Chapter 6: Silver Soul (Era of Expulsion)

How should a person live on? How should a fifteen-year-old girl survive?

Take Okakura Chiku—right now, her future is shrouded in uncertainty.

It was already late autumn, the weather growing ever colder. She huddled beneath the arch of a bridge, shivering.

A month ago, her hometown had been massacred by the Celestials. Everyone in the village was killed except for her. She took a shovel and buried each villager’s corpse in their own backyard. It took her all her strength to piece together the mutilated bodies, and those that were beyond recognition she simply buried as best she could.

The last to be laid to rest were her mother and her cousin. Their bodies, left for days, already reeked of decay and bore the stains of death, but she didn’t mind in the slightest. She dressed them in fresh clothes, placed a gentle kiss upon each of their foreheads, and buried them in the backyard. She even erected two small wooden gravestones for them, clumsily inscribed in brush and ink: “Wife of Okakura, Tamae” and “Daughter of Okakura, Morimi.”

After she had finished burying the villagers, she went into town, only to find an even greater disaster there—her village’s tragedy was but a drop in the bucket. The entire town had been burned to the ground, the peaceful streets now nothing but charcoal and scorched corpses.

She walked to her school. It, too, was nothing more than ruins.

With her home, her family, and her school all lost, she turned around and trudged back to the village.

Five days later, Okakura Chiku shaved her head close—though her handiwork was poor, leaving a bristly mess—packed up what clothes and money she had, and set out. She decided to see the world.

When she reached the small town, she hitched a ride on a surviving ox cart. Its owners were an elderly couple whose house had been burned down; they were headed to Kyoto to seek refuge with relatives. Because of her short hair and the men’s kimono she wore, the elderly couple assumed she was a boy. Their failing eyes didn’t catch the details of her face, so they weren’t too frightened by her appearance.

The couple pitied the “boy” and wanted to bring Okakura Chiku along to their relatives’ home.

She refused. She was already grateful for the ride and didn’t want to trouble them further. So, when the couple fell asleep, she slipped away quietly.

Kyoto, as the former political heart of Japan, was far more splendid than her village. Of course, the Celestials were more numerous too. After years of shogunate rule, the Celestials had subtly shaped the nation. Their technology brought convenience and new business opportunities to the Japanese, and their shops were everywhere, their grip on Japan’s economic lifeblood unshakable.

Seeing the Celestials roaming the streets, Okakura Chiku felt a wave of revulsion—though she herself was half Celestial.

She could hardly believe she was part Celestial. It was as shocking as being told at the age of eleven that you weren’t your parents’ biological child.

After burying her mother, she found the diary her mother had mentioned. Reading it, she finally understood the reason behind her terrifying appearance.

The Oni Relic—such was the name of their clan. An unfortunate, dwindling race on the edge of the universe, these people were born hideous as devils and shunned by countless other races. They had one glaring weakness: the Oni Relic were, almost without exception, frail and delicate, easily pushed aside—except for the clan chief!

Indeed, each generation produced one chief of monstrous strength, as if all the genetic power of the clan pooled into a single individual. That chief was incredibly formidable!

But the position came with its own misery—the chief had to protect all the frail kin, standing alone against any attack, whether one-on-one or against a horde, while the others cheered from behind. It was a bitter duty.

Predictably, the clan’s fate was a tragic one. The chief was the strongest, but still only human—he, too, tired. Eventually, outnumbered and exhausted, the chief fell, and the rest of the clan was wiped out. Only a handful survived, including Okakura Chiku’s mother.

Her grandparents, quick-witted, bundled her mother onto a spaceship at the first sign of trouble. The ship drifted through space before crash-landing on Earth. By then, the Celestials had already arrived. Her mother’s ship went largely unnoticed. When she emerged onto the streets, her appearance terrified the locals, who pelted her with stones and knocked her out. It was Okakura’s father who rescued her.

What happened afterward unfolded naturally: Okakura’s father gradually fell in love with her mother, and under the nurture of true love, her mother’s appearance transformed into that of a great beauty. Their union produced Okakura Chiku, the fruit of their love.

By the time Chiku was one year old, her prodigious strength was evident. Before she even had teeth, she was giggling as she tossed her father into the air.

