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The fire was warm when he’d fought, the heat singing his clothes and decorating his skin with minor burns. Mice still chatter and candle flames still flicker, and the vertigo of falling further and further down hasn’t quite subsided. But for him, the effects of immersing himself in battle with a mononoke never fade quickly. Maybe it’s the rush of throwing his body into motion, or the thrill of surviving. The echoes of his own footsteps as he launches himself forward.
Whatever it is, it follows behind him like an attentive stray cat. And now, isolated from anything material, he still feels supernaturally warm, as if the water he is resting in would suddenly boil around his body. He flicks droplets up into the air, half-expecting them to evaporate into steam.
Next to him, Shingi watches his idle motions with a tired amusement. He’s leaning back on his elbows, looking rather casual with his hair tied up, but Kon knows he’s completely exhausted. He can feel it himself, the strain on his muscles, the dull aches, and the sheer lack of energy. They haven’t even spoken since they arrived back—though that’s not abnormal for Shingi, it is for Kon, who almost always ends up filling the air with idle chatter. He simply likes to talk, whether there’s substance to it or not, but he can’t find the energy to comment.
Kon lets his head loll back, feeling as though he could melt right through the fabric of space. The Juuyoku always carries this sort of sensation, this dissociative sting. Though, he welcomes it more so than many of the others—he feels less isolated with the sparks of life roaming through the changing corridors, the vague flashes of emotions and conversations. The others sometimes complain about drifting away from themselves, when the barriers between each of them (especially between them and their partners) shrink away. But unlike Kon, most of the others have always held a strong sense of personal identity outside of their responsibilities.
…Maybe, he would be jealous if they didn’t seem to be so weighed down by it.
He closes his eyes, blocking out the quickly-shifting skies and the unnatural stillness of the water. The atmosphere is hazy, almost dream-like. The spring is warm. His vision feels fuzzy. His head hurts. Truthfully, the discomfort has been brewing inside him ever since he faced Karakasa—Kon isn’t one to be abnormally self-reflective, as he’d much rather fill his time with little amusements, but even he could not dispel the unease. Not only had the physical strength of both Karakasa and Hinezumi been enormous compared to any previous foes he’d faced, but he’s also been left with unanswered questions.
Perhaps if he had a talent for active investigation like Ri, or a greater devotion to patience, he would have further answers. But what he has instead is a lacking attention span and extreme physical prowess. And so, for one, there was still something haunting the depths of the Ooku, something that was not keen on showing its face. For another, the raw power they carried didn’t seem to line up with their individual grudges, and the resulting brawls had been more taxing than anything else he’d taken on. Something greater still has been driving decades of suffering, and his sore muscles were proof of that.
Well, not his sore muscles, but with his form intrinsically linked to Shingi’s, their injuries are shared just the same. Regardless, it doesn’t take much awareness at all to know that if he was any less experienced, and if his Sword was any less powerful, he very well could have met a violent fate. Mortality is not something he considers often, or really at all. He knows, logically, that he can die, but it has never felt like a legitimate consequence. More of a mistake, a slip-up, than a failure of his own abilities, physical or mental.
He pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on top of them. He’s simply never considered not existing, same as he’s never really considered existing either. In a world of infinite distractions and violent stories, he’s always been focused on whatever caught his eye. But now? It’s hard to think about anything else except falling through the labyrinthine space a mononoke occupies, having fangs puncture his ribcage, drowning in an infinite rainstorm.
Next to him, he feels Shingi shift his position, and he can hear someone speak, but he can’t stop thinking--
“Lost in thought?” asks a deep voice, right next to his ear. Kon startles something fierce, more than he’d ever like to admit. He flinches to the side, reaching for a sword he isn’t actively carrying, before belatedly recognizing the figure looming over him. He looks up to see none other but Ri, who has one eyebrow raised slightly, and the corner of his mouth tilted up. He looks rather pleased with himself for getting the better of him.
It’s strange to be looking up at him—times like these are the only ones he ever has to, which he does find amusing. Normally Kon towers over him to the point where he has to angle his head down to meet his eye, so for a moment, he hesitates.
“…Where did you appear from?” He slumps back down, the temporary rush of adrenaline fading, kicking his legs out under the water, seeing the markings dotted across them distorted by the ripples on the surface.
“I’ve been here,” says Ri, slowly. “You simply…failed to notice.”
