The twilight was soft tonight. The kind that draped itself gently over the shrine like a shawl, whispering that it was too early to sleep and too late to begin anything new.
The girl sat on the porch with her knees tucked beneath her robe, a bundle of half-finished charms scattered in her lap. She wasn't looking at them.
Her eyes were on the far wall where the lantern shadows flickered, dancing just a little too slowly.
Inside, Seiji was resting. Again. He had been resting more and more lately. After prayers. After meals. After just standing too long in the garden. Always with the same soft smile, always saying he was fine, always brushing off the way his hand would tremble when he lifted the tea.
He thought she didn't notice.
But she had started counting the silences.
And they were growing longer.
She stared at the charm in her hand. Crooked, uneven, tied too tight. Useless.
With a sigh, she set it aside and reached for the bell. Not the prayer bell, not the wind chime. The spirit bell. A small silver thing she only used when she was certain no one else was listening.
She rang it once.
The sound barely carried.
She waited.
The lavender fields rustled quietly. The river gurgled in its usual song. A fox barked once in the distance, then went still again.
She rang it a second time.
No answer.
Please, she whispered. Just once.
She wasn't sure what she expected. A glow? A voice? Some warm breath of reassurance that there was something beyond the veil who still heard her. Who cared. Who could help.
But there was only wind.
Her shoulders slumped.
"I know he won't say it," she murmured to the dusk, "but he's getting worse."
Her fingers traced the edge of the bell.
"He won't eat the full rice bowl anymore. His tea goes cold. I keep finding him just... sitting. Like he forgot he was doing something."
She looked down.
"I asked him if he was tired. He smiled and said I was louder than I used to be."
Her throat tightened.
"I think he's trying to remember what it feels like to be strong."
She paused, listening to the breeze.
The spirits didn't answer.
They never did.
"But I don't know what to do."
The river kept singing.
"I looked through every old scroll. Every sacred root. I left offerings under the cedar tree. I even tried making that mushroom broth he hates. Nothing changes."
A leaf blew past her, curling against the wooden steps.
"I don't want to lose him."
The wind tugged at her sleeve.
"I don't want to be here alone."
Still nothing.
Still only the soft rustle of a world too old and too far away.
She picked up one of the failed charms and pressed it against her chest.
"If there's anything out there," she whispered, voice cracking, "just show me where to go."
The lantern beside her flickered once. Then stilled.
She didn't cry. Not tonight.
But she didn't sleep either.
She stayed on the porch until the moon was high.
Waiting.
Just in case the silence changed its mind.