The morning sun curled around the shrine grounds, shine and warm, clinging to the ancient torii gates to the shrine. The air smelled of earth and incense, heavyweight with the weight of unspoken prayers and fate. Cherry blossoms flying through the air, catching the soft light of sun dawn before settling on the worn stone path ahead.

Hikari Tsukimura, the one who bear judgement from different nine universe. She is the first judgement. She knelt before the shrine, the cloth of her ceremonial coat pooling around her. She just at fourteen, she wear a high responsibility that felt far too heavy for her years, as the Kanshisha, the Arbiter, one who passed judgment on those who stood before the gods, to judge. The beads around her neck pressed into her collarbone, a physical reminder of the burden she carried as the kanshisha.

Infront of her, an poor old man knelt, his hands outstretched and trembling neither from the weight or his age. Yoshida-san. the rice merchant who lived near the eastern gate of Yamaoka. His fear for judgement was obvious, though he trying to keep his head bowed, his back straight. Everyone knew what it meant to be called before the Kanshisha. To be judge.

Hikari let out a slow breath, steadying herself. Then, she reached out.

Her power wasn’t thing people could see or watch, but she could feel. Threads of light-thin as silk its mixed with yellow and white light, weightless as breath-unraveled from her thin fingers, weaving through the air before settling over Yoshida’s hands but he cant see it. Each thread pulsed, carrying whispers of his soul.

The vision came in fragments.

A winter night, bitter and cruel. Yoshida, hunched against the cold, slipping into the village storehouse. His hands, stiff from the frost, fumbling with the sacks of rice. Fear, not for himself, but for the children huddled in the abandoned temple, their bellies empty, their limbs too thin. He stole-but not for greed. He stole so they could live.

The judgment beads around her neck warmed. They recognized his intent, just as she did.

Hikari opened her eyes.

"Your heart is pure kindness Yoshida-san" she said softly.

Yoshida flinched, as if the words struck him harder than any relief.

"You broke law" she continued, "not for selfish reasons. You risked yourself to save those would have died otherwise. Your punishment is this-you will take in the children you saved. You will be responsible for them, and the village will assist you in providing for them."

For a brief moment, Yoshida was silent. Then, his frail body breath with relief. Tears form in his eyes as he pressed his forehead to the wooden pavement.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"T-Thank you, Thank you, Kanshisha-sama," he whispered softly and shakingly. His voice was unsteady thick with emotion. "I-I couldn't let them starve… i-i couldnt..."

"You did what you thought was right." Hikari said gently. "Now, make it right in the eyes of villager."

Yoshida nodded weakly, wiping his tears as he pushed himself to his shaking feet. The weight of judgment always left people changed—some more than others. As he walked away, Hikari exhaled, the familiar heaviness settling over her like an unseen shroud. Every judgment took something from her, something deeper than exhaustion. And lately… the darkness in people’s hearts was becoming harder to ignore.

"You really do make it look easy," a voice murmured from the shadows.

She turned.

Hakari leaned against one of the shrine’s pillars, arms crossed, watching her with that inscrutable expression a knife’s edge between amusement, disdain, and envy. He had grown taller, stronger, and sharper. Where she remained pale and slight, he carried an intensity that made him seem older than his years. The prayer beads around his neck were wound too tightly, darker than hers, as though trying to strangle something restless inside him.

"The gift shows me the truth," she said simply.

Hakari let out a quiet laugh, devoid of warmth. "Truth," he repeated, rolling the word in his mouth like it tasted bitter. He pushed off the pillar, moving slowly, deliberately. "Funny how the truth always bends in your favor."

She frowned slightly. "W-what are you talking about?"

Hakari stepped closer, his presence pressing in like a shadow stretching long at dusk. "You think you're different from the elders, no you're just like them, sealed and blinded from tradition." he said, voice low, deliberate and bear something. "They praise you because you fit their perfect idea of a Kanshisha to make you work for them more. But real power? It doesn’t come from tradition. It doesn’t come from beads or a title that has no excuse of it." His gaze darkened. "It’s taken, its learned... Not something that past generation to generation... Hmm. Wait. No. Both really past generation to generation i mean it wasnt restrain too strictly."

Hikari’s fingers brushed the judgment beads at her throat, she shaking slightly. No way her brother... A pulse of energy rippled beneath her touch a warning.

"I-i never asked for this," she said quietly almost whisler. "The gift chooses its bearer. You are smart Hakari... You know that."

Hakari tilted his head, studying her. Something flickered in his expression turn into something unreadable. Then, he smiled. Sharp. Humorless.

"If you really can see the truth so clearly, tell me, my dear sister Hikari…" His voice was almost gentle, just almost. "Can you see the rot in this village? Black root of rot from generation to generation. The weathered filth that hides behind kind faces called the elders?"

A chill crept up her spine. She didnt know what to answer.

Before she finnaly could answer, footsteps echoed from the shrine’s entrance.

Haruka, Hikari older sister stepped inside, her healer’s robes swift around softly. Sunlight caught in her white hair. But her expression was tight, her hands twisting in her sleeves.

"The elders... are gathering." she said. "They’re requesting your presence... Hikari."

Hakari exhaled, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Of amusement and envy. "Duty calls, little Arbiter." He turned away, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don’t keep them waiting. They did not wait. Not want to."

Hikari watched him go, unease curling in her gut like a knot pulled too tight.

Haruka’s hand found her shoulder, grounding her. "He's been... different lately," she murmured. "I saw him coming back from the forest last night. His robes were… stained with something dark... And... And when I tried to talk to him, he wouldn't look at me."

Hikari’s jaw tightened as she looks down. "He's been studying... something," she admitted. "Something he shouldn’t be..."

Haruka hesitated, then, barely above a whisper, asked, "Should we tell the... elders?"

Hikari's grip on her beads tightened. As she shake her head. The whispers of past Kanshisha stirred against her skin, but none of them offered guidance on what to do when the darkness you feared… was your own blood.

"Not yet," she said. "He's our brother... Haruka. If there's darkness growing inside him, we need to understand why before... we really pass... judgment."

Neither of them noticed the small scroll that had slipped from Hakari’s robes, lying forgotten in the shrine’s shadows. Its ink shimmered unnaturally, the symbols along its edges shifting, alive.

Outside, the mist was lifting, the village bathed in soft morning light.

But to Hikari’s gifted eyes, the shadows lingered where they shouldn’t.

And somewhere, Hakari was smiling.