The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

And then, for a while, life just continued.

The next day, we (excepting Fang, who didn't show up) were called into Headmaster Ishkibal's office, who congratulated us on the success of the conclave. He had us speak to a couple of journalists, though this time privately, presumably out of a desire to avoid repeating the awkwardness of the press conference. They asked us some simple questions that, since the average reader probably wouldn't understand much of actual substance regarding longevity science, all boiled down to different flavors of 'was it exciting?' 'was it weird?' and 'what was X like in person?' I did my best to give inoffensive answers.

There were also questions about the interruption which had occurred alongside Fang's presentation. The Order had signaled that they would prefer us not discuss it, which in turn led the headmaster to strongly imply we shouldn't either, but that didn't stop half our class from alluding to the fact that Fang had brought something important to them, and we'd seen something quite spectacular. Bardiya in particular had been quite casual in saying it had devised something relevant to an important past project that they'd demonstrated for us. The rumor mill surrounding the organization would probably have a field day.

After that, we were unceremoniously thrust back into our regular studies. We had a regular test on Thursday, and an assessment of our original research on Friday. No rest for the wicked.

And you certainly are, after you caved Theodoros's head in. And apparently killed everyone else thousands of times.

I wondered if I'd gone insane. That after what I'd experienced, after having the justification for my own existence crushed, that perhaps even being capable of pretending to be normal in the short-term was indicative of a sort of madness.

I didn't want to think about anything serious, so I kept thinking about the mystery. Even though it was pointless. Even though it might still all have been a dream.

No one else noticed, but the time the conference had been broadcast to the outside world was delayed, just by a couple minutes, from when it had happened. In other words, though there had been people watching, the live audience we'd seen was still fake, even in this reality. So it wasn't inherently a function of the closed circle Fang and Balthazar had described, but rather something unrelated which had, for incidental reasons, made it so we hadn't realized we were cut off from the outside world.

Removed from the supernatural context, it wasn't difficult to imagine reasons why the Order would do such a thing. Lots of ostensibly 'live' logic bridge feeds were slightly time-lagged so as to give the broadcaster a chance to cut the transmission if something untoward happened-- It had to be that way by law under some circumstances, like when the programming was targeted towards children. It wouldn't even be that peculiar for an academic conference like this, considering how high-profile the event was.

No, the only question was why they'd fake the audience for us at all-- Why they'd even bother to make it come across as completely live when it wasn't. I brought this up to Kam later during one of our freeform arcane experimentation sessions - feeling like she was the person in class best for this sort of speculation - and she, after another short rant about how dishonest and peculiar the Order was, suggested that perhaps they'd wanted us to feel a greater sense of pressure when giving our presentations as part of some perverse evaluation of our abilities.

When I replied that this felt like a stretch, she gave a somewhat more compelling theory.

"Perhaps whoever had set it up knew that Fang was going to pull their little trick, and wanted to make sure that the general public - or perhaps even just the Order's wider membership - didn't know about it," she suggested. She sliced a small section of a kidney she'd been testing some obscure Chronomancy incantation on and slid it under a microscope. "But they didn't want the rest of the council, who expected live transmission, to suspect what was coming either. So the deception would be for their benefit, not ours."

"Oh." I blinked, taking this in. "So, you think it was Neferuaten, then?"

"I didn't say that. She didn't seem all that inclined to machines." A pause. "She could have had an accomplice. Zeno, perhaps."

I bit my lip, considering. "He didn't really seem the type who'd be stuck on setup duty for something like this."

She shrugged, disinterested.

In Fang's letter, they'd speculated that Neferuaten must have worked with both Zeno and 'someone else' to erase the record of their arrival from the sanctuary's administrative core. As we'd learned, only members of the inner circle were given this authority by the system. It was a reach, but since neither of the other two candidates seemed to quite fit, perhaps the third was whoever was responsible for this.

