The third fragment called to Sayo not through dreams or visions, but through sound. A rhythm. A drumbeat echoing faintly through the seams of the waking world—low, persistent, and familiar in a way that stirred her bones.
She heard it as they walked through the edge of Kyoto. She heard it again as they crossed the river near Uji, following the Book of Remnants' shifting glow. Ren didn't hear it at first, but when they crossed into the shadow of Mount Atago, his hand tightened around hers.
"Do you hear that?" he asked, frowning.
She nodded. "Drums."
They followed them.
---
The path led to a village not marked on any map, tucked behind heavy woods and shrouded in fog. It wasn't until they emerged from the trees that they saw the lanterns—hundreds of them—strung between rooftops and woven through torii gates. The village glowed like a painting, suspended between time and tradition.
Children in yukata ran laughing through the streets. Old men played shamisen near the central square. Women ladled red bean soup and shaved ice to passing visitors. At the heart of it all, a towering bonfire crackled beside an old stone well.
Ren stared. "This… this is an Obon festival."
"But it's November," Sayo whispered.
And yet everything was alive with the heartbeat of summer.
---
They wandered through the crowd, unnoticed. It was as though they weren't really there, or as though the festival existed on a separate plane. The Book of Remnants vibrated in Sayo's satchel, and when she pulled it out, a new symbol appeared across its pages:
A circle with three flames.
"Memory, Time, and now… Spirit," Ren said, reading the margin.
Sayo's eyes tracked the crowd. "There's something wrong here. Everyone looks…"
"The same," Ren finished. "They're not getting older."
They watched a child trip, scrape his knee, and stand up without crying. His skin was unbroken. His laughter resumed instantly.
Sayo stepped closer to a woman passing out mochi.
"Excuse me," she said. "What day is it?"
The woman smiled, blank-eyed. "Obon, of course. Tonight we send our love to the dead."
"And tomorrow?"
The smile froze. "Obon, of course."
Sayo felt cold. "How long has the festival been going?"
The woman didn't answer. She turned and walked away.
Ren gripped her arm. "This place is stuck."
"Like a dream that won't end."
---
The shrine stood at the village's edge, built into a mountainside. It was old, cracked in places, the stone steps eaten by moss. As they climbed, the Book of Remnants began to burn hot.
At the top, a single lantern hung beside the altar.
It was different from the others—black paper, no light inside. On its frame, the name "Aiko" was written in white ink.
Sayo reached for it, and the world twisted.
---
She stood on a battlefield.
Rain poured from a bruised sky. Fires crackled across the hills. Bodies lay broken in the mud, banners torn by wind.
She was younger. Thirteen? Fourteen? Dressed in rags, carrying a bamboo flute.
Across from her stood a boy.
Ren.
But not Ren.
His armor bore the crest of the enemy. His face was bruised, bleeding. And in his hands—
A blade.
"Hotaru," he whispered.
She dropped the flute.
"Aki."
He stepped closer. "They told me you died."
"I almost did." Her voice trembled. "When the fire took our village."
He fell to his knees. "I didn't know. I didn't know."
Behind him, soldiers approached.
Sayo reached for him, but their hands passed through each other like ghosts.
This was a memory. A sealed one.
She watched as they embraced, only to be torn apart moments later—arrows, screaming, the crush of soldiers dragging them away.
The lantern flared.
And they were back in the shrine.
---
Ren staggered.
"I saw it too."
Sayo held the black lantern, now glowing with warm amber light. The name "Aiko" had changed.
To "Hotaru."
She turned to the altar.
"I think this was meant for me."
She set it beside the others.
The shrine shook.
Down in the village, the drums stopped.
---
They returned to the square. The villagers stood still, watching the fire burn down.
Then, one by one, they began to bow to Sayo and Ren.
"You remembered," one man said. "You brought us peace."
The crowd faded like mist.
The village dimmed.
By sunrise, there was nothing left but the stone well and a single lantern glowing beside it.
The Book of Remnants opened.
The third fragment slid into place.
---
That night, in the safety of a mountainside inn, Sayo cried.
Not because she was sad.
But because she remembered.
And for the first time, she didn't feel alone.
Ren sat beside her, his fingers brushing the pages of the book.
"Four left," he said.
She nodded. "We're getting closer."
He looked at her gently. "To the end?"
"No," she said. "To the beginning."