Within mere moments, the black waters of Kasumi-no-Kawa surged over Watanabe's head, swallowing his roar and his breath. He froze beneath the surface, his hands trembling violently as the crushing weight of the bundle pressed his sandals deeper into the silt.
Dud-dum... dud-dum... dud-dum...
The rhythmic thrum of his own heart began to echo, growing so loud it drowned out the wet, croaking laughter of the burden he carried. As air fled his lungs and his consciousness began to fray at the edges, his memories stirred, rising like bubbles in the dark.
"Tsuna-chi... come, let us go play..."
He felt the tug of a small, soft hand. It was his younger sister. He could feel her warmth, could hear the melodic tilt of her laughter, yet her face remained a blurred, shifting void in his mind.
'What was her name? What did she look like? Why can I not remember?' he thought, a cold panic seizing him. He reached out into the mental void, his physical body let out a gargled, muffled sound beneath the waves.
"Mmmm. What a pity," the elder whispered on the bank, his breath a pale plume in the mist. "He was so close. A few more strides and he would have reached the sanctuary of the shore."
"That is the cruelty of life," the elder continued, exhaling a sigh of resignation. "No matter how we struggle against our destinies, they inevitably catch us. It seems his time has come. I am... truly sorry for your loss." The old man began to turn away, his shoulders slumped.
"No."
"Ha?" The elder turned, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"I said no. This is not the end for him," Yorimitsu replied, his voice flat and absolute.
"I understand that grief is a heavy burden, but it is over. The river has clai—"
Before the elder could finish his mourning, Yorimitsu stepped to the very edge of the water, where the current hissed against the mud.
"Watanabe."
Yorimitsu's voice was but a command that vibrated through the air and stirred the very surface of the river, ripples moving outward as if a great stone had been cast into the depths.
"Come, Brother... let us cross together," the soft voice called out once more, drawing Watanabe toward a shimmering wooden bridge spanning a void of white mist.
"Yes... We can finally be together now," Watanabe murmured, his spirit drifting. He allowed himself to be led across the orange planks. On the far side, a radiant garden awaited thousands of Kiku flowers in every shade of gold, white, and violet, sprawled across the horizon, their scent sweet and intoxicating.
"Aren't they beautiful? They have always been my favourite, you know," the young girl said. Watanabe watched her mouth move, but her eyes remained a blurred void, her features refusing to take shape.
As they reached the end of the bridge, the girl stepped onto the soft grass and turned back. "Come, Brother," she said, opening her arms wide. Her orange and white kimono fluttered in a wind that smelled of spring.
Watanabe leaned forward, his weight shifting to leap over the threshold, but just as his sandal moved to touch the soil, Yorimitsu's voice erupted. It did not come from the distance; it echoed from the sky, the ground, and the very air within his lungs.
"Ha?!" Watanabe's foot froze inches from the ground.
"Taisho...?" he whispered.
"How long do you intend to keep me waiting?" Yorimitsu's voice was a blade of iron cutting through the silken dream. "Is this the limit of your will? Did you not swear to grow stronger? Did you not vow to tear your sister away from a marriage she had not wished to partake?"
"Ahhhhhhh!" Watanabe screamed, collapsing onto the bridge. It felt as though his skull had been bludgeoned by a temple beam. He clutched his head, his eyes snapping open with a terrifying clarity.
"Who... who are you?" he hissed, his voice resonating through the false space.
"Hoooo... that bastard has ruined everything." The girl before him transformed. Her skin turned a bruised, sickly grey, and festering blisters erupted across her throat, marking a deep, dark indent where she had been strangled.
Behind her, the golden Kiku flowers shrivelled and died. In their place, thousands of crimson Higanbana, the Flowers of the dead, bloomed instantly, their spindly petals reaching upward like bony fingers.
"Die!" the creature roared, lunging at Watanabe with talons of grey bone. But before she could touch him.
Crunch!
The illusion shattered. Half of the spirit's torso was torn clean away by the sheer force of Watanabe's awakening will. In the waking world, his eyes snapped open beneath the surface of Kasumi-no-Kawa. With renewed conviction, he surged forward. The water that had once felt like lead now parted like silk, and within a few final, lung-bursting strides, his boots struck the mud of the far bank.
Thud!
Watanabe collapsed onto the dry land, his arm still hoisted high. As his feet touched the shore, the river's unnatural tide receded, leaving the bank eerily still.
The Ubume floated silently over the water's edge, reaching out with translucent hands to take the bundle from him.
"Thank you, brave warrior," she whispered. As she took the "child" into her arms, a soft, ethereal giggle of pure and untainted filled the air. A blinding white light washed over her, dissolving the scent of rot and the stains on her burial kimono. She took three steps forward, her form shimmering, before she collapsed into a cloud of glowing Sakura petals. All that remained was her empty kimono, resting on a bed of cherry blossoms.
Splat!
A wet, visceral sound tore through the silence. Yorimitsu was suddenly there, his dagger buried deep in the skull of a Kappa that had been lunging at the exhausted Watanabe from the reeds.
"Taisho..."
"Ha?" Yorimatsu responded.
"Thank you," Watanabe rasped, rolling onto his back. He raised his hand toward the moon. The sickly, bruised floral mark was gone. In its place was a perfect, five-petaled Sakura imprint, glowing with a faint, warm light.
"It seems he has earned a spirit's blessing," Yorimitsu mused, wiping the dark ichor from his blade. He sat down heavily next to Watanabe, both warriors staring up at the silver moon.
"I have to get stronger..." Watanabe spoke, his voice cracking with a new kind of steel.
"Oh? And why is that?" Yorimitsu asked, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.
"I am tired..." Watanabe glanced over at his master, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. "I am tired of the things I love being taken away from me, and being powerless to do something about it."
Yorimitsu looked at the Sakura mark on Watanabe's hand and offered a sharp, confident grin. "Then I shall make you so strong that nothing will ever be taken from you again. You will become the shield for everything you wish to protect."
"Then I vow to protect even you, Taisho, even if it means risking my life."