It is early in the morning when you arrive, long before the sun is to ascend the sky. The entire household is cloaked in an oppressive mood, and even the smallest bugs keep silent, as though aware of the tragedy to come. It is a thought that clenches your heart in a frightening grip and you unconsciously speed up, feet taking you down a route that has become all too familiar in your years of service. It is a path you will be unlikely to walk again in many years to come.
It does not take you long to reach your destination and you quickly step inside, closing the shōji doors softly behind you. There is only one other occupant in the room, sleeping soundly, the others departing for bed long before your arrival. It is just as you wanted, no weeping relatives to remind you of what you wish to forget, no signs of weakness to replace the memories of vitality you know he possessed. You would stay away – had stayed away – if doing so would prevent this from happening, but habit and a guilty conscience have drawn you here one last time.
Your footfalls make no sound as you approach the figure illuminated only by moonlight, but he opens his eyes as you draw near, sensing your approach. He has always been able to do that, and tonight is no different as he smiles at you. "You came", he says, voice raspy with age, but with eyes as clear and bright when he was young. You say nothing; he has always been able to understand you and no words are needed as you settle by his futon. "I was waiting for you," he continues, and you find yourself unsurprised by this. He has always had the determination to halt even death if he wanted.
Until now.
"Go to sleep," you reply, voice a low whisper that comes out surprisingly even. It is just like old times, even his good-natured grumbling, and the familiarity helps put you at ease. There is no more conversation as he closes his eyes, and you are soon left in silence unbroken except for his soft, rhythmic snoring. You know it will be your final vigil, but even so you train your eyes on the rise and fall of his chest, as though by will alone you can keep it from stopping. You will not – cannot – imagine life without him; even though he has been in only a small portion of your life he has captured your attention so thoroughly, in a way no one has before and will likely never again. He has become your anchor, your reason for existing, and to imagine life without him is to be thrown into confusion, and so you don't even try.
The moonlight has receded, replaced by the gentle sunlight of a beginning dawn when he breathes his last. You sit there for a while more, your mind trying to process what your eyes tell you, and what your heart knows. He is still. He is gone.
Slowly you rise to your feet, taking one last look at his face, so familiar and so strange. You say nothing as you leave – for there is nothing more to say, not anymore – and you exit the room as gracefully as possible, ignoring the stumble in your step. You could just disappear into the air, but that seems wrong somehow, and instead you walk down the same path you traveled only hours before.
It is not long before a piercing scream rends the peaceful morning air, a long note of loss and mourning and all the other things you wish to express but cannot. Doors slam open and others jostle you – both his relatives and shinshou alike – rushing toward the sound of the noise. You get a few odd looks but ignore them as you continue your way in the opposite direction, out to the grass by the lake where you first appeared.
It was in silence you came, but it is within the wail of mourners you will disappear, and even as you fade away from the human world their cries are loud in your head and in your heart. Later, you know, the others will want to talk to you. Later, you know, there will be another master to serve and protect. Later, you know, time will flow on and you will find your place again. But, for now…
There is nothing for you here anymore.