A/N: Hello everyone, thank you for following along to my story. Special shout out to my beta reader for all your help! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Take care of yourselves out there!

Chapter 5

There was once a time when sanctuaries were revered as holy places, where the gifted and giftless could go to pay respects to Eibin. The only offering necessary was a flower — any flower — whether snipped from a garden, or plucked from a field. Those passing by need only to place the flower on the steps of a sanctuary. Otherwise, those wanting a blessing would have to stand in queue. The process was simple: present the flower to one of Eibin's Voices, and receive a blessing in return.

Of course, not just anyone could become one of Eibin's Voices; it was a birthright. Only those born with a particular gift — a gift of control with the use of words — could wear the white and silver robes of the sanctuaries, and it was law that children born with this gift were to be surrendered immediately. These children were often separated from their parents at birth, easily discernible by their first cry, which sounded like that of a bell, or chime, dangling in the wind.

It was understood that a mother and father would be reluctant to part from their newborn, no matter the prestige, and so parents were also given a heavy sum of gold to ease their hesitation. These children would then be brought to the nearest sanctuary, given a name, and raised by other Voices. As holy beings, they needed no earthly ties outside of the sanctuaries, and disposable things like parents and siblings were not to be discussed. When old enough to speak, daily training would occur, ranging from etiquette to foreign languages, until the child was independent enough to practice on their own. They then would be trained to use the gift of their voice.

To use their gift, learners were taught two parts.

The first was to grasp the mind. In order to do so, the learner was taught to picture a glowing orb — this symbolized the human mind. After the image was solidified, the learner could then imagine reaching toward this orb and holding it in their own hand. The tighter the grip, the stronger the effect of their voice would be. Of course, learners were told that there would be some instances when the mind could not be held, specifically if the other party rejected the touch hard enough — stronger minds were always known to be harder to clutch. However, once grasped, the learner could then move on to the second part: speaking.

This second part was simple. The commands had to be spoken aloud. Simply thinking about the words would do nothing; there had to be sound. Interestingly enough, language was important as well — it was easier to control the mind of a person who spoke the same language. As a rule, learners were only allowed to say one blessing at a time, and that blessing had to make the other party feel positive emotions. Feel was an important word. Voices were not allowed to tell another person to act — to do something. Negative emotions were also strictly not allowed, and learners who did so would be punished severely.

…All of this was taught in a series of seven courses, structured to be completed within three years. And, once finished, assignments would be made for each new Voice, with some to be relocated in areas where help was needed.

Like the rest of the Voices, Shizuru herself had been raised in such a Sanctuary. Just outside of Fuuka's capital, in a meadow brushed with purple blossoms, the Head Sanctuary of her childhood had once brimmed with life.

And even now, far removed in time and distance, she found herself dreaming of its halls and the lessons there, and the flowers — always the flowers…

A small hand reached down and held the thin, green stems of violet blooms. They broke easily, and the girl gathered them into her arms with the rest of those she had plucked. It was nearly enough for a bouquet, and she nodded to herself, deciding that this would be enough. Although she found herself a bit too enamored with these beautiful things, she was also a reasonable child, and felt it would be a shame to pull any more than was needed. Thus, with a trained smile, she made her way back to the sanctuary.

It was an exciting day, especially for her. All members of the sanctuaries around Fuuka would be gathered this morning for a ceremony of independence, where children who passed their training would be able to start practicing. Even the Master Scholar would be attending the ceremony later on — he had been studying their powers for quite some time now — and his son, Reito, would be there too. She had come to befriend the boy, and Reito had promised to bring her a bunch of wild flower seeds as a parting gift.

Shizuru had finally completed the last of her classes and would be sent away with the one who raised her, whom she affectionately called her cousin, to a sanctuary in a small town near the sea. It had been her dream to see the sea. In fact, she was so tickled with excitement, she couldn't help but to nearly run — which, she knew, was something considered unsightly by her teachers, and would have cost her a full day of washing linens if it were seen. But, she ran anyway, and only stopped when she reached the great hall.

The hall for this particular sanctuary was grand, for it was the Head Sanctuary, and was made to house thousands. Unsurprisingly, it was here that Shizuru had been brought up. She was especially proud of this, and, as with every time she neared its doors, she whispered a little prayer — something like a song; a homecoming.