...and on that front, it was an easy pick. Because when I thought about it properly, I remembered that Hamilcar had been the one to set up the artificial environment in which we'd seen the audience, and to de-facto officiate the whole thing through his command of Aruru. So assuming Kam's theory was correct, it was effectively certain that he was the third conspirator.

The more I thought about that, the more that fit. He'd been the one to declare the recess in the conclave, too.

But it was strange. Though not as overtly hostile as Durvasa or Anna (though, again, I'd never actually heard the real Anna's opinion, and could only trust in the accuracy of Vijana's character acting) Hamilcar hadn't exactly been positive about my grandfather or his work. He'd expressed regret about the construction of the Apega when we'd traveled down there, and hadn't been particularly positive during my private invitation.

No, by all accounts, the third conspirator should have been Linos. Aside from Zeno and Neferuaten, he was the other member who'd come across as overly sentimental about my grandfather and his work. And though he hadn't seemed that excited about the Apega compared to the other two, he hadn't voiced any criticism, either.

That left two possibilities. Either Hamilcar and Linos were both masking their true feelings, which to be fair wasn't especially hard to believe (I mean, we're talking about Linos, here), or whatever value the Apega and reactivating it had to them... wasn't, per se, about him at all.

It was confusing, especially when I went back to the other factional divide in the Order which I'd been thinking about when everything had come to a head in the fifth bioenclosure: The members who had and hadn't supported our invitation to the conclave and, by extension, the death-faking plan. Hamilcar, Anna and Linos had supported it, with Zeno being swayed to their side later when they'd agreed to let Balthazar come. Meanwhile, Neferuaten and Durvasa had opposed it.

Not 'opposed it' period, remember?

Neferuaten had said they'd objected because we 'weren't ready'. It wasn't in question that it was going to happen eventually. But her and Durvasa had thought it was too soon.

In retrospect, with the new information, that was a really fucking weird thing to say about a group of people you just wanted to witness your own fake death.

In retrospect, with the new information, it was even weirder to agree to go along with it on the condition you could invite someone extra to witness your fake death, too.

Like, what did that even mean? Were Neferuaten and Durvasa worried they hadn't coached the boys and Lilith to be good enough accomplices yet? That still didn't explain Balthazar's desired inclusion. What the fuck had they been planning to do?

Setting that rabbit hole aside, though, this did make one thing clear: The inner circle hadn't been split cleanly into factions so much as divided on two completely distinct matters. The two groups were incoherently jumbled. Neferuaten-Zeno-Hamilcar/Durvasa-Anna-Linos vs. Hamilcar-Anna-Linos-(Zeno)/Durvasa-Neferuaten. Whether or not someone wanted the Apega to be completed was of zero relation to whether they thought it was the correct time for the Order's plan.

Just like the 'power which will remake the world' Zeno had described was something completely different to the Apega. Something which Vijana had suggested could cure dementia, and had involved the strange key - or rather, induction bed part - he'd given me, the one which was presently stuffed under some papers in the bottom drawer of a cabinet in my boiler room. It made me uneasy, but at the same time, it felt like a bad idea to throw it away.

Maybe you could try to find another Egomancer to look at it, a part of me perversely suggested.

Before I knew it, the week had passed, and it was Friday. That didn't mean that I could relax - our class had mountains of homework, plus a practical session on Saturday afternoon that was optional in name only - but it did mean a reprieve. Despite my lodgings being within walking distance of the academy, I usually walked Ran to the tram station on Fridays as a matter of ritual, and that day was no different. It was the first time we spoke at any length since that night in the sanctuary.

We didn't say much. Mostly we just made small talk about the little things that had happened over the course of the week. Ptolema botching her practical review where she was supposed to repeat the presentation she'd given to the Order and accidentally bisecting the small intestine. Bardiya being inexplicably barefoot all Wednesday and refusing to elaborate. Professor Nindar failing to be subtle in probing us for all the juicy details concerning the conclave as I'd returned his book.

