Once upon a time, there was a city called Ellzheim holier than Vatican today, where innumerable little shops slept promiscuously across its converging streets , where sweet scent of mahogany and jasmine lingered in every nook and cranny, where cascading waters from nearby hills used caressed the earth softer than a woman's lips, and where any visitor's breath was freshly intoxicated by the overflowing hubris of patronizing priests and reviled heathens .

All those who yearned to catch a glimpse of it- skeptics and wanderers, saints and sinners, flesh cold and brittle of heart,  were showered in its love unconditionally and unasked. It is said that a certain traveler Sa-Fien was so enchanted by the beauty that she couldn't  even imagine it ever it not being there, as if the Lord itself had in his clemency ordained for next paradise on  the earth. 

If it was possible to love something as dearly as one could even sacrilege all things of honor and dear to heart, sacrifice any shred of dignity without care, for a person, then Sa-Fien did it for the Elzheim. The symphonic ringing bells of the holy temple, whose incessant sound could even irk most devout locals in the city, bounced like a sweet melody against her ears, a tinnitus she wouldn't mind losing her senses to. 

Not even a soul had whiff about her origin or what had made her addicted to Elzheim but it was undoubtedly clear how much value it held in her delicate maiden heart. It meant enough to let her beautiful red lips wilt into obsolete white, enough to capitulate her porcelain skin into pool of ink dark spots, enough to forsake all the care and regard for what made 'her' her.

She elevated higher and higher in virtue , as she sunk lower and lower into torment and despair. As she drowned deeper in unending ocean of limerence for the city, the rumours around her spiraled. They grew so wild that her very existence became a question- blurred between reality and myth.

The hymning of poets, the prostration of paupers, the cries of sickly and old, the pleadings of indolent unwilling to act and men of virtue and nobility all flocked to her shadow and she welcomed them all with her open arms , as if successor to the prophet of Bethlehem centuries ago. 

They found exalted joy under her arms, like an infant attached to mother's womb, and even though she had anything but riches to offer , all that they could find to drink in her heart's coffer, satiated all restless spirits swifter than harrowing words of men of books about the promised punishment by the Heavenly Lord.

Elzheim's virility started to grow manifold, whether in fertile lands or in glory and soon the visitors who only used to grace it due to curiosity or staunch cynicism , now perpetually longed to enter it , to behold even a glance at Sa-Fien, whose selfless love raised the city from a semblance to the biblical paradise.

Then, as if struck by a divine wrath, without warning , Elzheim vanished in a single day. Its people, its grand structure, its entire history - reduced to cinders and dust,  with not even carcasses of flesh-eating insects left behind. 

The silence of thousand graves rang louder than ever, and melancholy of decay passed through shattered stones and scorched trees. All that remained was a single, fleeting residue- like the last fading breath of a dying man, as if to leave a final clue for an unseen detective unravelling the mysteries of his demise, in vain.

And there it laid on the river bank, for a brief ephemeral second in unmistakable blood- the name of woman who professed her love like no other to vanished city of Elzheim- Sa Fien before even that was washed away.

Historians tried painstakingly, as they must, for justifying their research grants, to unearth a single source, tiniest piece of obsolete waste bearing even semblance of antiquity to quieten the modern skeptic's mouth but all their hard toil only succeeded in proving contrary. Ultimately, the account moved from question of academia to a fable , a fine piece of literature to be discussed over tea in modern reading guilds and clubs.

One could have hardly imagined that within this small single tale, there laid a premonition of pieces set in stone , which would change the course of time forever

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Reiwa 7 (2025 AD)

Kanazawa, Ishikawa Prefecture, Japan

Ishikawa Shrine

naoto!

Naoto!

NAOTO!

His eyes fluttered open, breaking the trance that had held him captive. The deep blue of his irises, like polished lapis lazuli, shifted as he took in his surroundings., until finally settling on the source of intruding voice.

The voice belonged to a girl in her early twenties , whose lips were pressed together for far too long to tease any fortune for his fate.

"Why were you not answering me? Are you feeling sick? " Her fingers clutched his shoulders instinctively, as her doe-brown eyes casted a worried glance at the latter.  Without giving him a chance to protest, she carried on. "You are, aren't you? See...I told you. You should have taken a bite or so when the conductor was offering..." 

"I was just ..." He exhaled slowly, as if releasing the exhaustion from the bones and flesh in a single breath. "I was just mulling over something.  You know, like a passing thought that enraptures your mind and doesn't leave you...until it just does."

"Your face looked pretty grave for it to be a mere short-lived passing fancy. It was almost as if you were starting to see Osami-san again..." She frowned, not believing him for even a second.

"Stop it, Igarashi-san! You are making mountain out of molehill. I am completely fine...." Naoto tried to cut in, making an indolent effort to assuage the mother-hen that had annexed her psyche.

"Lose the honorific or are you too big in your head now to call Harumi..." She spoke softly as leaves falling in autumn, yet the virility in her eyes made it more of a demand.

"I will try..." He replied sheepishly, as the wind ruffled his silky black hair beside ears.

"Never mind." 

"What?" 

"If it taxes on you, then I am better off leaving the space for those frenzies waiting outside. " She puffed her cheeks, her eyes gleaming with something he couldn't decipher.  

Not ire! Not Sadness! But surrender to the idea of them she had been trying to thwart for far too long. Perhaps it was for her own sake or his or maybe both but the toils of time and realities were making it harder to keep up any farce about their closeness now.

