(title hidden — not yet read)

(summary hidden — not yet read)

Yumi wakes to the daystar burning extra bright on the western horizon as the sun rises in the east — a good omen, and she has always believed in omens; one of them is the most important thing in her life. Today is her nineteenth birthday plus nineteen, a hundred days from the festival in Torio City. She had decided this would be a day for action — for asking for the thing she wanted. First the rituals. Hwanji and Chaeyung enter, bow in ritual postures, and feed her with maipon sticks from the hotspot-cooked stew. She does not feed herself; she is an expert in rituals.

Once dressed she emerges from her wagon, the attendants raising the enormous fans to screen her from the gathered villagers, and walks on her clogs to the local cold spring. There they undress her for —

She cocks her head. Something is *odd*. Something is missing. She opens her mouth to ask, then catches herself — speaking to the attendants now would shame them. Yet through the bath she keeps glancing at the side of the spring expecting someone to be there. The thought is appalling. *Someone watching her bathe?* Why on earth would she want that? She closes her eyes and lets the attendants finish their work.

Across the shroud in Kilahito, Painter scatters his stack of stones in frustration. The dark is indifferent. He tries to meditate as Yumi always taught him; he cannot, because the second he closes his eyes he sees her huddled and pleading as the nightmare consumed her. He still has not made the new reality make sense. Was she ever real? Did he fall for a creature his own perception had shaped — *a painter loving his own painting?* No. She was real. He is going to help her. Somehow.

He picks up his sack and stacks again. Twelve high. Irregular sizes, the way she taught him to. He is proud of the tower; she would have been too. The shroud does not move. He sinks back onto his heels and admits the truth. Being a yoki-hijo was not the technique — it was the power the spirits had given her. He could attract spirits and push back the shroud only while Connected to her. *Please*, he whispers. *Just let me see her. Let me help her.*

*Nikaro?* He turns to find Akane passing on the road, stopped. *Where have you been?* She sees his face. *Have you been crying?* He stumbles to his feet, knocking the tower over. *Nikaro? What have you done? Where is Yumi?* He cannot face those questions. He grabs the sack and runs into the night.

Yumi's attendants finish leading her to the shrine, set among floating trees that knock together in the wind. There Yumi hesitates again. This is *familiar*. Why is this familiar? She has never been to this town. She moves to a new one every night.

Liyun is at the shrine — *before* the rituals, which she never does. *Is something wrong?* *I just wanted to let you know, Chosen, that we passed Ihosen and came here instead.* Ihosen? The town they were going to visit. *I can't remember why we changed.* Liyun is bleary; she puts her hand to her head. She is excusing herself from the evening too: someone must be dealt with, and she does not fully remember what. She bows and hurries away, pauses to glance back as if she had something else to say, then forgets it and is gone.

Yumi realises she did not get to ask the permission she had planned to ask — the trip to Torio City for the festival. And — strangely — she now cannot summon the effort to care. The request feels *hollow*. She decides this means she is at last becoming the yoki-hijo Liyun has always wanted: setting aside her selfish streak, learning to serve with her whole heart. Content with that, she kneels to begin her prayers.