ETERNAL SUMMER
⸻ 終わりのない悲しみの消えない過去

( 2012 )

     Satoru does not like keeping secrets from Sayuri, but sometimes he must. He knows what he does drives a stake through her ever-fragile heart, that he tears the soft tapestry of her skin and delicately sinks his teeth into her grieving wounds. It's a necessity, he tells himself, it's the only way she can heal from the tumultuous waves of guilt she drowns herself in. Day after day and night after night, she sets herself on fire in pagan rituals of wanton agony and he feels his soul perishes every time she does.

It is undeniable that his love for her streaks through the shattered stars, knowing there is no other woman on this earth who could hold his heart like she can. Ever since the day they met, he has always carried the thought of her wherever he went, and he can't bring himself to look at any other woman the same he does for her. They are connected by something far more divine than the threads of fate, even crueller than the hands of destiny. Yes, this curse ( as much as it is a blessing ) stretches through every echo of time and interval of space. Inescapable and undeniably inevitable, pulling them together by the subatomic attraction of their polarised souls.

But behind the incandescent smiles she bestows on him, there is a void of grief within her carmine eyes. Sometimes he feels like grabbing her by the shoulders, begging her to tell him how he can rid her of the ghosts that haunt her still ( Is this not enough, Sayuri? Am I not enough? ). He knows them well, has heard their baleful whispers in his own ears. They swirl like tendrils of smoke and fumes in those sanguine irises, misty gaze ever clinging to the gloaming past.

When she's with the Fushiguro children, he sees the war blazing within her and he admires her for it. She has always been formidable though she can never see it for herself. How her strength comes from her gentle hands and her heart that bleeds rivers of compassion. They are good for her, he believes, she will learn to forgive herself for them one day. Even if she looks at him with anguish smeared across her face every time, he has to clench his teeth and ball his fists with unshakeable resolve. The bonds that bind them all are hopelessly tangled and potent, influencing their every step like the celestial wheel of life.

One day, he hopes to see her smile unburdened of all those earthly woes. To cast away all her doubts and endless suffering. He will do everything within his divine right to make it come true, even if he has to devour the very gods that created him. After almost losing her to that deathless abode of eternal purgatory, he can't lose her now to the demons that hound her every footstep. But it feels like he's clinging onto seafoam as she slips further away from his grasp each day.

Satoru watches as Sayuri pulls a photo album from his bookshelf. Ebony hair spills across her bare shoulders in crescent waves and he thinks that she's a vision of a goddess emerged from the salt-stained pearls of the ocean. A delighted smile graces her lips as she turns to him, "You're so adorable as a child."

He chuckles at her amusement as she flips through the pages of his half-forgotten memories until she reaches a photograph of his younger self with a much older girl. She has the same trademark silvern hair of their clan heritors but her eyes are a misty grey instead of the vibrant sapphire that Satoru solely posseses. Sayuri touches the edges of the photo with a delicate finger before looking to him. "Who is it?" she questions out of curiosity.

His eyes soften from the recollections as melancholia settles into his bones. "She was my older sister. Well, technically, we were cousins but my father took her in after her parents passed in an accident."

Sayuri is quiet for a moment and her voice holds a tinge of dread when she further asks, "What happened to her?"

Satoru feels a pulse in his jaw before replying, "That man killed her too. This was years ago but I just found out about it recently."

As expected, a flicker of resentment crosses her face at the revelation before she lets her gaze fall back to the photo album. "I'm sorry..." she mutters. "Were you close to her?"

"I was still young but... I remember she was always there for me," he tells her as he makes himself comfortable by her side. He flips a few pages of the album then points at a photograph that catches Sayuri by surprise. "Toa is actually my cousin, she and Akira were best friends."

"Toa?" she frowns. "But... I thought she was Zenin?"

"Toa is a complicated woman," he muses, "with an even more complicated past." He pauses sombrely before swiftly changing the subject. "By the way, Sayuri... can you pick up Megumi from school tomorrow? I have to go on a business trip to Kyoto."

She looks at him with residual longing in her eyes. He knows that a small part of her misses home. It's hard to fully leave her family behind when her whole life had always been centred around them. She must sorely miss her brother who dotted on her so. "How long will you be away?" she asks.

"Not that long, I'll be right back before you know it," he says and forces himself to smile. He's tempted to spill the truth to her but it would defeat all the purpose he has in mind. The only thing he can do now is to take her within his arms and offer a modicum of reassurance ( though it's more for himself than it is for her ). "Do you want me to bring anything back for you?"

She takes a brief moment to think about it. "No, that's okay..." He presses his lips against her temple, holding her tight until they drift off to sleep.

