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The first bell rang—and something ancient awoke..
The Mikage Shrine shuddered. Lantern flames flared, smoke snapping upward as fear rippled through the crowd. Miasma crept along the stones, stubborn and dark, a weight against Nanami’s chest.
She felt it immediately. Cold, insistent. Gripping the kagura bells, she drew a steady breath.
I can do this—and I want him to see me.
Lantern light gilded polished stone and vermilion torii gates, the air rich with incense, mochi, and night-blooming flowers of the Autumn Festival.
Nanami’s amethyst silk embroidered with butterflies brushed her skin, heavy with meaning. She whispered, “Breathe.” Thoughts of him—the sharp, sly watchful fox at her back—steadied her. She would give everything to prove she belonged here, to prove herself worthy of him.
The bells chimed softly as she lifted them.
From the shadows beneath the eaves, Tomoe watched—and went utterly still.
He had sensed the miasma long before the humans had. Had been prepared to act, claws itching beneath his sleeves, power coiled tight and ready.
Then Nanami stepped forward.
Bare feet touched the cool wood, and the shrine responded.
The flute began—low, reverent, ancient.
Her movements flowed with careful grace at first, then steadied, confidence threading through each step. Sleeves swept wide, trailing light like silked prayers. With every turn, the bells rang clearer, brighter, their sound cutting cleanly through the haze.
The miasma recoiled.
Tomoe’s breath caught.
She wasn’t merely performing.
She was commanding the land.
Each step pressed warmth into stone and soil alike, purification rippling outward from her feet. Where the darkness clung, it thinned. Where it resisted, it fractured. When she spun, robes flaring, power surged—steady, controlled, undeniable.
The shrine drank it in.
At her zenith, with one final chime, the miasma shattered completely—drawn upward, dispersed, gone.
The land fell silent.
Then exhaled.
Nanami knelt and bowed.
For a heartbeat—nothing.
Then the festival erupted.
Cheers rang out, villagers bowing deeply, awe and relief written across their faces. Lanterns flared brighter, the shrine humming with approval as if pleased beyond words.
Nanami lifted her head, stunned, heart pounding.
She’d done it.
Tomoe was beside her in an instant.
He placed himself squarely between her and the crowd, one hand firm at her back—possessive, protective, devoted and unapologetic. His presence was a declaration all its own.
“She purified the land,” he said coolly, violet eyes daring anyone to challenge it. “Show proper respect.”
The villagers bowed again, deeper this time.
Nanami looked up at him. “Tomoe—”
He turned immediately, expression fierce with pride and kneeled. “You were beautiful,” he said bluntly. “That wasn’t luck. That was control. Power. Perfection.”
Her breath hitched. “I didn’t disappoint?”
“Not once,” he replied. “You didn’t falter. You didn’t waver.” His voice softened, just for her. “You were amazing and beautiful.”
His hand held hers, grounding her, claiming her presence without shame.
“That’s my goddess,” he said plainly. “Anyone who felt that power knows it now.”
Warmth flooded her chest, emotion rising dangerously close to tears. “I wanted to do well,” she admitted softly. “I wanted you to see me.”
His gaze darkened—not with anger, but something deep and unguarded.
“I always see you.”
He bent so their foreheads touched, the world narrowing to the space between them.
“I was ready to tear the sky apart if that miasma touched you,” he murmured. “But you didn’t need me.” A quiet breath—half pride, half surrender. “You surpassed every expectation I had.”
Her fingers curled into his kimono. “You stayed.”
“Of course I did,” he said immediately. “I chose you. I protect what’s mine.”
When he pulled back, it was only far enough to look at her, violet eyes bright with something raw and real.
“You were magnificent,” he said quietly. “And I will spend as long as I exist making sure you know you are a goddess.”
The festival resumed below them—music rising, laughter spilling into the night—but Tomoe didn’t let go. Instead, he guided her gently toward the inner shrine, away from curious eyes.
Inside, the air was still and sacred.
Nanami looked at him, suddenly nervous.
“I want to re-seal my familiar contract,” he said affectionately.
He knelt with deference before her.
Not as a familiar bound by obligation. Not as a fox yokai compelled by magic.
But as someone choosing.
“I broke it once because I was afraid,” he said evenly. “Afraid of belonging to someone again. Afraid of what it would mean if I cared this much.”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “I’m not afraid anymore.”
Nanami’s eyes widened. “You don’t have to—”
Tomoe rose just enough to press his lips to her knuckles, then her wrist—slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving hers.
“I know,” he murmured. “That’s why it matters.”
“I want to,” he said, firm and sure. “Not because I owe you. Not because I’m bound.” His voice softened. “Because I love you.”
Her breath trembled, she had waited so long for his confession.
He kissed her—slow and unhurried, as if he had nowhere else to be. His hand slid to her waist, thumb brushing the small of her back, holding her close enough that she could feel the steady warmth of him.
Nanami melted into it, smiling softly against his lips, heart full to bursting.
Foxfire flared softly, magic curling around them like a promise renewed.
“I choose you,” he said. “As my goddess. As my heart.”
The seal resettled into place—familiar magic reweaving itself, brighter and steadier than before.
Tomoe exhaled, forehead resting against hers, fingers tightening slightly at her back.
“You feel right,” he said quietly. “You always have.”
Nanami laughed softly, overwhelmed, and pulled him into her arms. “Then stay,” she whispered. “Stay with me forever.”
He held her like a truth he would never release..