The forest changed as the spiritwalker journeyed deeper.
The air grew colder, yet alive with unseen motion. Petals whispered across the ground like restless ghosts, tracing paths that spiraled toward the heart of the grove. In the distance, thunder rumbled — or perhaps it was the sound of roots shifting beneath the earth.
At times, the trees themselves seemed to breathe.
The spiritwalker held the crystal tear — one of the relics they'd found at the outer shrine. It glowed faintly now, responding to the pulse of the forest. Its light flickered in time with their heartbeat.
> Find it… and you will understand why even gods weep.
Her words lingered.
Not as a threat — but as a promise.
---
By twilight, the mist had thickened into a silver haze. The spiritwalker stopped at a clearing where a single cherry tree stood — vast, ancient, its bark black as ink and its blossoms colorless. At its roots yawned a hollow, descending into darkness.
They stepped forward. The sigil on their hand flared, casting pale light over the petals carpeting the ground.
Each petal shimmered with faint images — reflections of lives long past.
A mother laughing.
A soldier kneeling.
A maiden dancing beneath spring rain.
The spiritwalker knelt, brushing one aside. The moment their fingers touched it, the world tilted — and the forest was gone.
---
They stood in another time.
The same tree, but alive and blooming — its petals brilliant pink, falling through a sky filled with sunlight. Beneath it stood Sakura no Hime, radiant and smiling, her hair glowing like morning light.
And beside her — a mortal in a ceremonial robe, kneeling, head bowed.
The spiritwalker's breath caught.
The man bore their face.
Not exactly — softer, younger, but undeniably familiar.
> "You asked me once," Sakura no Hime said, "why blossoms fall even when the tree is strong."
> "Because beauty is fleeting," the mortal answered.
> "No," she said with a gentle smile. "Because they are meant to return to the earth — to sleep, to dream, to rise again."
She reached down, touching the mortal's cheek. "Promise me, when I fade, you'll remember me. Not as divine, not as eternal — just as I am now."
> "I swear it," he whispered.
The spiritwalker's heart pounded — though they were only a witness to this memory, it felt real. Too real.
Then the vision shattered — the sky burning red, the petals darkening, the mortal screaming her name as the flames consumed the forest.
> "Sakura!"
The spiritwalker fell to their knees as the illusion dissolved. The ancient tree loomed before them once more, its roots twisting like serpents, its hollow breathing faint light.
---
"Now you know," said a voice behind them.
She emerged from the mist — the fallen Sakura Spirit, her form wavering between shadow and glow.
"You were there once. You promised to remember me. And when the world turned to ash, you did. That memory… cursed us both."
The spiritwalker rose slowly. "If that's true, then our souls are bound. You weren't meant to fade — and I wasn't meant to forget."
Her expression faltered — pain and tenderness crossing her face in the same breath. "You speak as though love were a cure. It was love that broke me."
She stepped closer. The air between them hummed, charged with something ancient and alive.
"Look at me," she whispered. "Do you still see the goddess who danced beneath the blossoms?"
The spiritwalker reached out, brushing their fingers near her cheek but not touching — afraid she'd dissolve again. "No," they said. "I see the woman who stayed when even the gods turned away."
Her eyes widened — then softened.
For a heartbeat, her aura dimmed, her shadow lightened — like dawn returning to a long night.
But the ground trembled suddenly. Cracks split through the soil, glowing with crimson light. The air filled with a low, keening hum — the forest itself rebelling.
> "They're coming," she said — voice suddenly sharp, fearful. "The Ashen Lords — fragments of the war that burned this land. They feed on my sorrow. They smell your life."
From the shadows, shapes began to form — human and not. Warriors made of soot and memory, their armor fused with charred wood, their faces hollow where eyes should be.
The spiritwalker drew their charm blade.
The sigil blazed.
> "Stay behind me," they said.
> "You can't fight them," she warned.
> "Then we'll fall together."
Light erupted from the sigil, scattering the shadows into shrieking petals. The air burned white. When the light faded, the spiritwalker was on one knee, panting — the ground littered with smoldering blossoms.
Sakura no Hime knelt beside them, her hand hovering uncertainly before resting over theirs. Her touch was cool — not ghostly, but real enough to make the world pause.
"You're a fool," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "Maybe. But I remember you."
For the first time in a thousand years, she laughed — a sound so fragile it broke the silence of the forest like sunlight through a storm.
But as her laughter faded, the ancient tree began to glow — veins of pink light pulsing through its roots, the air vibrating with power.
> "The Root of Memory has awakened," she said, eyes wide. "The next truth waits below."
She rose, offering her hand. "Come, spiritwalker. If we go further, there is no turning back."
He took her hand without hesitation.
Together, they stepped into the hollow beneath the tree — into the living heart of the forest, where gods remembered what mortals tried to forget.
And as the roots closed above them, the wind outside whispered:
> "The petals fall again…" 🌸