Breakfast was abundant. As soon as I left the room, one of the servants was already waiting, prepared to fulfill any request. The air carried the fragrance of freshly cooked rice, grilled fish, and steaming broth. Before the dishes were even served, Dojimaru, his wife Shinobu, and the young Uraume joined me at the table.
I had expected a heavy atmosphere after the events of the previous night, yet the Village Chief surprised me with his plans.
"A lantern rite?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds like a good idea."
It made sense. After all, it is always the living who suffer the most from the departure of the dead, and a rite of passage was the best way to grant some form of closure. A simple mass burial would never be enough to soothe their wounds.
"In the end," I added, my voice carrying the weight of the thought "it is the living who bear the absence of those who have gone. In this chaotic world, where life is worth no more than a handful of ryō, the weak can only seek comfort in what remains of their days."
My words were harsh, yet honest. I had no intention of making friends here — only to dominate this village and shape it according to my vision. I could impose myself by force, but that would inevitably breed resistance, whether from within or without, and I had no time to waste crushing rebellions on every front.
No, I would convert them instead. And in their eyes, I could already see it — my words resonated deeply. After what had occurred the night before, none of them could deny the truth.
Shinobu lowered her gaze, hands trembling upon her lap.
"I never imagined we would one day become the target of shinobi…"
Her comment brought a brief silence. Dojimaru's jaw tightened, but he swiftly shifted the subject.
"And the prisoner?" he asked, turning to one of the maids standing by the door.
"He is under Imaki-sama's supervision at the garrison, Master Seimei."
The answer made me raise an eyebrow. Could this Imaki truly restrain a shinobi? I remembered countless tales of specialists who were not ninjas yet appeared in fillers and films… perhaps he was such a type. Regardless, it was not my problem. I had only offered the opportunity; whether Takumi was strong enough to hold it would depend on them — not me.
"Tell Imaki-san to interrogate him. I will visit the garrison this afternoon," ordered Dojimaru. The maid bowed and left in haste.
When silence settled again, the village chief turned back to me with an expression of solemn respect.
"I still owe you, Lord Raiden. If it is not too much to ask, I would like you to be present at the Lantern Rite, so that the villagers may honor you. I intend to hold a banquet in your name afterward, as well as grant you a generous reward."
"There is no need for such formality, Seimei-san. I will attend the rite. Perhaps I will even light a few lanterns myself."
As I spoke, fleeting memories of long-lost faces crossed my mind — the family I once had.
"I am grateful, Raiden-san." Dojimaru bowed his head with sincerity.
[POV: Third Person]
The pieces of destiny were already shifting. Sunagakure sent Chiyo and Ebizo on a mission; Hashisaki dispatched spies and informants disguised as merchants; and in Takumi, Seimei and his officers organized the Lantern Rite.
The news spread swiftly. Craftsmen paused their trades to lend aid, women left their homes carrying rolls of silk and woven bamboo, children darted through the streets bearing oil torches. At every corner, calloused hands folded paper, painted symbols, and braided ropes.
It was not merely a rite — it was the village breathing anew.
Some wept as they inscribed the names of the fallen on slips of paper to be placed within the lanterns. Others, in silence, let their tears fall as they worked, transmuting grief into effort. For the first time in years, Takumi labored as a single body.
An old blacksmith muttered while sharpening the blade he would offer as tribute:
"It's been so long since I've seen the village like this… all together, as if we were one family."
A young mother, tying a lantern before her house, replied softly:
"Perhaps this is what we needed. Not only to mourn… but to remember that we're still alive."
And thus, little by little, sorrow gave way to communion.
Meanwhile, Uraume watched Raiden meditating in the Seimei family courtyard, beneath the shade of an ancient tree.
She had been adopted as a child by Imaki, who quickly recognized her talent. Raised with discipline and rigorous training, by fifteen she was already considered a master of the katana, her instincts sharpened by constant practice and battlefield experience.
She was no sensory shinobi, but her perception was keen. And she noticed: Raiden's meditation was unlike anything ordinary.
The grass around him swayed despite the still air. The tree above seemed more alive, its leaves glimmering faintly as though stirred by unseen forces. It was as if nature itself was breathing in rhythm with him.
"Do you need something, Uraume-san?" Raiden asked suddenly, without opening his eyes.
The girl swallowed hard, cheeks flushed.
'Damn… I lost myself staring. I don't want him to think I was prying.'
"Forgive me, Lord Raiden. I did not mean to disturb you."
"You have not disturbed me. But even with my eyes closed, I can sense something troubles you. Is there a question you wish to ask?"
She hesitated.
'As expected of Lord Raiden… always aware, even when he appears at ease.'
"N-no, it's nothing! I wasn't trying to uncover your secrets or anything…"
He smiled faintly. For someone as composed as Uraume, her flustered reaction was almost endearing.
"If it was nothing, then why apologize?" he teased.
"I… I was just… I mean—" she stammered, words failing her.
"It's all right. You needn't worry. It's not as though I was trying to act in secrecy," he said, sparing her further embarrassment. "If you have questions, you may ask freely."
The girl drew a deep breath, regaining some composure.
"While you meditated… it seemed as though nature shone brighter. Why was that?"
Raiden opened his eyes, his gaze drifting toward the garden as if beyond it.
"What you witnessed was nature paying reverence — to me, and to what I was doing."
"Reverence?" she repeated, recalling the shimmering grass and radiant tree.
"Lord Raiden… what exactly were you doing?" The question slipped out before she could stop herself, and she almost cursed her own boldness.
Yet Raiden showed no displeasure.
"I was cultivating," he replied, eyes fixed on the horizon, certain that the pieces of fate were slowly aligning.
Takumi thrummed with renewed vigor.
Craftsmen lacking enough materials contributed whatever they could — scraps of wood, colored paper, natural pigments. Dojimaru and his attendants carefully noted each offering, promising fair reward in due time.
Those who could not contribute in wealth gave their hands instead. Lanterns were strung across narrow streets, garlands of flowers braided onto doors, and even the elderly, barely able to walk, came forth to share guidance on the old rituals.
For a fleeting moment, sorrow became solidarity. The villagers, once consumed by grief and fear, began to feel less alone. Working side by side, they remembered that they were more than individuals mourning in silence. They were a community, bound not only by loss, but by the will to honor the dead together.
And so, as dusk approached, Takumi was no longer merely a village in mourning. It was a people, united in devotion, preparing to be reborn beneath the light of a thousand lanterns.