I never had finished reading it.

Though the context was different, just like the first day of our trip, we were mutually avoiding the subject that hung heavily in the air. We only really talked about something serious at the end, as we walked along the rim atop the hanging gardens at the approach to the platform. Water trickled softly beneath the raised metal surface of the street, which ran in a long curve towards one of the many boulevards.

"So," I said, after a long silence. "...will you quit the class?"

Ran snorted. "Will you?"

I looked downwards, at the swishing blue fabric of the stola I was wearing that day and my sandals, which clacked softly against the bronze as we walked. "Maybe," I lied. "I don't really know what the point is, now." I smiled weakly. "I mean, it's kinda a ridiculous amount of work, isn't it? I think Sunday was the last day I got to spend lying about doing whatever since I was in my mid-twenties."

"Do you want to become a healer?" she asked. "As things are now, I mean."

It was a complicated question, and her phrasing showed that she understood why it was complicated. Shiko had wanted to be a healer, and as a result, I grasped and even partially felt the same underlying impulses. Though I'd put the quest to bring her back first over so many years that the feeling was buried, I did have a natural inclination to want to help when I saw people in pain or suffering. Even now, it felt good to do that sort of thing in the moment.

But that feeling was now complicated by so much else, both within myself and my understanding of society. Even if you set aside the fact that that impulse was the reason Shiko's life had been destroyed in the first place - because she'd reached out to a wretched person like me - and how that had ultimately developed into my broader cynicism about other human beings and their intentions, the reality of being a healer was substantially different from the fantasy, wrapped up in the institutions of the world and their subtle grotesqueries.

If I decided to be a physician, I'd primarily be spending my time working with teams of other experts to give hyper-targeted treatments to old people to slightly extend their lives, and if I decided to be a scholar, I'd be researching new treatments for old people to slightly extend their lives. In both cases this would primarily benefit wealthy property owners. And if I specifically angled for a position in emergency care, which would stress me half to death, the whole process was so streamlined in the modern day that I'd barely see patients at all.

Although, did I even really want to interact with people? What was actually there, beyond that vague ideal?

"...I don't think so," I said, trying to answer honestly even though I knew that it didn't really matter. "I mean, I guess I could become a researcher. But it's not something I really feel passionate about."

She nodded distantly. It was hard to see beneath her veil, but it looked like her eyes wandered down towards the greenery hanging beneath us. "I mean, we're two years deep at this point, so it might be smart to see it through even if you don't want to. For a big, high-profile course like this, it could probably open some doors even if you decide to do something completely different." She hesitated. "What would you want to do?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe go to art school. I really liked painting when I was a kid, and always had fun helping with the aesthetic stuff for the drama club."

Ran frowned curiously. "Not even something involving being an arcanist? Or math?"

"Probably not," I answered listlessly. "Even if I'm good at it, I don't really like thinking about sums all day. It's boring. And trying to get better at finger-casting makes my brain hurt."

She paused for a moment, then snorted again. "...maybe you ­should drop out."

I laughed melancholically, then looked over at her face. Her expression was distant and hard to read. I cleared my throat. "So, will you stay?"

"I guess," she said, idly crossing her arms. "I mean, I don't know if I'll keep sticking with medicine, but Divination is useful for a million things, so..."

"That's true," I said, with a small nod. I hesitated for a long moment. "Though, I... If you would rather be doing something else, or would want to after you graduate... I could pay for it, or..."

"It was my choice," she said, in a way that seemed almost too casual. She laughed grimly. "At least you gave me an excuse to get off my ass." She glanced to me, her expression flat. "Though if you want to give me a bunch of free shit, I won't stop you."

I blinked. "Do you want me to?"

"No," she said. "I'm just being an asshole."

"Oh."

"Anyway," she went on, "if you do want to cut and run, don't stop yourself for my sake. It's just a couple years, and you should focus on your own shit before anything else, considering."

