Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Warmth.

Yorihime felt warmth spread through her body, slowly, gently. From behind closed eyelids she could tell a harsh light had washed over her. As she weakly gasped, the icy air stung her lungs, like thousands of needles were pricking her insides– and she coughed on reflex. Breathing in again, stronger, deeper, she felt the oxygen spread through her, a nourishment to once barren organs. Her nerves, no longer numb, slowly transmitted signals of warmth– then pain. Dull, throbbing, all over.

After a moment, she opened her eyes. Fragments of a ceiling once adorned with lavish wood and ornate marble stared back. The world felt muted, colors pale, sky overcast. Yorihime stared up at the sky, at the few rays of the sun that shone through the destroyed ceiling, before clouds drifted to quickly conceal it once again. The princess slowly sat up, body frail from disuse, and realized that a mist had long settled around her. A chill was wrapping around her, as if rebuking her for thinking this warmth was here to stay. The moon was… frozen. It was a sight she hadn't seen for years, something she thought would stay a distant memory, only experienced from behind a window after the capital had gone on lockdown.

Said warmth was quickly draining from her body, disappearing almost as soon as it came, but she held onto the memory of it as strongly as she could. Warmth meant she was alive. Being alive meant she’d been exonerated. Exoneration meant...

Yorihime stared down at her hands, still as bloody as they were before she’d lost consciousness, scars wrapping around her wrists like silhouettes of thorny vines. But what was more important to her than her hands, was what wasn’t in them. 

Toyohime’s hat. She still could remember its weight in her hands, grasped tightly against her chest, as she closed her eyes and surrendered to a fate that didn’t come. Did J-... she take it?

The question hung in the air unanswered.

Yorihime stood up, legs wavering- before stumbling for a moment. She could hear her joints popping and cracking as she took a few uncertain steps forward, taking a better look at her surroundings. The palace was very much in ruins, broken pillars and splintered wood all over. There were many holes crudely blown through the walls that cold winds blew through, smashed furniture laying in pieces across the hall, but no bodies. After all the death she’d seen, it came as... almost a shock to the princess. Did she really just... leave the moon without causing further casualties after what she’d done to them? The troops couldn’t possibly have let her... or at least would’ve died trying.

Yorihime silently walked, kicking rubble out of her path. She kept expecting to see out of the corner of her eye smears of dried blood along the floors, the silhouettes of casualties blocking flickering lights, or a cold body frozen in terror in a nearby doorway, but the shock never came. Instead, a serene, misty silence. The heavy wooden doors hung a crack open, and the princess could feel a chill run down her spine as she approached them. Sure, she was shivering in the wind, but that chill was equal parts fear of what was waiting for her on the outside.

This calmness, both unexpected and unprecedented after what she went through, surely hiding behind it was something terrible... Reaching for a broken table leg, Yorihime took hold of the door, and inhaled slowly, anticipation making her shudder. With one quick motion, she jerked it open and stumbled back, expecting something – or someone – to come lashing at her–

But nothing came.

She stared at the empty air, as if still expecting a vile creature to manifest out of it, before she exhaled slowly, letting a bit of tension leave her weary body. What am I thinking, she obviously left – for some reason, by some divine grace – she left… and so did everyone else. If she hadn't… Yorihime couldn't finish the thought. Instead, the soft crackle of flames could be heard, coming from… somewhere.

No, she's not here. She left. The thought echoed in her head like a mantra. Yorihime trembled in the frigid air, staring at the empty courtyard ahead of her, trying to ignore the many questions that kept appearing at every corner. Why hadn’t J-... she killed everyone on the moon? After the carnage she'd left in her wake, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. If she did, then where were the bodies? Who froze the capital? If it were the sages, then where was everyone? And most importantly...

Why was she alive?

The princess sighed, shoulders tensing up as she continued walking, weapon in hand, aimless but determined. She had to get out of this place and get to the bottom of what was happening. This wasn’t the time for coming up with existentialist questions about the fates that led her here. She had to get somewhere safe, or at least find shelter from the freezing winds. 

Almost as if mockingly, she could see droplets begin to splatter onto the cracked marble floors. Confused, she slowed to a halt, looking up at the sky. Rain? In the Capital? But I'm not… Before she could contemplate the oddity further a droplet of water splashed against her shoulder, and she flinched. Another followed, and more fell until everything was being showered with heavy rainfall. The rain felt uncomfortably cold – almost burning – against her already freezing skin, and so she ran out of the courtyard in a rush. Catching sight of a house whose roof was still on, Yorihime dashed inside, closing the door behind her in a hurry.

