The rain fell thicker now, but it no longer felt like water.
Each drop shimmered faintly as it touched the earth, sinking into the roots that spread beneath the valley like veins of living light. The air hummed — a low, thrumming sound that echoed in every heartbeat, every breath.
And then, one by one, the dreams began.
---
It was Rei who dreamt first.
She saw herself not as a potter's daughter but as a handmaiden beneath a sky of pale blossoms, kneeling beside a lake of gold.
A woman stood above her — divine, radiant, her hair drifting like mist — Sakura, but not as she was now.
Her face was serene, untouched by sorrow.
> "The gods have asked for my tears," Sakura said in the dream. "They say it will bring eternal spring."
Rei — or the handmaiden she once was — looked up at her. "And will it?"
Sakura smiled faintly. "Eternity is not life. It is only memory without breath."
When Rei awoke, her hands were streaked with gold dust. The song of the roots was louder than ever.
---
The next dream came to the wanderer — the man with dusk-colored eyes.
He dreamt of fire.
He saw cities burning beneath falling petals, temples collapsing beneath the weight of divine war.
And through the chaos, he glimpsed himself — not as a man, but as a soldier cloaked in red armor, wielding a staff entwined with black branches.
He stood beside a dark spirit — Kurozakura, her laughter sharp as wind through glass.
> "Do you see, mortal?" she asked him. "Even gods bleed when they love too much."
He had followed her into battle, wielding her fury against those who sought to cage her.
When he awoke, his palms were cut, though he remembered touching nothing but air.
---
By the third night, everyone in the valley was dreaming.
The scholar saw the fall of the divine tree, its blossoms scattering like dying stars.
The boy saw himself as a messenger, carrying broken sigils across a ruined sky.
And Sakura—
Sakura did not sleep.
She sat by the hearth, watching the fire's glow twist and flicker in patterns she could almost read. Her hands trembled faintly; in her chest, two heartbeats pulsed — her own, and something deeper.
The spiritwalker stirred from his light doze. "You're not resting."
> "I can't," she whispered. "They're remembering for me."
> "The travelers?"
> "The world. It's showing them pieces I've forgotten."
Outside, lightning flickered. For an instant, the sky was a mirror — and in it, she saw a reflection not her own.
Kurozakura.
Her other self smiled through the storm, lips curved in sorrow.
> "You cannot carry both memory and peace, sister."
Sakura's breath caught. "Then what am I supposed to carry?"
> "The truth," came the reply. "Even if it breaks you again."
The reflection vanished as thunder rolled across the valley.
---
By dawn, the travelers gathered again around the sapling. The earth around it pulsed with faint red veins, the petals darker than before.
Rei stood at the edge of the circle, her voice low.
> "The dreams feel like warnings," she said. "Like something beneath us wants to be remembered… but not forgiven."
The scholar nodded, her ink-stained hands trembling. "The roots hum in fragments now. They repeat one phrase, over and over."
Sakura's voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed unease. "What phrase?"
> "The blood remembers."
The spiritwalker felt the words like a blade in the air. "Meaning?"
Sakura looked toward the sapling, where a single droplet of red shimmered on a blossom — not dew, not rain, but blood.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "Meaning the world's wound is opening again."
---
The earth shuddered.
The roots beneath their feet pulsed with light — gold, crimson, black — twisting together in a living pattern that spread through the ground like a heartbeat.
From deep below came a faint cry — not human, not divine, but ancient.
The travelers fell to their knees, covering their ears. The sound was grief itself made audible.
Sakura raised her hands, trying to calm the rising power. "Stop! You're not meant to wake yet!"
But the roots didn't listen.
The sapling flared — its blossoms burning white before collapsing into ash. In the center of the circle, the soil cracked open, revealing a faint shimmer of light beneath.
Inside it, they saw memories made flesh: visions of battle, of divine tears, of gods bleeding into the soil.
Rei gasped, clutching her chest. "It's showing us how spring was made."
The spiritwalker stepped closer, his voice grim. "Not made. Bought."
---
The light faded, leaving the valley silent again. The sapling was gone; only black petals remained, scattered like ashes.
Sakura stood motionless, her eyes reflecting both light and shadow.
> "The roots remember everything," she murmured. "Even what I wished they'd forget."
The spiritwalker looked toward the cracked earth. "Then we'd better be ready to hear what else they have to say."
Far below, something stirred — slow, deep, and patient.
And for the first time since the gods fell, the world itself dreamed of blood. 🌸🌑