Being near Kinjo had helped during the battle—Seiko was able to fight with a clear head, and she knew exactly what she was doing. She was a bit weaker and slower, but it wasn’t anything that Kinjo couldn’t fix by covering for her. After about ten minutes of fighting, however, news came that the royal wives were killed, and soldiers were hastily assigned to protect the fighting royals—Kinjo went to watch over Prince Jukazu, leaving Seiko alone.

The rest of the battle blurred together. She tried her best to keep the voices away by giving herself small cuts and refusing to look at blood—it became harder as the battle wore on, but she didn’t want to just leave the fight outright. She had a job to do, after all, and she didn’t want to be sent away or killed because she failed it; that was likely the only thing motivating the army after two hours.

The battle only ended when all of the rebel forces were killed—a third of the soldiers stationed at the palace had died or fled during that time. The injured soldiers were told to rest while those that were unharmed moved all of the bodies outside. Seiko was among the injured, albeit farther away from the rest by her voices’ insistence.

There were a two more voices added to the grim choir; voices of children, who she could faintly recognize as the two heirs that had died that night. Among the other voices singing their praises—So bloody! Oh, little Seiko, you killed so many. You’re perfect.—there were sounds of those two children crying, and with so many close by she wasn’t comfortable using her little knife to cut herself again to silence them.

Seiko had her eyes closed, and for a while just listened to a miko send a prayer for the deceased to find comfort in whatever realm next awaited them. Other miko came from the shrine to tend to the soldiers’ wounds, and due to Seiko’s position away from the others they didn’t immediately come towards her.

Instead, the first person that spoke to her was Kinjo. “How are you feeling, Tsujihara? It doesn’t look like you’ve been hurt too badly.”

She opened her eyes, the voices leaving for the moment. Masaaki was standing next to him, and both sported some kind of worry—neither were terribly injured, fortunately. “A migraine is all I feel at the moment,” Seiko admitted. “Although that’s fading now.”

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Kinjo smiled, but Masaaki wasn’t quite as easily swayed. “How’s your hand?” Masaaki asked quietly.

Seiko held out her right hand so he could see—the one she’s been cutting so the pain would ward away the voices. By now the blood had dried, leaving most of the hand colored a dark, brownish red. The voices spoke up for a moment—enough that she winced—but quieted down again.

“That might take a little while to heal properly,” Kinjo noted.

“Fortunately, I use my left hand more often,” Seiko replied. “It shouldn’t be an issue.”

Masaaki frowned, apparently hoping to hear something else. She could guess what it was—he likely saw her inflicting one of the cuts—and she was grateful that he wasn’t saying it outright.

In a few moments, however, Kinjo was called to make sure the miko who were helping could make it back to the shrine (or wherever else they were staying). When Kinjo left, Seiko winced as the voices returned—they were quieted thanks to Masaaki’s presence, but still louder and painful.

“You always do that,” Masaaki muttered. “You look like you’re in pain whenever he leaves; it feels worse, now that you two are spending more time together.”

“I have my reasons,” Seiko replied quietly.

“Reasons you wouldn’t mind telling me?” Masaaki asked.

“I would like to keep them to myself.”

“So you won’t tell me why you’re cutting yourself in the middle of battle when you’re already in pain?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Masaaki sighed, and Seiko stayed silent. She was afraid—the voices made her afraid—of saying too much; of losing whatever trust she had. About half the palace knew she suffered from migraines, although none knew the exact reason—others, like the girls that came with her from home, knew and spread rumors that she used to talk to herself on occasion. Add that in to apparent bloodlust in the earlier battles, and Seiko’s image was one of a powerful but mentally broken soldier. She didn’t want that idea to grow even more by saying she heard voices.

When someone came by to actually tend to Seiko’s wounds, Masaaki left to return to Prince Kyuru. The next day was the announcement of the battle’s outcome—claimed as a victory by Lord Ozuru, and celebrated as such despite the four royal lives lost. Funerals were held later that week for the royal army and the departed wives and children. No recognition was given for the rebel army, which led to another dozen soldiers leaving the palace as deserters.

The war was defensive on their part from there on out.