The inside of the house, however, hadn't fared any better than her. It seemed as if something big had crushed half of it, a portion of the roof breaking away from the rest and crashing down onto the floor. The impact from… whatever it was that did this, had formed a gash in the ceiling, splintering tiles and snapping wood. A small amount of rain was getting through, and Yorihime could see the rainwater form little, ink-black pools that quickly drained into the exposed moon rock below. The walls were standing – but just barely; the furthest one had been reduced to rubble, cracked concrete and twisted rebar that jutted out like broken bones. Around that area, a small fire – probably electrical, before the grid eventually went down due to the rain – had slowly fed on wood from the wreckage, leaving a handful of dimly glowing embers in its wake. Awfully convenient. Yorihime thought as she picked up a few pieces of broken wood, taking care to avoid any waterlogged ones, and piled them onto the embers. Almost instantly, they began smoldering, and she could see a few budding flames spring out. When Yorihime saw the flames, however, an anxious shudder passed through her body– but she quickly tried to repress it. 

This was the second time now, and so she inwardly cursed herself for it. Being scared from a fire she was kindling herself, really? She was sheltered from the rain, so what was the harm in trying to warm up, too? Fire isn't inherently dangerous, especially not now, especially not when I'm freezing my limbs off. As she rationalized away the worries, fighting back the pit of dread in her stomach, she huddled against the debris and tried to warm up near the fire. 

Rain wasn't commonplace in the capital, that she was sure of. Mist wasn't either, but there were ways it could appear, ways it could be… induced, as some might say. If the moon was frozen, then someone– no, a Lunarian was here- someone affiliated with the sages, someone who could... save her. The first candidate to come to mind was Kishin, but–

The roar of flames, too loud to come from the small bonfire, filled Yorihime’s ears once again. The ceiling groaned, and a pillar of dust cascaded down– a few rocks clattering onto the ground along with it.

... Kishin couldn’t have possibly done it. It had to have been someone else . Yorihime inched closer to the fire, feeling the burn of flames licking her freezing hands. She didn't mind the pain, though, it was barely registered under a constant, widespread hurt that stiffened her joints and stung her lungs. Outside, the rainfall grew more intense, making the princess grateful for her temporary shelter.

Yagokoro could've been the one to do it. It wouldn't be the first time she'd gotten involved in lunar affairs just to help Yorihime– and she didn't imply it'd be the last, but… everything happened so quickly. It still shook her to the core, the realization that this – all of this agony, pain and suffering – had unfolded within a couple of days . Her chest felt tight, the silence enveloping her as those thoughts became too burdening to ignore. Had Yagokoro given up on her? Had she seen the carnage– the devastation so swift and steadfast, and simply… thought there was little to salvage?

"S-she would never."

Even though she was trying to reassure herself, Yorihime's voice still quivered. Must be the cold . As the bonfire warmed her up further, her plethora of questions slowly died down under the rhythmic pit-patter of rain, exhaustion overtaking her. It was getting hard to think when she was so weary. Her newfound fear of fire seemed to subside for a moment, soothed by the momentary comfort of warm shelter and the feeling of the jagged, crude wooden club in her hands. Yorihime sighed as she hugged her only weapon close to her chest, and closed her eyes for a moment…

… Huh?

The princess was woken up by the loud crash of thunder. When Yorihime came to, the fire had long gone out, the room bathed in darkness. The freezing temperatures should've woke her up first, but it looked like she'd been asleep for hours. It either got warmer, or the cold was affecting her much less now. As the princess blinked the sleep out of her eyes, she realized that she could feel a small breeze blowing into the room. But I'm sure that I…  

A realization cut her line of thought short as she saw the door – the one she was sure she'd closed – hanging open just a crack, and she scrambled to her feet. Her breaths came fast and shallow as she quickly scanned her surroundings– still holding the broken table leg in her hands, back against the corner. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled. 

The wrecked room was completely still, save for her frantic surveying of her surroundings. Her anxiety told her to run, that she couldn't trust the serenity, but after a while of nothing but the howls of wind broken by the occasional crash of thunder, she let her stiff shoulders relax. Nobody was here, it… was probably just the structural damage weakening the hinges. The princess put a hand to her forehead as she slunk to the floor. Nobody was there. They're all gone, they're gone and I'm… still here . 

Why was she alive?

Why her ?

