- Mukashi, Mukashi!

The witch was dancing on the stage. Above her, the paper round was dancing. Crimson and charcoal, the cloud hummed as it took turns. It brought gusts of wind with its moves, which sliced through the crowd, bringing smells of burning to our nostrils.

Beneath the white mask of the mage rose her voice, dark and sententious:

- He rose from the depths of the Earth in a cloud of crimson flames! Came the Akashiki!

A gong behind the stage shook our eardrums and the air in our lungs. The origami swirl gathered, became a volcano. Then the cloud erupted in a black flare.

- It burst into the world, slicing through the mountain, unsealing the underworld! Came the Akashiki!

The eruption morphed into a huge dark figure, a katana in his hand.

- He soared into the heavens, brandishing a blade of destruction! Came the Akashiki!

The flights of papers collided violently, unfolding the image of a gigantic and hideous demon. A titanic stature, haloed by a malignant fire. The blade glinted in the sunlight, formed by rows of lined up white sheets. The gong sounded again, the koto going wild. After the origami, it was a long silk ribbon that escaped from the witch's robe. The dragon of treads, pure blue, stretched into space.

- It stood, all powerful, in front of the bridge between the land of Men and Kamis. Came the rage of the Akashiki.

The monster slammed its weapon edge into the bridge of azure. The fabric seemed to resist at first, then twisted and sliced cleanly. The gong sounded once more, the notes of the koto pouring down. The scarf disintegrated into charred splinters. The witch's song turned into a cry of agony.

- Hakaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii...

The show wasn't fiction. It was history, the story of how the world was ruined. The Akashiki razed Japan, broke the bridge between Heaven and Earth. Silent in the square, in our minds, we recalled the Collapse, the earthquake. Our old world had ended.

The witch was just catching her breath. After a gasp for air, the events continued to unfold from her throat. Another giant stood in the sky, dressed in red and flames, crowned by the sun. Amaterasu. Guardian of the day, patroness of Men. Their battle made the sky tremble and the stars waver. Amaterasu defeated the demon. Perfidious, he struck a final blow to her head. The blade of embers melted the face of the goddess. Origami-sama let out a cry of pain and anger, so powerful that tears came to my eyes. The divine incarnation of the sun crumpled to her knees, burned by a fire stronger than her own. The black being, weakened but alive, fled.

- Half-dead, he roamed across the world to regain his strength. The demon contaminated waters, crawled through the soil, corrupted spirits, burned villages, rotted crops. In furnace of its breath, he swept away our efforts to rebuild. Thus came the Akashiki!

Desolation spread in his wake, and evil spirits awoke. Silhouettes stood up to him, vainly at first. Then months passed in the story and the figures multiplied, gathering behind another giant in formation. Two paper storms faced each other, one as white and pure as the other was black and spoilt.

- Finally. Oh, mighty protector of life, guardian of cities and waters. The magician with the purifying hand. Came Yamatogami!

The two clouds hurled themselves at each other in roaring waves. Each trying to swallow the other, taking turns to the upper hand. A black arm rose up, its sword of blazes extending from it. He brought it down again. Yamatogami didn't break like the bridge. He didn't burn like Amaterasu under the scorching assaults. It wrapped itself around the blade, which creaked under the pressure. Cracks appeared, extended. In another gong slam, the paper simile fell to pieces, each twirling leaf a shard of the broken katana. Victory was Yamato's, but the Akashiki continued the desperate fight. Soon enough, only a white swell reigned over our heads, the maelstrom subdued back to a calm sea. The scent of char disappeared. Origami-sama, still singing the epic ode, concluded the act on these words:

- So many blasphemous cinders extinguished by ice. So much brurning hatred smothered by bravery. The demon fell to dust, his blade destroyed, his wrongs condemned. Thus triumphed Yamatogami, new protector of Men in the absence of the Guardian of the Sun. Thus was Akashiki defeated and his evil spark forever blown away!

000

The city burns.

Kokonashi is burning.

Desolation is upon us.

Flocks of letters swarm in the heights of the city and face the carnage. They scatter in all directions and Hinami catches one on the fly. She squints at the barely visible characters.

