Chapter Text
THE DEATH OF DUTY
Traces of a dream
A butterfly
Through a flower field.
- Chiyo-ni [1703-1775]
“Sora?”
She lowered her gaze, even though Taichi couldn’t see her. She adjusted her grip on the phone, gnawing anxiously on her thumbnail as she glanced down at Piyomon who was looking up at her with her wide, expecting eyes.
The words were on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be spoken, but then Sora’s eyes caught the digivice lying on her bedside table. Saw the glowing yellow ring hovering around the screen.
“I… I can’t. It’s started.”
It had started several days ago. It had been a Tuesday. She had been helping her mother in the shop, sorting through their latest delivery to ensure the blooms were all present and accounted for. A meticulous process that Sora’s mother always oversaw with eagle eyes.
But that day, a customer had entered not five minutes after they had finished unloading. Sora had been pinned in the back corner, surrounded by azaleas, but before she could even begin picking out a safe route her mother had disappeared. Sora had never been alone with unchecked inventory before. “These flowers aren’t for children,” her mother used to say whenever she would confine Sora to their apartment upstairs until the flowers had been sorted and stored. Sora had never felt less like a child as she did in that moment, as her mother’s silent trust had sent a rush of warmth spiralling through her chest.
A flicker of light in the corner of her eye and she turned, finding her D-vice on the counter. She’d expected a message, or even a call, but instead she found a golden ring with seventeen glowing notches.
She hadn’t known what to make of it at first. She’d thought of calling Koushiro, but then her mother had returned and Sora had been forced to slip the phone back in to her pocket and return her attention to their work. She’d mentioned it to Mimi that evening on their weekly virtual hangout; Mimi was dialling in from California this time, beaming as she held up a thick contract signed in vibrant pink. In return, Sora had held up her D-vice, but Mimi had only looked confused.
“Maybe it’s some kind of special feature Koushiro added to it? He’s the best person to ask.”
She hadn’t had a chance. Before she knew it, there was another crisis afoot, closely followed by a sobering explanation of the glowing ring and what it meant.
“Ah.” Taichi paused, the silence lingering heavily between them. Then: “I understand.”
She wished he’d been angry. Wished he’d shouted and cursed, or given her a rousing speech that would have lit a fire beneath her. Instead there was just silent understanding.
She hated it.
She stared at the phone, long after the call had ended, counting the remaining notches. Two left. She ran her thumb over the Crest of Love engraved into the crimson rear panel and bit her lip, slowly lifting her eyes to return Piyomon’s confused gaze.
“Sora?”
Had she been wrong? With a new threat on the horizon they should have been gathering, drawing on each other for strength – especially with Mimi now out of action, and with Miyako, Ken, Daisuke and Iori were trapped in New York, advised against connecting to a Digital Gate until they had more intel. Koushiro’s latest e-mail had gone as far as suggesting they avoid technology in all forms, leaving them to rely solely on the D-vices Koushiro had built for them. Sora slipped hers in to her pockets and made her way around her room. She turned the TV off at the wall, and shut her laptop down before closing the lid and sliding it under her bed. She even went as far as to turn off the lights – her mother had recently upgraded their apartment to eco-friendly smart bulbs to save on their energy bill, and Koushiro had warned them that they really couldn’t be too careful.
Perhaps, Sora thought as she scooped Biyomon into her arms and headed towards the window, she could hide in the darkness. If Eosmon couldn’t find her, then maybe she’d be safe too from whatever digital entity had decided to tear them away from their partners. She ran a finger down the window, tracing the path of a thick raindrop.
“Sora?” Piyomon asked, her voice quiet and unsure. “You don’t need to join the others?”
She felt Piyomon tilting her head back, trying to catch Sora’s eye. Sora dropped her head, burying her chin in her partner’s warm feathers as she stared out in to the grey.