Yorihime was the last person who deserved it, truly. She brought the threat into the capital – under coercion, sure, but had she kept fighting, had she refused to submit to J– …fuck , her , everyone she knew definitely wouldn't be reduced to corpses, remains and gorey smears… which eventually happened anyway. Now, even though she'd given in to her captor's whims, everyone was gone, except for whoever froze the capital in a final stand– likely doing it to protect themselves, actually. It was nothing but selfish to assume someone would do that for the vessel their invader crept out of, and yet… nobody else was here. There's nothing to save, nothing to honor, only a decaying, barren graveyard where a utopia once stood.

Yorihime thought of Yagokoro.

She would never.

Frowning, Yorihime squeezed the broken piece of wood in her hands, focusing on the sensation of the rough surface against her skin. Thoughts like this, they didn't help– despairing never brought results. And besides, this sniveling display was unlike her, unsightly of her. Master didn't raise a coward . 

Maybe there was something here she could put to good use. She stood up, taking care to avoid stepping into the various exposed wires, and made her way to stand beneath the broken ceiling. The faintest hints of starlight were streaming in, illuminating that area dimly. It surprised her to see the stars twinkle, but she couldn't keep fixating on it for long. If she truly was the last person on the moon, then she had a duty to at least– at least, help whoever froze the capital. As Yorihime took a closer look at the collapsed wall, she caught sight of a small, blinking red light flashing from behind a pile of concrete. As if shocked by a current, she dug under the debris frantically, managing to dig out a beaten, battered… book. The faded royal purple of its cover was more than familiar, and her grip on it trembled. Yorihime found it hard to believe this wasn't an imitation, but it was the very same book; the golden lettering of every character on its cover was painted on with pinpoint accuracy. This could only mean one thing. 

Someone had gone to the sea– someone knew the fate that had befallen her… she must've been unconscious for longer than just a couple of days, no doubt about it. The moment she opened the book, a panicked voice broke the thick silence that had been filling the air.

"Attention, all Lunarians! This is not a drill!"

Rei'sen?!

Heart soaring the moment she saw her subordinate, Yorihime couldn't resist an incredulous smile from coming onto her features. Damn it, she really made it through . The rabbit was standing at a familiar shore – one that made a faint bitterness well up within the princess – appearing war-hardened, and spoke with sternness Yorihime didn't recognize from her at all. "Head to the Sea of Tranquility for immediate evacuation! This is not a drill, I repeat– this is not a drill! Don't stop to engage the threat, save yourselves first!" The footage fizzled out, signal dropping briefly before it looped. The princess' glee cracked at the seams. It was a recording, not a live feed– but at least… it was something. 

Rei'sen was at the Sea of Tranquility– saving people. As the recording replayed itself, Yorihime could see handfuls of rabbits fleeing using lunar veils. Her rational mind told her to go, that maybe they had some Lunar veils left behind, or maybe… Rei'sen herself was there.

But surely enough, fear crept up from the confines of her mind. As lightning flashed across the sky, she struggled not to see talons in every shadow briefly cast against the walls. If the Lunarians were escaping through there, any enemy would leap at the opportunity to attack while they were all in one place… thunder rumbled, overbearingly aggressive– however it paled in comparison to aggression of the entity plaguing her memories. She didn't want to go one bit, the mere notion making her skin crawl and yet it was her only lead. If she wanted to get to the bottom of this, to discover who froze the capital, and what had become of both her friends… and enemy– Yorihime had to swallow down her fears, and head to the shore. Another flash of lightning lit up the wrecked space, and Yorihime moved her attention from Rei'sen's face to the dried blood staining her own battered hands.

The cold was creeping back into her bones.

Chapter Text

Thunder rolled across the moon's horizon, a slumbering beast in the throes of a nightmare.

The ends of Yorihime's hair swayed in the breeze as she stared down at the once pristine dirt. Blood, old, clotted, darkened with time left the light dust of the moon's soil in stiff, jagged clumps. The grooves and shoeprints left within immortalised the one-sided struggle that took place outside the lonely outpost. A jagged trail of blood, much like a stray soul's swishing tail, led to the outpost's gate. Next to it lay a familiar shattered blade— the remains of Lord Gion's sword. A deep rumble shook the overcast sky.

The princess looked up towards the bleak, gray sky, before letting out a weary breath. She turned away from the scene of what was once carnage, the scene of a commander’s unsightly failure, the scene of the last vestiges of her platoon’s attempt to do what's right, the scene of great, unmeasurable impurity; and kept walking.

