Lantern light faded behind them as Kaito, Yumi, and Sui returned to the Kaze Estate.
The festival noise remained lively in the distance—music, laughter, the echo of games and celebration—but the moment they passed through the estate gates, the atmosphere changed.
Quieter.
Calmer.
Almost solemn.
The courtyard lamps burned steadily, their soft white flames reflecting across the polished stone paths. The tall grass of the gardens swayed gently as the night wind moved through it.
Inside the main hall, everyone was already waiting.
Kaito stepped inside and stopped.
Every member of the Kaze family stood gathered in the center of the room.
Toru stood at the front.
Behind him stood Raiden and Daigo, their presence calm and commanding. Hana stood beside them, her posture elegant and composed. Kazue stood nearby with Reiji and little Yumi's mother, Aiko.
Behind each member of the family stood their personal attendants.
Kaede stood behind Kaito's place in the line.
Sui stepped quietly back behind Yumi.
The room was silent.
Even the servants moved carefully, respectfully.
Kaito immediately felt the shift in atmosphere.
The warmth of the festival outside seemed distant now.
This moment belonged to something older.
Something sacred.
Toru's eyes moved briefly toward Kaito and Yumi as they entered.
He gave a small nod.
They quickly stepped into their places.
The room fell still again.
Then—
The large doors at the far end of the hall slowly opened.
Two figures entered.
They moved with deep humility, their steps slow and careful. Both wore simple white robes tied with narrow blue sashes, their clothing lacking the elaborate embroidery of the Kaze family garments.
Yet the way they walked showed unmistakable respect.
Each carried a long object wrapped carefully in white silk cloth.
As they approached Toru, both figures knelt.
Their heads bowed low.
"Toru sama," one of them spoke softly.
"We have completed the sacred garments."
Kaito watched quietly.
The tailors.
Every year during the Whispering Wind Festival, two master craftsmen were chosen to create the garments used for the Divine Wind Prayer.
Not ordinary tailors.
These individuals spent months weaving the sacred robes by hand.
The cloth itself was crafted from wind-thread silk—material gathered from special cocoons cultivated within the Wind Village gardens. The embroidery was done using techniques passed down for generations.
No mistake was allowed.
No imperfection tolerated.
Because the robes were not merely clothing.
They were offerings.
Symbols of humility before the Goddess of Wind.
The two tailors carefully unfolded the white silk covering.
The robe beneath it shimmered softly in the lantern light.
Unlike the flowing festival robes, this garment was far more refined.
The fabric appeared almost weightless, layered with delicate embroidery resembling drifting currents of air. The sleeves were longer, wider, designed to move slowly with even the faintest breeze.
A thin veil rested folded beside the robe.
The tailor lifted the garment with both hands and presented it toward Toru.
"This robe has been prepared for the Divine Wind Prayer."
Toru stepped forward.
He did not rush.
His movements were calm and deliberate.
He accepted the robe carefully, holding it with both hands.
The tailor bowed deeply.
"May the prayer be received."
Toru inclined his head.
"Your work honors the village."
The tailor remained bowed.
"It is our duty."
Kaito watched the entire exchange quietly.
Even though the festival still echoed faintly beyond the estate walls…
This moment felt completely separate.
Still.
Reverent.
Almost sacred.
The tailors carefully folded the silk cloth back around their tools before bowing one final time.
Then they left the hall as quietly as they had entered.
No one spoke for several seconds.
Toru turned slowly toward his family.
"It is time."
The robes were passed down the line quietly.
When Kaito received his, he held the folded garment carefully in his hands.
The fabric felt lighter than he expected.
Almost weightless.
He ran his fingers slowly along the embroidered patterns.
The threads shimmered faintly beneath the lantern light.
This robe…
It's different from the festival robes.
This one is meant for the prayer.
Behind him, the hall remained silent.
The entire family now held the sacred garments.
Waiting.
Preparing.
Outside, the festival lanterns still glowed across the village.
But the next sacred event of the Whispering Wind Festival was about to begin.
The Wind Village streets were still full of festival lights, but something incredible happened the moment the villagers saw them.
The crowds parted.
Silently.
People stepped aside with instinctive reverence, lowering their heads as the procession emerged from the estate gates.
Children who had been running through the lantern-lit streets stopped in their tracks.
Musicians slowly lowered their flutes and drums.
Vendors fell quiet behind their stalls.
The laughter of the festival softened into whispers.
Because the Kaze family had appeared.
And tonight, they looked nothing like the lively nobles who had danced earlier.
They looked divine.
Each member of the family wore the sacred prayer robes now—long white garments woven from wind-thread silk. The robes flowed all the way to their ankles, the layered fabric moving softly with every breath of air. Across the cloth, delicate embroidery traced the patterns of invisible currents, silver threads forming elegant spirals that shimmered beneath the lantern light.