“I already decided I wasn’t going to fight,” she said, her voice a lot stronger than she felt. She held Piyomon close and closed her eyes tight. “I’m going to stay here with you, Piyomon.”
She’d decided the moment Koushiro had explained what the ring meant, which in itself seemed to be the wrong (or the right?) thing to do. The moment she had accepted that she would never see Garudamon or Birdramon again, another notch had disappeared. It seemed it wasn’t just the act of growing up that weakened their bond with their partners; the simple act of acceptance seemed to speed up the process, and the realisation had claimed another notch.
Since then, Sora had spent every possible moment with Piyomon. When not in work or in school, they had worked their way through a list of things that Piyomon wanted to do before she-
Sora grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes against the burning tears that threatened to fall. Piyomon wouldn’t disappear. She couldn’t. Digimon didn’t just vanish. And yet, Gennai himself had confirmed it. All partnerships ended, one way or another, and the partnership between Chosen Child and their partner digimon was no exception.
“Sora?”
“Mm?”
“Can you pick flowers for me? I’d like to hear you talk about them again.” The dam began to crumble then, and Sora buried her face in her partner’s crown as the first tear fell. She allowed herself the smallest pause – breathing in the scent of her partner – before she lifted her head again and took a deep, steeling breath.
“Of course.”
It had become a hobby, since Sora had started seriously studying hanakotoba, for her to imagine arrangements for those around her. It helped her remember all the different meanings and the subtleties inferred by the shade of the fullness of the bloom. When Piyomon was around, on days when there wasn’t much to do but sit inside and wait for the rains to pass, Sora would imagine them out loud, closing her eyes to envision how she would piece the arrangement together. Sora carried Piyomon to the bed before, setting her partner down gently before taking off her slippers and pulling her D-vice from her pocket.
One notch left.
She curled her other hand, digging her nails in to her palms and swallowing past the burning lump in her throat. She shouldn’t have looked. She quickly stashed the D-vice in the drawer of her bedside cabinet next to her digivice before climbing on to the bed, curling into the corner between her headboard and the wall.
Piyomon had seen. Sora could tell by the look in her large, watery eyes. Silently she walked closer until she was standing in Sora’s lap, and she leant in close to press their foreheads together. The tears came then; hot and raw as they raced down Sora’s cheeks. Soft feathers gently brushed them away and Sora’s hands flew to them, lacing her fingers into the warm plumage.
“I’ll never leave you,” Piyomon whispered. Sora hiccuped, clutching tightly at her partner and wishing they could stay like this forever.
Down the hall, the clock on the mantelpiece in the lounge chimed the hour.
“Come on, Sora,” Piyomon said gently, pulling away and settling in beside her. “I want to hear about the flowers.”
Sora glanced down. Piyomon was leaning against the wall, her head tilted back and her eyes closed. The short feathers around her eyes glistened like diamonds in the grey storm light. Sora took a breath and did the same, closing her eyes and imagining they were in the studio downstairs.
“Well, first, I need to dress for the occasion.” Her voice was thick, the words coated in tar, but she swallowed thickly and forced a smile. “Which kimono should I wear?”
“The blue one!” Sora had known the answer before asking. Their family had a modest collection of kimono, handed down through along with ownership of the flower shop. They had enough to see them through the major events of each season, with a collection of vibrant yukata for some of the less formal summer festivals.
Piyomon’s favourite was the powder blue robe with delicate white flowers along the hem and the bottom of the long sleeves. After many lengthy conversations with Sora’s mother (which both Sora’s mother and Piyomon had delighted in), Piyomon was now somewhat of an authority on how to style their family kimono, and she expertly paired the blue robe with a white silk underrobe, a lemon obi with delicate cream embroidery, and a red braided obijime cord to secure the bow.
“For you, I start with pink tsubaki,” she began.
“For beauty and love, right?” It was. A subtle, humble beauty – not extravagant or boastful – and the gentle kind of love reserved for the closest of friends.
