"Azūmi, have you ever seen a kami?"

I cracked one eye at her. The other one Azūmi was polishing with a black liquid. Staying true to my word, I hadn't complained as she coated my face in paint, doused me with fragrance, and stuffed me into an even more unwieldy outfit for the ritual.

"No," she murmured back, her pupils sharp with focus on her task. She lifted the brush and twisted my chin this way and that, appraising her work. "I was never blessed by the kami like that. There's only been a handful of miko who've truly spoken with them, but not one for many generations." She caught my gaze's downward shift and added, "But I doubt even they were the daughter of a kami. I'm sure Ōkami speak with you." She tilted my face to the right. "Now close your eyes again."

I did and sat there in the dark, my muscles quaking. I rehearsed the steps in my mind, twisting my free hands to the rhythm. A nervous excitement had flooded through me yet that might have been a natural response to the ribbon constricting my ribcage.

Azūmi poked my stomach. "You'll be fine. You didn't make a single mistake this morning, and during the ritual, it always comes naturally."

I jerked my chin in ascent, but she merely hissed. "Tsk, Mira, you nearly made me mark your forehead."

It was twenty minutes later when we stepped out onto the grounds. The moon was just beginning to crest the mountain peaks, its gaze falling upon the valley. It illuminated the temple's grounds with its soft light, turning everything to muted shades of grey. There wasn't even a breeze to break the stillness that had settled upon the shrine. As I walked, it was like I had to push aside the air itself to get to the haiden.

We stopped before the structure, and Azūmi turned me towards her. She tucked back some loose strands of hair and corrected my posture: shoulders back and down, chest up and out, stomach in, hips straight. She let out a breath, giving me a nod. "It's time," she whispered with a smile. She leaned over and pecked my forehead. "Good luck, Mira."

She straightened up, adorning an air of regality that I could only achieve in my dreams. All emotion was wiped from her face only for her to somehow create an aura of sublime contentment. She slid open the door before us and entered first.

I waited as she took her place beside the door, settling the instrument before her. The other priests had already gathered in the candlelit room, sitting one on each wall. Master Yūta was directly before me, his frail figure more reminiscent of an ancient oak than a withered stem in this moonlight. He sat to the side of the offerings, the suzu bells resting in his palms. Akio was kneeling on my left, mouth open as he took slow deep breaths. Yori rested on my right, no mirth upon his sealed lips. Both had their heads slightly bowed, bodies rigid, waiting.

They'll be your komainu, I remembered Azūmi's explanations. They'll be your guardians.

I took a deep breath as Azūmi played the first few frail notes, signaling the start of the ceremony.

You're a wolf, I told myself. You're the daughter of Ōkami.

I lifted my chin and stared straight ahead as I stepped into the haiden. My hakama hissed as it trailed behind me, the only sound in the night. My stride was slow, steady. With each step, I let my momentum roll over me like a wave, letting it prompt my next step.

I stopped before Master Yūta, lowering into a kneel to accept the sacred bells from him. I kept my eyes lowered, but I knew his eyes were upon me. There was a pause – a slight hesitation – before he returned my bow with a lowering of his head. He lifted the bells and placed it in my palms. I bowed once more and rose onto two, steady feet.

Azūmi struck another chord behind me, and the Kagura was begun.

Limbs straight. Movements slow. Arms lift. Hands roll here. The bells tinkled. Turn to the south. Dip. These were the thoughts that raced through my mind through a dance that was supposed to be effortless. At least, it should appear so.

Azūmi continued to strum through the first section of the music, the prelude she had called it. I continued to sway, growing more and more conscious of the fact that nothing was happening. I kept my face clean of emotion, but I nearly tripped on a turn. Focus, I snapped at myself. Twist. Raise the right hand. Lower the left. Turn. Raise the leg.

My hands began to tickle as they grew sweaty, the suzu bells proving heavier than I had realized. I kept my gaze forward and swayed to the tune as my palms began to itch. It was only when they began to ache that I realized something was happening.