“I would have noticed you walking up to me.” Kon says, petulant, and a bit embarrassed.
“He’s been here for a minute,” says Shingi, rubbing at his eyes. Probably trying to stop them before a minor argument broke out. “I tried to get your attention.”
Kon unconsciously mirrors Shingi, rubbing at his eyes also, feeling the warmth from his hand against his face and the ache residing under his skull. “Taking advantage of me instead of waiting for me to notice?” he chirps at Ri. “How cruel.”
“Be more aware,” suggests Ri, bluntly.
If Kon had had the energy necessary, maybe he would attempted to pull Ri into the spring with him, but the other has cleverly positioned himself far enough away from the water’s edge to avoid that fate. Which is probably lucky for Kon, as he belatedly realizes that he doesn’t have his usual strength on his side, and therefore has no counter for Ri’s much more refined combat techniques. Which probably wouldn’t be very refined if he was simply trying to strangle him underwater, but the point stands away.
Kon’s nose crinkles at being outmaneuvered, and then he splashes water at Ri in retaliation. Ri just sighs, the water leaving dark spots on his clothing. It’s a bit pathetic, but he has no grander vision of revenge.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Shingi almost smile, amused as always by his nonsensical choices. “I suppose the two of you would like to talk.”
Ri neither disagrees nor affirms anything, only humming in response, and Kon says nothing at all, but he knows he is planning on leaving regardless. He values his solitary time, whereas Kon gets a bit strange in total isolation. He’s actually surprised that Shingi hadn’t gone off on his own as soon as they arrived back earlier—apparently the strain of existing in the mortal realm could be quite strong—but he realizes, with an odd sort of guilt, that he probably wanted to keep an eye on him. Maybe, he can be a bit overly cautious. But seeing how Kon is not an everlasting entity that has to deal with the grief and loss of partner after partner, he supposes he can’t say much.
“I will take my leave,” Shingi announces. “It would be wise to see if you can learn anything at all. I will do the same.” With that, he rises from the water gracefully, now standing tall over them both. Unexpectedly, he turns to Kon’s new companion. “Where can I find your partner?”
Ri makes a noise of consideration. If he’s surprised by the question, he did not show it. “In his quarters.” He receives a polite nod for his answer.
“It’s possible that another of the Eight might have a better idea of what we’re dealing with,” Shingi says quietly, before haphazardly throwing his clothes back on, and exiting the space. He doesn’t say goodbye, but he doesn’t have to—he’s never far away, and Kon can feel his presence almost as directly as his own.
How strange. He was more worried than he’d let on, having held those emotions too close for Kon to notice them. The discomfort worsens, somewhere in the center of his chest, and he forces it down.
“How well do you think that conversation will go?” Kon asks Ri, desperate to break the sudden ominous lull. Although the two spirits get along better than either of them would have expected, nothing could change Hyper’s aversion to conversation. Or his lack of patience.
“…I think we will know soon enough.” Kon can’t help but make a sound of amusement. A (sometimes trying, sometimes funny) benefit of being essentially soul-bound to another was the ability to feel strong emotions and sensations from their partners.
“I suppose you’re right,” he admits. “Their minor disapprovals of one another will never not be funny to me.”
Ri quietly agrees. He sits down next to him, rolling up his pants and stripping off his socks and bandages to stick his legs in the water. That’s a rarity for two reasons. For one, Ri usually minimizes his time in the Juuyoku, only staying long enough to replenish his energy and to learn anything of particular relevance to him. Kon knows he’s never liked it here, never liked how he can feel himself slip away, but he’s stopped to talk regardless. And, for another, Ri doesn’t usually initiate spending time with him, or anyone else for that matter. He’s a bit reclusive, but usually doesn’t object to others joining him.
Even to this day, Kon is still surprised that Ri ended up taking a liking to him.
They'd been introduced shortly after Kon began his training, and only out of sheer coincidence. Ri had been the only one of his rank not actively on a case, and their respective partners had arranged for Kon's first partnered mission to be alongside him. It's a long-standing tradition to provide a few mentored cases that steadily require more involvement from the less experienced party.
Sometimes, Kon was surprised that that many distinct, often strange, divine creatures had been able to agree on any plan of action--he'd seen the Eight bicker extensively among themselves, and found it quite amusing to witness--but, then again, this was an interest they all had in common. According to Shingi, it's a waste to train wielders and then immediately have to replace them; and it's emotionally difficult as well. Hence the more gentle introductions.