“In the middle I place a Lily of the Incas, for our strong connection to each other.”
“They’re the orange ones, right? With the little black bits in the middle? I like those.” Sora nodded with a smile, feeling a tear run down her cheek. It dripped on to her collarbone.
“And then… And then, at the back, a plume of dracaena.” The tall, slender leaf-like petal of the dracaena plant were symbols of undeniable happiness – a testament to their adventures together. Sora often placed them at the back, where they stood regal like the fronds of a great crown. “And around the bottom, some white edelweiss blossoms, for your courage and power.” Piyomon giggled quietly.
“You know so many flowers now, Sora,” she said. It was followed by a contented sigh. “You’ve come so far.”
She supposed that she had. It seemed so natural now, for her to be following in her mother’s footsteps – about to apply for her Ikebana certificate, ready to embark on years of training that would see her one day become the new head of the ie-moto. And yet, when she and Piyomon had first met, she had hated the idea. She had forced herself in to shapeless trousers and covered her long hair with hats, determined to be anything other than the little woman her mother so desperately wanted. She’d been such a tangle of emotions back then; desperate for her mother’s affection and yet dead set against anything that might have earned it.
It had been Piyomon who had opened Sora’s eyes.
Slowly she let her hand drift over the bedsheets towards her partner. They passed through the space where she’d been to brush against the wall. It was still warm. Sora curled in on herself, pressing her face in to her knees as the tears came in earnest. She didn’t need to open the drawer, nor open her eyes. Her heart felt empty; a vast ache that had crept in whilst she’d been busy thinking about flowers and the future.
Even in her last moments, Piyomon had known how to take care of her.
She didn’t know how long she stayed like that. Long enough that her eyes finally ran dry, and the ache had settled into something akin to a lingering pang. Would the absence of their bond really fade so quickly? She lifted her head, drying her cheeks with the heel of her hand. The grey light outside had darkened, the rain pounding harder against her windows. A storm was coming, and for the first time Sora felt almost nervous. There was an ominous rattle to the windows, and the darkness that hours earlier had seemed comforting now seemed ominous and foreboding. Like an omen understood too late. She pushed herself off the bed, slipping her feet back in to her now cold slippers and reaching instinctively for the lamp.
She stopped herself, her fingers hovering in mid-air. It could still be dangerous. It felt silly to be worrying over a lightbulb of all things – smart though it was – but she let her hand fall instead to the draw of her nightstand. Best to check for the all clear from Koushiro, just in case.
She pulled open the drawer. Her heart stopped. The rings were gone – both from her D-vice and from her old digivice. She reached in, pulling out the older model with trembling fingers. The once-warm casing now cool to the touch, its smooth surface fractured and marred, and its screen lifeless and dull. Just the feeling of having it in her hand used to send electricity racing up her arm, but now there was simply…
Nothing.
She checked her D-vice. No new messages. She tried to quell the icy fear that was settling in her stomach. It had been hours since Taichi’s call; since she’d quietly turned down his call to arms and he’d quietly accepted. Did that mean…
She crossed to the window. The storm was much worse than before. Driving sheets of rain obscured most of the city skyline, turning buildings mere streets away in to indiscernible shadows. The air was thick. Aside from the occasional shiver of the window in its frame, the world seemed oddly silent. Like someone had turned down the volume.
Quiet enough for her to hear, somewhere in the distance, the shrill blow of a whistle.
She closed her hand around her old digivice, clutching it against her heart as she stared out into the grey abyss beyond her window.
“Guys…” she whispered. She watched the rain pour outside; followed two raindrops as they raced down the windowpane. Tried to ignore the silence in her room and the emptiness in her heart. She tightened her grip, filling the hole with a fiery determination. “I believe in you all.”
And there she stood, watching the storms with her lifeless digivice pressed against her heart – a silent vigil in the eye of the storm – until, at last, her D-vice buzzed.
A message from Daisuke.
