Seiko was faintly aware of Asahi murmuring something about leaving, and he tried to get her to walk. The voices overwhelmed her, a sense of hopelessness joining them. She was glad that Asahi was holding her, trying to bring her back up, inadvertently preventing her from taking any sort of weapon—she was afraid that, otherwise, she would be dying as well. The thought was terrifying, but she couldn’t stop it because it wasn’t hers.
It took a few more minutes of Asahi urging her to get up that she was actually able to stand, the voices fading slightly. She was only partially in control of her own actions, and focused those actions on staying near Asahi so the voices wouldn’t underwhelm her. The voices called her pathetic for it—and perhaps she was, needing someone else to help her manage her problems, but she had to accept it for now.
Together, they made a few steps out of the office. The battle was fully intended to be the last—one side or the other would have to fall, with the victor standing out clearly. What that would mean for her, she wasn’t sure; Seiko found the idea of running away tempting, but the voices wouldn’t allow her to take much more steps.
All at once, her voices fell silent. She winced, the silence coming as a surprise, and fell again. Asahi cursed, his words clear now that they were the only things she had to focus on.
“Come on, Seiko,” he urged her quietly. “We can’t wait for long—we’ll both die. I’m not ready to leave you.”
She couldn’t think of any words that might help, so she didn’t say anything. It didn’t seem to help Asahi any—he gave a wary look around them before sitting on the floor next to her and took out her knife for his own use should anyone get close, but he didn’t say anything else.
Within the silence, Seiko heard a new voice—one that was kinder than those she heard for all her life, whose presence was announced by a certain feeling of being watched.
As a result of his hopeless feud, Ginshin received punishment—cursed descendants. One of his children will end these nations—that child will sacrifice their own self to avoid harming others. You, Tsujihara Seiko, are not this child…you will not need to make that sacrifice. To those who came before, you are a failure—but to these people, you will be hope.
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You are the last one, as they told you. Will you accept that? Will you carry on this nation’s legacy, if only for a short while?
Seiko nodded, which caught Asahi’s attention. She responded to the voice quietly. “I-I…don’t want to die here… If I could have…just a little more time… I will accept whatever you need of me.”
Good. Now stand, child. I will do what I can to cease the fighting.
Seiko tried to stand, the voices only returning briefly now when she glanced at the bloodied soldiers farther away; Asahi noticed her efforts and helped her, smiling slightly after a few moments. When she gave him a confused look, he brushed some of her hair closer to her face so she could see it.
Silvery-white hair wasn’t natural, of course—it had the same weight as a crown. She had reason to assume, then, that Tsuyoi Aimiki spoke with her; a blessing she would have to wait before she could properly thank the goddess for.
The soldiers closest to them got a glimpse of it and paused; a few rebels dropped their weapons and ran, alerting other soldiers as well. Murmurs rippled through the soldiers for a few minutes until the whole palace was silent—a few servants emerged from their hiding places in order to see.
Seiko’s thoughts recovered from the silence after a few moments, and she spoke. “I won’t follow anyone who leaves,” she said firmly. “Just do not return. I can’t promise any more than that.”
A few more fled—others stayed and frowned. A majority, however—including Asahi, who was to her left—bowed. It was an odd feeling that she wasn’t particularly fond of, but there was no way to prevent it.
“Clear out the corpses and tend to the wounded,” Seiko continued. “That’s all I will ask of you for now.”
About half of them bowed again, and they all went about the tasks. Seiko stood there, calm in the moment but slowly beginning to question the circumstances.
After her wounds were cared for and she knew that Jukazu and Maenomi’s bodies had been buried, she slept. It was the first time that she never heard her voices in her dreams without Asahi—but when she awoke, they came back again, asking the same things of her that they had before. Even accepting her role could not rid her of them, it seemed.
Just like Jukazu promised a year and a half earlier, it was the start of a new era—just not the kind that he had been looking forward to. When the year changed, Kokka became Gendai; the nations had been formed, and now prepared to take on a modern age alongside Gin’s first queen.