The moon hung low and full, turning the shrine silver.
The veil shimmered gently along the hill's edge, its soft glow pulsing with magic too old to question. Spirits were already gathering, drawn by the scent of incense and lavender, their forms drifting like smoke through the evening air.
The girl had done everything herself.
Mostly.
The lanterns were uneven, some too close together, others slightly tilted. The charm gates were missing a ribbon or two. One of the offering trays had accidentally been set out backwards.
But it was beautiful.
Because she had tried.
Seiji sat beneath the peach blossom tree, wrapped in a thick robe and blanketed with a shawl she had stitched together from scraps of his old prayer cloths. His staff rested beside him, untouched.
He smiled as she fluttered around the clearing, breathless, correcting things at the last minute.
"You used too much oil in that lantern," he said softly.
She turned. "No I didn't."
"It's dripping."
She looked. It was. "I meant to."
"Of course."
She moved to the next charm, cheeks puffed in mock annoyance.
He watched her quietly.
She had grown so much.
Not just in skill — though she had — but in heart. In presence. In warmth. She filled the shrine now in a way that even the river couldn't compete with.
She finished her last adjustment and trotted over to him, kneeling beside the blanket and offering him a small cup of tea.
It was a little too sweet.
He didn't complain.
The spirits danced behind them. Soft lights. Hushed laughter. A hundred peaceful farewells. It was the last full moon of the season, the final crossing before the veil would rest again.
She looked out across the field.
"I still don't remember anything from before you found me," she said.
"I know."
She hesitated.
"I tried. Sometimes I dream, and I think I see something, but it's never clear. Only lavender. And warm hands."
He nodded.
"That's enough."
She looked at him. Her eyes shimmered.
"Why did you name me that?" she asked, almost a whisper. "Why that name?"
He leaned his head back, eyes half-closed, watching the spirits pass like dandelion seeds.
"It sounded like something new," he said. "Something that hadn't happened yet, but would."
She blinked.
"That's... not really an answer."
He smiled.
"No. It's not."
She laughed a little, tucking her legs beneath her.
"You never used it," she said. "Not really. You always just called me 'girl' or 'trouble.'"
"I was waiting."
"For what?"
He closed his eyes fully, the corners of his mouth lifting just a bit more.
"For you to grow into it."
She turned her gaze back to the river, watching the final lantern cross through the veil.
There was a silence between them.
Not heavy. Not sad.
Just... full.
And then she whispered, "Say it again."
He exhaled slowly.
"Yuzume."