We gave it pieces of ourselves, he realized. And over centuries, we forgot how much we gave.
Haru knelt at the edge of the pit. He laid out his offerings: a bowl of black rice, a mirror polished to blindness, and a small clay bell that had belonged to his grandmother. Then he began the chant. Kagachi-sama Onagusame Tatematsurimasu Remaster...
You have brought me solitude wrapped in ritual. But I am tired of sleep, little appeaser. I want to remember. I want you to remember with me. We gave it pieces of ourselves, he realized
He opened his mouth to scream the closing chant—the words that sealed the hollow for another year. But something was already coiled around his tongue. Not a serpent. His own name, the one he had never offered, now being pulled from him like a silver thread. He laid out his offerings: a bowl of
Somewhere above, the clay bell rang again. A single, lonely note.