WE DID IT!
Then, moments later:
We did do it, right?
Someone please tell me that everyone’s okay.
Hello?
Sora held her breath, watching the screen, her heartbeat fluttering nervously in her throat. She almost jumped when three tiny dots appeared in the bottom corner of the screen, silently bobbing up and down until finally:
Yes, we did it. We’re okay.
Takeru’s message was unusually short, but it was enough. Sora’s legs gave way beneath her, and she sagged heavily against the floor as she collapsed, her whole body trembling. She raised a shivering hand to her mouth as a fresh wave of tears sprang forth. The sobs came from somewhere deep in her chest – from the aching hole in her heart – and they echoed through the silent room, almost loud enough to drown out the thundering of approaching footsteps.
“Sora!”
The door flew open, spilling light into the bedroom. Her mother stood in the doorway, wrapped in a thin night-robe, her usually-neat hair wild with panic. She hovered a moment, staring, and then quickly swooped forwards. Silently she gathered Sora in her arms, holding her tightly as Sora buried her face in the soft cotton of her mother’s nightgown.
The next few days passed in a foggy haze. Sora’s D-vice was often buzzing with messages. Sometimes she saw glimpses of them before the screen returned to sleeping. She saw enough to know that Miyako had made it back to Spain to finish up the last month of her study abroad, and enough to know that both Taichi and Yamato had said farewell to their partners. Beyond that, the messages were a blur. Mimi called. Sora almost answered, after her phone had been ringing non-stop for the better part of a day, but despite her thumb hovering over the green button she couldn’t bring herself to press it. Instead she waited until Mimi hung up, and then sent a short message.
I’m fine. I just need some time.
Sora had never been more glad of her mother’s endless patience than she was in those few days. Every morning her mother would arrive with a small tray of breakfast. She would return at lunch with another platter, usually bearing sweet treats from the convenience store at the end of the street. Then, after the shop had closed and she had finished with her students, she would return with a small dinner. Not once did she complain that the food was left untouched (and Sora knew she had every right to complain).
It was fortunate, in a way, that time did move on even without Piyomon at her side, because Sora was sure she might have stayed there forever if not for her mother who, one morning, came earlier than usual with a large breakfast tray. She set it carefully on Sora’s desk before perching on the edge of Sora’s bed, resting a gentle hand on her knee.
“Are you ready for today?”
Sora’s brain took several long moments to catch up. She glanced over to the windowsill where the small vase of shion flowers – daisy-like clusters of purple petals with a yellow centre, for remembrance – had withered and wilted. It felt like only yesterday that her mother had put them there.
“You don’t have to do it if you’re not ready.”
Sora turned her bleary eyes towards her mother then as a tiny spark smouldered to life inside her chest. She was ready. Piyomon had made sure she would be. They’d spent hours imagining arrangements, discussing meanings, debating the principles of Sogetsu and weighing up the pros and cons of the different kakei arrangement styles. Today was a very important day – for herself, for her mother, and for their reputation as an ie-moto.
She was ready.
Her mother left her to eat breakfast, and after clearing almost the entire platter Sora hurried to the bathroom to shower. The hot water seared through days of grease and grime, and as she wrapped herself in a soft, warm towel it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her hand lingered over her heart, to the distant memory of a gaping hole, and as she looked at herself in the steamy bathroom mirror, she could almost convince herself that the smudge of a pink bathrobe over her shoulder was Piyomon, silently cheering her on.
She dried her hair and lightly powdered her face, and by the time she was done her mother had returned with a kimono draped lightly across her arms. Powder blue, with delicate white flowers along the hem and the bottom of the long sleeves. She laid it carefully on the bed beside the white silk underrobe, the lemon obi with delicate cream embroidery, and the red braided obijime cord. Sora stood, staring down at the ensemble with a knot in her throat, and when she looked up her mother gave her a small but proud smile. She helped Sora in to the kimono, expertly folding the obi in to a tight bow and securing it with the obijime, and when she was done she reached for Sora’s hand, pressing in to her palm a small origami bird made of pink paper.