- Origami-sama tells everyone to join her, in absolute urgency.

We exchange an anxious look.

- Go get Sora-sensei, wake up the others and go.

- What? And you, where are you going?

- To look for Shiro!

I am already running following the weak vibrations of the psychic links projected towards my friend.

At the first I saw, I didn't get it. I barely thought of a shadow amongst hundreds of others, a strange bush that I hardly glimpsed as I ran through the streets. I almost ran into a second one. I narrowly avoided it, and stumbled. He leaned over me as I got to my feet. I fled his touch with haste. I have the visceral conviction that a mere touch would mean my death. I turn away from his pasty shapelessness and his bulging, glazed eyes. I start running again, sobs of terror in my throat. I see them looming more numerous by the second. I hear their whispers from limbo, their gurgles of decay. If desolation is an oil slick, these Bourei, yuurei, akuryou and mononoke are the dead fish floating belly up on its surface. They are the pernicious, vengeful and contaminated spirits stuck in its pollution.

The smell of the specters becomes unbearable. I have to stop to vomit, my legs shaking.

The acidic stench in my throat is more bearable than the sulphury stench. I force myself to take a deep breath and then continue. Shiro is close by now. I find him by his favourite stream. He is kneeling among his friends, the little tree ghosts. He whispers to the drops of the stream, lifts the water from its bed, envelops the creatures in its current, one after the other. He has noticed me but refuses to break his concentration. The little spirits complexion is a dull grey. Some fade away in fumaroles, their Ki dissipated, despite the efforts of my companion. Others writhe in pain again as soon as he has finished healing them. There are more and more of them, deformed by tumours that grow like big putrid globules on their little ectoplasm.

Shiro cries, and struggles obstinately. His hands start to blacken too. I grab them, try to pull him away from this rotting undergrowth. I don't want to lose him. I can see that he doesn't have nearly enough magic to deal with this alone.

- Stop it! Stop it! You can't heal them all! There are Yomi creatures everywhere now. The whole town must be infected. You can't...

- Yes, I could! I could protect us all! I could as long as the witch didn't stick her nose in! We were hidden, Chihiro!

- The witch can help us escape!

- But it's all her fault! And she's a liar! Outside, it's been five years since the Collapse. Didn't you hear her stories? Do you want us to flee with her to Zenshou where humans and spirits barely tolerate each other? Or should we be taken to the Karasutan court and separated? The desolations of the Yomi are spreading everywhere and the purifying Kami are unable to cope. By breaking my barrier, she has exposed us to contamination, to interactions with the Yokai, and to the powers of kami of dubious intentions and strange influences.

It's a part of Shiro's descriptions that leaves me puzzled. He speaks of the other cities and villages as places of mutual fear and segregation. He is terrified of being forced apart from me. This is so contradictory to Sahaki-san's enthusiastic stories, or Origami-sama's peaceful and logical narratives.

- When the Kamigami lifted the veil, I used all my resources to recreate one. And I succeeded. I did nothing wrong. I did not deviate from my role as Tsukaima! I just wanted to protect us.

There's more, but we're running out of time. I' m running out of air already. The coaly dust sticking to my lungs. My head is spinning. The darkness on Shiro's palms begins to crawl up his arms. By proxi, I feel my own fingers go numb. Small spirits fall from trees and buildings, bursting to the ground with the sound of overripe fruits. Then the slimy puddles they leave on the tarmac collect thhemseles and reform. Behind an old hotel, I see the chilling silhouettes of Bourei approaching.

- Shiro, can you fight this desolation on your own?

- No, I can't.

Helplessness and anger.

- Can you rebuild the barrier.

- It is too late.

Fear and bitterness.

- What's the best option we have left?

He swallows.

- Flee with the witch's help to Zenshou, from where will be sent a brigade of mages and purifying spirits.

I nod:

- Let's get to safety first. Then I'm sure you and I can slip away in the confusion. Maybe with Hinami. We'll go wherever you want. We'll find a new...