The next day, Satoru leaves her early in the morning. Her tenure at the school hasn't started yet so she spends most of her time at home accompanying his mother with chores. He takes the bullet train to Kyoto, then finds himself back at Suguwara Michizane's shrine. The plum blossoms are still in bloom and he can't help reminiscing of that day when he took Sayuri's hand under the witness of his ancestors. He can still taste the sake on his tongue, the sacred vows that he continues to chant religiously to this day.

Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he dials the unfamiliar number that he's saved. A gruff voice answers on the other end of the line, "You're here already?"

"Yep, right behind the shrine underneath the ginkgo tree," Satoru responds.

The call is rudely cut short. Satoru feels the familiar surge of cursed energy coalesce around him and guilt almost stabs him in the chest. He steps through the gate of hell, feeling that same icy sick sensation engulf his body as if a hundred dead hands are caressing him. On the other side, Homura is waiting for him at the entrance inside the Kurosawa sacred shrine.

"You have it with you?" the man asks with well-hidden intrigue. Satoru reaches into his bag and pulls out a fairly large glass jar filled with volcanic black ash. He took it from the sacred caldera of Mount Agung itself, recalling the view over the eastern regency of Karangasem in Bali.

"You know it was hard getting my hands on this," Satoru blithers to him. "Luckily Sayuri isn't a light sleeper, you know, I had to sneak away from my cute wife in the middle of the night. Imagine what she would think if she caught me, I'm a dutiful husband after all, I would never leave her without good reason."

"Nobody cares," Homura retorts with distaste as he turns his back on Satoru and makes his way down the cavernous corridor. "Hurry up, I hate being inside this place. It gives me the creeps."

"Even though you're supposed to be its guardian?" Satoru questions lightly.

Homura scowls, "It's not like I volunteered for it." They retrace their steps from that fateful day, though there are no longer any barriers between them and the ceremonial chamber. Vestiges of ancient cursed energy and malign charms saturate the foreboding atmosphere within those caverns.

They enter the consecrated grounds where the blighted spirit of the Kurosawa's deranged ancestor took refuge in. A chill crawls into Satoru's marrow, unease seeping through the very atoms caught in the stasis of his infinity. The prison realm rests on the ground where they had left it, the inverted spear of heaven lying carelessly by its side. The sight of them both turns his stomach.

He picks the blade up and passes it to Homura for safekeeping. Then carefully, he lifts the cursed object and places it into a wooden box made from an ancient sakaki tree on the altar. Fresh talismans line every inch of its lacquered surface, cursed energy radiating off it in waves. He then pours the volcanic ash over the cube, burying and sealing it within a three-fold barrier.

"Do you really think she's still in there?" Homura asks sceptically.

"You felt Sayuri's cursed energy too," Satoru says. "It's different now... less corrupted."

"Have you asked her about it?"

"No... she hasn't said anything either." Satoru frowns. "But I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"You know the barrier won't hold if she tries to get her hands on it again," Homura mentions. "Her celestial weapons can tear through the prison realm itself."

"I know, it's more to keep that thing inside," Satoru tells him as he turns around. It almost surprises him to see the silent concern inscribed on the older man's face. A sentiment that he would only show for his cherished sister.

But reflected within those murky brown eyes that stare back at him, Satoru sees himself wearing the same fear.

     There are some nights where Satoru finds himself questioning his sanity. That perhaps his mind is so frayed at the edges that it's hanging on by a thread, ready to unravel and fall to pieces. He watches the same sequence of events replay before him with inescapable helplessness. Inhaling a breath, he opens his eyes to a scene that is now burned into his memory. He recognises every detail of the room; from the position of the paper lanterns and the immaculately stacked monogatari books, to the weave pattern of the tatami mats and decorative carvings of the walnut framed bed.

Sayuri is sitting opposite him by the sliding doors on the engawa in a prismatic twelve-layer kimono. The night sky is alight with a sea of stars behind her, illuminating her silhouette in a silver lustre. She turns to him with a radiant smile on rosebud-painted lips, her glossy raven hair flowing across her back to the floor. Her eyes of scarlet camellias shimmer with love and joy at the sight of him, and he feels his heart knead itself painfully within his chest.

She stands to her feet and approaches him, wrapping her arms around his waist in an all-too-familiar embrace. Hands grasping at the silken threads of his robe as she buries her face beneath his chin. He savours her warmth, leaning into the tenderness of her gentle touch. It makes what will inevitably happen so much more harder to bear.

"We won the war but we lost so much," she whispers. "The Fujiwaras are all gone, what will become of us now?"

Truth is a bitter medicine to swallow. "The golden age of sorcerers has passed. We all saw to our own decline."

She's silent for a moment before she looks up to him. "The other vassal clans will vie for power."

"They won't," he utters quietly. "I'll make sure that they won't."

"How?" she asks softly, as if she wants to believe it but could not muster the strength to do so.

"The only thing that they understand is power and control," he says. "And how could they possibly deny the one who slew the Blessed Mother of Curses?"