The system didn't mean starting out was easy--in fact, it was the most trying experience he'd gone through. His prior shadowing missions hadn't quite prepared him for the enormity of doing the work himself, and Ri did nothing to keep him from failing. But, that was what Kon ended up liking about him. He did not cut corners. He had a sharp tongue. He watched Kon as much as Kon had watched him, waiting for him to either break apart or pull himself together.
Ri is difficult, certainly—both then and now. He would never argue against that. A sly-natured fox, but an empathetic man, shaped by his interactions with the worst parts of humanity. But, underneath the carefully-practiced expressions and deep cynicism, Kon found him to be curious, charismatic, and driven in a way that he could never match. And that was exactly what made his presence alluring.
“You’re staring,” mutters Ri. He is. He’s been looking up at his face, lost in a string of old memories. Kon shakes his head to clear it, and casts his gaze onto the surface of the water instead, catching a view of his distorted reflection.
“Well?” Ri pushes. “It’s not like you to be silent.”
“And it’s not like you to be impatient,” he parrots.
Ri braces his chin on one arm. “But you are. And your troubles are…obvious.”
Kon winces. “Have I seemed distracted recently?”
“I’m not the only one to have noticed. The others are simply…” he tilts his head to the side, searching for the words, “less prone to meddling.”
“Oh? Gossiping about me?”
“…How presumptuous.” Ri shifts his pose, leaning back on his arms, head facing the sky above. In the almost-sunlit atmosphere, his markings look brighter than normal, and his eyes have a strange glint to them. Sadly, while he’s more than content to let the silence hang, Kon is…not. He feels a creeping sense of awkwardness that he’s hardly experienced before, not having the drive to entertain, nor any idea of what to talk about.
The only thing on his mind is the same unsettling notion he’s been tossing from side to side, and he doubts Ri wants to hear of his paranoia. Ri practically never speaks a word about his experiences in the mortal realm, and what he does say is tinged with bitterness. Besides, Kon knows that just because Ri notices something rarely means he wants to discuss it. It’s usually for purposes of banter, a starting point to his favorite habit of talking circles.
He supposes that he can ask him exactly what he wants to hear from him, and therefore face a series of roundabout answers while the other scrutinizes him—
“Do I have to force you to admit that you’re in over your own head?” Snaps Ri, startling Kon for the second time within their little talk.
Kon blinks at him, dumbfounded. “I don’t think you’ve ever said that many words to me at once.”
“…Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Kon shuts his eyes, feeling how heavy his eyelids are. Backed into a corner again. “I’ve been involved in a series of cases recently,” he starts off slowly. “The problems started early on. Both were in the same location, and at almost the same time—maybe a month apart?” He bites down on his lip, trying to order the mess of events in his mind. “It’s hard to tell how time passes in their world. I’ve never met the same humans twice before, it’s…strange.”
“It happens. Certain people are unlucky. Certain places are prone to grudges.”
“The timing is what’s bothering me,” Kon says. “I’ve never had two otherwise unrelated incidents flare up at the same time. A scribe loses herself and her drive to push forward after making a choice that haunts her. A woman who should have been a mother succumbs to self-hatred and grief and flames. Karakasa, Hinezumi,” he says, pronouncing both names softly, and with intent.
“A series of rare Forms,” supplements Ri. “Curious.”
“That’s only the start of it,” admits Kon. “The issue is the sheer power they’ve both had. It’s taken almost everything we’ve had just to put them to rest.”
It’s not like the other top ranks haven’t struggled—he’s seen Ri come back in rough shape, as well as the rest of them. But, it’s a more novel experience for him. He’s always had comparatively refined abilities and a knack for adaptability on his side. But now, what he’s shaped his identity around on has barely been keeping him in one piece.
“With both, there were these…labyrinths that opened up. They swallowed up parts of the Ooku, and the people inside. It’s a space I’ve never been in before, but it almost felt like Shuuga. Disconnected from the outside world.
And, outside of that, there is still another mononoke there, somewhere. It’s been well-hidden, camouflaged behind the others. Waiting, probably.”
He grits his teeth together. “The history there is so clouded that I’ve only been able to draw my Sword at the last possible moment.”
“Is that not par for the course with you?”
