could barely keep himself from yawning and he felt the almost irresistible desire to curl up in his chair and close his eyes. His writing was sluggish and he found himself at times creating more work for himself as he caught himself miscounting statistics or writing the wrong information into his forms.
What he wouldn’t give to stand up from his seat and rush to the fields. He could almost feel the wind as his fists ran through familiar forms and the firmness of the trees as he landed one hit after another in his training.
Not that he had time to complain or to sleep, or to fantasize. With one more wistful glance out his office window, he stretched and recentered himself to continue his work. But just as he finally forced himself back to his work, he heard a knock on his door.
“What is it?” Chuuya called out even as he mentally lamented the interruption.
The door slid open to reveal Shirase, his second in command, standing with a sympathetic frown, “Chuuya-sama, more work arrived today. I reviewed it with the others, but most of it requires your expertise.”
Chuuya had to bite back a groan. He didn’t want to appear unappreciative for Shirase and the rest of the yokai who served him. Those directly under him had it rough. Just as he did, they had many responsibilities they were required to see to and most were out of the house for days at a time before returning with even more work that Chuuya needed to accomplish. They were essential to managing his realm, but that didn’t mean Chuuya relished the extra work. But it was always important, and he knew that even as the god of the realm, he had to uphold his portion of the work.
So with a returned tired smile, Chuuya gestured to the mess of his desk. “Just leave it here. Thank you, Shirase.”
Shirase did as instructed and deposited the paper on the desk, causing the desk to echo Chuuya’s groan. Just what else had happened that needed Chuuya’s attention?
Typically after dropping a boatload of work at Chuuya’s desk, Shirase was quick to head out, but this time he rose from where he’d been crouched over the desk and hovered. A hand went to the pocket in his shirt and a second later a crumpled envelope was tossed to Chuuya. He caught it and when he questioned Shirase with a glance, the yokai simply shrugged, “Didn’t notice it under the paperwork pile until now. But I figured it was better late than never.”
Chuuya turned the envelope over in his hand then paled. It was an official notice from Mori-sama.
Chuuya thanked Shirase, his mind still preoccupied with what Mori could possibly want, that he almost missed Shirase’s typical farewell. But he still heard the familiar knock on the crystal lamp as Shirase announced his farewell. The crystal lamp was still glowing faintly as Chuuya felt an irrefutable sense of exhaustion rise through his body.
He almost couldn’t help himself as he allowed himself to slump onto his desk.
He needed to read that correspondence from Mori. It had to be important if the god had sent a formal letter to his realm instead of corresponding with him directly, but also not so important that his input was required immediately. It was most likely some sort of formality that Chuuya would need to respond to.
And he would. Just after maybe a short rest.