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Chapter 37 – Homecoming in Uncertainty

  The road back to Edo was wrapped in a silence heavier than any spoken word.

  The march stretched on like an endless ritual of stillness, drawn out by the dull realization that they were leaving behind something unresolved.

  The captain carried Miko in his arms—her body light, yet his gaze bore a weight that came from somewhere far deeper.

  Behind him, his men followed—shoulders low, faces pale.

  Each step echoed the fear they could not name.

  No one spoke.

  No one asked.

  There were no words for what they had seen—

  or for what now followed them.

  The only sound brave enough to exist was the creak of the cart wheels, rolling dully over the uneven path.

  On it lay the young soldier—unconscious, eyes closed, breath shallow.

  Nothing stirred within him. No twitch at the jostling of the cart, no reaction to the worried glances from his comrades.

  It was as if his mind had fled—

  and no one could say if it would ever return.

  When they reached Edo, eyes began to emerge from behind sliding doors and window screens.

  Drawn by the strange procession, the villagers stepped out into the streets—standing in silence, watching.

  Whispers bubbled up—low at first, then spreading like ripples across still water.

  “What happened to Miko-sama?”

  “Why is the captain carrying her?”

  “And who’s that on the cart…?”

  The murmuring crawled through the village like mist, passed from mouth to mouth, ear to ear,

  as the daimyō’s men marched on in grim silence.

  Each step grew heavier the closer they came to the steward’s house.

  The villagers’ eyes pressed down like weighty hands—curious, fearful, judging.

  Something had happened.

  Something that defied explanation.

  Something beyond reason... and beyond experience.

  The great wooden doors creaked open—like even they were afraid.

  Himoto Akizuki stepped onto the veranda, brow furrowed deep, followed by Aiko, who rubbed her hands nervously.

  Her eyes darted, searching—then froze as she saw her sister in the captain’s arms.

  Her breath caught.

  “Miko!”

  Without hesitation, she ran.

  Her voice cracked with panic, every syllable laced with fear.

  “What happened? Why does she look like that?!”

  The captain said nothing. His face remained unreadable as he stepped inside, walked through the hall, and laid Miko gently on her futon—almost reverently, as if she were something fragile that might shatter at a touch.

  Aiko dropped beside her, fingers trembling as they brushed her sister’s cheek.

  “She’s ice-cold…” she whispered.

  Himoto stepped in behind her, his gaze falling on his daughter’s pale face. His expression darkened.

  “What happened?” he asked quietly.

  The captain straightened.

  He looked like a man carrying too many words, none of them fit to be spoken.

  Finally, he squared his shoulders and said only:

  “We angered a god.”

  Silence poured into the room.

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  Aiko lifted her head, eyes wide, stunned by something she couldn’t yet grasp.

  “What… what does that mean?”

  Her voice was barely a whisper.

  But the captain said nothing more.

  His eyes lingered on Miko’s still body, then briefly on Aiko—who looked at him as if he could undo everything with just one answer.

  He turned and walked out.

  Aiko stared after him, stunned—then looked back to her sister.

  Her voice fell into a whisper, no louder than a flicker of hope struggling against the dark.

  “Please… wake up…”

  But Miko did not stir.

  Outside, the remaining soldiers gathered around the cart.

  The silence between them had changed—no longer just heavy, but charged like the air before a storm.

  “Will he wake up?” one asked, voice hoarse.

  Another shook his head slowly.

  “He’s breathing. But he’s not there.”

  The quiet that followed was thick with unspoken dread.

  Perhaps the boy was lost.

  Not in body—but in mind.

  Perhaps he had crossed a threshold no voice could reach.

  The captain joined them—his gaze steady, but hollow.

  “We leave immediately,” he said.

  No one objected. No one asked questions.

  Each of them wanted only one thing:

  To be far from this place.

  Far from what they’d seen.

  Without another word, they mounted their horses and rode away.

  The dust they left behind settled slowly over Edo like a second skin—

  one that could never fully be washed away.

  As soon as they were gone, the whispers began again.

  “They fled like death itself was at their heels…”

  “And the one on the cart? Why hasn’t he woken?”

  “Miko-sama… what happened to her?”

  Fear spread through the village—silent and secretive, like mold in a dark corner.

  No one knew what had happened.

  But everyone knew something had changed.

  The soldiers hadn’t spoken.

  But their eyes…

  had told enough.

  Something had changed them.

  In the steward’s house, Himoto sat in silence beside a cup of tea gone cold.

  Aiko still sat at Miko’s side, holding her hand, eyes locked on her sister’s face—

  as if sheer will might bring her back.

  “Father… what happened to her?”

  Her voice was quiet. Searching. Raw.

  Himoto said nothing for a long time.

  Then slowly, he shook his head.

  “I don’t know.”

  Aiko pressed her lips together, struggling to find ground in her thoughts.

  “They… they saw something. Didn’t they?”

  Himoto thought of the captain’s words.

  We angered a god.

  His fingers clenched the tea bowl tighter.

  They trembled slightly.

  “Something ancient has awakened,” he said at last—his voice sounding like he was hearing it for the first time himself.

  Aiko swallowed.

  Miko’s face was peaceful.

  Almost serene.

  But deep within her—

  where memory becomes dream, and dream becomes shadow—

  she was not alone.

  The village of Edo stirred—but no one truly moved forward.

  The daimyō’s men were gone,

  yet their footsteps echoed through the streets as if they had never left.

  A whisper passed through the village—from door to door, heart to heart.

  What had they seen?

  And more importantly—

  What would come next?

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