How rude. But he’s not wrong. For him, things tend to come together at the very end, time and time again.
“I feel like I’ve missed something important. But I have no idea what that could even be.”
“Oh? Perhaps you have,” Ri says, airily, awaiting a response. A part of their little game. An opportunity to start an argument. But, Kon doesn't try and get under his skin. He instead slumps back, and lets his hand skim the surface of the water, the fading burn on his palm stinging.
Ri notices. He looks at his hand, and gestures for him to flip it over, peering down over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. Kon raises his palm to show him, and Ri balances his hand in his own, scrutinizing the wound. It has faded quickly, but he could still tell that it had been fairly serious. He'd had trouble holding onto the Sword in his usual grip, but wielding it right-handed would have been far more uncomfortable.
"It's not like you to get injured," Ri drawled. He's taking the roundabout approach still, instead of demanding a direct answer. He's in a particularly good mood today.
"I usually avoid it," says Kon, pulling his hand back and flexing his fingers. A twinge of pain still remains.
Ri’s dark eyes narrow. “If you weren’t extraordinarily gifted in terms of physical power, you never would have lasted long."
Impulsive, reckless, fortunate to be alive. I know, thinks Kon, sourly. I know. “I think you’re just jealous of me,” is what he says to Ri instead, instead of admitting that he’s right, that he finally feels the weight of existence catching up to him.
“Of being able to brute force yourself through a situation that could be solved more delicately?”
“Yes, and that I don’t end up with blood all over my face after every difficult mission.”
“I see how it is, then.” Ri raises his head, haughtily, then frowns. “I don’t get head injuries that often.”
Kon snorts. “That’s what you’re caught up on? You might never see me again.”
As soon as he says that, his heart drops a bit, and the sudden unease comes rushing back. He bites back a surge of nausea and presses his tongue to one of his fangs. When he looks up, Ri’s face has soured, his eyes have narrowed. His gaze is dark and unreadable. Kon can’t stand up to that scrutiny. He looks away.
“I,” he starts again, hesitant, “have had this feeling lodge in my chest since I first got there. I couldn’t explain it then. I suppose I can’t now either…” His voice trails off as he’s unable to find a conclusion to the statement.
“It’s not fear. That’s not it—it’s something else. It’s become tedious, unsettling. And I can’t figure it out,” he hisses. “So much is unclear, and whatever else is there, keeps growing in power. And whenever I end up back there, it is barely outside of my grasp. My understanding. I don’t know what to call it.”
“Frustration,” Ri supplies. “That’s what that is.”
“…Frustration.” He rolls the word across his tongue. Frustration. But is that the root of everything? Is it also his sudden doubt, or realization that he is a thing that can die and be replaced, or have the exhaustive demands of his career finally caught up to him?
He sticks his injured hand fully under the water, letting the stinging sensation grab his attention. He digs his nails into his palm.
“It will fade,” Ri offers, softly, after what feels like eternity. “It will never stop coming back, but it will fade. That,” he says, “is what I can offer you for your responsibilities. The rest is contingent on you.”
He doesn’t say good luck, or tell him to stay safe, and Kon would never expect him to. He couldn’t call his investigation strategy “safe;” they both knew it. And, Ri never put much stock in luck.
“Not going to wish me well?” Kon teases him anyway, trying to keep some semblance of a smile on his face.
“When have I ever?” Ri asks him. He presses a hand to his chest, as if he was offended by the notion. But, his voice has little bite.
“You could always lie to me,” Kon grumbles under his breath. “Maybe I would have appreciated it.”
“You have everything you need.” With that, he stands, stepping out of the shallow, warm water. Kon can’t make himself turn away fully, even though he feels almost bitter.
Ri looks back at him then. “You’ll do well.”
Kon presses his hand to his face, dragging his nails across his skin, barely avoiding cutting through the surface. “…It’s almost as if you like me,” he manages at last, grasping for something normal to say, some way to convince Ri of his competence, grasping for a way to give himself confidence.
“I wouldn’t be so convinced,” says Ri, turning to the side and gesturing dismissively down at him. But, there’s a hint of a smile present, even under his lip markings.
“You know how to contact me,” says Ri, softly. Reach out if you need me, he doesn’t say.
And then, as if he’d never been there, he vanishes.
Kon is alone. The atmosphere is heavy. He dreams of serpents.