Beneath the eternal twilight of the Hidden City, Yuto's borrowed spirit-barge glided down the River of Forgotten Paths. Wisps of vapor curled around the prow, brushing his lantern with ghost-light fingers. The further they traveled, the quieter it grew. The stalls, lanterns, and patchwork homes of the city faded behind rain-washed willows and mossy stone embankments, replaced by an eerie silence that pressed close to his chest.
Koma crouched at Yuto's feet, tail fur stiffer than usual. His eyes darted to the water's surface, rippling with shadows that seemed almost human. "Don't let the silence fool you," Koma muttered, voice barely a whisper. "The river remembers what the city forgets."
Yuto nodded, knuckles white around his lantern's handle. The charm of red and gold thread, given by the Assembly, pulsed with subtle warmth against his palm a promise of protection, or perhaps a reminder that the protection was needed.
Just ahead, a fogbank thickened, swallowing the riverbank and turning their world to shifting light and shadow. The water mirrored not only the drifting mist and dark willow branches, but disturbingly splintered images of Yuto's own reflection, warped and flickering.
He heard laughter echo faintly, the kind that rose out of childhood games, soon warped by something deeper. Beneath it, a child's voice whispered for help, then broke apart into sobbing that barely rippled the surface.
Koma stood up. "This is it. The yokai troubling the river feeds on memory and regret lost children's dreams, broken promises. Don't let your mind slip, or you'll drown before the water touches you."
Yuto's heart pounded. "Is it here?" His own voice sounded distant.
At that moment, the river current surged. From the mist ahead, a shape emerged something old, shifting and translucent, wearing the mask of a fox but with hollow, weeping eyes. Its arms trailed long ribbons that seemed woven from both shadow and lost sunlight. A thousand faint, childlike voices flocked around it, their echo twining in and out of the fog.
"Who comes?" the yokai intoned, its voice layered young and ancient, urgent and mournful.
Yuto held his lantern high, voice as steady as he could manage. "I am the Mediator. I come to listen. Why do you haunt these waters? Why do the dreams of children suffer?"
The yokai recoiled from the lantern's glow but did not vanish. "I am what they cast aside the memories that hurt too much, the wishes unspoken before sleep. I only fill the emptiness left behind."
Koma edged closer, whispering, "Don't blame her, but don't believe everything, either. Yokai thrive on half-truths."
Yuto's thoughts whirled. He remembered the river's stories children who vanished in the old days, the city's amnesia for its own wounds. "Do you want to be free from this pain?" he asked, voice trembling but clear. "Or do you want someone to understand you?"
The yokai's ribbons twisted. "Both. But no one listens. No one comes for what's lost."
Yuto stepped forward, letting the warmth of his lantern spill farther. He pulled from his pack a faded origami crane something he'd folded as a child, later forgotten and found again just before the blackout. "Will you take this?" he offered, voice shaky but honest. "It's a memory I want to keep, but I'll share it if it means peace."
The yokai hesitated, then reached with a trailing ribbon. When her shadowy fingers touched the crane, the riverbank shimmered. The child-voices gathered, blending into a single, sweet sigh. For a moment, the thick air sparkled with gold and blue, like festival lights on water.
"You remember me," the yokai whispered, her mask cracking, a gentle smile peeking out from beneath. The voices faded to peaceful dreams. The mists lifted. The city's distant bells sounded once more, clear and light.
The water grew calm. Yuto exhaled, only now realizing he'd been half-holding his breath. Beside him, Koma wiped at his eyes, grumbling about dust while giving Yuto a proud, sideways look.
Before the barge continued on, the yokai bowed, her form blurring into soft fog. "Keep the crane, Mediator. We will remember you, too."
As the boat wound back toward the city's heart, the river felt lighter brighter. Yuto gazed at the origami crane, now shining faintly with silver blessings, and realized he had not only survived his first quest, but changed something old and quiet for the better.
He didn't yet know how or why he'd been chosen, but with each passing trial, the city beneath Tokyo felt ever more like a home that had been waiting for him all along.
And far above, in the waking world, a child who'd wept through long nights suddenly slept with a peaceful smile, a dreamcatcher of lantern-light shimmering gently by her window.
End of Chapter 9