Chapter 322: Words to the Divine
Malik exhaled slowly, letting the breath billow into the crystalline air of the prayer chamber.
For the past hour, he had stood on smooth obsidian tiles woven with frost-etched runes, shoulder to shoulder with the Frostbound Owls as they performed one of their oldest rituals—a winter petition to the Fox Goddess, Inariko. The space glowed with subtle enchantment: pale-blue lantern light twinkling above, slow-rising steam from snow blossoms lining the room's perimeter, and the steady pulse of magical energy humming through the carved stone walls.
A ring of owls surrounded the center of the room, their massive forms elegant and precise. At their core was Malik, cloaked in ceremonial garb—a deep indigo robe lined with fox fur and embroidered silver threading, cut to flow over his shoulders like wind over snow. It wasn't his usual style, but he filled it out well… not that he noticed. He was far too preoccupied with the lengthy prayer sequences, the hand gestures, the footwork, the coordination, and oh yeah—
The fact that he'd been here over a month.
🕯 Ritual Prayer and Sacred Movement
Ritual prayer in Hyōsetsumura was an immersive experience, borrowed from centuries of ancestral communion. Their prayers resembled a spiritual dance, braided with liturgical rhythm and smudging elements drawn from mountain traditions. Malik had been taught the sequences carefully, each step representing a promise: one to the mountain, one to the snow, one to the fox.
He moved with deliberate grace, matching the owls' pacing as they bent and stretched their wings, reciting old incantations in slow, resonant tones. When the owls formed their symbol of reverence—a circle with their wings outstretched—Malik raised his arms accordingly and joined them in chanting:
"We who remain, remember. We who tread ice, offer voice. To the fox beneath frost, we speak."
And as Malik repeated the words with steady breath, he tried—tried—to stay focused.
But of course—
His Internal Monologue was full of Complaints and maybe a small amount of Cold Feet
I have been here a month.
Actually, over a month. Nearly two. I was supposed to come, soothe a goddess, eat some snowberry pastries, and return dramatically to Konoha in time for a warm cup of New Year's tea.
Instead? Fox riddles. Monk emotions. Zabuza surviving exclusively off rage and whiskey. Fugai bench-pressing boulders. Kamira staging romantic assaults in the moonlight. And Ranke? She's kissed me so many times I think her chakra's getting emotionally clingy.
He aligned his left palm with his right elbow as instructed, then turned twice to the left to complete the offering movement. His boot tapped against a glyph, activating a ripple of silver light.
And now, I'm stuck in ceremonial fox-dancer mode while everyone else gets naps, hot springs, and snowbird cuddles. My tea went cold three times this week. I haven't had a cookie since Tuesday. I'm not even wearing my favorite outfit—
He bowed deeply, arms open. The owls spread their wings in synchronous response, letting shimmering flakes swirl through the chamber's upper dome.
Still. I have to admit…
It's kind of beautiful.
The Role of Ritual Prayer . . .This wasn't just tradition—it was living memory. The ritual grounded every participant in something bigger: the bond with their divine protector, the connection to those who came before, the unity of purpose within the village. Malik knew that ritual prayer in any form—whether Catholic liturgy or indigenous cleansing rites—held the power to reinforce identity, offer emotional clarity, and deepen one's place within community.
Here, the movement mattered. The precision mattered. And Malik found that despite his internal dialogue, his heartbeat had synchronized with the chant's rhythm long ago.
When the final line was spoken, Malik remained in quiet stance as feathers shifted softly beside him. The owls lowered their wings, and silence fell like falling snow.
Lady Shirayuki turned toward him with quiet grace. A Moment with Lady Shirayuki,
She gestured for him to walk beside her, her wings folding into her robe with seamless elegance. Her voice echoed through the hallway as they made their way deeper into the temple.
"You performed well, Malik."
He bowed his head slightly, voice gentle. "It was an honor, Lady Shirayuki. Thank you for trusting me with something so sacred."
She glanced at him, her golden eyes perceptive. "You've spent longer here than intended."
Malik gave a small, self-deprecating grin. "Slightly longer, yes. I may have become somewhat frostbound myself."
"I believe Inariko is enjoying your presence. The mirrors hum when you speak."
Malik raised an eyebrow. "Do they?"
"She keeps many secrets," Shirayuki said quietly. "But she does not hide from those who walk with open hearts."
They walked through crystalline corridors, the walls lit with foxfire. Malik could feel the weight of memory etched into each rune, each surface touched by centuries.
"I must ask…" she added. "Will you be staying through the winter?"
Malik paused.
Then smiled.
"I think I might. There's still more here worth knowing. And more people worth serving."
As they passed beneath a towering mural—Inariko in her fox form, nestled among falling petals—Malik let his internal complaints quiet.
Yes, it was cold. Yes, he missed his favorite tea.
But snowflake by snowflake, wingbeat by wingbeat—
He was slowly becoming part of something sacred.
And honestly?
That was worth the wait.