"Heiwa, are you awake? We're arriving at the provincial capital," Miss Li Hua's voice called from outside the carriage.
"Huh—?"
I shifted upright, my body stiff, joints protesting as if I'd slept through a lifetime instead of a few hours. The world beyond the window was dark, washed in the dull violet of dusk bleeding into night. Lanterns lined the road, their flames trembling in the wind like nervous thoughts.
The city had already swallowed the sun.
"Victoria—" I reached for her, but the words died in my throat.
Across the carriage, a soft glow pulsed.
Zinnia was still asleep, curled against her mother's side, her breathing slow and even. Around her, moths and fireflies hovered in a lazy orbit, drifting like fragments of a broken constellation. Their light spilled across the wooden walls, painting everything in gold and silver.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
I nudged Victoria instead, gently this time.
"Hm… are we there yet?" she murmured, rubbing her eyes.
She noticed the lights and froze.
"…Wow."
Her voice came out smaller than usual, almost reverent.
"Why didn't you wake me earlier?" she whispered, leaning closer to the swarm as if afraid to disturb it.
"I just woke up myself," I replied, exhaling slowly. The air smelled different—cooler, faintly metallic, like rain that hadn't fallen yet.
Victoria squinted at Zinnia, then at me.
"Should we wake her?"
I stared at her. There was that familiar glint in her eyes—the one that always preceded terrible ideas.
"No," I said flatly. "We don't wake her."
She pouted, but didn't argue.
I watched the lights drift, mesmerized despite myself.
When did they change from butterflies to moths? I wondered.
As if in response to the thought, the glow suddenly dimmed.
One by one, the lights winked out.
The carriage plunged into darkness.
A street lantern flared to life outside, casting amber light through the window. The fireflies were gone. Only the quiet remained, thick and unnatural.
We rolled forward.
The city felt… wrong.
Too quiet.
No voices. No vendors. No late-night laughter drifting from taverns or open windows. Just empty streets and shuttered doors, the buildings looming like hollow shells. Even the horses seemed reluctant, their hooves slower, hesitant against the stone.
Victoria pressed her face to the glass.
"Where exactly did we arrive again?" she muttered.
Before I could answer—
"Halt!"
The voice cracked through the silence like a whip.
The carriage jerked to a stop. Lanterns flared on both sides of the road, revealing soldiers in uniform, their armor dull, eyes sharp. Dozens of them. Too many for a simple checkpoint.
"Good evening, Madam Li," one of them said, his tone polite but tight, like a blade wrapped in silk.
Miss Li Hua leaned out slightly. "Good evening."
His gaze swept the carriage.
My spine prickled.
"Mama…?" Zinnia stirred, blinking awake. "Sparkle?"
The fireflies returned instantly, blooming into existence around her like they'd been waiting for permission to breathe.
The soldiers stiffened.
Several hands went to swords.
But nothing happened.
The butterflies drifted harmlessly, their glow soft, warm. They didn't touch anyone. Didn't react. Didn't disturb.
The tension lingered anyway, suspended in the air like an unsung note.
"We're heading to the shrine," Miss Li Hua said calmly.
The soldier hesitated, then nodded. "You may pass."
No inspection. No further questions.
We moved again.
The hill rose ahead of us, the shrine perched at its peak like a silent witness watching the city decay beneath it. Red torii gates stood in rows, their paint chipped, their edges darkened by age and shadow.
Victoria and I carried the crate between us. It felt heavier than it should've, though I couldn't tell if that was physical or psychological.
"An interesting choice for a dwelling," Miss Hazel remarked lightly.
Victoria leaned toward me. "Do you think the shrine will exorcise the demon?"
Her voice was half a joke.
Miss Hazel only smiled.
That didn't help.
We passed through the gates without resistance. The courtyard was empty, bathed in the dim light of a waning red moon. The wind stirred the prayer tags, making them whisper against each other like secrets.
"You are—oh. New guests."
A woman in red and white stood near the entrance, her posture straight, eyes calm. Dōngzhí.
Behind her, others in ceremonial robes observed us quietly.
"Mummy, look! A lady in red and white!" Zinnia whispered, pointing.
They smiled at her. All of them.
Too gently.
"Let's go inside," Dōngzhí said.
The main hall was warm, lit with candles and incense. The smell was soothing, but it only made the silence heavier.
Miss Li Hua sat across from Dōngzhí as tea was poured.
"How have things been?" she asked.
Dōngzhí froze mid-motion.
The tea trembled in the cup.
No one spoke.
Even Zinnia went quiet, clutching her mother's sleeve.
Then—
"Oh. You're back."
The voice didn't belong to any of them.
The sliding door opened.
A man stepped inside, dressed in flowing white, his presence so sudden it felt like the room had gained an extra shadow.
I hadn't sensed him.
Victoria inhaled sharply.
"…Who?" she whispered.
No one answered.
The candles flickered.
And for the first time since we'd arrived, I felt it clearly:
Whatever was happening in this city…
We were already starved of time.