Excitement flared in my stomach as I broke tradition and snuck a glance down at my fingertips. I didn't see anything – just sweaty palms and those golden bells – but I swear I could feel something. It was heavy and sharp, like nails clawing at my skin or icy waters tearing at my nerves.

My mind froze. I recognized that feeling. I shook myself out of my realization, grateful to realize that somehow, muscle memory had kicked in and kept me moving.

Testing my theory out, I put a thought into my next step – a gentle mental prodding as I flicked my wrist. The bells chimed, but its noise couldn't mask the rash gust of wind that blew through the haiden. The candles were extinguished, cloaking us in a dark that even the moonlight couldn't penetrate.

I was in the cave. If I turned my head – if I lost this focus – I'd return to the haiden. But before me was the dark.

Mother?

I didn't hear if Azūmi kept playing. I didn't care. I was dimly aware that I continued the Kagura, imbuing each movement with a thought, a force. But below that, within my mind's mind, I was entering the cave. I could feel those cosmic tendrils latch onto my skin, actually feel them. With every movement I made, they shivered, fluttered, echoed.

I became the Dark. I was in control. For the first time since I had left the ancient wood, I could bend these forces as easily as I could breathe. The Kagura had shaken off the weight of reality. I could feel existence wash over me, past me, as if I were a stone in a river. As I settled within my consciousness, I whispered, 'Mother?'

A voice wasn't what answered back. In this place, there was no such thing as a voice. No such thing as a form. How it answered me, I can't explain. All I knew was that it felt like my very soul was being crushed – my very existence being taken from this world. Those tendrils turned on me, gouged into me, tightening, suffocating, yanking and dragging.

I clawed at the energy, tried to control it, distort it, direct it, but it was impossible; there was something else there, something else controlling the threads. And it was suffocating me with them. I was falling deeper into the fabric of eternity. There was no way out. I was lost. I was dying. I was nothing. I was everything.

Something seared into the back of my neck, ripping past the skin and tearing into my spine. I yelped and tried to pull away, but I had no power here. Primal pain – that inner agony which makes one wince as they see another ripped to shreds – filled my existence. Whatever it was snapped even more viciously into my neck, and I could feel my soul compacting, smashing into itself to form something semi-solid. I could sense myself in that chaos now, actually define my edges.

I had been torn from the Darkness, but I hadn't returned to the light. Sensing a foreigner, the raging Pitch began to snap around my form, encircling me, crouching, readying itself to erase the outsider.

I was rocking on the precipice of insanity.

No, I was hanging above it. And something holding me there like an eagle raking its talons into a flea.

'You.' The message exploded within me, cracking my spirit. The entity lifted me higher, and I dangled there before its essence. I had no idea what it was, but I knew what it wasn't. This wasn't Mother. This was something else. Something terrifying. Something nightmares were born from.

Master Yūta had once asked me what it was like to look at a kami. I didn't answer him. Not that night at least. It had taken a few days; I tried to find the right descriptions, the right verbs, only to realize that it was the human language lacking, not me. I figured out the best metaphor for it as I sat in my branch above the pond, dipping my toe into its cold depths, and watching ripples be born.

"It's like trying to find a reflection in breaking water," I had told him. "It's hard at first. You squint. You can't focus. You get a headache. But eventually, your eyes get used to it and you start to see something. A reflection of what's actually there, but still something."

That's what I had said, and I thought I was right. I wish I had been too. Now, I knew that I had been staring at my fantasies for too long; I had begun to think that that's how the kamigami really looked, how they really were. I realized my mistake now. As I dangled there, I was looking up, away from the reflection and at the real thing. Freeing myself from a fantasy, I was torn apart by the reality.

This was the true form of a kami.

'You,' it shattered again. The being held me there, keeping the gnashing Pitch at bay, keeping me above the abyss of madness. 'You are not ready.'

It let go.