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It had only been several days since Nanami and Tomoe had left the shrine, and yet it felt like a lifetime. Mizuki hadn’t bothered to count just how much time had elapsed since their final goodbye, Nanami’s promise to return still ringing in his ears. Yet it was an echo, long lost to a past that felt surreal, that chapter in his life having come to an end. While he would always have those memories in his heart, it paled in comparison to the real thing, nestling snugly in the space beyond the veil alongside Yonomori, another in a string of losses in his life.
At one time, he’d believed in permanence. Those spring days with Yonomori under the plum tree, the two of them gazing at the blossoms in the height of their bloom, had made Mizuki feel as though he understood forever. Yet even for the gods forever was a myth. A concept, nothing more and nothing less. It was only for now he still had a place to stay, a place where he could wander freely and foster a purpose and share the company of a new master…
The third one.
Mikage was his third god now. And he’d observed his absence for a long time — he’d seen how Tomoe had reacted when Mikage had left. Now they all knew why that had been, Mikage’s reason for the greater good, but it didn’t ease the ache in his throat. Because a little voice in the back of his head told him that he was the only constant in the world that passed him by in all its streaking colors, spinning so sickeningly fast he felt like he was doing nothing more than switching channels on a television, the reception poor and the screen filled with static snow.
In the end, everyone was alone.
Perhaps one day Mikage would leave him too. Whether it was the humans who forgot him, the shrine already well past its heyday, or whether he chose to leave again, the outcome was the same. Mikage would vanish just as every living thing did, but Mizuki, whose lifespan was not tied to his god, would remain. He’d languish in an empty, dilapidated shrine like a soul imprinted on the land, holding it together with his powers to the best of his ability, just like Tomoe had so many years ago.
The very thought had tears pooling in his eyes. He’d cried so many times over Nanami, over the love he harbored for her and the fear and the profound loss — no matter that she’d promised to come back. And he believed with his entire heart that she would, but eventually she would be gone for good. He’d watched her grow into the venerable goddess she had been, and then he’d watched as she’d embraced humanity, moving forward with her life, in a straight line to the future — ever that straight line, time marching on with no regard for missed opportunities or broken hearts or pleas to stop.
He wanted to grasp onto that moment, to cling to it and all its softness, to find at least a bit of solace and comfort. And while he supported Nanami — he really did want her to be happy and free, to never stop smiling, to live her life to the fullest — he couldn’t help but wonder…
What would happen to him?
What did his future hold now? The person he’d hinged everything on as his cornerstone was gone. The person he’d committed himself to anew was someone he didn’t yet trust. It left him twisted in guilt, twined in on himself, to think about Mikage like that. But he was afraid. So very afraid. And that hollowness he’d run from — that aloneness Yonomori had left behind — had bobbed to the surface, like wreckage of a ship long lost to the vast expanse of the sea.
So he curled around himself, in serpentine coils, a desperate attempt to trap the warmth his cold-blood couldn’t keep, and he slept.
—
He hadn’t maintained his duties at the shrine. It occurred to him on yet another day he hadn’t bothered to count, and he wondered if Mikage would be upset with him. If Mikage would compare him to Tomoe, who he hated to admit had always been so vigilant in his responsibilities, had always kept the shrine grounds pristine. If he kept up this dull slumber, sluggish and locked in the prison of his own making, then he wasn’t keeping his end of the bargain. Reluctantly, he dragged himself into the kitchen.
Of course Nanami wasn’t there. Neither was Tomoe, who would’ve surely snarked at him for rising at such a late hour. But Mikage was there, and he offered Mizuki a kind smile, his brown eyes full of warmth. Mizuki couldn’t return it, swallowing hard and looking away. A part of him expected Mikage to comment on the fact he’d hidden himself away in the deepest, darkest recesses of the shrine, but he didn’t.
“Good morning,” Mikage greeted. “It’s good to see you’re feeling better.”
He hardly felt better, but he supposed it was progress if he’d gotten up at all.
Mikage continued. “Would you like to sit with me? I’ve already made tea.”
He should’ve been the one to make tea. Yet his master had instead. A bit embarrassed, he took the seat Mikage offered to him. He’d lived with Mikage since the god had returned a little over a year ago, but without Nanami around, he was at a loss.
So he simply said, “Thank you.” He lifted the teapot and poured himself a cup. And when he wrapped his hands around that cup, the heat bleeding through the stoneware to his palms, he realized just how cold he’d become.
A few moments passed where neither of them spoke, where they simply sipped tea. Perhaps Mikage didn’t know what to say either, Mizuki thought. Perhaps he was disappointed with him but didn’t want to reprimand him. Even the shrine spirits carved out space for him, honoring his fragility. But he didn’t think he liked how they tip-toed around him.
After all, he wasn’t Tomoe.
He was still lost in these thoughts when Mikage spoke, his voice quiet, gentle. “This has been hard for you, hasn’t it?” When Mizuki flicked his gaze up to him, emerald eyes stunned and wide, Mikage continued. “You’ve experienced a lot of change in your life. That’s not easy for an ayakashi. Especially a divine incarnation.”
