Yumi
Centuries ago
The soft glow of the pearl moon filtered through the tree leaves that blocked her view of the revelry down the hill. A child then, perhaps merely ten years old – nothing in the eyes of Demon World – looked upon the crumpled body of her mother on the ground outside their small home.
She had always told her to hide when she saw people she didn't know coming up the hill – to never talk to anyone if her mother hadn't introduced them to her herself. The hands that reached out to her belonged to one such person, a person she knew to trust.
"You're safe now," he said, picking her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, as she had many times. He was breathless, turning her away from her mother's corpse in a moment of compassion. "You're safe now."
A group of people she didn't recognize muttered vague words of astonishment at the sight of her. She had never seen so many people at once, and it frightened her. Sensing this, the man gave her a pat on the back and brushed back the bangs that covered her face. She was relieved, at least, to see him. She placed her face in the crook of his neck to hide herself, her body trembling.
"Kotaka," an elder stood in front of him, his gravely voice matching his withered appearance. "Look up to the sky, my son."
And he did so, turning his face upward to the full dual moons of the demon world. Warm, bright light bathed him, over powering the smaller red moon that appeared full so rarely. Feeling the resonance of his mana between himself and the girl in his arms caused a tremor to roll through him. Regret?
"You've done the right thing," the elder said, turning to walk away. But had he? He wasn't sure he would ever actually know.
Yumi's farthest back memory was the moment Kotaka began walking down the hill, the hill she had been on her entire life until that point. The house, hardly a house by measure of most, engulfed and quickly overtook by flames.
A stick came down and slapped the back of her hand, which she had been told to place on the table and not move. As the instructor asked her question after question each wrong one had earned her another lash.
"You've never told me these things," tears streamed down her face, but she refrained from sobbing – she had already learned that made things worse. "how am I supposed to know them?"
The priestess gave a heavy, dramatic sigh. "You are the Saintess. How do you not know these things?" She pursed her lips, looking down at the red welts on the child's hand with some pause. It was how things were done and had always been done. She walked around the room briefly, her robes swishing behind her.
After she was done pacing she sat at the table across from Yumi, folding her legs beneath her as she did. In front of her was a child that was isolated not only from her true purpose, but from the whole of society for ten years. It was a blink of an eye to the Devora – a blink of the eye for most demons, in fact. But it was still far too long for a Saintess, let alone the only one the Moon tribe had seen in hundreds of years.
The oracle of her birth had been foreseen, but her identity hidden by her mother. Perhaps she had thought that she were doing the child a favor, denying her the care of the temple. Perhaps she was right to do so. For Iroha, who had been sold to the temple at birth, the child in front of her represented everything she had been trained for her entire life. She imagined a powerful saintess, a legendary power that would shake the very foundation of the Devora and bolster the Moon tribe's reputation against those who pushed the boundaries of their territory every day.
What she got was a child who took weeks to even meet her eyes, and weeks more to even talk to her. It was her duty to instruct the Saintess, surely, but was it her duty to raise her as well?
She studied the girl. She had gained weight the last five months. She had maybe even gotten taller. However, she still had the lean body of a malnourished child, and regardless of how many have tried she refused to have her hair cut, leading to her hair mostly covering her face. Iroha could only imagine the curtain of hair was there to break eye contact.
"You were born with a blessed gift. It is your responsibility to know the sacred rituals and rites of the Moon tribe so that when the time comes you can use your gift for your people."
The girl looked away, and for a moment beneath the hair Iroha thought she saw a fresh bruise. She knew the child wouldn't let her get close enough to see if her eyes deceived her or not, but she still reached out – as predicted, the child hit her arm away and glared at her with enough anger that she could sense it even though she couldn't see it.
Iroha was used to the head priest's methods as well, and didn't need to pry any further. Something inside her told her that they were approaching this entirely the wrong way – in fact, a part of her would even say it felt like some sort of divine edict telling her to change course. But she was just a priestess, thankful in a way that there were a saintess to remove attention from the other priestesses in the temple.
So not even a divine being is immune to the nature of this world,* she thought sadly. Reserved, she stood again. "I do not believe this is working," she said, more to herself at first. Iroha addressed the girl after several long moments. "I was told that I must do whatever necessary to achieve results. It will be easier for you if you... concede what you can."
The girl looked up at her through her bangs with hesitance, and Iroha couldn't blame her.
"My task was to awaken your saintly abilities so that you can assist your people. It is up to you to decide if they are worth that," she spoke plainly, though she wasn't sure if what she were saying went above the child's head
That was the last time she had seen Iroha.
As with many demons, Devora found themselves spread through various tribes across the realm. No matter which tribe you found yourself in, the dynamic was typically the same. Devora worshipped and drew their power from the twin moons in the sky, that power being it's most potent when both reached their apex full. Devorian mana was different than that of most demons, as – it ebbed and flowed with the lunar cycles and between each other in proximity. As such, Devora were sensitive to these changes in mana, and those who could not channel their own were left with little recourse but to expend said mana or face corruption.