“She is still with you,” her mother whispered softly, before taking the bird and tucking it behind Sora’s obi.
Together, they descended to the workshop. Her mother had already gathered the pieces for her arrangement, but as she looked over the knotted pine branches and the harmonious flowers, Sora felt her heart sink. She and Piyomon had spent hours on the idea, sketching and resketching the arrangement, but they had both agreed it had been missing… something. An arrangement to celebrate the upcoming change in season would of course be beautiful, but the idea had been created in a simpler time, when the end of summer had been the most important thing they could think of.
Sora could think of something far more important now. She thanked her mother for helping prepare the arrangement, and apologised deeply before putting away the branches and flowers and searching for others that would fit her new idea.
For Taichi, she chose an orange gerbera daisy - a bright, cheerful blossom to represent their close friendship and his desire to always move forwards. For Yamato she chose a cluster of baby blue-eyes, thinking of how he had been changing in recent years, slowly coming out from behind his mask to share his true self with the world. Takeru was possibly the easiest one to pick – the large yellow daisy called to her from across the shop, a vibrant symbol of peace and hope. It was almost too perfect that it had been sitting next to the delicate lilac blossoms, a perfect symbol for Hikari’s modesty and friendship. She nestled a pink hydrangea towards the front for Mimi’s hard-earned pride, and the heartfelt love they shared. For Koushiro she chose two tall stems of lupine, their purple blossoms perfectly arranged in neat rows, revealing flashes of yellow and white; a symbol of Koushiro’s creativity and knowledge. To the right of the arrangement she would place a delicate pussy willow branch for Jou’s obedient hard work, which she would balance with five tall dracaena fronds. Then, around the front, she placed four broad lemon leaves for the innocence of Daisuke, Ken, Miyako and Iori as the newer Chosen.
And finally, within the heart of the arrangement, she tucked a single Lily of the Incas for Piyomon, without whom she would never have known the true friendships of the Chosen.
Her mother nodded with approval when she explained her arrangement, though she was quick to purse her lips with a thoughtful frown.
“Where are you?” she asked. Sora’s heart had skipped a beat then. With no partner and no digivice, could she still count herself as part of the team. Her mother urged her to reconsider by taking another walk through the flowers. Several caught her eye, but none of the meanings seemed quite right, and several – whilst close enough – would clash with the rest of the arrangement.
A flash of red caught her eye and she paused. There, nestled in the far corner, were three delicate poppies. Traditionally, Sora knew, they were associated with the fun kind of love often found between close-knit friends, which in itself wasn’t a bad flower to choose for herself. But as she picked them from their vase she thought of another meaning – an association with a long sleep or, in some places, with death. She tenderly cradled the flowers as she brought them back to the table, and worked with the utmost care to prepare the stems and to pin them in place. They stood tall behind Piyomon’s lily, and as Sora stood back she felt a calm contentment as she beheld the arrangement.
“Poppies?” her mother asked, her tone a light mix of approval and curiosity. Sora nodded and folded her hands in her lap.
“A farewell,” she said, “to a part of my life that I must now leave behind.” To the death of duty, she supposed, although it seemed a bit too solemn to say out loud. Her mother nodded in understanding and placed a gentle hand on Sora’s elbow.
Her D-vice buzzed softly. Her mother raised an unamused eyebrow and Sora ducked her head in apology before reading the message from Mimi.
Sora~~~! Good luck today!
It ended with a collection of floral emojis and crossed fingers, and Sora bit back a tearful smile. Soon other messages followed, each pouring in to the channel to wish her the best of luck for the competition. Her mother handed her a handkerchief which she accepted with silent thanks.
Perhaps this was farewell to her life as a Chosen. But it certainly wasn’t farewell to her friends.