When she opened the door, she saw her cousin standing at the head of the altar. His hair shone like golden silk in the light, and he had a smile so serene the whites of his teeth showed. She opened her mouth to call for him, to show him what she had found and to hear his praise — but stopped with a thought: the scene in front of her wasn't quite right, was it?

Why, she thought, all those rows and rows of benches hadn't been cleaned properly; they looked sticky. And why did everyone in their seats have some sort of red on their robes? It was a special event, everything should have been in order — and the audacity of the two older boys in her classes! This wasn't a game, how dare they take a nap on the floor. She looked at their heads, which were turned so their noses pointed up to the ceiling. Then she saw their faces.

She began to tremble uncontrollably. The primal instinct of her muscles understood something that a child raised in the shelter of meadows could not.

Her cousin stood still at the altar, and she looked to him for help; but when his eyes met hers for the first time, she noticed the blood speckled across his wide grin.

The flowers dropped from her arms.

What was that?

She felt the shadow of something against her thoughts — was it her cousin? Was that him tugging on the edges, trying to hold her mind?The feeling grew stronger now, and she watched as his lips began to move, as if to speak — as if to kill.

She was seized by the terror of a trapped rabbit; the urge to fight back, to rip and tear in any way she could, and beneath it, all at once — a deadly calm. She had only ever used her voice in training, but she knew she could win — just how many times had they praised her as a prodigy? She was smarter, more brilliant than the rest of them.

If she just grasped his mind faster — yes, just like that — and if only her words fell first — she opened her mouth with a curse on her tongue — she would win.

She must win.

And she did.

Her cousin hadn't managed to utter a sound when she finished her words. He looked at her blankly, that smile still on his lips, and she watched as he turned to face the altar. Oh, how quiet it was. How still, like a painting.

But it didn't last long. The silence was shattered quickly when he unceremoniously brought his head down, and smashed it repeatedly against the altar.

Thump.

Thump.

The thumping thinned into rapping, and Shizuru sat up on the bed, holding her throat with one hand. Her skin felt hot as if she was burning, and she felt sweat on the back of her neck. She looked toward the window. What time was it? The sky was still a little dark.

From the other side of the bedroom door, Jin's voice sounded. "The plan has changed. You must leave now."

With haste, Shizuru gathered her things, slipped daggers into her pockets, and strapped on the cloak. She headed down the stairs like a shadow. Everything in the house had been emptied. Only the table remained, and there seemed to be a sheen of dirt across the top of it, as if it had been sitting there untouched for a very long time.

When she headed out the door, she was greeted with the image of the elderly man and Natsuki, who was already seated on the horse. Shizuru cursed herself quietly. This was uncharacteristic of her. Even in her sleep, she should have heard them get up. In fact, she should have been the first one out the door. She felt unwell.

Jin smiled knowingly at her and said, "Don't be too hard on yourself — you had a rough night." He paused. "You were screaming in your sleep." The elderly man had a straw hat in his hands, and he waved it before placing it atop his head. "Well then, go quickly, and you'll make it to Orran safely — at least that's what I'm told. Unfortunately, we won't be meeting again." He nodded toward them. "The best of luck."

He left soon after that.

Shizuru took the reins of the horse and pinched the bridge of her nose gently. A headache pounded near her ears, sharp and painful. The horse shifted to the side, and the reins grew taut at the movement. Shizuru looked up. Natsuki's face was as cold as ever, but her gaze was searching, and her eyebrows furrowed slightly as if concerned.

Whether the woman's concern was for Shizuru herself, or for the fact that this supposed 'bodyguard' looked as waifish as a ghost, Shizuru did not know. But it didn't matter to her, either way; she wasn't in the mood for sentimental feelings.

Shizuru stepped forward quickly, and the horse followed with a trot.

Without the lamps lit, it would have been pitch black.

A sheer white divider stood tall in a quiet room, separating two figures. What little light there was showed the magnificence of the place — red walls painted with flowers of gold, and shining, green pillars stood strong, running from an expansive height down to the ground.

On one side of the divider, a man sat on a throne with his back as straight as a rod. His body was covered with layers of luxurious silks, and both his hands laid flat against the arms of his seat. And, on the other side, a large man dressed in leather armor knelt on one knee. His head was lowered and his eyes were trained on the wooden flooring.

The kneeling man's name was Ro. As the second-born son in his family, he was destined to be a scholar; but his older brother had fallen ill as a child, bedridden for years, and had never quite healed. Thus, it was Ro who now represented the fifth generation of accomplished generals. His face was tan and leathered, and his hair thick and black.

