Chapter 1

1

ECHOES OF A SILENT VOID

MATSUI KENZAN

The bruises on my arm had yet to fade as I gently washed my skin in the warm water. The servants averted their eyes as they poured more into the tub beside me. Holding back tears, I took a breath and dipped my entire body beneath the water, wanting to cleanse everything down to my soul before I broke through the surface again.

Arranged marriages were never a guarantee for the parties involved, other than the alliances and relations strengthened between the agreeing families. In my case, the promise of unity and peace had been overshadowed by the reality of my personal sacrifice and the expectations placed upon me .

My husband, though courteous in public, had a temperament that shifted behind closed doors. It was not an arrangement of love or understanding but of duty and power. The scars left on my body were a testament to the rift between the ideal and the real. The water swirled around me, a silent witness to my struggles and the dissonance between my hopes and the harsh truth of my existence.

I exhaled deeply, letting the warmth of the water envelope me in a fleeting illusion of solace. My reflection danced on the surface, a fragile semblance of calm amid the turmoil. I closed my eyes, hoping that in time, the bruises would heal, both on my body and in my heart.

The warmth of the water was a small comfort, yet it did little to soften the heavy weight of what lay ahead. Each day seemed to stretch into an endless cycle of duty and solitude, punctuated only by brief moments of interaction with the servants who attended to my needs. Their presence was a stark reminder of my isolation; they were allowed to address me only when spoken to directly, their responses curt and measured, compliments of my husband's orders. They were instructed to offer no companionship.

The future, once a distant concept I could ponder with the innocence of youth, now loomed before me with an almost palpable dread. My marriage, designed to bind two families together, felt more like a chain around my own spirit. The halls and ornate rooms of my new home were empty echoes of a life I had hoped to build with mutual respect and possibly future affection. Instead, they were now a gilded cage, the promise of harmony and alliance turned into a reminder of my personal confinement.

As I lay in the tub, my thoughts drifted to the life I left behind. The freedom of my past seemed like a distant dream, a world I could no longer reach. My heart ached for the laughter and ease that had once marked my younger days, replaced now by the rigid constraints of my new reality.

The servants moved around me in silence, their actions efficient but devoid of warmth. They offered no words of comfort or encouragement, their roles clearly defined by the rigid protocols of the household.

"Has my husband called for me?" I dared to ask, knowing the silence of his presence weighed heavily in the house.

Their responses were clipped, their eyes cast downward. Even in moments when I wished for a fleeting exchange of kindness, their responses were confined to the bare necessities.

It was within these quiet moments that I allowed myself to grieve for the future I had envisioned and for the personal freedom that seemed so far beyond my grasp. The water around me began to cool, and with it, the fleeting illusion of peace began to fade.

As I emerged from the bath, the weight of my new reality felt more tangible in our traditional home's quiet, subdued evening. The servants wrapped me efficiently in a comfortable kimono, the fabric a small shield against the encroaching chill of my life. The reflection in the mirror showed a woman grappling with a future she hadn't chosen, her resolve still present but now shrouded in weariness. I placed my clasped hands in front of me, seeking comfort in its warmth. With a steady breath, I put one bare foot in front of the other.

The house was serene, the soft light of paper lanterns casting a gentle glow through the shoji screens. I approached the dining area cautiously, the tatami mats muffled my footsteps.

My husband was seated at the low wooden table, a stack of official documents laid before him, the calm of the room contrasting sharply with the intensity of his focus.

"Good evening," I whispered, trying to infuse warmth into my voice as I entered the room.

He looked up briefly over the glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose, his expression unreadable. "Evening."

Twenty-five years my senior, Asato Kenzan secured my hand by offering my father a robust business alliance and the assurance of sons. My mother never suspected his foul treatment and my father was too busy gloating about his new gains among his social circle to notice.

After all, I no longer belonged to him. I belonged to my husband now. It was after my second miscarriage that things began to change noticeably.

I settled onto the cushion across from him, the silence stretching between us. "Have you decided on your plans for tonight?"

He returned to his documents, his movements deliberate and methodical. "I have a series of briefings and preparations for tomorrow's engagements."

The distance between us was palpable, the tension in our relationship thick enough to slice through with a dull katana. "I was hoping I could..."

My voice trailed off as fear laced itself through me. He probably would not agree with a shopping outing, but I needed to continue the facade of a well-kept wife in order to keep everyone's eyes off the truth.

If I did not save face, who would?

