On that evening, the Tsukimura family was quiet save the gentle clinking of chopsticks against plates. Their mother, Mizuki, had placed on the table an unpretentious but elegant repast: hot rice, fish grilled over charcoal, and leaves from the home garden. Fingers stiffened by years of channeling energy towards healing those who lay broken or dying relaxed with practiced elegance as she alternated in each turn presenting a bowl. While she donned the white robes of a healer like her daughter Haruka, hers had discrete stitching marking her as the leader of the medical shrine of their village.

Hikari watched her mother’s movements, remembering how those same hands had once healed her childhood scrapes with a touch and a smile. Mizuki had taught both her daughters that true strength lay in gentleness, a lesson Hikari tried to remember in her judgments. But tonight, her mother’s usual serenity seemed strained, her eyes constantly darting to Hakari’s hollow face.

Her brother ate mechanically, his eyes fixed on some distant point before the paper walls of their home. Dark circles underlined his eyes, and his fingers twitched at times, as if clutching something he could see alone. The elegant set of calligraphy given to him by their mother for his previous birthday was still in the corner, gathering dust.

Their father, Takashi, sat at the head of the table, broad shoulders still held straight after years of training up-and-coming guardians for the village. The katana signifying his position as head trainer lay on its stand behind him, its well-oiled surface glinting in the light of the lantern. Scars crisscrossed his wrinkled hands, each one garnered defending their home and traditions. He had always been stern but fair, demanding excellence while understanding the unique path each student must walk.

“You’ve been missing your training sessions,” Takashi said suddenly, breaking the silence. His deep voice, which had guided countless students through their forms, carried a weight that made even the shadows seem to pause. “The young guardians ask about you. Kenji especially—you were always his favorite instructor.”

Hakari's chopsticks froze in mid-air to his mouth. "I've been doing some research of my own." The phrase was brusque, on the edge of hostile.

"What research?" Mizuki asked, her healer's perceptions clearly detecting the strain in her son's aura. She reached across the table as though to lay a hand on his, but he pulled it back. "The elders have told me they haven't seen you at the archives. Where are you?

“Because not all knowledge worth having is kept in their precious archives.” Hakari’s voice had an edge that made Hikari’s judgment beads warm against her skin in warning. “Some truths require. deeper searching. Things the elders are too afraid to even whisper about.”

Haruka, seated beside Hikari, tensed. “Hakari, if you’re experimenting with forbidden techniques—“

"With what?" Hakari interrupted her, at last looking them in the eye. His eyes were fever-bright, and Hikari thought of the plague victims their mother had tended last spring. "With abilities that could actually do some good? That could bring true change to our stagnant customs? Not every one of us can be content with parlor tricks and pretty lights."

"Parlor tricks?" Their father sprang to his feet, his hand gesturing for the sword that was not at his side. "I have seen your sister's gift save lives, prevent wars between villages, steer us through floods and famines. The power of the Kanshisha—"

"Is a crutch!" Hakari hit his hand against the table, making the dishes rattle. "We rely on the visions of a child while other villages build genuine strength. Does our foe take the trouble to have a clean heart when they sharpen their swords?"

Mizuki slowly rose, her robes shuffling as she did so. "Hakari, my son, I will help you. I can feel something is wrong in your soul, something consuming—"

"Get out of my head, mother," Hakari snarled, and for a moment, his face undulated like water in moonlight. "Your healing can't fix what isn't broken."

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"Watch your tone," Takashi growled, taking a step closer. The boards creaked beneath him, and Hikari saw his fists clench in the way they did before he pulled out his sword. "Your mother has healed half the village with those skills you disdain. And if you've forgotten the respect due your family, perhaps it's time I reminded you why I was chosen to train the guardians."

The room air chilled. Hakari stood up slowly, and the darkness behind him twisted like a living thing. "Beat respect into me like you did for your students who rebelled against the old ways?" His smile was wickedly cruel. "I am no longer one of your students."

"Hakari!" Her cry shattered like ice on a winter branch, her healing energy flashing hot for a moment—a desperate attempt to defuse things. That beyond corruption.

But Hikari raised her hand, halting them all. The judgment beads at her neck pulsed with a warning light. "Let him speak," she whispered. "These thoughts have corrupted his heart long enough. Better they be out in the open."