"Your Majesty Kuga," the general greeted, bowing deeply to the silhouette of the man sitting behind the paper divider.

"What news have you?" The voice of Fuuka's king was strong and proud; each word enunciated sounded full and deep.

"My men are working on putting out what's left of the fires at the Star Palace. With good fortune it was caught early; the main building still stands. The remains of the Third Queen were found, confirmed dead. We are investigating. The servants and guards have been rounded up and will be questioned thoroughly."

"And what about the Healer?"

"He was interviewed earlier. His story was that he was on his way to the Moon Palace when the fire took place. He was going to prepare powders from the medicinal herbs he grew in the gardens there. A few have stepped forward to vouch for him."

The silhouette of the King shifted, as if the man was now leaning his chin against a bent wrist. "Tell me about the girl. From the last time your men have failed, has anything taken place since?"

Ro looked down at his grisled hand. He had a total of four full fingers, and a stub where his pinky would have been. For such a simple task, his team's earlier attempt to kill the princess had gone disappointingly awry. They had found their men dead near Moon Lake days too late. His Majesty had been surprisingly merciful, and Ro was only punished by having his pinky cut off. So, feeling unworthy of such kindness, this time the general was determined to set things right.

"When the Third Queen's room was consumed in the fire, it revealed a hidden space underneath the bed, also burnt. In that crawl space we discovered another woman's body. We suspect she had been trapped by the flames, unable to escape. Her face had been charred. We had the body examined, and it was determined that her age, height, and bone structure matched that of the princess."

The King's silhouette straightened rigidly at the words, and when his low voice sounded, it was lined with a hint of disgust, "How could this be? Was it not you that told me the girl had not been located? Yet, here she was the entire time."

Ro thought to himself. How could this be, indeed. Besides the bodies of his dead men, they could not find a trace of the princess at Moon Lake. Only a few of his trusted guards even knew about this scheme, and they were all sworn to secrecy. Everyone else was told that the princess would be touring the lands, and would not be back for a few moons yet. So, how did the princess reappear in the palace, and who had been hiding her? Just how many in the Star Palace knew?

Ro was under the impression that it had to be more than just a few; he would find out during the interrogations.

"Is there anything else?" the King spoke again, his words falling heavy.

The general hesitated for a moment. "No, your Majesty," Ro answered. It wasn't exactly a lie, there was nothing of importance found yet, but the general had caught wind of a strange happenstance. One of his informants had witnessed the sight of a figure cloaked in gold, traveling on a horse near Tago. Tago was a resting place for many across the region, and the town had seen odder, more bizarre wanderers than this. Had it been any other time he would have thought nothing of it, but there was a feeling in his gut that told him something was off. So, he had sent some of his fastest men to look into the matter.

The King seemed to ponder for a moment. "When morning arrives, send messengers to the largest cities to inform them of the Third Queen's passing, as well as that of the princess. Dispose of the princess's remains at Moon Lake as soon as possible. I want this settled quickly." His silhouette waved curtly. "Now leave me. I need to rest."

"Yes, your Majesty." Ro kept his kneeling form, turned around, and stood up. He didn't dare look back.

It was only at the first signs of light — when the scattered clouds above moved meekly with a pinkish hue — that Shizuru needed to stop. She had led them to an inconspicuous path amongst the trees, and now, in the deep brush, found herself leaning on the bark of an old cedar. So much for a good night's rest, Shizuru thought wryly, letting her eyelids drop. She pressed a hand against her forehead, feeling the misty sheen of sweat, and exhaled. Her head hurt. How embarrassing.

When she opened her eyes, she found her gaze fixed near the base of the tree, where a patch of flowers — moonlits — sprouted. They grew bundled together in a batch of blueish white, reminding her of the bouquet in her dream. She sank down to a crouch and brushed her fingertips against the tops of them, finding a bit of pleasure as the blooms bobbed at the pressure, until another sharp ache filled her head.

Shizuru hadn't felt this ill since she was a child. She had been training to use her voice at the time, and had accidentally grasped a mind so hard the man had vomited afterward. She had hidden in the closet near the great hall, and it was her cousin who had found her.

Don't fret, he had coaxed her, after she had told him how awful she felt. It doesn't make you a bad person.

