Mt. Fuji’s caldera burned a vivid red.
“Impressive,” Masahito muttered, looking down from Mizuchi’s back far above. From the crater flowed a lake of molten lava, with white plumes of smoke rising into the air. Even where Masahito stood, high above, he could feel the heat. It was the majesty of nature, utterly beyond the reach of human power.
“Being directly above it is a bit hot,” Haruyoshi said casually, a being far beyond such minor concerns.
It had been around five hours since they had agreed to dispose of the ring. After taking a short rest, Masahito had come to the summit of Mt. Fuji atop Haruyoshi’s ryuu. The experience of flying through the sky had been moving enough, but the sight of the crater in the morning sun was equally magnificent.
“If I fell from here, I’d sink in the lava and disappear without a trace,” Masahito said quietly, staring at the caldera.
“People don’t sink in lava. The difference in density is too great. You would float like a leaf on water.”
“Then could I survive if I hurried to the edge?”
“Not a chance. You’d catch on fire from the temperature before you ever made it. Actually, all the water in your body would boil, and you’d probably explode first.”
“Ha ha ha. How frightening.”
It was truly a land of ruin. An awe beyond words welled up within Masahito. He could almost understand why the followers of Christianity had chosen this fierce god as their supreme deity.
“In The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, it’s said that the emperor burned an elixir of immortality here, and that’s why Mt. Fuji became an immortal mountain, burning forever. But is this fire actually eternal?” Masahito asked.
“No.” Haruyoshi shook his head. “Volcanic activity doesn’t last forever. In the distant future, this caldera will cool and harden.”
“I see.” Masahito thought it was a shame.
“Now, I apologize, but we can’t go any lower,” Haruyoshi said. “Can you throw it in from here? I know it’s a little far.”
“All right.” Masahito took the ring out of his pocket, then threw it toward the volcano. It plummeted, quickly growing so small that he could no longer see it. The lake of lava showed no change. He couldn’t even tell if the ring had actually fallen in or if it had gotten caught by the wind and blown away. Yet Masahito felt a strange sense of accomplishment. He had laid the ring to rest.
“Satisfied?”
“Yeah.” Masahito nodded, still looking down at the crater.
“Who did you originally intend to give that ring to?”
Masahito turned to look at Haruyoshi. The exorcist, known as the strongest in history, feared by countless people, was surprisingly caring and attentive. He was attuned to the emotions of those close to him.
“Yoshiko,” Masahito answered with a smile.
Yoshiko was Masahito’s wife, eleven years his senior. Ten years ago, she had fallen ill and passed away after giving birth to their son, Morihito.
“I was going to give it to her once she got better, though I’m not sure she would like such an odd gift.” Masahito doubted she would. She had often admonished him for his obsession with imayou. Receiving a Western ring would’ve just made her frown. “In the end, I never got to give it to her. I completely forgot about it until I found it on the anniversary of her passing the other day. Then I decided to lay it to rest.” Masahito paused for a moment, then looked directly at Haruyoshi. “To be honest, I could’ve done a more normal memorial. I made this selfish request because I wanted a chance to talk with you, Haruyoshi.”
“Did something happen?” Haruyoshi asked, his face stern.
“I might become emperor.”
Haruyoshi’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean? Is...” He paused for a moment. “Is the emperor unwell?”
Narihito, the current emperor, was said to have been sickly from a young age. Even royalty weren’t immune to dying young from illness.
“It’s only a rumor. Nobody knows how bad his condition truly is. But were he to pass away, the throne would likely fall to me.”
“Wait, why would you become emperor?” Haruyoshi asked, clearly confused. “It’s true that the current emperor has no children. Given your position, it wouldn’t be strange for the throne to pass to you, but if I may be blunt, your reputation isn’t exactly...”
“Morihito is a capable son,” Masahito said, cutting off Haruyoshi’s hesitant words. “My father holds him in high regard. While a dull prince obsessed with modern songs like me could never be emperor, there are many who would gladly see my son take the throne next. However, there’s no precedent for a prince remaining as such while his son ascends to the throne. It seems they intend to have me briefly serve as emperor so that my son may rule.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Astonishment was evident in Haruyoshi’s voice. “Why do something so convoluted? There’s someone else who could inherit the throne in a far more natural way. The boy’s—excuse me, Akihito’s son, Prince Shigehito. As the son of a retired emperor, he wouldn’t break with precedent. He’s also older than your son. There shouldn’t be any issues with him becoming emperor, so why...”