Her brother turned to her, and for a moment she saw something flash in his face—a recollection of the boy who used to carry her on his shoulders during festival times, the boy who used to defend her from bullies when her magic had just started. And then it was gone, obliterated by shadows that appeared to consume the glow of the lantern.

"You want to judge me, sister?" He thrust out his hands, imitating the gesture of supplication she had so frequently observed in the shrine. "So do it. Read my heart with your precious gift. Judge me as your perfect judgment sees me."

"Hikari, stop," their mother warned, her healer's senses sharply sensing something wrong. "His soul... is. tainted."

"Let her attempt," Hakari mocked. "Let the chosen one show us all what real power is."

Hikari stood, her ritual garments whispering against the tatami. The judgment beads on her neck began to emit a soft, pearlescent glow. "Are you sure that's what you want, brother?"

For a moment, a shadow of doubt flickered in Hakari's eyes—doubt, or even regret. Then his face hardened once more, and he thrust out his hands precisely as the old man had done that morning. "Judge me, Kanshisha. Show the world the truth you pretend to see."

Hikari reached out, the familiar threads of light extending from her fingers. But the moment they touched Hakari’s skin, she recoiled with a gasp of pain. Where there should have been the clear flow of his life force, she saw only churning darkness, like ink dropped into clear water. And within that darkness, something moved—something that should not have been there, something that turned to look at her with eyes made of void.

"Hakari," she panted, cradling her burned fingers as their mother rushed to heal them, "w-what have you done to yourself?"

A smile crept onto Hakari's lips, but it did not reach his eyes. "I've done what had to be done. What you and the elders were too afraid to do. I've learned true power—power that isn't dependent on chance of birth or the capriciousness of old spirits.".

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing marks etched on his arm in that same light-drinking ink she had found on the scroll at the shrine. The symbols twisted in her vision, sending her head reeling with their wickedness. Their father breathed sharply in, reading forbidden runes from the years he had spent guarding against dark magic.

"Desist," Takashi commanded, his tone thick with the weight of years of command. "This is prohibited magic, Hakari. You know the penalty—"

"The penalty?" Hakari laughed cold as broken glass. "The penalty is death, yes. But only if death may come to you." He propped his stamped arm out, and the blackness in the room began flowing against the light of the paper lanterns, extinguishing them individually. "And I'm beyond death now, father. I am immortality it self."

Mizuki moved forward, her hands emitting healing light. "Hakari, please whatever darkness has taken hold of you, we can fight it together. Let me—"

"Always trying to fix everything, mother," Hakari sneered, though a look of pain crossed his features. "But some things cannot be healed over. Sometimes the old must be burned to ashes for the new to grow."

Haruka jumped forward, her own healing energy building, but too late. Shadows enveloped Hakari like a cloak of living darkness, and in the moment before he vanished into them, Hikari glimpsed his eyes—no longer human, but churning with the same darkness that had corrupted his soul.

Remember this night," Hakari voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "Remember it when the old ways crumble and true power arises from their wreckage.".

The family stood frozen in the aftermath, the remnants of their meal growing cold, the lantern light seeming weak and insufficient against the darkness that had swallowed their son and brother. Takashi’s hands shook as he lowered them from a protective stance that had proved useless. Mizuki collapsed to her knees, her healer’s senses overwhelmed by the residual taint of corruption.

"I know it. He's already hubris in the first place." Takashi says looking out side the window.

"What do we do?" Haruka whispered, helping their mother to her feet while trying to flow soothing energy into her frazzled spirit.

Hikari caressed her judgment beads, sensing the heat throb in sync with her racing heart. The weight of her duty had never felt so great. "We do what we have to," she said, though the words were bitter on her tongue. "We report to the elders. And then. then I must complete what the Kanshisha was called to complete."

She looked at her parents—her father's rigid stance betraying his grief, her mother's hands continuing in a healer's position towards where her son had stood—spoke up quietly, "I must... I must judge my own brother."

"Meveni ancestors forgive us," Mizuki whispered, her hand on her husband's arm gripping tightly. "And keep him from what he is now."

Outside, the night pressed against the paper walls of their home, and somewhere in that darkness, Hakari’s laughter echoed like a curse. The shadows seemed to dance with newfound purpose, and in the distance, a temple bell began to toll, though no hand had touched its rope.

The demon Hikari had sensed long time ago this morning had arrived, and it wore her brother’s face.