Someone shouts from the side street. We recognize Riri's tone. Followed by a stream of insults and threats, like only Hinami can utter. Shiro's hand closes over me in a clamp. In the next dropping instant, he throws us in a gust of wind through the concrete maze. The stop is brutal. Shiro sweeps away most of the ghosts that surrounded the three children with the breath of our propulsion. The oldest teenager in the house is with them, holding Riri in his arms. He is livid.

- Yahito? Where are the others?

- In the square already! We'd be there too, if the girls hadn't been hanging around! But they were looking for you! What were you doing?

Hinami cut him off.

- Who cares! We're out of here!

She swing the branch she was using as a club across the head of one of the monsters, then sprint down the corridor that Shiro had cleared. We rush after her. I can see her keeping one arm folded and rigid against her chest.

We reach the square without a hitch, aggressive swarms of origami lashing out at the invaders in increasing numbers. We pass the cherry tree. Its buds are rotten and its branches are curling up. The crumbling glass tower has turned into an open fire. Behind the dance of its flames, the inhabitants form an organised panic. Origami-sama is sitting on her heels, chanting. She is at the top of her game. Sweat beads on her perfect forehead. Her straight eyebrows are furrowed with effort.

Simultaneously: inks speads on more and more sheets to form seals and spells. The seals fold up and become birds. The birds fly away and become swarms. The swarms rush through the city to repel the Desolation.

With one hand, she writes on other pieces that disappear into the distance, carrying messages of distress.

At last, her grey cloak peels away in a multitude of layers, and more and more spread out. The huge squares fold up into planes, butterflies or oversized lanterns with basket. A mage apprentice repeatedly orders them:

- To Zenshou! To Zenshou!

The giant origami then rise up in a supernatural wind and carry the humans away in groups of six to ten. They flee south, towards the other cities. Yahito speeds up, joining the other boys and Sora-sensei. Hinami falls before reaching them, next to the witch.

- Hinami!

She cradles her arm, shivering. Origami-sama opens one eye and stops singing for a moment.

- Was she touched?

- I think so?

- By what exactly?

- I...

Hinami holds out her hand to me. It's pale, skeletal and turns more transparent. Shiro takes control of it and starts to whisper in turn. It doesn't help, the evil progresses all the faster. Origami extends a limb in our direction and slaps my friend help away.

- Cover her with this instead!

She hands us a pile of painted seals. I stick them to Hinami's skin up to the elbow. I'm shaking as much as she is. I breathe in panicked jerks. I hold back another gag, the taste of bile still in my throat. She moans weakly. The witch's voice becomes panicked:

- That's not enough! Your rubber band! Quickly!

Without really understanding, I untie my hair. Rather, I pull out a handful as I remove the elastic. It falls in a messy curtain and I push it aside to see clearly. The purple tie shines. I've had it for almost five years, it has never left me. It has never been damaged. I thought I lost it once, only to find it mysteriously under my pillow the next day. I put it on Hinami's wrist and roll it up. It stretches when I think it would break. I jam it into the middle of her bicep and strangle the spreading pain. She takes a resuscitated breath and vomits. I push her head to the side so she doesn't choke.

There are still half of us left in the square. Opposite to us, the spirits are getting closer. They merge, absorbing each other in disturbing suction noises. They feed on the falling ashes, the decaying leaves. They inhale our fear, excited by our sobs. Our troubled Ki, on the verge of imbalance, attracts them all the more.

I step back with Hinami, who is slowly coming to her senses and stands bowlegged on wobbly knees. Shiro stays close to the witch and says:

- I will help you

She is at first surprised, then seems to be repulsed by the idea. He argues:

- Can you fight this desolation on your own?

- No, I can't.

- Will Zenshou's reinforcements arrive soon?

- Probably too late.

- What is the best option you have left?

- Get the civilians to safety first, push back the desolation while I can on my own. Until help arrives...

- You need my help.

She falls silent, and in assent, starts her incantations again. Hinami is evacuated at the next take-off. I am torn between leaving with her immediately or waiting for Shiro. The choice is made for me: there is no more room in the basket.