Masahito held his tongue, and Haruyoshi looked as though he had realized something.
“Is it to keep Akihito out of power? Does your father still believe those rumors?”
“Yes.” Casting down his eyes, Masahito nodded. “He believes that my brother isn’t his son, but the son of his grandfather, former Emperor Shirakawa.”
There was a certain rumor surrounding Akihito, Masahito’s elder brother. It was said that his true father might not have been their own father, but rather their great-grandfather, the then-retired Emperor Shirakawa, who held the real power behind the throne. Their mother, Empress Taikenmon’in, had originally been adopted by Shirakawa, yet from the beginning, his excessive affection toward her had been the subject of scandalous whispers.
Furthermore, Shirakawa doted on the young Prince Akihito with abnormal intensity. It was by his will that the boy had ascended to the throne at only five years old. The retired emperor was known to have remained vigorous even in old age. Given that, Haruyoshi had heard rumors in the imperial court that Akihito might have been his child.
“But those are just rumors. There’s no proof that’s actually the case.”
“My father doesn’t think so, Haruyoshi. That’s why he treats Akihito so harshly.”
Masahito’s father, Cloistered Emperor Munehito, had begun treating his son Akihito with disdain. He would mockingly refer to him as “my son and my uncle,” going so far as to avoid meeting him face-to-face. After Shirakawa’s death, he had even stripped Akihito of the throne, installing another of his sons by a different mother, blocking Akihito’s path to becoming Chiten no Kimi, the true holder of political power. Even with the aforementioned emperor now ill, it appeared that Munehito was still unwilling to change his mind.
“It’s a sad state of affairs. My brother did desire the position of Chiten no Kimi, but not out of a lust for power. He simply wanted to believe in our father’s love. Not only is his wish going unfulfilled, but he’s being forced to face the truth in such a cruel way.”
Haruyoshi gazed down at the crater below, his expression clouded with sorrow. Then he turned to Masahito with a wistful smile. “I suppose I should start by saying congratulations.”
“There’s nothing to celebrate. I won’t be able to enjoy imayou like I have been if I take the throne. I won’t even be able to continue living at Tanaka Palace. It’ll also cause friction between me and my brother, I’m sure. Nor will it be as easy to drink and party like we did last night. Being emperor is nothing but trouble,” Masahito said, staring off into the distance. Before him stretched a clear, blue sky.
“All things change as time flows on,” he murmured. “Human lives and their relationships. My wife passed away, as did my mother. Soon, the emperor and my father will die as well. My relationships with my brother and my son won’t be the same. Everything is impermanent. Unsung imayou songs will soon fade away. Even the fire of Mt. Fuji will eventually cool and turn to stone. Man is powerless to resist the world’s changes.”
Masahito turned to face Haruyoshi. “But you know what, Haruyoshi?” A smile appeared on his face. “That’s what makes the things that don’t change so comforting. When I imagine that there are things that existed before we were born and will continue even after we die, I feel a kind of peace. If one is remembered by an eternal being, that alone gives their birth meaning. The unchanging is what serves as everyone’s foundation. If anything in this world is capable of achieving a permanence even a volcano cannot, it could only be you, someone who has transcended humanity. Please, Haruyoshi. Be the only thing that doesn’t change.”
His expression serious, Haruyoshi remained silent for a while before a faint smile appeared on his face. “Hmm, what to do. I’d like to change for the better, you know? I once met a certain someone for the first time, and he told me I was more childish than he expected.”
“Ha ha ha, don’t hold a grudge. There’s no harm in continuing to be who you are.”
“Sure, we can say that. Now, it’s about time to head back.” Haruyoshi gently turned Mizuchi around.
“Oh, right,” Masahito said, suddenly remembering something. “I was thinking about writing a book.”
“What kind of book?”
“If I’m writing it, it’s gotta be imayou. What else?” Masahito said proudly. “Imayou songs are beloved by the common people, which means there aren’t many records of them. Nobody bothers to write down new ones, so I’ll be the one to do it. At the very least, the songs I know won’t be forgotten. It’ll probably take some time, but you’ll read it once it’s finished, won’t you?”
“If you’re writing it, it’s bound to be good,” Haruyoshi answered with a gentle smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Ha ha ha, now I’m motivated. Let’s see if I can’t do a verse.” Masahito began to sing, his voice carrying far into the boundless sky.
“May your time continue
until the motes of dust, born once in a thousand years,
grow into a mountain veiled in white clouds—”