I said nothing to this, nodding silently and clutching my wrist. The tram stop had come into view, now, a semi-enclosed rectangular dome built right where the gardens gave way to one of the main highways leading to the lower city.

"How are you feeling, by the way?"

I smiled anxiously. "How do you mean?"

"You know how I mean."

The smile faded quickly, and I paused, biting my lip. "I-- I don't really know. I haven't been thinking about it."

"Mm." She closed her eyes for a moment, seeming to consider something. Eventually, she reached her arms up into the air in a stretch, and glanced towards me off-handedly." Well, I'm here if you want to talk about anything."

"I appreciate it," I said, not knowing how else to respond.

She dropped her arms, looking up at the sky. "We went through a lot, didn't we?"

"Y-Yeah," I replied. "We did."

"When I think about it all now, I feel like the whole thing was fucking insane," she said. "I'll probably spend the rest of my life wondering about what the hell kind of life the 'me' in a different world, where I didn't stalk you home like a psycho, is living." She tightened her jaw. "I bet she got an ordinary apprenticeship in a scripting company or something. Probably spends her time writing echo processes for shitty infrastructure projects back in Oreskios. Getting bossed around all day by some gerontocrat. I guess things could be worse."

"I thought you'd wanted to become a writer?" I asked her curiously. "Before all this."

"Yeah, but there's a big difference between what I wanted and what would probably actually happen," she said dryly.

"You could do it!" I insisted, trying to sound encouraging. "Could have done it, I mean. One of my mom's friends owns a publishing company. I could have put you in touch with her."

She quirked an eyebrow. "This is in a timeline where we don't know each other, remember?"

I blinked. "Oh, right. I, uh. Forgot the premise."

Ran let out a long sigh. A chilly wind blew out from the ocean, carrying the scent of brine. I clutched my knees and arms together and lowered my head reflexively, but Ran just let it pass over her as she walked, the cloth of her veil pushed into the shape of her face. Her curly hair stubbornly bending and flowing only a little bit.

"I did a lot of stupid shit," she spoke, in a more serious, resigned tone. "But in the end, I don't have any regrets. For better or worse, we kept going until we got the truth." She looked into my eyes. "That's gotta be worth something, right?"

Once again, I didn't know what to say. I tried to smile, adjusting my glasses. "I-- I guess."

"I won't say you should be proud," she continued, "or that I should. But maybe that's enough to figure things out." She smiled bittersweetly. "At least, I hope so."

We walked to the end of the street, turning the corner away from the rim to approach the station. Being next to a transport hub, this was of course a much busier road, with veiled and gloved figures coming and going all around us. The rushing and clacking sound of a departing tram could be heard, along with a blur behind the semi-transparent glass structure.

We reached our usual spot next to the oak tree that hung over the eastern part of the station, which had a little less foot traffic. Ran turned to me.

"Well," she said. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah." I replied, holding up a hand. "Take care."

She turned, walking away.

Suddenly, I spoke up. "R-Ran."

She turned, though she was already distant enough that her face was hard to make out. "What is it?"

I stared at her. My mind rolled back to the carriage journey we'd taken a week ago. To that night on the tram when they'd told me my assimilation treatment was hopeless. I remembered the look in her eyes, the loathing, on that very first day in the coffee shop, so long ago.

I swallowed.

"...uh, never mind."

She was silent for a moment, then clicked her tongue. "...gods, you're so melodramatic." She shook her head, turning back and speaking sardonically. "Have a good night, Su."

"Yeah," I said. "You too."

Her figure disappeared behind the glass barrier. I stood there for another minute, my mind feeling numb as I listened to the indistinct chatter of the other people at the station, and the background thrum of the city; the rolling of carriage wheels, the horns of the boats from distant canals, and soft and distant 'woosh' every time a lift climbed the Aetherbridge. I reached up and touched my face through my veil.