A saint, Yumi was told, was a Devora given the power of the gods themselves to channel mana and balance it, restructure it, and feed it through those of their tribe. A saint, she was told, was as precious and rare as a jewel.
The head priest's hand struck her again and she fell to the floor, expressionless. She knew these things, of course. She knew of her people and their interconnected mana, she could feel it from the day her powers had awoken alone in that house on the hill. Even from there she could feel the pull and tug from the village below, the cry of the moon down to her from the sky above and the longing to join them in their revelry and dance.
Her mother also ensured that she knew that if she had ever been discovered, she would live the rest of her life in these temple walls. A perfect, shining treasure. But as her time in the temple passed, months into years, she knew that things were not always as they seemed. Did her mother truly want her to keep her freedom? Or was it to get back at the village that shunned her for having a child on her own to begin with? She would never know. She longed to ask her, though she could not even remember her face.
The priest pulled her up by her hair, something he did enough that she was too used to the stinging pain to react anymore. "You have been clothed and fed for twenty years and this is how you repay us? The people starve and you refuse to bless them. The children weep and you refuse to calm them," he kicked her in the stomach, sending her body rolling against the wooden floor. "The gods must be toying with us. Your mana screams the undeniable signature of a saintess, and yet we're given a mockery who can do nothing."
She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he rambled, his speech slurring as he stomped around the room. "No matter," he grumbled, "Dress yourself in your robes and prepare yourself for the eve. I will pray that you awaken soon, Saintess. You should pray too."
At that he left, his lesson over. Two priestesses that 'served' her rushed to her side, quickly employing their skills with mana to heal, at least on the surface, what marks may have lingered.
"Lord Kotaka is coming," one reassured her, pulling her hair back as she did. As the years went by she did go through the motions as Iroha had suggested, her hair having been the last thing she gave them domnion over. At this news Yumi breathed a sigh of relief.
"With Lord Kotaka here, the priest will want to put on a show of pretend. I'm glad he did not turn his attentions to you this time," it was said with some manner of untruthfulness. Yumi was not so selfless that she would wish to take a beating for someone else – it was, however, what was expected of her to say. And so she said it, and the priestess believed her.
"I am grateful for you, my lady." She bowed, as did the other. They were just the next in a long line of priestesses that were never allowed to get too close to her, and Yumi had stopped trying to discover what happened to the attendants who would leave in the night and be replaced the next morning. None of her guesses were pretty.
They readied her with skilled hands, dressing her in a multilayered robe befitting her station. Yumi was not a fan. She supposed even those who dressed like this every day never got used to the restrictive, heavy layers of expensive cloth. She was nothing more than a bird on display, after all.
It had been two years since Kotaka's last visit, as he was often sent to patrol the borders between the Moon tribe and their surrounding enemies. And they had many enemies.
The man, broad shouldered and tanned with the stance and body of a warrior strode toward her as soon as her and her attendants entered the hall and embraced her in a warm hug – she gladly returned it, knowing that as soon as he were sent off again she would be reprimanded for not acting according to her station.
"My lady," he said in way of greeting, and her heart dropped. It had been many years since he had called her by her name, a matter she knew she couldn't press. "I trust you find yourself well in my absence."
She smiled, and wondered if he could tell that it did not reach her eyes. "All is well Lord Kotaka."
As they made their way to their seats in the hall, others bowing as she passed them. They were nothing but faces to her, names she never bothered to remember. Kotaka, sitting beside her in a plush cushion, let a small moment of vulnerability pass over his face.
"You look more and more like her each time I return," he said mournfully, recalling the mother that Yumi could not.
She nodded to accept the compliment, not sure how to respond. But that night she looked in the mirror, trying to summon any memories as her eyes stared back from the cold surface.
The full moon was celebrated each month with collective revelry and connection among the village. Music and laughter traveled to the walls of the temple but never saw it's way inside, taunting the saintess each month with what she was missing. Dual full moons were even more rare, occurring once a year.
It was improper, of course, for her to celebrate with the townsfolk. There were certain duties that were expected of her on nights such as these and they could not be conducted dancing in the moonlight like the rest.
It was one of those nights, when like every month she attempted to call upon her saintly power that it answered for the first time. A pulse beneath her very flesh, separate from her own, not burning per se but intense and consuming – a feeling so primal that she knew by instinct alone that she could not reveal that it had come to her.
Devora, as demons, utilized mana in many ways. Most demons found their bloodlines restricted them to particular skills and abilities, such as those in animalistic clans that could only ever conjure the powers of nature. Devora were a rare difference, in exchange for their turbulent mana any individual could have any number of abilities. Saints were said to possess talents of immense strength, and Yumi could feel the truth in that statement that night. The strength, not hers exactly, lay just beyond her reach but finally in sight.
She listened to the moon dance from beyond the walls with jealousy but for the first time a spark of hope. Perhaps things would change now that her powers answered her call, even if quietly.
Once her duties were done and she was given leave to return to her quarters, she spent the night trying to call on that strange feeling until she could at least discover what her ability could possibly be. She had heard of Devora that could start fires with their mana, warriors that could lift five times their weight above their head. More simple things, too, such as the attendant that served her during her tenth year being able to imbue light into objects for short periods of time.