Her mother, Tamae, had mixed feelings about giving birth to the new Oni Relic chief, but eventually came to accept it. Their race was nearly extinct; perhaps she and Chiku were the last of their kind in the universe. Being the chief hardly seemed to matter anymore.

After reading the tragic history of her people, Chiku let out a silent curse. The diary said her people could become beautiful—but only through true love! From birth to extinction, only five percent of the clan ever transformed, proof of how rare true love was.

She’d likely have to live with this face all her life, Chiku thought.

But appearances were a trivial concern for her now. What mattered was finding work and earning money.

Kyoto was prosperous, but expensive. Her family had always been poor, and the money she’d brought was nearly gone. To save on lodging, she scavenged a large cardboard box and some discarded newspapers and slept beneath a bridge.

It was still autumn—she could endure for now. But when winter came, she would be in real trouble. She’d already tried many shops, but none would hire her, for one simple reason: her appearance was too frightening! Chiku wanted to give a two-fingered salute to this looks-obsessed world.

“Achoo!” Chiku wrapped her coat tighter and curled further into the box. She had wanted to travel and see the world, but at this rate, she’d die before she’d even crossed Japan.

That night, rain poured down on Kyoto. Passersby scrambled for shelter, and three destitute men ducked under the bridge where Chiku was holed up. She shrank into a corner, head down; seeing she was just a child, the men ignored her.

“The shogunate is shameless, colluding with the Celestials to kill our brothers!” said a burly man.

“I wonder how things are going at the front?” added a tall, thin man.

“Inoue, should we really go back to fight?” asked the youngest.

The tall man, Inoue, sighed. “The outlook is grim. Going back would be certain death. Takahashi, you still have your mother and younger siblings—think of them.”

The young man hung his head.

Patriots! Chiku looked up, realizing where she should go.

“Excuse me, sirs,” she said, standing up and stepping from the cardboard box.

The three men turned, wary, but when they saw her ghastly face, their breath caught.

“A demon!” the burly one shrieked.

“No, no, I’m not a demon—just born with a fierce look. Please don’t be frightened,” Chiku said quickly, stepping into the light. “See? I cast a shadow—I’m not a ghost.”

The three eyed her with suspicion. Finally, Inoue spoke first. “What do you want?”

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but where can I go to sign up for the Patriot Army?” Under the bridge, Chiku’s eyes shone with hope.

A thunderclap split the night. The three men were momentarily stunned.

Two days later, Okakura Chiku found the Patriot Army’s camp. The three men had told her the army was now stationed outside Kyoto; all she had to do was say she wanted to enlist. They needed people badly—recruits were welcomed. Still, seeing how young she was, they had tried to persuade her against it, warning that swords and bullets on the battlefield didn’t care for age.

She’d thanked them for their advice, but came anyway.

A recruitment notice was posted at the camp, instructing all volunteers to report to the White Dragon Shrine outside Kyoto.

When Chiku arrived, the shrine was already crowded, mostly with young men—restless, fearless, full of hot blood.

Her appearance drew many eyes, and her grim little face sent some of the more faint-hearted shrieking. Only after seeing her shadow did they stop, though most kept a wary distance of several feet.

Her youth and small frame were another curiosity. Such a young child coming to join the cause earned her the respect of many adults, who saw her as a patriotic prodigy.

Little did they know, she only wanted a meal and, perhaps, to find her father. Surely, war wouldn’t care what her face looked like—and perhaps her appearance would frighten the enemy.

“Ahem, registration is starting—please line up in order,” a neatly dressed Patriot soldier shouted to the crowd.

Everyone queued up. Because of her age, adults stepped aside for Chiku, and before she knew it, she was near the front.

Soon, it was her turn.

“Next!” came a call from inside. Chiku stepped in.

The room was bare save for a single table. Behind it sat a handsome, long-haired young man whose gaze was sharp and clear. He gestured to the chair before him. “Please, have a seat.”

Nervous, Chiku sat down and stole a glance at the man. He was the most handsome person she’d seen since leaving her village. His black hair was as glossy as her mother’s, smooth and shining.

“Hello, my name is Katsura Kotaro,” the young man said with a serious expression.

“Hello, I’m Okakura Chiku,” she replied earnestly.

“Do you have a résumé?”

“Huh?”

Why on earth did joining the Patriots require a résumé?! The three men hadn’t mentioned that! Help—she was only in middle school, with nothing but an elementary school diploma!