From a young age, Sora Hashi was hardly the most sociable boy. From all his parents' efforts to teach him respect, their lesson of quiet observation was engrained the deepest. Through all his classes and life, he found himself thinking louder than he spoke and watching more than he did.
Such a lesson was hardly unreasonable, however. As the child of the local shrine's groundskeepers, a level of reverence was required. Nobody wants a disrespectful caregiver for their ancestors in life, so why tolerate one in death? Having reached his greying years, Hashi simply wished for the same.
Most days, his quiet was reciprocated by the humble cemetery. Only during rare visits and celebrations would the resting place regain life. Quietly cleaning graves and trimming grass, Hashi became acutely aware of any breaks in monotony. Whenever an unfamiliar figure approached the cemetery, the tweeting of birds would quiet, the faint buzzing of flies would grow ever so slightly louder, and the subtle swishing of clothes would accompany the near-imperceptible brushing of leaves.
Often, Hashi would greet his unexpected guests, if only to remind would-be vandals of his watching eye. Other times, he would watch sympathetic vigil as the guests paid their respects. As the red light of the setting sun approached, he would return to his small home, hidden by shrubbery behind the cemetery grounds. During the darker hours, guests would avoid the dreary plot of gravestones.
On a humble New Year's night, Hashi laid in bed. Idly, he mused how much longer his old bones would remain above the cemetery grounds. Discarding his morbid thoughts, he listened to the quiet darkness outside.
Suddenly, the crowing of birds cut out.
Creeping out of bed, Hashi prepared to scare off the thrillseeker who'd chosen to spend their night causing trouble instead of celebrating with their family. The buzzing seemed to grow in volume as he put a jacket over a nightgown and grabbed a lantern.
As he opened his door and crept through the thin trail to the cemetery, the lantern bathed Hashi's surroundings in a warm orange glow. The final layer of shining underbrush was passed, and the graveyard grounds were revealed. Instead of a spray paint-wielding intruder, Hashi found himself looking over a hunched figure.
A short walk closer, and the ornately dressed girl showed no reaction. As if entranced by the grave before her, feverish purple eyes swept over each character.
Ayako Fuwa.
Aoi Fuwa.
Asagi Fuwa.
Ai Fuwa.
Again and again, the eyes refused to look anywhere else. Reddening with unblinking effort, tears began to flow down the girl's face. Finally, as if doing so would spirit away the gravestone, she blinked.
With it, her glazed eyes regained a level of awareness. Ripping her focus from the gravestone to Hashi, she grabbed a concerningly authentic scabbard. Just as suddenly, her stance lost all tension and her hands fell down, past the blade's handle.
"You… are no musician. Are you?"
With the tender cautiousness one would use to approach a wild animal, Hashi bent down, placing his lantern on solid ground. Folding his arms in front of him, such that they were visibly encumbered, he responded.
"I'm afraid not."
"That's… good."
With that simple exchange, the swordswoman returned to her feverous trance. Hashi simply stood next to her, a quiet companion to her mourning.
Soon, his old lantern flickered with effort, breaking the pair's silent spell. The girl rose from her prone position and Hashi turned around to lift the ancient lamp. As he turned back around, a farewell on the tip of his tongue, the old grave keeper found an empty cemetery. Somehow, the mourner had vanished.
Exhaustion surpassing the rousing of mystery, Hashi decided it would be best to return home. As he laid in bed, his dreams were filled with cloudy, burning eyes.
For the rest of the season, Hashi saw no such visitor. Only the vividness of the memory kept him from dismissing the interaction as a strange dream. Whenever he felt doubt, he would look over the grave.
Ayako Fuwa.
Aoi Fuwa.
Asagi Fuwa.
Ai Fuwa.
So long as those names sat legible, the girl would remain real.
However, reality's mysteries took a second stage to reality's responsibilities, of which the new season brought many. With the vivid life of spring came the growing of plants and the intrusion of fresh weeds. Along with these challenges to maintenance, Hashi's adjacency to the nearby shrine found him setting up road markers for the Flower Festival. Every year, passionate runners would race to the top of the mountain in the hopes of a granted wish.
With all the preparations done and all the cemetery's traffic having been refocused toward the shrine, Hashi sat alone. Relaxing under a bright sun, he basked in the solitary peace.
Once more, muted bird calls foretold a visitor. Looking up from where he rested, Hashi noted that a familiar grave was visited. In stark contrast to her former grim stare, the girl now revealed unending regret. Her teary eyes were glazed with unspoken apologies.
Picking up a bouquet he'd been given for his help, Hashi wandered to the tortured girl. As she faced him, her eyes seemed to beg for unneeded forgiveness. In a vain attempt at placating the girl, he offered her the flowers. Grasping at the flowers with desperate delicacy, she laid them in front of the grave. A small eternity later, she croaked a quiet question.
"Was it wrong to stop them?"
Puzzled, but wishing to help, Hashi probed for a greater understanding.
"Stop them from what?"
The girl looked down helplessly as if forced to reveal a dirty secret.
"They tried to take… from the runners… Their happiness… would've been cheated."
Hashi stroked his grey beard, piecing the story together from the stuttered sentences he had been afforded.
"A person's memory is made all the sweeter by the good they have done. You chose to keep their legacy untainted. Every wrong you stopped in their life has lessened their burden in death."
The mourning girl looked up at Hashi, uncontrolled tears rolling all the faster. Finally, her sobbing subsided. Having found the answer she needed, the girl gave a short appreciative bow and walked off.
Curiosity reignited by their second meeting had Hashi shuffling through various records. Finally, he found his answer; a short obituary for the Towa family, whose members had all died various gruesome deaths. Greater research told quite a haunting story. Less than a year ago, their bodies had been discovered maimed, shredded, ripped, or burnt. The only remaining member of their family had gone missing, suspected to have suffered a similar fate to the rest of her kin. Her name was Akane.
Resolving himself for their next meeting, Hashi waited.
Finally, with the coming of a new year, she arrived. Eyes softened by the presence of flowers on her family's grave, Akane afforded him a small nod before her mourning. Eventually, Hashi found the courage to speak up.
"You are Akane, correct?"
The girl jolted as she sat, as if unprepared to hear her name. Slowly, she turned a hesitant head toward him.
"I… am?"
Her response was unsure, warped by over a year of isolation. Taxed by the effort of remembering, her head fell to the side.
"If you don't mind me asking, where are you staying?"
"I… am… I… I… am not."
Akane began to shake as Hashi held his arms up in an attempt to placate her. After a painful few minutes of silence such that Akane could recover, Hashi returned to his questioning. Even as he asked it, Hashi almost didn't want to know.
"If you are not living anywhere, how are you finding food?"
"I… don't need to. We… we didn't… didn't need to. Because of her."
Suddenly, Akane was looking through Hashi, at something he couldn't see. Blinded by hate, she seemed to snarl the rest of her rambling response.
"The Musician. None of us are human. None of us live. Because of her."
A sharpened hatred forced her words back to clarity, spiteful rage reignited by an unknown trigger. Snapping back to hazy passivity, Akane looked toward her family's grave.
"I will… find her. I will show her… what she did. The Musician will see… what they had to see. Goodbye."
Between blinks, she was gone.
Frightened by the girl's madness, Hashi felt that a night's rest was well deserved. He would find the girl next spring. Perhaps, he could even bring her some semblance of help.
Spring came and went without Akane's regular visit. At first, Hashi felt worried. Soon, however, he found a peaceful hope within himself. Maybe, just maybe, Akane found what she needed once and for all. And so he wandered past the quiet gravestones, wondering what lives their names hinted at.