She had someplace to be. Each step forward was heavier than the last, her boots sinking slightly into the dampened earth. The rain had stopped, but the air still clung to her skin, thick with the scent of ozone and something metallic—something old. The path towards the sea was littered with debris, remnants of a hasty retreat: discarded rifles, torn veils, the occasional smear of crimson long since dried.  She tightened her grip on the broken table leg in her hand, its rough edges biting into her palm. It was a poor weapon, but it was hers. Just like the blood on her hands. Just like the whispers in her skull.  

You’re wasting time.

The voice slithered into her thoughts, smooth as smoke, familiar as a knife between the ribs. Yorihime didn’t flinch. She was getting used to it. The vengeful voice echoed in her ears still, a harrowing reminder of the trek she made towards the capital on this very path, of the promises she made.

Her own voice, faint with memory, hoarse with screams echoed in her ears like a struck bell. “Please, I'll do anything.”

Making true on her word, she stayed quiet, and kept walking.

She mustn't dawdle.

At the sea of Tranquility, the waves didn't lap at the shore. The water merely stood about, stuttering in movement as if uncertain. Broken rifles and discarded lunar veils littered the once pristine sands. Yorihime stepped closer to some scattered crates, over which spilled out the guts of a recon file. It was far too clean to belong to the shore on which she stood, now barren yet clearly once fraught with danger. But, it was also paper — so unmistakably human, earthen, impure yet leagues above the skeletal remains of the capital surrounding her. She reached out with her free hand, only for the paper to somehow slip through her grasp. Yorihime blinked, weary eyes slowly processing what happened before trying again. This time, her fingers found purchase and she could bring it closer to her face. Most of it was a list of various streets and districts in the lunar capital, nothing she had to busy herself with. Most of those names meant nothing now, anyway, the buildings silent witnesses to the deaths of those once housed within.

But something else caught her eye.

«With a perimeter set across the Capital border, locate subjects listed below for extraction.

Watatsuki no Toyohime,

Watatsuki no Yorihime.»

Someone knew she was here. She didn't know who, or how, or why, but she knew someone — some people, even — were trying to find her. Whether it was a rescue mission or a corpse retrieval was a question hard to answer, but it wasn't on Yorihime's mind. They'll know she lived when they see her. Staring at the page blankly, she tightened her grip as if she could pry any answers out of it, but none came.

Despite that, Yorihime felt something stir within.

Hope?

…no, not likely. She hadn't felt hope in a very long time. Hope was reserved for those who fought, who clung to life even through cracked nails and bleeding teeth, who stared death in the eyes and screamed it down.

Hope was not something she was allowed. Not anymore.

But on that lonely shore, for the first time in a very, very long time, Watatsuki no Yorihime found herself… hoping.

Toyohime…

Hope for what, that she didn't know. But it was hope anyway, and that felt like it mattered — at least for a moment. 

Thunder crashes, scarring a path across the sky. A shadow stretches long, cutting across the words on the page. 

Yorihime's eyes traced it back to its source, right by the sea.

A figure stood at the water’s edge, their back to her, their silhouette stark against the horizon. Shoulder-length, flowing hair the color of pulsing embers, atop which sat a hat; within that was nestled a ruddy globe, clouds swirling lazily across it. She wore a far-too-plain shirt for someone of her power’s mere magnitude, and a tri-coloured skirt that seemed to shift with the nonexistent wind.

Yorihime had never seen her before, but the stories were far more descriptive than needed.

Hecatia Lapislazuli.

Yorihime’s breath hitched. The Otherworld goddess of Hell hadn’t noticed her yet—or perhaps she simply didn’t care to acknowledge her. There was an ease to her stance, a playful tilt to her head as she hummed a tune just beyond hearing. Then, as if sensing the weight of Yorihime’s stare, Hecatia turned.  

Her smile was a crescent knife.  

"Oh," she said, voice lilting, "there you are, you certainly gave everyone a scare."

Yorihime’s fist clenched. Not a threat, but at an attempt to ground the pitiful tremor in her hands. "What are you doing here?" 

Hecatia’s grin widened. "Waiting for you, of course." She took a step forward, the sand beneath her feet undisturbed. "You’ve been busy, little princess. Ah, how far your moon has fallen…" 

The words settled like embers in Yorihime’s chest. Ah, how far her moon had fallen indeed… she only had herself to blame for it too. 

Herself, that is, and…

Yorihime blinked. The backdrop of stars before her, just past Hecatia, ceased in one particular spot, like someone had forgotten to light the sky. Her eyes followed the indiscernible, inky emptiness, before it began to resolve into a figure. Crimson eyes shone bright like pinpricks, making even stars like Aldebaran resemble a child's toy. A fiery tail flicked forward from behind the darkness, revealing itself.

