The lavender had grown tall enough to bite her ankles again.
She swatted at it with her skirt, huffing under her breath as she marched through the overgrown path, barefoot and determined. The sun had already turned soft and orange, and the lanterns, all fifty-two of them, still sat stubbornly dark.
"Sleepy things," she muttered, shifting the basket against her hip. "It's already twilight. You're late."
The charms inside the basket rattled in reply. Polished stones, paper tags, two small incense sticks, and a ribbon she definitely wasn't supposed to have taken from the altar. Maybe. Probably. She would put it back later. Probably.
She stopped at the first lantern.
"Alright. I'll ask nicely."
Her fingers brushed its wooden frame. Nothing happened.
She frowned. Poked it. Blew on the charm beneath.
Still nothing.
The girl tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, and whispered like she was telling it a secret.
"You know if you don't wake up, I'm going to tell the fox spirits you've been slacking."
A faint blink. Soft gold lit the inside of the lantern like it had suddenly remembered it had a job.
She grinned.
"That's better."
The wind caught the hem of her robe as she spun toward the next one, twirling once for good measure, because it felt right. Spirits liked dances. Or at least, she thought they did. No one had ever corrected her. Except the old man, of course. He always had something to say.
She moved faster now, hopping down the steps and skimming across the river stones with the balance of someone who'd lived here forever. The sound of water followed her like a friend. It always did.
By the time she reached the courtyard, the sun had settled low behind the trees. The air smelled like plum blossoms and warm stone. The lanterns hung from their lines like sleeping fireflies.
She dropped the basket with a satisfied sigh and stretched her arms high overhead.
"Alright, my little lightbugs. Let's get to work."
Her hands moved in practiced rhythm. Tap the frame. Place the charm. Whisper the breath. Align the stone beneath.
One by one, the lanterns flickered on. Soft gold. Warm white. A little flicker of lavender in a few of them, though she never really figured out why.
She spun between them as she moved, adding flourishes to her gestures, swaying her hips slightly with each step. Just because it was a ritual didn't mean it had to be boring. The spirits didn't mind. The plum trees definitely didn't mind. And the lanterns, well... they seemed to glow a little brighter when she smiled.
By the time she lit the last one, the whole courtyard glowed like a dream. Golden lights stretched through the branches. Shadows danced across the shrine walls. It was beautiful.
And of course, he was already watching.
"You skipped the third breath," the old man said quietly from the path.
She didn't turn to look at him.
"They lit up, didn't they?"
"Lighting up is not the same as listening."
She sighed, still facing the trees.
"They're just lanterns."
"They're not just anything."
She turned finally, basket swinging as she walked back toward him. He stood with his staff tucked neatly beside him, arms folded, face unreadable. Which meant he was probably smiling a little inside.
She stopped in front of him and looked up.
"I did better than last time."
"Yes."
"And the time before that."
"Yes."
She narrowed her eyes.
"But not the time before the time before that?"
He let out the smallest breath of a laugh and stepped past her to adjust one of the charms. It tilted slightly in the breeze, then settled with a clearer glow.
"Your pacing was off, but your voice was steady. You remembered the salt line."
"I always remember the salt line."
He nodded.
"You're improving."
She smiled at that. Really smiled.
"Of course I am. I want to outdo you someday."
"Then you'll need more than charm."
She looked around at the glowing courtyard. The golden lights. The peaceful air. The soft hum of river and wind and lingering spirit.
"I don't know," she said. "Charm seems to be working just fine."
He didn't argue.
The wind shifted again, brushing past the lanterns like fingers trailing through silk. Somewhere near the river, a soft laugh echoed — a spirit, playing or watching or simply passing through.
She looked up at the lights she had lit with her own hands.
She didn't know it yet, but this would be the last time he watched her do it.