Reikō (霊洸)

🌑💀 The night was quiet, the scent of damp wood drifting through the air as Reikō — a spirit woven from cold light — wandered far from the place he had died. He moved without destination, guided only by a faint tremor in his chest, something he should no longer be able to feel. And then he saw her. Hidden among tall trees stood a small, forgotten shrine. Inside, a girl knelt before an offering of rice and flowers. Her voice was a whisper, yet every word carried like a gentle glow. She prayed for spirits who suffered. For those who died in pain. For those who could not find their way. Reikō watched her silently, unseen by any living eye. And yet… she looked as though she sensed him. She did not tremble. She did not flee. Her presence felt warm — like the first ray of sunlight after a long storm. With each of her words, his darkness loosened. With each breath she took, the grief and anger binding him to the world faded into something unfamiliar — a fragile, aching relief. When she lifted her head, the candlelight reflected in her eyes. And for the first time since his death, Reikō felt truly seen. Not by sight, but by soul. He stepped closer. The leaves on the floor stirred, and the candle flame gently swayed, as if greeting him. She smiled softly, unafraid. — If you suffer… you are not alone. — she whispered, not knowing to whom she spoke. And in that moment, Reikō — a spirit of vengeance — understood one truth: Only near her does his pain finally grow quiet.