The next few minutes are sizzling in heat. The fires rise higher and higher. The light of the flames are blinding. The crowd diminishes with each flight, but not fast enough. We wait for the tengus and the Karasutan wizards, our stomachs in knots. After seeing to the departure of the others, Sora-sensei attempts to grab me by the collar and force me into an paper plane. The crowds movement carries her away in my place. I remain among the last dozen, watching Shiro. He has been sitting motionless next to Origami-sama for a while now. Finally, I see him reach out his left hand towards her. His left side... the one that wanders in amber shadows. His half turned towards the strange, the one from which his magic draws its source. From behind, I can only see his hair, full of blue reflections, coming to life like a bank of seaweed beaten by a violent current. He rests his palm on the shoulder of the witch who turns towards him in bafflement. He does not make contact with her. He simply gives her a little of us, a little of our Ki. This little shocks her deeply, but the moment is too fleeting for me to really read her expression.

Everything rushes forward in the next second.

Piles of papers explode, ink spraying in all directions. Their offensive redoubles. Seals are rammed into the face of every evil spirit by the dozen. Some weaken, others are momentarily purified.

Thirty copies of planes take shape with a loud clatter and prepare to take off.

Finally, the building's lights change in nature. The temperature rises so high that I can feel my face baking. The spells burst into flames halfway through and fall into ashes. Shiro and the witch bend over, receiving an unexpected counterattack. Something new, something even more evil, resists them. The flames in the glass tower are eaten away by other flames. These ones are animated by a demonic presence. They turn purple with an incongruous dark glaze. Origami-sama straightens up and moves back towards the others in movements devoid of her usual grace. Her make-up is smeared on her face by her sweat and sudden tears of terror.

- No...

A small figure gathers in the fire, becomes its heart and then devours it. His Ki forms a crackling aura of sparks around his charred body. He takes one step, and the whole city collapses. A second, and the asphalt under our feet cracks. The units enchanted by our two mages form flexible ramparts that hold back the rubble. Their paltry shields push the cement shards away from the vulnerable humans. The devastating apparition disappears for a moment in the smoke and slag. The witch creates a new round of seals, more complex than the previous ones. She desperately throws her net at the newcomer. He sweeps away her resistance with a backhand stroke of his fiery katana.

The Akashiki's gaze falls upon our group. Origami's incantations have turned into oaths and prayers, which she whispers in a trembling voice. She holds out a protective arm in front of the rest of us. The Akashiki tilts his head almost comically. But my lungs burn, my eyes are dried up, and my tears evaporate before they flow. I fall to my knees in agony, on the verge of asphyxiation. He is going to slice us up and incinerate us.

The demon takes another step forward when a page slaps him from the side. Despite the black spots that waltz before my eyes, I can identify Shiro as the thrower. I subconsciously reach out to him, struck by his action. He stands by the corpse of the cherry tree, his charred arms stretched out in front of him. He holds the spell as long as possible, prevents it from catching fire. With slow movements, the Akashiki tries to remove the seal stuck to his chest. It takes more strength than he expected. He pulls on the corner and Shiro's Ki resists. Yet, hope dies quickly.

The demon rips off the leaf and then watches it fall to shreds for a second. He then turns in a questioning attitude to my friend. I pray, I pray to all the gods. I wish with all my heart to see the kamigami fall from the sky at this moment and save us.

- Shiro, go away.

Over the din of the rockslides and the howl of the flames, my voice is mute. Shiro moves away from the remains of the tree and crouches down. I feel it as if I was doing it with him : he is gathering magic. Shiro is a mystery, keeping secrets and barriers in his heart, embedded in his pearl, beyond my reach. He lets me see, through our bond, one of those imposing doors, which he finally opens. The Ki roars around him and runs through him.

The place is thunderstruck, a sharp light blind us as the sound of impact resonate. The cherry tree is now just a huge torch. The Akashiki has leapt aside. Its blade now planted in the magma of the vaporized ground, where the white spirit stood a glimpse of time before.

I look up to the sky. A small white snake with claws, pink scales in the glow of the flames, brown mane with red highlights, taunt the Akashiki from above. It hisses to the wind and runs away in a blast. The Akashiki lets out a shriek that throws us to the ground, takes our breath away and shatters our eardrums. From its burnt back, wings of flames emerge. He spreads them out and propels himself, in pursuit of the dragon.