It took two hours of trying for it to push forth – a crackling, strange distortion in the air in front of her and then just like that a hole. A hole in the very air in front of her, perhaps as wide as the length of her finger and as tall as the width of her comb. Beyond the hole, it's edges glowing faintly with the trail of her mana, was a field of grass and flowers bathed in the light of the moon. Her heart recognized it as the field beyond the house she had lived with her mother – the field that she would lay in and listen to the songs of the birds and the buzzing of insects while her mother read to her in the summer sun. She swallowed painfully and sat there, curling her arms around her knees and just watching the wind blow the flowers through the looking hole in front of her.
That night as she dreamed of better things, she actually believed they could be possible.
The day her powers were discovered was the last day that anyone dared strike her. It was also the day the priest no longer had a right hand.
It happened in seconds – she was used to the beatings of course, unaware that they were never something a person should be used to, but something about that day was particularly violent. Trouble at the borders had everyone on edge, and even though Yumi hadn't left the temple grounds since she had come there, she was now being told how to take her own life should the enemy invade.
It was a simple comment that came from her lips before she could think better of it. "What would be the difference if I were a prisoner somewhere else as opposed to a prisoner here?" She had asked.
A gasp from one of the priestesses was the only indication she had that she had said her thoughts outload before a swift crack sounded on the side of her head. For the first time in the near seventy years that she had been in the temple that the priest had climbed on top of her after during a beating. The other priestesses, of course, did nothing. She thought ruefully about the irony of being a saintess that had no one to protect her, despite so many people claiming to serve her. The priest struck her again, her vision snapping green before she nearly whited out.
It was his scream that kept her conscious – and when her eyes were able to refocus she saw him curled away from her, grabbing at a severed limb as blood poured from it and pooled on the floor below. The sight of it had her stomach turning, and she glanced to the priestesses hoping they knew what happened but they recoiled from her.
"You're a monster," the priest laughed, his senses gone, "never a saint but clearly a monster!"
One of the priestesses ran for help while another tended his wound.
It was only when she was alone that night, conjuring another portal to view the outside world through that she saw it – a short, stumpy severed hand that had clearly been picked apart by some animal. Yumi hadn't been quite sure what had happened before, but then she had realized that as he had come to strike her she insinctually opened a portal to defend herself and it had closed just as fast, passing the priests hand through it and severing it clean from the bone within seconds.
From then, she no longer got called to attend his 'lessons.' She no longer had him pressing her to awaken her powers, no longer had attendants to dress and bathe her, and with a soft click of a lock she no longer had the luxury of leaving her room. For five years the only company she had was the food that was passed underneath her door and the monthly songs and dances under the moon that remained out of her reach.
News of Kotaka's death came far too suddenly and far too carelessly. A priestess mentioned it in passing, as if describing the weather, while sliding a tray of food beneath the door. A tussle at the border, she had said, and that was it.
Yumi hadn't known her father, but Kotaka was as close to one as she would ever get. It took her years to reconsile that fact with the knowledge that he had been the reason her mother killed and herself brought to the temple. When she had realized that at first, she hated him. Truly. But introspection and experience taught her that the outside view of the temple was far different than the knoweldge of its inner workings.
Most of the village thought that the saintess were treated preciously, with care, that she were able to help heal the sick and bless those who needed it. The reality of the matter was that she had refused to call upon her powers, leaving the priests in charge of the temple to lie and hide her ineptitude. Regardless of that fact, Kotaka must have believed that he were doing what was best for her.
She did not have the time to mourn him, fate would decide. That night under the light of a dual full moon, the tussle at the border turned into something far larger than that and the Moon tribe found itself attacked and invaded. The sounds of music and dancing outside her windows turned into the shrill screams of the village. She had frozen completely, panic setting in and intensifying the moment she smelled smoke.
Yumi banged at the door, knowing that there were usually a guard or two in the vicinity. "Let me out!! Let me out of here!!" She yelled with no answer until her voice was raw with smoke and her head light and dizzy. When the door did finally open, it was not due to helping hands.
The priest looked over her as she coughed and sputtered, and she could see that he was overtaken with the situation as well. Angry, always angry, he lunged at her, his remaining hand wrapping around her neck. "I should have killed you," he growled, his grip tightening as she struggled. "I should have killed you then –"
There was a gurgle from this throat, his eyes widening in fear as she had begun to get light headed from the suffocation of not only his hand but the smoke. He rolled to the side as someone pushed him off of her, a stained sword sliding out of him as they did. The smell of blood and the scene of death beside her made Yumi feel as though she were out of her body entirely, as though she were watching the carnage from somewhere else.
Whomever the person was that saved her, even though she felt as though it was more by mistake than anything, swung their blade hard to fling the blood off of it. She couldn't see them through the now thickening smoke of the burning temple, but there was the strange call of energy that all Devora had between them. In her panic, she hadn't suppressed her mana – there was a moment where she reminded herself that she was supposed to commit suicide in these moments before she passed out, only managing to hear their voice call "I've found the saintess!" before succumbing to the dark.