"Yumi, we have to leave."
Mother's voice reached me from somewhere behind.
For a moment, I didn't react.
My eyes remained fixed on the tombstone.
Or perhaps through it.
I honestly couldn't tell.
The black stone stood quietly among the others, unchanged by the people who came and went before it. Frost lingered in the shaded corners of the graveyard, stubborn remnants of winter refusing to surrender.
A cold breeze slipped between the rows of stones.
I stared.
Part of me wanted to keep staring.
As though leaving would make it more real.
"I..."
The word came out weakly.
Turning toward Mother, I found I had nothing else to say.
Her expression softened.
"It's okay."
She stepped closer and rested a hand on my shoulder.
"You can visit her grave again today. We have been invited to the shrine Victoria lived in."
A small smile touched her face.
Not hopeful exactly.
More like a fisherman casting a line into muddy water because doing nothing felt worse.
I looked back at the grave, then toward the carriage waiting nearby.
Miss Noi sat inside, one leg crossed over the other as she watched us through the window.
After a moment, I nodded.
The journey blurred together.
A train. A station. A carriage. Then another road and another carriage.
The world moved around me without leaving much behind.
Buildings passed.
People passed.
Entire streets appeared and vanished.
Normally, I would have pressed my face against the window, trying to absorb every detail of a new city. Victoria had filled so many letters and stories with descriptions of this place.
Now I sat watching it pass without truly seeing it.
That felt wrong.
Even so, I could tell there were differences.
Húmāo Zhōu and Zhōngchéng Zhōu shared similarities in their architecture, clothing, and the rhythm of daily life. Yet subtle differences lingered beneath the surface.
Different accents.
Different storefronts.
Different ways people carried themselves.
The details existed.
I simply lacked the energy to care.
"That is the Butterfly Apothecary."
Miss Noi's voice broke the silence.
I turned immediately.
Too late.
The building had already vanished behind us.
A strange disappointment hit me.
"What..."
I began before realizing I had no idea how to finish the sentence.
Miss Noi chuckled.
"Don't worry. You'll get to see it later."
Resting her chin on one hand, she nodded toward the road ahead.
"The person managing it will be at the shrine."
"Oh."
The carriage continued onward.
Gradually the city thinned. Roads narrowed. Trees became more common, and the air somehow felt cleaner.
After another stretch of travel, the carriage finally slowed.
"It seems we are here."
The door opened.
Cold air rushed inside.
I stepped out and immediately paused.
The base of the hill was crowded with carriages.
Dozens of them.
Perhaps more.
They lined the road in neat rows.
For a moment, I found myself torn between two conclusions.
A grand ball.
Or a gathering of criminals.
The thought was so ridiculous that a laugh escaped before I could stop it.
The sound surprised me.
Mother glanced over.
"What?"
"Nothing."
I picked up some of the goods we had brought.
The climb began.
The first flight of steps was manageable.
The second was less so.
By the third, I finally understood why Victoria had complained so much.
"The steps tried to kill me."
I could still hear her saying it.
At the time, I had assumed she was exaggerating.
Now I suspected she had shown remarkable restraint.
My lungs burned.
The cold air felt too thin.
Meanwhile, people continued passing us with alarming confidence.
I didn't trust any of them.
No one should have been this comfortable with these stairs.
Just a little more.
Again.
And again.
The world gradually narrowed until only stone steps and breathing remained.
Then suddenly—
"And we are here."
Miss Noi's voice carried a note of amusement.
I looked up.
The shrine sat ahead.
For a moment, I forgot how tired I was.
The buildings nestled naturally among the trees as though they belonged there. Snow rested on rooftops and branches. Winter sunlight filtered through the surrounding forest.
The entire place felt quiet.
Not silent.
Simply peaceful.
The feeling caught me off guard.
"Interesting," Miss Noi said.
"It really is," Mother agreed.
I bent forward slightly.
"How am I the one out of breath?"
Neither of them looked particularly affected.
I decided life was unfair.
Ahead, Miss Noi raised a hand.
"Mr Kamon."
The man she addressed turned toward us.
I recognized him from the train station.
Greetings followed. Introductions followed after that.
People moved through the grounds carrying boxes, baskets, ingredients, and gifts.
The shrine was lively.
As lively as grief would permit.
Conversations flowed softly. Laughter appeared occasionally before fading again.
The atmosphere felt strange.
Sad.
Warm.
Heavy.
Alive.
I wasn't sure how all four things could exist at once.
Yet they did.
