The memory snapped like a thread pulled too tight.
The Ubume—this towering, monstrous silhouette stitched from hair, pain, and longing—sagged. Limbs that had twisted and reached with bloodied intent now trembled. Her massive body slouched in the center of the hallway, not snarling, not howling—just… tired. So tired.
The air stilled, heavy with mourning. Not terror. Not rage.
Just grief.
And in that silence, she thought—no, she remembered.
"It was then… wasn't it…?"
The voice wasn't a growl anymore. It echoed in the hollowed chambers of her soul. A thought barely clinging to language.
"That's when I changed… when I stopped being her. When I let the monster in…"
The Ubume blinked slowly, the sockets of her ruined face twitching with something beyond instinct. Her hair draped around her like a veil of mourning, but her thoughts cut through the haze.
"I killed them. I know I did. Not just the men. Not just the ones who hurt me. But others too. So many…"
Faces blurred in the dark. Some snarling. Some begging. Some just confused. Their cries still rang behind her ears. A chorus of agony. A requiem of the innocent.
"I hurt them all. All of them. I thought if I made the house ugly enough, if I bled enough into the walls… I could bury it. Bury the pain. Bury myself."
But it hadn't worked.
"And then… she opened her eyes."
Her gaze slowly dropped.
There—arms trembling but steady, tearstained and defiant—was Yui. The little girl who once clung to her skirts, who once giggled in sunlit rooms. Who had slept beside her when the snow fell. Who had whispered "Mama" in the quietest, most trusting voice in the world.
That voice had returned.
And it had cracked something wide open.
Yui looked up at her—truly looked—and wrapped her arms around her, mirroring the way the Ubume had clutched her invisible baby for years. A child's embrace. Small. Fragile. Forgiving.
The Ubume's arms trembled—but did not strike. Instead, they bent inward, folding around her daughter in a gesture of desperate surrender. Limbs that had once torn at souls now curled like fragile petals closing one final time. Strands of tangled hair fell around them, a curtain of dusk swallowing mother and child.
And then… the cracking began.
A dull echo rippled through the room as the Ubume's skin—once lacquered in blood and shadow—fractured like ancient porcelain under strain. Fissures spidered across her hollow cheeks, down her arms, across the curve of her chest. She did not flinch. She made no move to stem the rupture.
Tiny fragments of her decayed form loosened, drifting away like brittle leaves—and beneath them, flesh. Human flesh.
One side of her face peeled back, candlelit by the cold glow of the realm. There, through the ruin, was Sae—mother, not monster. Skin pale and trembling, eyes glistening with real tears that fell silently onto Yui's hair.
"I'm… sorry," Sae's voice was a whisper of wind, barely more than breath. "My baby… I'm sorry I… I wasn't strong."
Yui buried her face against Sae's chest, shoulders heaving. Her words came in ragged shards, each one soaked with grief:
"N-no, Mama—"
"I… I need you…"
Sae's fractured lips curved in a faint, sad smile. With brittle caution, she raised a trembling hand—one perfect human hand—and brushed Yui's cheek. The touch was warm, impossibly gentle.
"You did," the girl sobbed. "You came back."
"I was… supposed to… protect you," Sae whispered, voice cracking as a chunk of her arm flaked away. Pale fingers reached out one last time.
Yui clung tighter, muffling her cry against Sae's robe. "You were strong! Stronger than… than any monster."
Their eyes locked—one pair filled with forgiveness, the other with relief so raw it seemed to glow. In that fleeting eternity, all the pain and fear fell away.
Ren's chest tightened so suddenly he thought he couldn't breathe. Celia's fingers found his hand in the gloom, squeezed. Andre stood silent, arms crossed, jaw clenched against the sorrow.
Around them, the Ubume's body continued to disintegrate. Hair slid from her scalp like ember-dark leaves. Her monstrous limbs dissolved into motes of dust that drifted up, stirring in the pale light as though the house itself was exhaling a final farewell.
"Don't… go," Yui whispered into the emptying arms, voice cracking.
"I have to," Sae whispered back, softer than a sigh. "But now… now you can live. You don't… have to carry me anymore."
The light around them dimmed—not with shadow, but with the hush of something ending. And then, with the gentlest of smiles, Sae rested her forehead against Yui's. Her eyes closed.
What remained of her body crumbled into ash on the wind.
Gone.
Yui sank to her knees in the fading glow, her small hands grasping at empty air, as if trying to catch what had already slipped away. Her body shook with sobs—deep, broken, unfiltered grief. But there was no more fear in her cries. No more dread. Only sorrow… and release.
Ren and Celia watched from far. Even Andre, the ever-stoic one, had his arms folded tightly, jaw clenched to keep the emotion from leaking too far.
No one spoke.
They simply… watched her.
And let her mourn.
The world around them began to stir—not with the shifting terror of the monster's realm, but something softer. Gentle. Restorative.
It started with the floor beneath their feet. The rotted tatami shimmered, then smoothed. Its brittle fibers wove back into place, regaining color and shape. The walls, once streaked with decay, healed slowly like wounds knitting closed. Wooden beams reformed from the cracks, grain turning rich and whole again. The oppressive weight in the air lifted, like someone had opened a window that had been shut for centuries.
Light filtered in through what had once been broken shutters, casting gold across the floor.
