The day had drifted by in relative calm, leaving behind a soft residue of warmth that the night now claimed. Moonlight poured through the open windows, mingling with lanterns strung along the shrine, their flickering light catching in the folds of the trees. Shadows danced lazily across the snow and stone, giving the night the feel of something half-dream, half-reality.
I had spent the daylight hours quietly, practicing with my knife, tracing movements over and over until my hands remembered the weight, the balance, the subtle shift of a finger or wrist. I had read books as well, letting my mind wander among the words while my body rested, anticipating the festival yet unsure of what awaited there. Heiwa, as usual, had gone in another direction, her own preparations secretive and deliberate. We had barely crossed paths that day, and I was not certain what thoughts she carried with her.
"Hmm, you should go get ready for the festival," Dōngzhí's voice cut through the quiet, appearing from nowhere like a shadow made flesh. I started, my hands still smelling faintly of ink and leather.
"You let dusk meet you here—go tell Heiwa to get ready too," she added, walking away before I could reply, her steps light on the floorboards, disappearing around the corner as though she had never been there.
The night air was cool, brushing against my face and carrying the scent of snow and incense from the shrine. The lanterns now glowed brighter, their orange light pooling around the stone steps and paths. I made my way to Heiwa's room, pausing at the door to knock gently.
Inside, she was seated among a meticulous collection of folded origami. Paper cranes, boats, and geometric shapes spread across the floor in neat rows. Some paper laid crumpled to the side. She wasn't the sort to allow disorder, I thought, noting how every fold seemed precise, intentional. Her gaze lifted to the moonlight spilling through the window as I spoke.
"Dōngzhí said we should get ready for the festival."
Heiwa paused, her hand resting on a half-finished crane. She looked out the window, her silhouette framed by pale silver light. Slowly, she turned to me, mouth opening as if to speak, then closing again. A faint crease appeared at the corner of her brow, just for a heartbeat, before her expression settled back to calm. Her fingers lingered on the crane, pressing lightly as though holding a thought in place.
Finally, in her quiet, deliberate way, she said, "Alright. I understood." There was no rush, no urgency—only a calm acceptance of what needed to be done.
I excused myself to take a bath, letting the warmth ease the tension from my shoulders. Steam curled around me, filling the small room with the scent of herbal soaps and hot water. I imagined the festival lights waiting for us outside, alive and expectant.
Afterward, Dongzhí helped me into my outfit, the fabric smooth and heavy, its folds settling into place as though remembering my movements.
Heiwa entered shortly after, her presence quiet but undeniable. First she tried to say something but paused, her gaze dropping to the floor before she finally waited in silence as I finished. She too was dressed with Dongzhí's careful guidance, the red of her kimono catching the light, a contrast to her calm, measured expression.
Finally, we stepped out of the shrine. The night embraced us. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, casting soft circles of gold on the snow-dusted ground. Music from a nearby corner floated on the air—small notes of flutes and bells—and the scent of sweet cakes and roasted chestnuts carried on the wind. Spirits of the festival moved through the streets, reflected in the eyes of children, in the careful steps of the elders, in the quiet laughter shared between friends.
One after the other, Heiwa and then I descended the steps, each movement measured, deliberate. She paused mid-step, as if weighing a thought she ultimately swallowed. Her shoulder drooped faintly before she lifted it again, resuming her pace. Her fingers brushed the railing, lingering a fraction too long, a subtle hesitation that I noticed but could not name.
The world had become a river of light and shadow, and for the first time that day, I felt its current pulling me forward. And in that gentle pull, I realized: there were currents beneath the surface, unseen but present, waiting to be noticed.