Naoto momentarily ran his gaze across the visibly black line of men in suits who stood firm in a wide circle around the shrine. Their sole task , was to keep the rising young star as safe as possible from the overly enthusiastic crowd whose love if accepted unconditionally, would vomit all their harbored affection into a chaotic stampede in mere seconds.

"Naoto-kun" Igarashi drew his attention once again. " I heard that nearly half of them used to earlier serve the King of Thailand and other half used to be close-guards for the kins of previous Emperor. Is that true?"

"Is that truly important right now?" He battled an eyelash at her unexpected honorific . Why was her voice so gleeful, akin a rat locked in cage suddenly realizing how to escape from the deadlock in conversation here. 

He didn't like this ruse of her switching subjects one bit. As if all that was amiss could be fixed by fine indulgence in some momentary distraction.

"Igarashi-san, I would rather have you not create any more walls than necessary." He closed his fists, looking at her. "Speak your mind and be done with it. I deal with enough of tomfoolery at set , to entertain same here too."

She pursued her lips slowly , biting back the pain that might accidentally slip in her voice. "Even if I intended to give some advice, I can only remember how much is left over from last year unused.  It is funny, isn't it? One good look at someone's face could speak so much about what they feel about their life.  I , for one, could have never imagined that you would be so giddy about getting bunch of free sake from lust-filled canisters across the continent. "

"But what is the point of me rambling on and on?" She smiled ruefully. "Maybe it wrong to fault your newfound fame or cast any aspersions on your character.  It isn't like there is a god among us. Maybe we are just at age where our will reigns the most and ..."

"She took a step back, slipping her hands from his shoulders. 'And now, it's clearer than ever what your will truly demands. Just as the walls between us were never mine to build, the vexations of my heart have nothing to do with you. So tell me , Naoto - what is the real farce? What, exactly am I mistaken about?" 

For a moment , there was complete stillness abound, except for the wind which had started to pick up and shake the golden shrine statue and bells hanging overhead a bit , making little jingle-sounds.

"Harumi..." Naoto attempted to reach her cheeks but she patted his hands away with a swift coldness.

"When one venture fails, actors pick up another and then another until they find what works." She spoke in a flat tone, her shaking hands hidden behind her back. "Let the tenancy of whatever charade you have roped me in, for past three months expire here. If you dislike the broken pieces so much, just forge something new from their remains "

She peered towards the gate, where incoherent sounds from hundreds of fans contrasted the tranquility of holy shrine. "I doubt it will take much time when there is no dearth of lambs yearning  to be fiddled by you."

Naoto didn't register when she walked past him - her fleeting figure burned and seared into his memory , his pleas which threateningly close to morph into hollow undignified cries buy the witnessed around and one last gesture to his trusted aides to escort her out from the premises securely. 

Why? Why did he feel the need for umbrella today when it had rained yesterday? Why was the fire in his heart searing every fiber instead of fueling his passion? And why -why did the air suddenly feel so thick?

As thoughts poured heavily inside his head, Naoto listlessly followed the outline  becoming far more visible with second until it stood right before him in form of his handler : Mr. Ryosuke Fukazawa.

"Sir, you have a press conference scheduled in Fukui. " He informed, scanning the tablet with his be-spectacled lens, awaiting his boss's response. "If we don't leave now, we will have to cancel three other events afterwards as well."

Naoto promptly answered 'yes' , unaware that his answers had not left his lips, prompting Fukazawa to squint his eyes and repeat a bit louder this time. "Sir?"

"Y-Yes. " Naoto's lips departed with a jolt of electricity and he nodded his head , still lost in trance. "Tell Matsudo to get the car ready. My constitution can only digest one disappointment today."

"Right away, sir." The latter nodded and turned towards the gate, heading down the staircase with a stolid gait. 

Once the air was clear of any voice, Naoto stepped close as he possibly could,  and prostrated his head to the cold wooden floor, which was a bit damp from the rain yesterday.  With Harumi Igarashi - the only person he could possibly regard as dear anymore, also out of his life for good, it left him with little reason to visit shrines.

These empty places of affections and traditions had brought him nothing but joyless reminders of all those who had failingly whined out their heartfelt calls to a dumb stone and found no recuse until their demise- whether that be his simpleton mother or recovering addict of a sister.

But maybe there was some truth to its lucky charm . After all, getting his approval ratings faster at such an astonishing rate, upon each visit was something of a miracle indeed. 

Amidst his passive reflection, he heard an eerie voice , which could make even the first serpent shed its skin , out of fright. A voice so raspy and fear-gripping as if someone had fastened the flesh like cloth to nail and was pulling it out and the only thing soul could wish for was to not die out of agony.

"The time thou didst tarry to draw so plain a conclusion—verily, the wretch in the firmament had twice forged the heavens and set them aright."

The bones in his finger felt so brittle as if tiniest budge could break them to dust and the marble would be bedecked in rosy-blood liquid rushing furiously in his veins. He didn't even have to open his eyes for, in breath of a second, a slender finger rested on his chin pulling his face up to be intimated with the eyes of heart-striking voice.

"Stand thou still and speak not a word, O swine of clay, else shall I have thy throat so grievously sundered that not even rebirth shall mend it."

He stared-awestruck, at loss for words like puppet, his own world-fawned beauty paling in comparison to soul-taking figure before him. 

"Perfection ..."