Silence.
Then, a breath.
The spiritwalker awoke beneath a sky of drifting petals — not white, not pink, but shades of shadow and crimson. Each one shimmered like a dying ember as it touched the ground.
He sat up slowly. The world around him was both familiar and wrong.
The valley was gone. The shrine was gone.
He stood instead in a vast field of cherry trees — all black, their blossoms pulsing faintly with red light.
> "The Dream of Blossoms," he whispered. "Between life and memory."
The voice that answered was neither kind nor cruel.
It was soft. Feminine. Familiar.
> "You remember my name, mortal."
He turned — and froze.
From the sea of black petals, Kurozakura emerged.
Her hair cascaded like a river of ink, streaked faintly with scarlet. Her eyes glowed with the same violet fire that once belonged to Sakura — yet darker, burdened with centuries of sorrow.
She wore a kimono woven from shadow and dying light, embroidered with gold that flickered like fireflies at dusk. Every step she took left trails of withering petals.
> "You," he said, voice trembling. "You're—"
> "The part of her that fell," Kurozakura interrupted gently. "The sorrow she tried to forget. The hatred the gods gave her. The half that remembers too much."
Her gaze softened. "And you… her endless fool. The mortal who keeps finding her."
He clenched his fists. "Where is Sakura?"
Kurozakura smiled faintly. "Everywhere. Nowhere. When she shattered the mirror, she divided herself again — one soul to protect this dream, one to return to the world above."
> "Then I'll find her," he said.
> "You cannot. Not without me."
He stared at her. "You're saying—"
> "We are the same," she whispered. "Two halves of one goddess. You cannot awaken her without facing what she buried — what she feared to become."
The black trees swayed. From their branches, pale figures began to form — echoes of Sakura's past lives, fractured memories shaped by regret.
They whispered as they circled him:
> "You swore to protect her."
"You swore to remember."
"You failed every spring."
The spiritwalker raised his hand, but the sigil was gone. Still, the warmth from that lost mark burned faintly in his chest.
> "Not this time," he said. "Not again."
He stepped toward Kurozakura. "Then show me. All of it."
Her expression faltered — a flicker of surprise, then sorrow.
> "You have no idea what you're asking."
> "I do," he replied. "I want to remember her — all of her. Even the darkness."
The air cracked. The dream trembled.
Petals rose in a storm — black and pink colliding in furious beauty.
Kurozakura reached out her hand, her voice breaking into both a whisper and a plea.
> "Then come, spiritwalker. See what love truly cost the gods."
Their hands touched.
Light and shadow merged.
---
He saw everything.
Sakura — the goddess of spring — weeping beneath a blood-red moon as the gods tore her wings away.
Kurozakura — born from her despair, her rage, her grief.
The spiritwalker — reborn again and again, bound by her tears.
The gods' voices echoed like thunder:
> "No mortal may bind eternity."
"No love may defy death."
And through it all, Sakura's voice whispered:
> "Every spring… every dawn…"
The vision shattered.
He fell to his knees, gasping. Kurozakura knelt before him, her shadowed face soft with something almost human.
> "Now you know why she cannot return," she said. "To awaken Sakura, the darkness must also be freed. She is me — and I am her."
He looked up, determination burning in his eyes. "Then I'll save you both."
She blinked, startled. "Save… me?"
> "You're part of her. You're part of us."
The black blossoms trembled. For the first time, Kurozakura looked uncertain — as if no one had ever spoken to her that way.
> "Then find her," she whispered. "At the heart of this dream — where the first petal fell."
She pressed her hand to his chest. A faint glow flared — the sigil returning, burning bright gold.
> "Go, spiritwalker. End the cycle… or begin it anew."
Her form dissolved into a flurry of black petals, swirling into the wind until only one remained — resting against his palm.
He closed his hand around it.
> "I'll bring you both home," he said.
And as he walked deeper into the Dream of Blossoms, the path lit with alternating petals of pink and black — the two halves of one eternal soul leading him toward the heart of memory. 🌸🌑