The sleeves were wide and graceful, hanging loosely as they walked.
And over each head rested a thin ceremonial veil.
The veils were nearly transparent, woven so finely that they seemed like drifting mist. They flowed gently over their hair and shoulders, shifting slowly whenever the wind passed through the street.
Under the golden glow of festival lanterns, the robes almost seemed to glow.
At the front of the procession walked Toru.
His steps were calm.
Measured.
Every movement steady and deliberate.
Behind him walked Raiden and Daigo, their tall figures carrying the same quiet dignity. Hana followed with elegant grace, her robe moving like flowing water with every step.
Kazue walked beside Reiji, her expression serene.
Further behind them walked the younger generation.
Kaito walked among them.
The sacred robe brushed softly against his legs as he moved.
The veil resting across his hair swayed gently with the breeze, its soft fabric occasionally brushing against his cheeks.
It felt strange.
Different from the playful festival clothing he had worn earlier.
This robe carried weight.
Not physical weight.
But meaning.
Behind the family, the villagers began to follow.
Not closely.
They kept their distance.
Yet many walked quietly behind them, forming a respectful trail through the lantern-lit streets.
No one spoke.
No laughter followed them now.
Only the soft whisper of wind moving through banners and lantern strings above the village paths.
The entire village seemed to hold its breath as the Kaze family passed.
The Tempest Shrine stood at the far edge of the Wind Village.
Its tall white pillars rose toward the night sky like silent guardians.
Rows of lanterns lined the stone pathway leading up the shrine steps, their pale flames burning steadily in the night air.
Ancient carvings decorated the pillars—symbols of wind currents, storms, and flowing skies etched deep into the stone by craftsmen from centuries past.
The entire structure felt older than the village itself.
Toru reached the steps first.
He ascended them slowly.
One step at a time.
The rest of the family followed.
Their robes shifted softly with each movement.
Their veils drifted gently behind them like pale clouds.
At the top stood the great shrine doors.
Toru placed his hands against the wood.
For a brief moment, he paused.
Then he pushed the doors open.
The ancient hinges moved without a sound.
Only the Kaze family entered.
The doors closed behind them.
Inside, the shrine was vast.
Rows of lanterns illuminated the chamber, their quiet flames reflecting across the smooth stone floor. The air felt still and cool, carrying the faint scent of incense that had been burned here for generations.
Tall pillars surrounded the chamber, their surfaces engraved with ancient prayers written in the oldest wind-script.
At the center of the shrine stood a raised altar.
Upon it rested a single object.
A large, ancient book.
The Sacred Chronicle of the Wind.
Kaito noticed it immediately.
But he did not stare.
Not yet.
Because everyone had already begun to kneel.
One by one, the members of the Kaze family lowered themselves before the altar.
Their robes spread gently across the floor as they knelt.
Kaito followed their movement.
He lowered himself slowly, placing both knees against the cool stone floor. His head bowed as his hands rested together in front of him.
The veil slid slightly forward as he leaned down.
For a moment, there was nothing.
No thoughts.
No curiosity.
Only the quiet act of prayer.
Kaito closed his eyes.
Goddess of Wind…
Protector of our clan…
Guardian of the skies…
Please watch over our people.
Please watch over our village.
He remained bowed for several seconds.
The shrine was silent.
Then slowly, his thoughts began to move again.
Kaito lifted his gaze slightly.
His eyes drifted toward the altar.
Toward the ancient book resting there.
The Sacred Chronicle of the Wind.
That book…
It had existed for centuries.
According to the clan's oldest records, it contained the original words spoken when the Goddess of Wind first appeared before the founders of their clan.
The first prayer.
The first promise.
Only one person in the entire Wind Village was allowed to open it.
The leader of the clan.
Right now…
That person was Toru.
Kaito glanced briefly toward his father, who remained kneeling calmly at the front of the family.
Then his gaze returned to the ancient pages resting quietly on the altar.
They say that long ago…
When the prayer was spoken…
She answered.
The Goddess of Wind.
Daigo had told him the stories when he was younger.
During the earliest days of the clan, the Divine Wind Prayer was not just tradition.
It was communication.
The goddess would hear their words.
Sometimes she would answer.
Sometimes she would appear.
Sometimes…
She would guide them.
But that had been centuries ago.
Now?
The prayer continued every year.
The robes were woven.
The shrine prepared.
The sacred words spoken.
Yet nothing happened.
No voice.
No sign.
No answer.
Kaito's gaze lingered quietly on the ancient book.
If she really saved our clan…
If she truly watches over us…
Then why doesn't she answer anymore?
The thought settled gently in his mind as the silent prayer continued.
For a moment, the only sound inside the shrine was the faint whisper of wind moving through the ancient halls.
And the quiet question resting in Kaito's heart.