Not long afterward, we somehow found ourselves helping with preparations.
I wasn't entirely sure when it happened.
One moment we were guests.
The next we were carrying ingredients into the kitchen.
Apparently many visitors had arrived with food.
Mother seemed unsurprised.
I sighed and settled near a wall while the adults began sorting supplies.
"It has been a while, Miss Lakshmi. Miss Halle."
A familiar-looking woman entered carrying more ingredients, several others following behind her.
"Interesting. A cultivator."
Ai's voice came from one side of the room.
She sat quietly observing everyone.
"You must be Ai."
Miss Heiwa set down a basket.
"I heard about your game."
"You did?"
Ai looked vaguely alarmed.
More people filtered into the kitchen until the room began to feel crowded.
Greetings overlapped.
"Min."
"Heiwa."
"Amihan."
"Etsuko."
One person immediately hugged Heiwa.
Another disappeared to put away supplies.
"What a trip."
"Traffic was terrible."
"You actually made it."
"Of course I made it."
The room filled with movement, conversation, and the sounds of bags opening. Vegetables were sorted. Knives met cutting boards. Someone carried stockpots across the room.
My attention drifted toward one of the shrine maidens carrying vegetables.
Then I blinked.
Twice.
Two fox tails swayed gently behind her.
"Wow."
My brain stalled for a moment.
The shrine continued to reveal increasingly unexpected details.
For the first time all day, curiosity managed to overpower grief.
Briefly.
"How have you been? How is Tatsu?"
Heiwa directed the question toward another woman.
The woman immediately adjusted her glasses with suspicious intensity.
"I've been fine."
The response only made everyone smile more.
Eventually Miss Noi clapped her hands.
"Okay. We all brought quite the collection."
Laughter spread through the room.
"Heh."
Even Heiwa chuckled.
I glanced toward Mother.
She was smiling.
Really smiling.
The sight caught me off guard.
For a moment, my chest tightened.
I hadn't realized how much I missed seeing that.
Then noise came from outside.
Several people turned.
I leaned toward the window.
Nothing.
Only movement in the courtyard.
A moment later the door opened.
"Miss Mary and Vivianna. I didn't think you'd make it."
One of the shrine maidens hurried over.
Three women entered.
The room noticeably quieted.
A few surprised gasps followed.
"It's Lady Seliregina," Heiwa whispered.
My attention shifted.
First toward the two women dressed entirely in black.
Then toward the third.
Immediately I noticed something strange.
The flow of aether around her.
"Wow."
The realization came instinctively.
"She's a mage."
"Are we too late?"
One of the women stepped forward carrying something.
"I brought a catfish."
The fish landed gently on the table.
For some reason, that completely shattered whatever tension had been lingering.
Work resumed.
Ingredients were sorted.
People exchanged ideas.
The meal slowly began to take shape.
The process itself became a conversation.
A collaboration.
A memory assembled from many smaller ones.
Heiwa and her father provided ginger, scallions, and aromatic ingredients that formed the foundation. Miss Lakshmi and Halle contributed warming spices—whole peppercorns, cloves, and cinnamon sticks. Mother and several Concord members had apparently arrived carrying enough garlic to ward off every spirit in the region.
Others added root vegetables, cuts of beef, rice, fish, stock, seasonings, suggestions, arguments, and far too many opinions.
At one point something burned.
At another, someone accidentally added an ingredient twice.
Nobody seemed particularly bothered.
That felt appropriate somehow.
Eventually the meal began to resemble something uniquely its own.
Part stew.
Part hotpot.
Part gathering.
Part memory.
A meal that probably should not have worked.
Yet somehow did.
Much like the people making it.
We carried dishes outside.
People gathered.
Bowls filled.
Steam rose into the cold air.
The atmosphere softened.
Not healed.
Not fixed.
Simply gentler.
Then Lady Seliregina lifted her bowl slightly.
"He who eats alone cannot discuss the taste of the food with others."
The statement settled across the gathering.
People smiled.
Some laughed quietly.
Others nodded.
I considered it for a moment before reaching for a piece of catfish.
The fish was excellent.
The stew was strange.
The hotpot somehow contained ingredients that had no business existing together.
And yet the result worked.
I chewed thoughtfully and looked around.
At the people.
The shrine.
The gathering.
The food.
The stories being exchanged.
The grief that remained.
And the warmth that existed alongside it.
This is as odd as she was.
The thought arrived so naturally that it hurt.
Then, unexpectedly—
I smiled.
For the first time all day, it didn't feel forced.