He felt see-through. But this acknowledgement brought a lump to his throat, and he found himself nodding vigorously. Because he wanted someone to see it, and he wanted someone to know how hollow he felt. How much it hurt. How much he wanted to cry whenever he thought about Nanami or Yonomori or even Tomoe. And the very thought that he missed that damn fox made him want to laugh, humorless and maybe even a little broken.
Mikage set his cup down with a muted clack. “It’s all right to feel lost.”
Mikage removed the deep blue haori he wore, the color reminiscent of the depths of the ocean, and he wrapped Mizuki in it. It felt warm — Mikage’s body heat trapped in the fabric — and the scent was of the earth and rain and the spring flowers in full bloom. He sank into the billowing garment, letting it engulf him, Mikage’s innate goodness and healing light enveloping him.
“You were shaking,” Mikage explained with a sympathetic smile, placing a hand on the top of Mizuki’s head.
That sorrow that had lodged in his throat expanded until he couldn’t breathe. He could only stare up at Mikage with glassy eyes, feeling like a child — a child so lost he couldn’t find himself in the winding labyrinth of his own mind. He gripped the edge of Mikage’s haori, digging his nails into it, praying — praying that Mikage wouldn’t leave.
Because he was all he had left. And he wanted to devote himself to something solid, something more than impermanent.
“I know you might not want to talk now,” Mikage said, removing his hand, placing it in his lap. “But when you’re ready, you’re welcome to share your troubles.”
An invitation was all he needed. Mizuki shut his eyes against that burn, hanging his head. When he spoke, his voice wavered. “I can’t go through this again.” His breath hitched, and he all but whispered the next part. “Don’t leave.”
There was a short pause. Although it lasted a matter of seconds, it felt like it’d never end, leaving Mizuki suspended between his vulnerability and the fear that he’d asked too much. But wasn’t he allowed to want? Wasn’t he allowed the same happy ending that the others had found? He wanted it so much, and yet he’d had to let Nanami go.
Did he have to let Mikage go too?
The weight of an arm draped around his back, followed by another at his front. A hand fell to the side of his head, urging him closer, and he let himself drop against Mikage’s chest. Please don’t go. It looped in his head, until he wanted to shout it, to fill the shrine with this one prayer he’d give anything for someone to fulfill. But he didn’t need to say it again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mikage assured him, his voice soothing, steady. “This is my home. And it’s your home too.” A brief pause, and Mizuki only sniffed. “You can rest easy now, because you have a home with me.”
Mizuki swallowed hard. Had he been ungrateful? “You’ve been so kind. I am glad to be your familiar.”
Mikage smiled. Ever the intuitive one, he said, “Please don’t feel guilty about that. It’s okay to miss her. But day by day, you’ll heal. She hasn’t forgotten you — and you’ll always be special to her.”
“I know, but—” He finished the thought internally. “But what about me?”
“You don’t have to be lonely,” Mikage assured him. “I’m here, and you’re always welcome to talk to me.”
Mizuki nodded, keeping his eyes closed, letting Mikage’s warmth flow around him. It wasn’t the human-like warmth of residual body heat. Nor was it the warmth of a god, that light and pure cleansing that removed the shadows from his heart. It was the warmth of fondness, of kindness, of sincerity. He exhaled, and he sagged with all the weight of his heartache. But he let Mikage shoulder this burden, this corporeal form, this outpouring of emotion.
“You really won’t go?” His voice was small, hoarse.
“I won’t go. As a god, I swear this to you,” Mikage replied. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like.”
As long as he liked. A shaky laugh escaped Mizuki, and he lifted his head. He’d like to stay. “I won’t go either.”
To this, Mikage only smiled and touched the top of his head. The ache in Mizuki’s heart subsided, even just a little, and he thought — perhaps Mikage was right. Perhaps that relentless, unforgiving mistress called time could be used to his advantage. Because the space, the distance, would help him move forward too. Maybe he didn’t know what the future held, but when Mikage smiled at him like that, he found himself believing the god’s words.
He had a place to call home and a god to care for. If he’d dispelled the shadows once before, he could do it again. Yes, he’d carefully stashed Nanami away in the midst of his heart, but there was still room. Room for another person, a person who was his here and his now, a person who pledged his loyalty just like he’d pledged his.
“You must be exhausted,” Mikage said, adjusting his haori around Mizuki’s shoulders. “Please rest. The shrine will keep.”
With that permission, Mizuki lay on his side by Mikage — and he surrendered. He shifted into his snake form and curled up under the makeshift burrow of Mikage’s haori. Days of fragmented sleep weighted his eyelids. A sigh escaped him, and he shut his eyes. There, in the safety of the darkness and Mikage’s soft aura, he drifted away into a dreamless state. And Mikage’s pledge chased away every lingering nightmare, the visages of his past fading away into another place and another time, making more room for the present.