The last good thing of her that he remembers is the hope in her eyes, oblivious to the cruel injustices of this wicked world. One that she had shaped with her own benevolent hands, that bites back at its own guardian who has always stood by its side so fastidiously. He hears the sound of a blade tearing through mortal flesh and sinew. Her lips part in shock and realisation as her trembling hand reaches for his that's clenched around the handle of the knife embedded within her chest. He knows that it's not enough to end her so he plunges it into her heart once more, and again, and again, until her knees give way to the floor.

"W-Why—" she chokes through the blood swelling from her throat, through the bitter tears that are streaming down her cheeks. "D-Did you ever truly... loved me?"

"I love you," he says as his own sight blurs before him. He sinks the blade into her once more and hears her whimper in his ear. "I will always love you through every age and reality."

Her wounded body trembles beneath him and he feels the golden light of her celestial energy surround them. Before her blessed presence, he is but a mortal shadow in servitude to her divinity. "Then tell me it is not true," she begs. "Tell me that you are possessed with a madness that you can not control."

"You know the truth of it better than I," he tells her, though he can taste the poison of his lies on his tongue. Her divine protection is replaced with heavenly weapons of retribution.

"Please... these are not your own words," she beseeches desperately. "Please don't do this. Not to me, not to us."

"Forgive me," he says as he raises the knife. "Forgive me for being so weak."

As he expects, before he can even strike, he feels the cold, ephemeral blades of her spears rend through every inch of his torso. They bind him in place as she sobs deliriously, as she rises to her feet as a goddess incarnate. He smiles dolefully, his heart pouring forth with love and devotion. The knife falls from his fingers to the tatami mats. "I will see you in the next life, my beloved... Chizuru."

This is the moment where it all begins, that infinite cycle of tragedy and woe. As she raises a trembling hand towards him and the gates of hell open to swallow him whole. He closes his eyes and accepts the judgement of his sins with gladness and relief. Perhaps one day she will know the truth of it, that he loves her more than anything else in this world and he sacrificed his own life in order to spare hers.

Yet fate is a cruel mistress to all she holds dear.

"Why... why must you do this?" she sobs. She crawls over and cradles his broken body in her arms as wails of torment and denial tear through her throat. There is no understanding the reason he chose to do what he did, cursed though he was with the intent of another. If only she had paused and looked hard enough, she would have seen it. The tendril of cursed energy that had forced his hand. But she will never know the truth of it, not now or ever. He caresses her face one last time, knowing that his soul will always find hers. The moment he takes his last breath, Chizuru picks up the dagger on the floor and pierces it through her temple.

Her body falls besides his, glassy ruby eyes staring unseeing into the starlit void. Seconds turn to minutes turn to hours, as blood pools and stains the soft-rush weaves. There is a moment of stillness as the cicadas sing a dirge outside the windows. Her shoulders begin to quiver, fingers weakly grasping at air. Chizuru rises now as an infernal ghost, a fallen goddess of vengeance and nemesis to humankind.

She turns to him and Satoru finally sees himself as he is within the dream turned nightmare. Her pale corpse reaches for him, with a gaze as red as death itself. And when he blinks next, she's right in front of him with lips spread open to devour him whole.

     Satoru wakes drenched in cold sweat and his Six Eyes burning with the fury of frozen stars. Pale light spills across overly familiar tatami mats and he turns his gaze on Sayuri with dread sinking once more into his stomach. With stifled breaths, he reaches out to her and feels her cold skin beneath his fingertips. He grasps her bare shoulder and turns her towards him, beholding her serene face under the silvery moonbeams. A breath of relief escapes his lips as she continues to sleep peacefully.

There is no change in her cursed energy and yet, the nightmares continue to plague his mind. He doesn't understand. How is Chizuru able to haunt him from beyond purgatory?

For once in his life, fear takes hold of him in its grip and doubt clouds his vision. Perhaps he had been wrong all along, perhaps the blessed mother still has its claws embedded within Sayuri's soul. That they are now so intricately intertwined that it's almost impossible to tell them apart anymore. Yet it could still not explain these ghostly apparitions that visit him every night. As if it needs to tell him something, some ancient knowledge that is now forgotten to the lost ages between them.

Then he realises with cold cognizance that he did have it all wrong. They have never been separate entities in their own rights. Sayuri is her ancestor's reincarnation, the sliver of her soul that had escaped the chains of the grudge that binds them. Everything falls into place, how Chizuru is able to appear at will by Sayuri's side and take possession of her as easily as finding her own face in the dark.

He swallows the lump in his throat from the revelation. If that's true then everything he did has been for naught. There is no stopping the preordained curse from fulfilling its doomed prophecy. His face falls into his hand, the night wraps around him with despair. But only for a moment before he shrugs it off like a cloak and turns back to his beloved with eyes of sapphire clarity.

Whatever it takes, he has to find another way to save her. To save them both.