In the end, a judgemental voice said, you still couldn't tell her the truth.

It had been 12 long years. But once again, I was alone.

𒊹

Time passed. Our studies progressed, numerous class assignments and events coming and going. We went to a Biomancy convention in Palaat, which was terrible. Seth briefly overtook me in the class rankings - an event that seemed to upset Kamrusepa quite a lot - before falling behind again after a rough week. Ophelia and Lilith built an experimental biological logic engine together, which died due to a failure in its nutrition system and made the worst stink I'd ever smelled in my life; like sugary sewage. They assigned us a new practical room because the janitors couldn't get rid of it. Students later spread a rumor that Ezekiel had killed someone there and the coordinator was covering it up, which annoyed him tremendously.

I tried to contact Neferuaten, but she seemed abnormally busy in the weeks following the conclave. After a few tries, I put it out of mind, deciding I just didn't want to think about it anymore.

After two months, spring ended and summer came, heralding a several-week break, though we didn't get nearly as much time off as the normal students, instead being expected to perform 'freeform research' with a number of local academic organizations for the latter half of the period. Ran stayed in Old Yru since she had a bad relationship with her family, while I took a train to Oreskios to visit my parents, as I always did. My mother welcomed me home at the port, complained about my father for about 30 minutes, then took me out for dinner with my brother, who had been excelling even more at university. She spoke at length about how tremendously proud she was that we'd both grown up to be conventionally successful, though couched this in language about our 'diligence' and 'maturity'. I smiled a lot and pretended everything was normal.

We dropped my brother off at my grandfather's old apartment, then went back to our house. My mother told me that I could just relax and do whatever I liked so long as I was there, even though she knew I had mountains of coursework that rendered this functionally untrue. I went up to my old room, which - as a luxury of the obscene size of our house - was still as I left it. I sat on my bed.

And I thought about how I was going to kill myself.

Like I said, I was lying to Ran about my future plans, just like I'd always lied to her about everything. Because obviously I couldn't just keep on living Utsushikome's life, no matter what Ran or Samium or anyone else said. The very idea was unfathomably perverse.

Ran had told me that, if I didn't want to follow my own will, I should listen for Shiko's voice within myself and follow what it desired, because surely she would still want us to live on, even in this distorted state. She said I had a responsibility to her, which was true.

But what she didn't know - what I hadn't the courage to tell her - was that I already heard Shiko's voice every day. I heard it in my dreams of the beaches of Itan almost every night. I heard it as a constant thrum, beneath all the other voices in my internal narrative, the quietest and yet most unceasingly constant. An unending presence that eternally followed in my shadow.

I hate you.

Murderer. Monster.

How can you talk to my family like this, wearing my face? How can you be so impossibly cruel?

I wish I'd never spoken to you.

Die. Please, just die.

Yes. From the very start, I'd known there was no salvation for me, no way 'I' could justify continuing to exist under any circumstances. After all, I was already dead. I was nothing but a restless ghost possessing her body.

If saving Shiko was impossible, if she was truly 'dead', that meant the next most compassionate thing I could do would be to preserve her memory and let her rest in peace. Her family and friends deserved to be able to mourn her without being misled into accepting a doppelganger, and in a more abstract sense, she herself deserved the dignity of oblivion instead of her mind and body being puppeteered and deformed by her murderer.

That was what was right. I'd always known.

In a way, feeling finally certain of this - of knowing what I needed to do - was a peaceful feeling, and over the next few days, I felt better than I had in a long, long time. I took a lot of walks around the city, lingering in both the spots that had played some significant role in our journey. The now-renovated tram station. The clinic where I'd first awoken into this life. The grounds around our school (at least until someone asked me politely to leave).

