The rain had come softly that morning.
A chill ran through the Sakuma estate, the kind that crept into your bones and whispered bad omens. Reiko stood in the empty hallway of the house, once filled with warmth and quiet laughter. Now, it was still. The kind of still that comes after something terrible.
She held the umbrella in her hand—the umbrella. Otaki's. The one she always carried on rainy days, cheerful and flower-patterned, like the ones you'd see in old countryside inns. It was speckled now with blood. Dried and dark. Pierced straight through the cloth was a jagged iron rod, sharpened crudely.
They had found her there, in the courtyard, face-up under the falling rain. The umbrella jammed through her neck like a cursed stake, eyes wide and glassy as if she had seen something… someone... before she died.
Kino had thrown up at the sight.
Reiko hadn't screamed. She couldn't. Something inside her had gone completely numb. Her aunt had raised her after her mother vanished. Otaki was stubborn and loud, but she had always been there.
Now she was gone.
And the deaths didn't stop.
Two nights later, the factory burned.
The old Sakuma estate in the western industrial zone was a relic—filled with rusted machines and forgotten legacy. That night, Reiko's grandfather, Keisuke Sakuma, and her uncle Teisuke had gone there. There'd been talk of retrieving some old scrolls stored in a safe room beneath the furnace.
The fire brigade said it must have been a gas leak. A chemical combustion. Nothing left but scorched bones and warped iron beams.
The smell of ash followed Reiko for days.
She had lost them all in the span of a week.
Otaki. Keisuke. Teisuke.
The only people who tied her to her family's history. Their voices were now echoes in hallways, memories in dust.
The house was too quiet. Too vast. And too cold.
Only one person remained in its halls with her now.
Katsuhiro Saika.
He had served the Sakuma family for decades. A butler by title, but a caretaker in truth. His face was weathered, kind. He had been the one to bandage her knees when she got hurt , to serve her tea when she couldn't sleep, to bring warmth to the halls when everyone else had gone.
He stood silently at the shoji door as Reiko sat by the hearth, a blanket around her shoulders and the pendant resting heavy against her chest. It hadn't pulsed since Otaki died. Not once.
"Miss Reiko," Saika said gently, "I've prepared your dinner."
"I'm not hungry."
"It's your third day without food."
"I know."
He stepped forward, kneeling beside her. "You must take care of yourself. They wouldn't want you to waste away."
Reiko looked up at him, her eyes hollow. "Is it strange, Saika? I can't even cry anymore."
The young charming man offered her a soft smile. "Grief doesn't always need tears. Sometimes it just needs time."
She nodded, though her heart didn't believe it.
The storm outside intensified, rattling the windows. Reiko's eyes flicked toward the darkness beyond the glass, half-expecting to see Yukishiro appear from the mist again, or Shin, face full of guilt and confusion.
But no one came.
Just her. Just Saika.
Later that night, after a sip of miso and half a rice ball, Reiko wandered toward Otaki's old study. The door creaked open with a groan, dust motes swirling in the beam of her lantern.
She ran her fingers along the wooden desk, paused at the stack of old scrolls she hadn't dared open yet.
She reached for one—
But a faint sound drew her attention.
A creak. Floorboards?
She turned, but the hall beyond was empty.
She stepped out, listening.
"Saika?" she called.
No answer.
Only the sound of rain.
Then something odd—the pendant pulsed.
Her fingers curled around it as her breath hitched. It hadn't reacted in days.
A whisper brushed her ear.
"Reiko…"
She spun.
No one.
But the air was heavier now.
She backed into the hallway, stepping silently past the family altar. The incense was still burning. She made her way toward the inner courtyard where Otaki had died.
She froze.
The umbrella was gone.
The bloodstain, cleaned.
She turned, ready to head back inside—and stopped.
Saika stood behind her.
His face calm. His eyes unreadable in the dim lantern light.
"You shouldn't be out in the rain, Miss Reiko," he said.
Reiko took a step back. "You startled me…"
He stepped forward. "Forgive me. I was just… checking on you."
Her gaze lingered on the expression in his eyes. It wasn't the warmth she remembered. It was something else. Something… cold. Patient.
Her throat tightened.
"Saika," she said slowly, "Where were you when Otaki died?"
His smile didn't falter. "In the storage house. Inventory. You can check the ledger."
"And the night of the fire?"
"With your grandfather and Teisuke-sama. I stepped out before it happened."
"Why?"
He tilted his head. "Because someone needed to survive, Miss Reiko."
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer.
"You always trusted me," he whispered. "Ever since you were a child."
Her hands trembled as they clutched the pendant.
"You served this family for years."
"I did." His voice was laced with something darker now. "But servitude breeds resentment. And secrets. Your family had many."
The pendant glowed faintly.
"And what about you?" Reiko asked, her voice breaking. "Who are you?"
His smile faded into something sharper.
"I am Katsuhiro Saika," he said. "Loyal servant. Keeper of the old rites. And the one your grandfather banished from the shrine when I dared question his choices."
He reached into his coat.
Reiko's eyes widened as he pulled free a knife—curved, ceremonial, etched with kanji.
She bolted.
Through the corridor, heart slamming against her ribs. Behind her, she heard his steady footsteps, unhurried, confident.
She ducked into the side chamber and slammed the sliding door shut, locking it with a trembling hand. Her breath came in sharp gasps.
"Miwa," she whispered. "If you're still here… if you can hear me…"
The pendant pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
And then her eyes glazed over—just for a second.
A memory not hers.
A shrine. A betrayal. A man in shadows with a blade just like Saika's.
She snapped back to the present.
The door slid open.
Saika stood there, knife gleaming.
Reiko raised her hands. "You don't have to do this."
"I do," he said. "It was never just about your family's sins. It was about the balance they broke. Miwa was never supposed to be sacrificed. And you—you were never meant to awaken her."
"You killed Otaki."
"Yes. And your father , your mother , your grandfather. And Teisuke. And I'll kill you too. To finish the rite."
Lightning flashed behind him.
And in that moment—
BANG!
The sound of a door breaking down.
A voice.
"Get away from her!"
Yukishiro.
He charged in, fist slamming into Saika's temple, sending the old man flying into the paper walls. The knife clattered to the ground.
Reiko fell to her knees, trembling.
Yukishiro helped her up. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, barely able to speak.
But Saika wasn't down. He stood, blood dripping from his brow, eyes wild.
"You can't stop what's coming!" he spat. "The curse was only sleeping!"
He lunged for the blade.
And then—
Shin stepped into the doorway, raising a fire extinguisher.
He brought it crashing down onto Saika's skull.
The old man collapsed. Unmoving.
Reiko collapsed into Yukishiro's arms.
And in that moment, she didn't know what was real anymore—only that she had survived.
But outside… beneath the old sakura tree…
A dark mist coiled from the earth.
The pendant pulsed violently.
Somewhere deep within the roots of the shrine,
Something had awoken.
To be continued...