He set down his calligraphy brush, his gaze meeting mine with a touch of weariness. "I have little time for personal matters. There are pressing issues that require my attention."

I kept my voice steady despite the chill in the air. "I understand that your responsibilities are significant, but?—"

He sighed, his shoulders tensing as he looked back at the documents. "Our roles are defined by duty. I have obligations that come with my position, and so do you."

His tone was firm, almost resigned, and it felt like a blade being dug into the middle of my chest at the clear reminder of my failures.

"You were aware of these demands when you chose this life," he added.

I was never given a choice. He knew that.

"I was aware of the responsibilities, but not the extra duties that would come with it," I replied softly, insinuating my duty to hide my bruises, knowing I possibly signed my own death warrant with my choice of words .

He met my gaze with a cold, detached look. "Sacrifices are necessary for the greater good. My position demands it. So must yours."

The finality in his tone left no room for further discussion. I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words. "Yes, husband."

I rose and moved toward the sliding doors leading to the garden, the tranquil beauty of the evening outside seemed to highlight the solitude of my situation. The serenity of the traditional home, with its simplicity and grace, stood in contrast to the emotional distance that had settled between us—between me and life.

Slipping into my getas, I made my way toward our garden and was immediately enveloped by the soft, golden light of the setting sun. The beauty of the scene was undeniable: flowers in full bloom, their colors vibrant and their fragrance sweet, and the gentle rustling of leaves carried on a breeze that seemed almost too tender to be real. Yet, despite the outward splendor, a profound sense of melancholy clung to me like a second skin.

I walked slowly along the cobblestone path, my steps echoing softly in the stillness. Each footfall felt weighted, as if the ground itself were reluctant to bear the burden of my thoughts. The garden, with its delicate balance of nature's beauty, seemed a world apart from the inner landscape of my mind, where shadows and uncertainties reigned.

As I wandered deeper into the garden, I was struck by the difference between the world around me and the storm brewing within. The serenity here was almost mocking, a cruel juxtaposition to the tempest of doubt and despair that consumed me. I found a secluded bench beneath an ancient tree, its branches stretching out like weary arms, and sank into it.

Gazing out at the horizon, where the sun was dipping below the edge of the world, I contemplated the notion that perhaps death might be a reprieve—a release from the relentless ache that had become my constant companion. The thought was not born of a sudden impulse but rather a slow, creeping realization, a question that had been whispering in the recesses of my mind.

The evening air grew cooler, and the shadows lengthened, wrapping around me like a shroud. In this moment, surrounded by the garden's beauty yet feeling more isolated than ever, the idea of surrendering to the endless night seemed strangely comforting.

A warm tear fell on my wrist while I held a fist over my aching heart as if I could physically hold it in place, preventing it from shattering once and for all.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through our home, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. My husband sat at the table, absorbed in work documents .

"Off to the market?" he asked without looking up, his tone more a command than a question.

"Yes," I replied, keeping my voice steady and respectful. I never brought up the topic again after the initial attempt, tired of the tension and trepidation. As if playing mind games, he came to me a few evenings later and essentially commanded me to go shopping, telling me that it was my duty to make sure the village knew Asato Kenzan always took care of his wife.

He glanced up briefly, his expression a mixture of disinterest and irritation. How such a monster could hide behind seemingly attractive features baffled me day in and day out. "Just remember, we have plans later, and I don't want you wasting time or money. Buy what you need and return home."

I nodded, careful to keep my tone even. "Of course, husband."

An hour later, I stepped outside, accompanied by one of our servants, Wada. In her older years, she's been with the Kenzan household since before my arrival. Her presence, though well-meaning, felt like a constraint I needed to evade. We walked down the garden path together, her footsteps steady beside mine, as we passed the walls surrounding our home.

At the marketplace, the bustling activity was almost a bit overwhelming, requiring me to quickly adjust with my forced smiles. Stalls brimmed with colorful fruits and vegetables, and the air was filled with a cacophony of voices and the rich scents of fresh produce. I maintained a polite, short conversation with Wada, all the while plotting my escape.

"Let's start over here," Wada suggested, guiding me toward a stall laden with ripe apples and pears. Did my husband instruct her to herd me in specific directions to keep me in line, I wonder. I couldn't deny that the thought annoyed me. I had never given him any reason to suspect my actions and motives.

Until today.

I glanced around, scanning the vibrant scene for an opportunity. "Actually, Wada, I'd like to take a look around on my own. There's a lot to see, and I don't want to hold you up. Why don't you check on the vegetable stalls to replenish our ingredients for dinner? I'll meet you back here in a little while. I want to look at some silks."

