The grandeur of the Judgment Hall stood unmoved by time—vast, towering pilrs stretching into the unseen heavens, a floor of polished obsidian reflecting the stern faces of the Elders who sat above. The air here was heavy, not just with authority, but with the weight of history itself. Koharu stood in the center, alone before them. The seat of judgment was the same as always—but today, she was not here to be judged.
Koharu’s gaze was unwavering as she lifted her chin slightly.
“I am requesting permission to form my own special squadron.”
A murmur rippled through the Elders. Some regarded her with indifference, others with intrigue. One of the higher-ranking Elders finally spoke, his voice smooth yet firm.
“You are already the Captain of the Jūmonban, the strongest among the Gates. Why do you need another squad? You could simply mobilize them as you see fit.”
Koharu didn’t hesitate.
“The other Gates hold warriors of potential. But some—” she gnced at the Elders, her expression unreadable, ”—never truly want to show it.”
Another murmur. Some of the Elders exchanged gnces. A few whispered among themselves.
“Koharu grows greedy,” one muttered.
“Power is getting to her head,” another scoffed.
“And yet,” a calmer voice interjected, “the Death Phantoms have already made their move. Perhaps this is what we need.”
A pause followed. Then another Elder spoke, measured but thoughtful.
“Koharu has never misled us before.”
But despite the deliberation, the final decision was given.
“Denied.”
Koharu’s fingers twitched. Her nails pressed slightly into her palm. For the first time in years, irritation flickered across her normally impassive expression.
She exhaled through her nose, steadying herself.
“Why?”
A heavier silence. Then, an Elder finally answered.
“You remember Suna, do you not?”
Koharu’s expression shifted ever so slightly—just the smallest narrowing of her eyes.
Another Elder leaned forward slightly.
“She was only a child at the time. Perhaps she has only heard the rumors.”
The first Elder continued.
“Suna was one of the best healers in the Chūkan. Healers are ranked from Grade A to D, but some would say Suna was beyond even that—an S-rank, if one existed.”
“Until she fell ill,” another finished. “Until she succumbed to the Tamashkii Sickness.”
Koharu’s fingers curled tighter at her sides. Her mind was already pulling forward the memories she hadn’t thought about in years.
Suna…
The Elders’ voices became distant. Faded echoes in the back of her consciousness.
“As far as we know, Suna was the first recorded case of the Tamashkii Sickness.”
Koharu’s thoughts flickered back—years, decades ago—to a dimly lit room. The scent of herbs and incense clung to the air, unable to mask the cold scent of looming death. A younger Koharu knelt at the side of a frail figure buried beneath yers of bnkets. The woman’s breath was shallow, yet she still forced a weak smile.
Koharu’s young voice was unwavering as she pced a small, glowing palm over Suna’s forehead.
“Don’t worry, Suna. My Tamashkii will make you better.”
Suna’s lips curled slightly, amusement flickering in her tired eyes.
“You know, I bet it will.” Her voice was soft—fading, yet warm. “You just being here makes it better.”
Koharu didn’t understand then.
But she did now.
The Tamashkii Sickness wasn’t just an illness.
It was the curse of too much power. Of standing too close to something you were never meant to wield.
Koharu’s fingers curled just slightly at her sides. A sharp inhale, almost imperceptible.
Her focus snapped back to the present as the Elders resumed speaking.
“It wasn’t until after her death that we uncovered the truth.”
“The Tamashkii Sickness manifests when there is too much toxic Tamashkii surrounding someone. When the natural bance is overwhelmed.”
Koharu said nothing. She already knew this much. What she didn’t understand was why they were telling her this now.
“Each household mourned her passing,” an Elder continued. “But one… one grieved beyond reason.”
A pause.
And then—
“And that was the beginning… of everything.”
FLASHBACK BEGINS.