He told her that all those feelings were normal, that she would come to face them again and again — and that every moment of pain made her better. After all, didn't the Mother herself endure the agony of thirteen sleepless nights in order to sculpt the five kingdoms? Didn't beautiful Eibin shed his blood and tears to grow the land? Perfection cannot exist without anguish; she could not exist without suffering — for she was born a holy child, and it's those closest to Eibin that tend to hurt the most.

She had held those words dear to heart, and clutched them even closer the day she had spilled her first blood. For weeks after her cousin's killing, she had lived in near solitude, save for the help she sought from Reito in order to survive. Everyday was the same routine — the same prayers, the same nightmares. Everyday she would wake up not quite knowing what day it was, or what time, or even who she was. All she knew was that she was still good — still good, and she held that thought like a lifeline.

Then one morning, at the same time, in the same routine, she awoke with the same nightmare — yet, this time, in the echoes of her cousin's skull cracking against stone, she felt something splinter inside of her. It so happened that on this same day, at a different time, right after she had whispered a prayer, that she found a strange dot of black blotting the gift mark on her arm. All at once, like air leaving the inside of a pierced lung, the weeks of nothingness collapsed within her.

She had laughed, and her arm began to burn.

Ah.

Shizuru felt a crunch in her hand, like paper folding, and she blinked, as if waking from a daze. Her eyes moved to a crumpled petal in center of her palm, and she realized she had been crushing the moonlits. Along the base of the trunk, one by one, their blooms drooped, as if to weep.

For an instant, Shizuru imagined the hand of her cousin on her shoulder, whispering in her ear as he often did in the past. Careful, Shizuru. Moonlits are special. Moonlits were the first flowers Eibin grew — and these common blooms were known to play a large part in maintaining the health of the land. Foliage that grew near these flowers tended to be larger, and more hardy. In areas without moonlits, plant growth would often stagnate, and sometimes even die off.

At the base of the tree where the woman crouched, there was only one moonlit left intact, and Shizuru couldn't help but to wrap her fingers around it. She paused for a moment, eyes flickering with turmoil, and she wondered how much the tree would suffer if she crushed it — if, perhaps, the bark would mold and rot in front of her eyes. She almost wanted to see the sight, and thought about tightening her grip.

Then another hand, one not belonging to herself, darted out to grasp her wrist. "Don't."

For a moment, Shizuru was stunned. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she had forgotten that she was not alone. She glanced over her shoulder, and found Natsuki staring back at her with an expression teetering on annoyance.

Shizuru's red eyes flicked back to her hand. When Natsuki had taken hold of her wrist, it caused her to inadvertently close her hand in a fist. She unraveled her fingers, revealing a mess of petals in her palm. Oh.

Shizuru raised a brow and gave the dark-haired girl a light, accusing smile. "You spooked me."

At the sight of the flower, Natsuki's expression changed. She seemed more annoyed at first, then bit her lip, coloring lightly with regret, and dropped her hand from Shizuru's wrist. Shizuru felt the corners of her own lips pull a little higher; she had a few words on the tip of her tongue to say, but stopped when the other woman moved.

Natsuki knelt down, and as her knees brushed the ground, she gently dug her hand into the soil in front of her. The rich dirt was slightly moist, and the area where she touched left stains on her skin. Strands of dark hair trickled forward as the woman dipped her head down, her lashes falling on her cheeks, and she exhaled softly.

A sweet fragrance wafted gently in the air, filling the space between them. Shizuru felt a chill where the scent wrapped around her. What's this? The grass near Natsuki's hand seemed to pulse then, and Shizuru's red eyes fixed on the moonlits. The crumpled petals began to shed, falling to the floor — and then, as if with an unearthly glow, the flowers began to regrow. First, as green buds, then larger and larger until the blooms unraveled, bursting with those pure, white petals.

When all was done, Shizuru felt something swell inside her, as if she had been drowning and just now allowed to breathe. How beautiful. She turned to Natsuki with a newfound interest in her eyes. "Had I known you had such a gift, I would have asked to see it sooner."

Natsuki retracted her hand, barely making a sound to acknowledge what Shizuru had said. The scrutinizing gaze of those red eyes seemed to make the girl uncomfortable, and she stood up and walked away, defaulting back to a stoic expression.

Shizuru watched Natsuki reach out to stroke the horse's neck, and dropped her gaze back to the newborn flowers. She traced one with her fingertips, and as she watched it dip at the pressure, her lips slowly curved into a smile