Wada looked at me with a hint of concern but nodded. "All right, but be sure to stay within the market area. I'll be nearby if you need me."

As she walked away toward another stall, I let out a quiet sigh of relief. I had a brief window of freedom and was determined to use it. With a swift turn after the fabrics, I veered away from the crowded market and slipped into a narrow alley that led away from the main thoroughfare.

The alley was quieter, the sounds of the bustling market muffled but still present in the background. I moved quickly, my heart racing with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. At the end of the alley, a smaller road led out toward the town's edge and the direction of the nearby mountains.

I followed the path, my steps growing more deliberate, leaving the forced conversations and people behind. The transition from the crowded marketplace to the quieter outskirts was a welcome relief. The town's noise faded, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of nature.

As I reached the base of the closest hill, the tranquility of the area soothed part of the ache in my soul. I continued to climb, leaving behind the familiar confines of my daily life and the controlling presence of my husband. The ascent was steep, but the solitude and the cool, fresh air invigorated me.

When I finally reached a secluded overlook, the expansive view of the mountains spread out beneath me. The beauty of the landscape was breathtaking, offering a momentary escape from the constraints that had defined my existence. I sat down on a worn stone, taking in the scenery and the silence.

Each thought flitting through my mind was a careful reflection of the emotions I struggled with, a final attempt to articulate the complexities of my decision. I didn't have a delicately written farewell—sure my husband would find it annoying beyond anything else.

"This is what it's come to, Matsui," I whispered to myself, partially uncaring and partially dreading what my family would think of me once they found my body.

The ground beneath me began to rumble, shooting me to my feet. An earthquake? Now, of all times? But it was the petrified scream following a masculine shout that made me furrow my brows in confusion. Who in the world would be up on this mountain with me?

Following the noise through the surrounding forestry, I lost my footing as a strange man ran into me. A gasp escaped me when I caught sight of his bloodstained face full of terror as he looked beyond me toward the trees. The ground continued to vibrate. I followed his line of sight, my heart hammering inside my chest when I saw the horrific sight of a bird-like deity rising from the earth.

My body was frozen, my gaze locked on the towering bird deity. Its colossal form loomed over us, casting an immense shadow that swallowed the forest floor. The otherworldly screech it emitted was more than just sound—it was a force that reverberated through my very bones, a primal terror that seemed to paralyze everything in its vicinity.

The man who ran into me fell onto his knees, his face contorted in a mask of abject fear. He reached out, his arms trembling, as if he could somehow appease the creature or plead for mercy. His words fell broken from his lips, indecipherable, while I continued to stare at the humanoid deity.

This Harbinger seemed as indifferent to his pleas as I was. With a sweeping motion of its enormous wings, it struck him down with a force that sent him sprawling across the ground and to the edge of the secluded overlook. I remained sitting on my side while my eyes widened at the predatory movements of the divine being brought to life. The man's screams pierced the air, mingling with the deity's rumbling footsteps as blood sprayed beyond the overlook with each detached limb. A crimson pool began to seep into the dirt beneath him like dark paint, creating macabre artistry against nature.

I could do nothing but watch, my mind a whirlwind of horror and fascination. The sheer power of the Harbinger, the absolute finality of its actions—it was mesmerizing in its brutality. The way the man's pleas dwindled into desperate whimpers before being silenced entirely left an impression on me. There was something almost serene about the finality of it all, a harsh and definitive end to his suffering.

Is that what I will sound like at my end?

In that moment of awe and horror, a strange thought began to form in my mind. Here, in the face of such divine wrath, there was a clarity in the way life and death were so starkly presented. It was as if the Harbinger had rendered the complexities of existence into a simple, undeniable truth.

It was my answer.

I felt a pang of introspective melancholy. My own life, so entangled with fears and uncertainties, suddenly seemed insignificant in comparison. If I were to face my end, would it not be more honorable to meet it in such a dramatic fashion?

There was a certain romanticism to it—a way to escape the constant struggles and to bow out with a semblance of dignity. If death were to come, what better way than in a moment so charged with awe and terror, surrounded by the raw, untamed force of nature itself? The thought was strangely appealing.

I had to act.

The Harbinger's gaze shifted again, and the forest seemed to close in around me. I was alone, with the choice of remaining passive in my fascination or finding a way to escape the impending doom of my life while still holding onto my honor.