I thought about what a strange and absurd series of events my life had been in the end. My upbringing, so pitiful and grim it belonged in some cheap coming-of-age drama. My one-sided friendship with Shiko, and my freakish parasocial obsession with her. My one year of hysterical, deluded bliss at just getting basic positive attention while I masqueraded as her. My shaggy-dog-story of a redemption quest that I'd known was pointless from the very start.

In the end, I thought to myself, my life was the stupidest joke of all, huh?

I spent a week or so thinking about the best way to die. I had the Power, so like I said before, the simplest would have been to just cast the Life-Slaying Arcana on myself. It would be instant, painless, and proceed entirely according to my own agency. Frankly it was incredibly convenient; unlike shooting myself, there wasn't even the risk of survival with self-lobotomy, or concerns about location due to needing to possess a firearm. Since I wasn't planning to survive anyway, I didn't even need a scepter. I could just draw the eris from my own body, and die on the spot wherever I wanted.

I wonder if this had ever occurred to the Ironworkers. They'd obviously thought about ethics, since they created the resistances, imperfect as they were. Had they considered they'd essentially created the perfect tool for someone to end their own life, one that they could never put down or distance themselves from?

In any case, such an approach wouldn't be suitable. I didn't want to upset Utsushikome's parents and friends by leaving them with unanswered questions or a sense of guilt like it had been 8 years ago. Confessing everything could be even worse - with how the government treated Induction as a subject combined with the uniqueness of my case, it would not only be knowledge that would likely permanently damage their ability to trust others, but could even land them in much more complicated trouble. Maybe they deserved to know and hate me much the same as they deserved to mourn Shiko, but it just wasn't worth the cost.

No; the best route would be to make it look like an accident. A meaningless tragedy. That would give the most closure. Ran would probably guess the truth, but no one else would.

And as for her... Well, it was too much to even hope she'd forgive me.

After thinking on it, I got the idea of how best to do it from the anecdote Theo had brought up in my horrible vision - of when I'd almost died on the Old Batosi Trail. In retrospect, that place was such a deathtrap that it was irresponsible for children to be allowed up there at all. Every time it rained, there were small landslides and shifting in the terrain. And there were a lot of sheer drops to the lowlands or even the open ocean.

I'd wait until it rained, and then take a walk.

That was my plan. While I waited, I met up with Yu, Iwa and my other old friends and spent a lot of time with Shiko's parents, trying to give them some positive final memories and create the impression nothing was wrong. I even made a little progress on my coursework, just to eliminate all doubt.

But then, one day... Something happened.

It was a small thing. I was in the kitchen one evening, drinking some tea with Shiko's mother, talking about how she was stressed out over this annoying person in her architecture course who kept taking up all the professor's Q&A time and flirting with all the women. We decided we were both hungry, but none of us felt like cooking, so she decided to order some food for delivery from a local restaurant which made traditional Saoic stuff. She asked what I wanted.

I'd smiled. "Uh, Sanbeiji," I'd said. "You know me. Predictable."

She gave me a flat smile, lowering her brow. "Come on, Utsu. You're not a child any more. I don't need you to coddle me."

I blinked, confused. "Coddle you...?"

"I know you only acted like you loved that stuff so much when you were young because I used to make it every Friday after school, and you didn't want to spoil our little tradition," she told me. "But I know you've never been able to stand rice wine or squab."

"That's not..." I hesitated. "I-I'm not pretending. It really is my favorite!"

She shook her head, smiling casually as she looked back towards the parchment she'd been noting our order down on. "Really, it's fine-- I'll get you some pork belly, or something. I don't want to watch you cringe and think about how witless a mother I've been."

I stared, my eyes going slightly vacant.

The human memory is a funny thing. It presents itself in our minds as a linear accounting of past events, but that's not really what it is at all. Rather, it's a story. One that constantly revises itself to be as compelling and consistent as possible. You can retain individual moments... But over time, the overall shape changes.

Shiko had loved Sanbeiji. It had genuinely been her favorite food. But it wasn't mine. Though my tastes had merged with hers somewhat, I still preferred red meat over poultry, and didn't like the taste of anise.

