“That’s very kind of you. Thank you so much. I’m looking forward to it already.” Sora bowed to them, then got up from the bench.
“You seem like you’ve grown much older somehow, all of a sudden,” Rokurou observed.
“I think so, too. You’re all grown-up,” Tatsuko added.
Sora laughed in delight at their words.
“I’d be glad to share the sushi with him,” Tamuramaro said brightly, handing back Fuuka’s leash to Sora.
They slowly passed by Sanpouji Lake, and they came to Hyoutan Lake, where they could hear the shouting of children at play.
“It’s parental love,” murmured Tamuramaro, as if to himself. He seemed to be thinking of Tatsuko and Rokurou.
“I suppose so.” Though there was a slight hitch in his movement, Sora nodded in ready assent.
“Coo?” Fuuka let out a soft hum, looking up at Sora quizzically. Sora gazed back at him.
“All I wanted was a human death—both for myself and for Fuuka,” Sora began. At first, he’d thought Miroku-bosatsu had sent him on a journey he’d never wished for. “But now I want to live out my life properly, growing old and sharing my time with the people of this town. That’s my wish.”
He had been sent out on a near-eternal journey—not set out, but sent out. He had company, but there were no signposts. Still, he didn’t feel any discontent at the prospect now.
“Yeah.” Tamuramaro didn’t say whether he believed that was possible for them. Instead, he gazed toward the lake, wind sweeping across its surface.
“Hey, Tamuramaro.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s late to be saying this, but…you knew who my father was, didn’t you?”
“Huh?! It’s not me!” Tamuramaro yelped, slipping out of character.
“That’s obvious. I didn’t mean you. I meant…your friend.” Sora was thinking of the man who had been Tamuramaro’s friend and the great clan leader whom Sora had always loved and admired.
“My father saw that his son was a freak, so he left me—wasn’t that child neglect?” Sora asked in all seriousness. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that there was no question about it, and the conclusion formed deep furrows in his brow. “Wasn’t he awful to me?”
“You’ve been alive for twelve hundred years, and now you wanna be an angsty, cranky teenager?!”
“How modernized you’ve become, Sei-i Taishogun. But really, I’ve never gone through that teenage rebellion thing. I had so many other things to worry about, as a neglected child. If I get like that now, it’s inevitable.” Sora sulked.
Tamuramaro looked at him and smiled helplessly. “Who knows? Maybe he was watching over you the whole time from somewhere close by.”
He suddenly stopped in his tracks and peered into Fuuka’s blue eyes.
“You’re just making that up.”
“Japan isn’t the only place that believes spirit dwells in all things, that divinity dwells in all things. You can find that belief all over the world. But just like Miroku-bosatsu said, I think there’s only one soul for one person.”
Tamuramaro hoped that the soul of the person who had created the sheath would dwell again in Fuuka and grow into another life in time—but of course, Sora had no idea what was on his mind.
“Don’t make me despair.”
“No, I mean— Ow!” Tamuramaro had bent down to stroke Fuuka’s cheek, but Fuuka bit his hand in an aggressive jest.
“Fuuka! I told you, no munchy-munchy!!” Sora rushed to pull them apart and flashed a forced smile at the passersby around them. “He sure loves to play,” he mumbled feebly.
“Well, the truth is, I don’t know, either. That’s the only thing I’m sure about.” Tamuramaro laughed.
“There’s so much I don’t understand,” Sora grumbled. But he was standing firmly on his feet. He would die in time, but until then, he would live.
He had learned that everyone, including himself, had emotions that mattered. To love his little brother, to be raised as a human being, to live in this town, to grow old like anyone else—that was his wish now. And if it was possible, he wanted to do all of that with Fuuka in human shape.
He could never forget the multitude of lives he’d struck down in order to survive. Was he asking for more than he deserved to cherish such a dream?
“Woof, woof.”
Fuuka peered at Sora’s face. Somehow, Fuuka looked manlier than before, even as a dog.
Miroku-bosatsu had told him that if they took Fuuka away with them—Fuuka, who still carried the undying flame of his fate—Sora would be able to return to human time. But Sora had refused. He hadn’t stopped to ask Fuuka’s will in that moment. He could’ve liberated Fuuka from his duty and the fire forced upon him. Would Fuuka have been happier if he’d gone on to the other world?
No matter how much he mulled over it, Sora couldn’t find an answer.
“You’re better off without me.”
Fuuka didn’t know, either. But Sora could see just how deeply troubled Fuuka was. Would it have been the right choice to let go?
Sora caught himself looking for the “right” answer again. It wasn’t so easy to cure the nature his father had been worried about.
And he now knew it would never be cured completely. He would never forget that fact.
“Oh.”
He heard his bones creak inside him again.
“What’s up?”
“Coo?” Fuuka let out a questioning murmur.
“It’s nothing.” Sora smiled back at them.
Perhaps it was the sound of his life moving forward, the clock starting to tick as it did invariably for everyone. Perhaps it wasn’t. There was no single truth for anything or anyone.
Even so, his bones rasped with every step he took.
This path he walked on, a path in which nothing was for certain, was one that Sora himself had chosen to take, rather than something assigned to him. He took a step forward, drawing in a deep breath, listening to the slight, resonant creak of his bones as the breeze drifted over the water and caressed his face.
At long last, Sora had arrived at this discovery—there is no one answer for anything.