No.

Yorihime's eyes widened. Her chest seized, the monotone practice of an unnecessary breath impossible at the sight of the person who used it to crawl within her very soul.

No, no—

Emerging one by one like the petals of a lotus in bloom, came the tails. Brilliant, brilliant pink they were; not like the pale tones of her uniform, not like the soft hues of the peaches her sister was oh so fond of. It was in every sense of the word, pink — garish, bright, searing, its intensity seemingly capable of burning her retinas off.

Junko's shadowy visage cracked open a wide, fanged smile. “You’d tread the path to your demise a thousand times if it meant remaining firrrrmly stuck in your ways.”

Yorihime swallowed, eyes flickering across the shore for… she really didn't know what for. Help was not something she expected, escape was not something she was capable of. Hecatia merely stood there, smiling.

Junko grinned, almost sensing the goddess of Hell’s mirth, partaking in it as if oh so lovingly invited. “How… Lunarian of you.”

The princess took a single step back, one that didn't make a sound against the sands. Seeing the turmoil surely etched upon Yorihime's face, Hecatia laughed, delighted. "Oh, this is precious. You’re fighting yourself now?" She clapped her hands together. "How tragic. How inevitable."

Yorihime ignored her, her focus locked on the specter before her. "It's just— just a ghost. A memory."  

"Memories have teeth, princess." Junko — not Junko, or something in between, stepped closer, her form wavering like heat off a blade. "And you? You’re barely even that anymore."

A tremor ran through Yorihime’s hands. She could feel it; the weight, the pressure, the wrongness curling under her skin. The same wrongness that had been festering since the moment Junko carved herself into her soul, slipping in like a sword into its sheath, like she belonged .  

Yorihime's voice came out meek, pathetic, an echo of the self who keeled— dwindled in Junko's grasp. “I shouldn't be here.”

Hecatia’s smile was frozen, disagreeing with her questioning tone. “What was that, now?”

She tried again, trying to will some form of autonomy into her trembling voice. “I shouldn't be here, and neither should you.”

The goddess’ face feigned offense, pouting in a playful manner likely reserved for when she really enjoyed taunting the tormented being in front of her. “Now that's not very hospitable of you. After I've come all the way here, too.”

It worked effortlessly on Yorihime. She swallowed again, thickly. Unable to keep her gaze trained on Hecatia, she stared down at the wooden splinters digging into her palm. “It’s not that.”

“Then, tell me, little princess… what is it?”

“I'm wasting time.”

Hecatia’s voice cut through the tension, singsong and sly. "Why bother? There's no point in fretting about that when your end has been carved in stone. You’re already halfway there." 

She did not need to say what there was for Yorihime's body to shudder— a tortured thing, it was, having been beaten down enough times that it could only expect harm. But she didn't say anything, couldn't say anything to Hecatia. 

There was nothing to be said, nothing for her on this empty shore.

Without more words to utter— nothing that could meaningfully fill this gulf of silence between them, she turned tail, and on quivering legs, walked away.

Hecatia’s steps did not follow. She didn't need to.

The ashen wisps of Junko's influence still clung to the princess, anchoring her to the bloodied, battered ground below, the chains tightening with every step.

Lightening flashed again, shattering the sky.

Chapter Text

Yorihime had made a mistake by returning to the capital. The world itself moved as if covered in invisible thorns, every whisper of creaking wood, every gust of wind, every wisp of smoke sending a painful pressure against the back of her skull.

And if that alone wasn't bad enough, that thing— Hecatia’s puppet, that parody of Junko, had tagged along. True to its namesake, it also savored her pain, taunting and taunting until the princess had thrown a punch at it in a fit of frustration. The punch never connected, passing through it harmlessly like a koi fish would through kelp. And then, it smiled. 

Whatever it was, the ash that lurked in the depths of her mind, was winning. And it knew that.

The resulting fight was brief.

Yorihime’s breath came in ragged gasps as she stumbled back, her makeshift weapon, that same, damned splintered chair leg clutched in trembling hands. The thing wearing Junko’s face advanced, its movements fluid, unhurried, as if savoring every second of her terror. Its grin was too wide, its eyes too bright, a grotesque mockery of the woman who had hollowed her out and left her to rot. The rain had started falling too hard, too painful, and Yorihime had shoved through the half-open door of a derelict bar to avoid the stinging prickle of rainfall.

"You’re pathetic," it crooned, voice dripping with venomous delight. "Still swinging that stick like it’ll save you, with that Lunarian futility of yours. Still pretending you’re not already steeped in rot."