I'd kept eating it. I'd kept pretending to like it. But even so, my mother had noticed. But because I'd insisted I still liked it, a new narrative had taken root in her mind.

'Utsushikome never liked Sanbeiji since she got old enough to have a palate. She just pretends to like it to be nice.'

That became the 'truth'. It became the truth even pertaining to times before I'd become Utsushikome, when it genuinely hadn't. In trying to impersonate her rather than drawing a clean break... I'd instead retroactively changed that trait. Not just who she was. Who she'd always been.

It wasn't that she remembered her daughter had liked Sanbeiji, and stopped for some reason.

What she remembered... Was that she'd never enjoyed it that much in the first place.

That part of Shiko's past was gone. Not just replaced.

Overwritten.

When I realized that, I asked her other questions. About other aspects of my tastes that had changed. About my personality generally. About her memories of Utsushikome as a child and even a baby.

No, no, no...

It was all wrong. Tainted. She remembered bucketloads of things that were wrong, warped in some capacity by the way I'd behaved over the past 13 years. About her always having a gloomy and cynical side, while putting up a strong front. About always disliking her grandfather. About having crushes on other girls.

I asked similar questions to Iwa, Yu, to my brother. It was the same across the board. Iwa remembered me preferring to help her with scripts, when Shiko had preferred set design. Yu named dramas my old self had preferred as the ones I'd always been the most passionate about, and preferring to pair characters with love/hate relationships over just complicated ones. My little brother attributed almost all my traits to having been there since he was a baby.

There was no escaping the truth: I'd left it too long. I hadn't just killed Utsushikome of Fusai the person. I'd replaced the concept of her, the person who existed in the minds of others. When her friends spoke her name, they were speaking about me. When her mother thought about her daughter, she thought about me.

Suddenly, everything was ruined.

If I committed suicide now, it wouldn't be an act stepping aside to let people remember her as she was. No; her death would just be yet another thing I stole, another act of self-indulgence at her expense. A big event where everyone would come to shed tears over me. Over a hunk of rock with my stolen name on it.

A pointless act, granting nothing but pain to others, and for me, a vapid delusion of atonement.

When I realized that, I didn't know what to do. It felt like my mind had been driven into a corner. I dropped everything, and spent days doing nothing but lying in bed, my mind stuck in a despairing feedback loop, almost like that very first night after my Induction. To continue to exist like this was wretched and selfish. But to die was wretched and selfish, too. To preserve the lie of my existence was callous and manipulative, yet the truth would only cause harm.

It felt like I'd transformed into a demon myself. Where no matter what I did, I could only commit evil by nature. I couldn't sleep. My mind felt like a raging storm; a jammed machine, the gears grinding and cracking with unresolvable pressure. I thought about dying for no high-minded purpose at all, but rather just to have it all end.

I cursed the world. Cursed it for putting me in Shiko's house on that night in the first place, where I could end up in that closet and hear that stupid conversation. Cursed it for letting something like this even be possible in the first place. I wished more than anything it had never happened, I could have just lived as an ordinary person with a normal, unprofaned identity. And when that wish wasn't granted, I felt bitter regret rise in me over and over again.

I don't remember when it happened. I don't even really remember if it did happen, or if it's just something I invented after the fact to explain my own actions. But eventually, from the swirling chaos, a new voice emerged.

It's okay, the voice said.

We don't have to keep suffering like this.

What that person did to us was unforgivable. But we don't have to be them any more.

We can never be the old Utsushikome again. That much may be true.

But if we can cast off the dregs of the self that did this too, cleanse ourself of all connection to that sin, we can reset the scales.

Reset the scales, and begin again.

'How?' I asked. 'How can I let go of them?'

To break a curse, you have to go to its source, the voice answered.

We'll go back. Back to the place where this all began.

To Itan.