The change spread outward—out of the room, through the hallways, to the rest of the house. Peeling paint turned crisp and clean. The ceilings no longer groaned. The walls stopped pulsing. The windows blinked back into glass. And beyond…
The streets of Narai-juku breathed.
From the collapsing ruin of the house, the restoration bled into the village like sunrise after a thousand-year night. Rooftops regained their thatching. Lanterns, long extinguished, flared to life. Fog receded like a tide rolling away. The dark smudges in the corners of streets and doorways—residue of fear and shadow—vanished into nothing.
The air was warmer. Brighter. Whole.
From down the stone path, the old couple stood at the threshold of their home, eyes wide. Their hands clasped tightly together as they stepped forward, blinking as though waking from a long dream.
"I-It's changing…" the old man whispered, voice cracking.
The woman gasped, tears already streaking down her face. "The clouds… look! They're clearing!"
And indeed, the skies had broken open. What had once been shrouded in thick, unmoving gloom now glistened in daylight. Clouds scattered like smoke on the wind, revealing blue—deep and unfiltered.
One by one, doors creaked open along the village path. Heads peeked out, wary at first… then stunned. And then—
Joy.
Laughter spilled into the air like bells. Children ran barefoot into the streets, pointing at the clear sky. Neighbors embraced. People poured from their homes in disbelief and celebration, calling to one another with voices unused for too long.
The darkness was gone.
The curse was broken.
Narai-juku was alive again.
Ren stepped forward slowly, his boots whispering across the restored floorboards. The golden light bathed the room now, soft and gentle, but Yui still trembled—alone in the middle of it, clutching at memory.
He knelt beside her, careful not to startle her, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey," he murmured, voice low and warm. "She loved you. That never changed. You helped her remember who she was."
Yui turned to him, eyes swollen and red, her little fists balled at her chest. "She… she said goodbye…"
"I know," Ren said, and opened his arms.
She didn't hesitate. The second he opened them, she threw herself into him, sobbing into his coat. Her whole body shook against his, and he held her tightly—firm and steady like a pillar against the storm.
"I didn't want her to go," she choked out between breaths. "I didn't… I just wanted her back…"
"I know. I know you did," he whispered, resting his chin lightly atop her head. "But she's at peace now, Yui. And you—you're going to be okay. I promise."
She didn't reply. She just nodded slowly, clutching tighter. And Ren held her all the way out of that house, her small body folded against his chest, his steps unshaking despite the weight of everything behind them.
Celia and Andre waited just outside the door, watching quietly.
No one spoke as Ren emerged with Yui in his arms. Celia gave a small nod and fell in step beside him. Andre said nothing—but his expression had shifted: not pride, not relief, but something quiet and knowing.
The group made their way back through Narai-juku, now glowing in the dawn-like light of restoration. Villagers stepped aside, many bowing deeply in silent gratitude. Some wept openly, others whispered prayers.
The old couple from before stood near the edge of the path, eyes fixed on Yui. The old woman's hand covered her mouth, tears running freely.
"Thank you," she mouthed, voice lost in the rising wind.
The sleek black transport ship waited just beyond the village gates, parked discreetly in the woods. Its doors opened with a soft hiss, and the trio climbed aboard—Ren still carrying Yui, who had finally cried herself into an exhausted sleep.
The ship hummed softly as it ascended, lifting into the sky with a low, steady thrum. Through the windows, the last glimmers of Narai-juku shrank into the valley below, sun shining fully now over the once-cursed land.
Ren's leg bounced against the bulkhead, pulse hammering in his throat. He kept his gaze out the viewport, watching the treetops spin into a green blur—mind a tangle of worry.
Andre slid onto the bench beside him, boots thudding softly. Ren swallowed and turned. "How's she doing?"
"That little spitfire?" Andre drawled, voice warm but rough like gravel. "She'll be right as rain in a bit. Medbay's got her stable—just dehydrated and shook up. Give her some time an' she'll be back to pokin' you with questions."
Ren exhaled, relief flooding him. His shoulders loosened for the first time since they'd lifted off.
Andre leaned forward with a soft sigh. "Y'know… you didn't follow the damn plan."
Ren's stomach clenched. "I—I did what felt right. I… I listened to her. To her heart. I couldn't just leave her there."
Andre raised a hand, cutting him off. "I ain't mad, kid."
Ren blinked, voice small. "…You're not?"
"Nah," Andre said, shaking his head. "You made the right call. Hell… probably a better one than I would've."
Ren pressed his lips together, searching Andre's face. The older man's eyes held something like pride beneath that weathered stare.
Andre ran a thumb under his chin. "I was worried, truth be told. Didn't reckon I should've brought you two on a run like that. Figured I'd be takin' the heat while you held the line." He glanced at Yui, cocooned in her blanket. "But you stepped up. Took the hit. Did what mattered."
Ren's heart pinched. "What's… what's gonna happen to her now?"
Andre's gaze shifted to the medbay door. He rubbed his jaw, thoughtful. "Well… once she gets better, reckon she'll have to stay with us. We picked up an essence trace. She is like us. Can't just drop her off at the next town like lost baggage."
Ren nodded slowly, thoughts spinning. Yui, tiny and brave… she'd found a home now, he realized—somewhere to heal.
Andre's hand landed on Ren's shoulder—solid, grounding. "You did good, kid."
The ship flew on, carrying them home—not just with another mission completed, but with someone new aboard. Someone they'd saved. Someone worth saving.