She swung. The wood passed harmlessly through its chest, and the force of the motion sent her crashing to the floor. The impact jarred her ribs, pain flaring like a fresh brand. The puppet loomed over her, tilting its head in faux sympathy.  

"Oh, little princess. You don’t even know what you’re fighting for anymore, do you? Have the ivory towers in your mind crumbled apart at last?"

Yorihime gritted her teeth. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

But it didn’t. It never did.  

"Is it for them? The ones who raised their blades at you before they did me? The ones who called you a monster the second you stopped being useful?" It crouched, bringing its face level with hers. "Or is it just because you’re too frightened to admit you wanted to burn it all down too?"

Yorihime felt the anger claw out of her chest before she could stop it.  

Her hands closed around its throat—or tried to. Her fingers met nothing but air, and the momentum sent her sprawling again. The puppet laughed, a sound like breaking glass, and the walls of the derelict bar seemed to pulse with it. Shadows stretched too long, the remnants of shattered bottles glinting like eyes in the dim light.  

"You can’t kill me," it whispered, leaning down until its lips brushed her ear. "I’m not even here."

Yorihime screamed and lashed out again. This time, her fist connected— not with the puppet, but with the mirror behind it. The glass shattered, shards biting into her knuckles, and for a single, dizzying moment, her reflection splintered into a hundred fragments. A hundred hollow-eyed faces, each one more unrecognizable than the last. Then the tilted world righted itself.  

The bar was empty.  

No puppet. No laughter. Just the distant howl of wind through broken windows and the steady drip of her blood onto the floor. She stared at her bleeding hand. The pain was real. The fight was… somewhat real— she was fighting something .  

But the victory, small, meaningless, wasn’t. 

The abandoned bar became her refuge, if such a thing could exist in this graveyard of a moon. Yorihime dragged herself behind the counter, pressing a torn strip of fabric to her split knuckles. The alcohol had long since been looted, but the smell lingered— sour and stale, clinging to the wood like a ghost.

She didn’t remember when she started talking to the puppet, when the lines between what was Junko and what was… her , began blurring. Maybe it had always been there, whispering in the back of her skull. 

Maybe it was only a trick of Hecatia's, crafted to torment her.

Or maybe, some traitorous part of her whispered, it was her own mind trying in pitiful ways to keep itself together. To cling to the only thing left that still looked at her like she was worth the effort of breaking into pieces.  

A floorboard creaked.  

Yorihime went still. Not alone, not anymore.  

Her fingers closed around the chair leg again, muscles coiled. The footsteps were light, deliberate; not the heavy gait of Lunar guards, not the uncertain steps of rabbits. Not the hallucination— the puppet, she was so, so certain of it being the goddess of Hell’s doing; that thing didn't need to approach her. Not Junko… fire signalled Junko, loud and powerful and drowning the air in a weight beyond measure. Then, it had to be—  

"Oh dear. You look like hell." The voice was warm. Amused. Almost serene. 

Yorihime’s head snapped up. A woman stood at the entrance of the bar, backlit by the pale glow of the Earth in Luna's sky. Blue hair, a hat adorned with a globe of Earth. A smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  

Hecatia.  

But not the one from the shore. This one was softer, quieter. The kind of gentle that hid blades buried within, ready to cut through her tongue.  

Earth. 

Yorihime bared her teeth. "What do you want?"  

Hecatia's Earth body sighed, stepping further inside. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"  

"We’re not friends."  

"No," Earth agreed, tilting her head. "But we could be."  

Yorihime’s grip on the chair leg tightened. "Get out." 

Earth ignored her, drifting closer. Her gaze flicked over the bloodied bandages, the shattered mirror, the way Yorihime’s hands shook even as she tried to steady them. "You’ve been busy."  

"Get out ." 

A chuckle. "Or what? You’ll hit me with that stick? Please." She waved a hand, and the chair leg twisted, curled in Yorihime’s grip. She dropped it instinctively, watching it warp like living wood into a gnarly, grotesque thing; as if in the death's throes, before crumbling to dust. "You’re not fooling anyone, least of all yourself."  

Yorihime breathed weakly, finally tugging her gaze up at the goddess of Hell. In seconds, she lunged— not at Earth, that would be futile. But past her, toward the door.  

She didn’t make it.  

Earth’s hand closed around her wrist, gentle as a lover’s and just as inescapable. "Ah-ah-ah. We’re talking ."  

Yorihime wrenched free, stumbling back. "There’s nothing to talk about."  

"Isn’t there?" Earth’s blade’s-edge smile turned pitying, a mockery of a saint’s mercy. "You’re falling apart, little princess. And you don’t even know why ."  

A flicker of movement in the corner of Yorihime’s eye. Not-Junko had returned, perched on the bar, swinging its legs like a child.  

"She’s right, you know," it sing-songed, in a tone that bit at memories buried within Yorihime— a gentler time, a kinder time. "You’re not even fighting it; just like you couldn't fight me. Count upon a Lunarian to remain in statis for eternity and then some." 

Yorihime’s breath hitched.  

Earth followed her gaze—to the empty space where the puppet sat—and her expression softened. "Oh, Yorihime ." The pity in her voice was worse than any blade.  

"Stop," Yorihime whispered.  

Earth stepped closer. "You don’t have to do this alone.” 

“I said stop! ”

The words tore out of her, raw and bleeding and weak . The bar trembled, dust shaking loose from the rafters, a wave of heat passing through the air, like a flame rippling through the wind. Earth paused, eyebrows raised.  

Yorihime swallowed, glad for the lull in conversation. It let her find her voice again. "What do you want?"  

Earth’s smile widened. "Why, to help, of course."  

A lie. She'd seen something, something that had made her rejoice as if witnessing lava burst out of a once-dormant volcano. But Yorihime was too tired to care. The puppet, still perched on the bar, giggled.  

"Oh, this’ll be good."

Earth took another step forward, and this time, Yorihime didn’t retreat. Not because she trusted her—never that—but because there was nowhere left to go. The wall pressed against her back, solid and unyielding.  

“ Help ?” Yorihime echoed, voice hoarse. “You don’t help. You watch . You wait . You let things burn and call it entertainment.”

Earth’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, like Yorihime had just told a particularly amusing joke. "And yet, here you are. Still standing. Still fighting. Even when you know it’s pointless." 

The puppet clapped its hands together, delighted as if watching its favourite gladiator tear a foe to shreds with a single strike. "She’s got you there!"   

Yorihime ignored it. "What’s your game?"

"Game?" Earth tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Who says there’s a game at all? Maybe I just enjoy company." 

A dry, humorless laugh clawed its way out of Yorihime’s throat. "Bullshit." 

Earth sighed, as if disappointed. "Fine. You want honesty?" She leaned in, close enough that Yorihime could see the unnatural gleam in her eyes—like sunlight through stained glass, beautiful and artificial. "You’re fascinating . A Lunarian who’s tasted grief and found she wants to serve it right back. A divine vessel rotting from the inside out. And now? Now you’re changing into that very same thing you despise. Isn’t that exciting ?" 

Yorihime’s breath hitched.  

Changing.

She knew. Of course she knew.  

The weight in her chest wasn’t just grief anymore. It was something darker, something hungry. She felt it when she walked—when the weight had settled into her bones almost eternally so. She felt it when she fought the puppet, when her hands ached to tear into something real.

She had thought it was merely an imprint of what Junko had made her carry, but the vessel had been… porous, carrying echoes within its cracks.  

And Hecatia was here to watch it happen.

"Get out," Yorihime whispered again, but the words lacked force.  

Earth’s fingers brushed her cheek, feather-light. "Oh, Yorihime. You don’t mean that."

The touch burned. Not with heat, but with something worse— recognition. Like Earth could see every fracture, every flaw, and found them all simply… delightful . 

Yorihime slapped her hand away. "Stop touching me." 

Earth chuckled but withdrew. “As you wish.” She took a step back, adjusting her hat. “But think about it. You could keep stumbling through ruins, fighting ghosts, pretending you’re still the noble little princess who matters to anyone. Or…” Her grin turned sharp. "You could embrace what you are. What you’re becoming. And I could help you. Wouldn't you prefer that over a lifetime of cyclical suffering?"

The offer hung in the air, thick as smoke.  

Yorihime said nothing.  

The puppet, however, laughed—a sound like shattering glass. “Oh, she’s good. Even I almost believe her.”

The puppet tilted its head, its grin softening—just slightly—into something almost familiar. The angle of its jaw, the way its fingers drummed idly against the bar’s edge.  

Like Toyohime used to—

Yorihime’s breath caught.  

No.   

It wasn’t real. It was just another trick, another way for the nightmare to burrow deeper under her skin.  

Earth’s voice cut through the silence. "You miss her."  

Yorihime didn’t answer.  

"Your complacency aches, doesn't it?" Earth continued, stepping closer. "Every breath you take is a reminder that she’s gone, and you’re still here… isn’t it?"  

The puppet’s fingers stilled. Its expression flickered—something almost sad passing over its stolen face before vanishing back into mockery.  

“You could have saved her,” it murmured. “If you had just… changed.” 

Yorihime flinched.

Earth’s gaze darted to the empty space where the puppet sat, then back to Yorihime. A knowing glint in her eye. "It talks to you. How… intimate."  

Yorihime’s nails bit into her palms. "Shut up."  

"You hear her voice. See her face." Earth sighed, shaking her head, but the small smile of something almost resembling pride remained on her face. "Junko really did a number on you."  

The puppet’s lips curled. "Oh, she did more than that." 

Yorihime squeezed her eyes shut. Not real. Not real. Not real.  

But when she opened them again, the puppet was closer. Standing in front of her now, almost blocking Earth's visage from her vision, its head tilted in that same damnable way Toyohime used to when Yorihime was upset.  

“You don’t have to listen to her,” it whispered, voice shifting—just a fraction—into something warmer. “You were the one to live through it all. You know what you need to do, where you need to be.”

Earth’s voice was a blade. "She’s right, you know."  

Yorihime’s head snapped up. "What?"  

Earth smiled. "Vengeance, little princess. It’s the only thing that’ll stick. The only thing that’ll make the pain stop."  

The puppet’s hand hovered near Yorihime’s cheek— not touching, but close enough to feel the ghost of warmth. "They took her from you," it murmured. "The sages. The capital. The ones who left you to rot. Doesn't the world simply deserve to burn ?"

Yorihime’s chest tightened.  

Something within her wanted to. Gods, she wanted to.  

Earth’s fingers brushed her shoulder, feather-light. "Let me help you."  

The puppet’s eyes gleamed as it faded into the shadows— too bright, too knowing. Its voice shifted, dancing along the peaks and valleys of Yorihime's train of thought, following along. "You don't trust her, but isn't this all you have left?"   

Yorihime knew that. Of course she knew that.  

But Earth’s voice was honey-sweet, dripping into her ears like poison. "You don’t have to be alone anymore. You don’t have to hurt anymore."  

Not-Junko’s voice echoed through her mind. "You’ll always be alone, unchanging, unyielding, a gravestone for everything the moon stood for— and for every second of your life you spent trying to carve your name into the stone."

Yorihime shuddered.  

Earth leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "All you have to do is let go."  

For a single, dizzying moment—  

Yorihime wanted to.  

Then the puppet laughed, high and bright and wrong and almost close enough to that laugh that once adorned the moon's peach orchards, and the spell shattered.  

Yorihime shoved Earth back, scrambling to her feet. "Get away from me."  

Earth sighed, straightening her hat. "Stubborn thing, aren’t you?"  

Then—laughter. Bright, mocking, from the doorway.  

“Oh, this is rich.”

Another Hecatia. Blonde hair, a silver moon bobbing atop her hat. Moon.

She leaned against the doorframe, grinning. "Look at you, Earth. Playing therapist again? How droll."  

Earth’s smile didn’t waver. "Go away."  

Moon rolled her eyes. "Make me."  

Yorihime backed away, pulse roaring in her ears. Two of them. Two Hecatias. One bad enough, but two—

Moon’s gaze slid to her, sharp as a scalpel. "Oh, don’t look so scared. I’m not here for you… yet ." She pushed off the doorframe, sauntering toward Earth. "I just wanted to see how long it’d take you to bore her to death with your endless yapping."  

Earth sighed. "You’re insufferable."  

"And you’re slow, toying with her like you're dangling a fairy atop Cerberus' kennel." Moon flicked Earth’s hat, sending the tiny globe spinning. "She’s right there. Just take her."  

Yorihime’s blood went cold. 

Earth’s expression darkened. "We’re not doing it your way yet. Otherworld said I could have a turn."  

"Why not? It’s faster." Moon grinned, all teeth. "Messier, sure, but fun." 

“No.”

Moon scoffed. "Fine. Waste your time." She turned, waving over her shoulder. "But don’t come crying to me when she gets a rebellious streak and cries about wanting to live again."  

And just like that, she was gone.  

Silence.  

"Don’t mind her," Earth said lightly. "She’s always been… impulsive." 

But Yorihime was already gone, having taken the opportunity to escape through one of the shattered windows. Earth sighed, rolling her eyes.  

Not-Junko's voice lingered, whispering in the dark.  

"You’re wasting time."  

And for the first time as her trembling legs carried her out of the building and in an aimless direction, Yorihime didn’t know if it was the puppet talking—  

Or her .