Anzan stared in shock at the tear in the temple seal. The gap revealed a wide swath of open forest, stretching out like a dense carpet of evergreen bristles. The sharp smell of pines and cypresses wafted through, mingling with, and somehow diluting the fragrance of the temple’s flowers. It was dreamlike, seeing the temple ripped open to the world. He had wished for it many times in his years of isolation, and yet, after seeing it in the real, he felt disgusted.

For all the loneliness and heartache the seal had caused him, the one good thing it did was keep everything alone with him exactly the way it was. For years, he took comfort in the fact that he still had his memories and his home even if he didn’t have his masters. But now, sitting before that towering ethereal wound, Anzan felt a terrible change. Something was slipping away, and in its place, he felt the impurities of the exterior world trickling in—touching everything, eroding, tainting.

“No…” he murmured.

Anzan bounded through the fields up to the edge of the tear, looking urgently but not knowing what for. He started to pace, stalking back and forth, up and down the full length of the fissure. His anxiety mounted. All the while, his scattered thoughts tried to seize upon something, anything to understand exactly what happened and why. In the middle of his fevered back and forth, Pilgrim, the still nauseous spirit mouse, shook free of his mane and fell to the dirt.

Anzan rounded on him, and as Pilgrim picked himself up, his mind locked onto one fact: everything changed immediately after he showed up. He crept close, got down and scrutinized the little brown puff-ball. He was fussing about with his fur and whiskers, squeaking and shuffling in a fit, but no matter how Anzan looked at him, he couldn’t imagine Pilgrim being capable of something so…large. And if he was, would he really have let him chase him all over the temple?

Suddenly, the spirit mouse wheeled around and bumped square into Anzan’s nose.

“Ow,” he cried, reeling back, huffing and shaking his head.

Pilgrim looked up at him derisively but then squeaked in apology as Anzan continued to snort and blink back tears. Who would’ve thought the little mouse could hit so hard? His nose was still numb and tingly, though Pilgrim seemed just fine for his part, having gone back to fussing over his coat. Was it always that sleek and shiny? Before he could think any further, there came a muffled booming. Anzan braced himself, but this time there was no great staggering blow. He relaxed and searched for the source of the sound. It wasn’t hard to find.

High above, the gap in the seal seemed to be vibrating and shrinking. It looked like the sky was trying to push back a massive translucent cloud. Anzan stared expectantly, half hoping the seal would close itself and that things would go back to normal, but there was no such transformation. The booming and shaking slowly settled, and after a final flurry of movement, the sky seemed to win out. The gap stayed the same.

Anzan frowned. Pilgrim came up beside him and, as if in unspoken agreement, scurried in lockstep as he went through the opening.

He stepped out onto a slope littered with scree and other detritus, standing just above and away from the dense tree line. Behind him, the seal made it look like he was on the side of a single, unassuming peak, save for the towering swatch of light that showed a glimpse of the great temple. Moving from one side to the other was a disorienting experience, and Anzan had to close his eyes for a moment to will away the sick feeling that bubbled in the back of his throat. When he opened them, he was surprised to see Pilgrim standing on his hind legs with his nose in the air, sniffing the breeze as he gazed around with investigative interest. The little mouse seemed just as perplexed as he was at his new surroundings—though, Anzan couldn’t imagine why. Surely not much could’ve changed in the day or so since he entered the temple?

Anzan took cautious steps down the incline, preparing to get an outside view of the seal. However, he didn’t get more than a few before he cried out and dropped into agonized convulsions. His vision went white from the pain, and he lost all sense of time and place. Only after a long while did he become conscious of sensation, of the cool dirt beneath him, and of Pilgrim standing in front of his eyes, looking worried.

He sat up in a hurry and looked around. Just a pace or two away, a messy circle of dirt and claw marks showed where he must’ve fallen. He shivered, the memory of the pain still fresh. Anzan backed away, his eyes looking for whatever could’ve caused so much pain, but then the answer came to him instinctively. His leash.

He gazed back at the temple.

He’d planned to scout the surroundings, hoping to make sure there were no more breaks in the seal or other outside dangers, but with his leash stopping him from taking more than a few steps past the boundary, he had no way of knowing anything. Anzan’s stomach churned as he desperately tried to figure out what he could do, absently watching as Pilgrim squeaked and skated about on the slope.

The tree line below seemed to grow ever more ominous. Who knew what lay beyond? What possible dangers were waiting till nightfall to slip inside? Anzan was all that stood in the way, but how much good could he really do? Till now, he’d patrolled and protected the temple as a matter of principle—fully aware that, with the Patriarch’s seal in place, he’d never need to do anything drastic. Now, the time had come for him to act, but he had no idea how.

Pilgrim took a spill as his legs went out behind him. The little spirit mouse went rolling and flailing down the slope until he crashed into a large rock embedded in the hillside. He immediately jumped up and shook it off but fell when he tried to run—his tail had gotten pinched under one of the rock’s edges. He squeaked in frustration, yanked himself free with one big pull, and scampered off.

Anzan smiled at the spirit mouse’s antics. If only he was so free to move about. Then he could at least get an idea of what was going on around him. He could try to do something; he could get help—not that he even knew where to look. Honestly, if he was going to go hiking through the forest searching for random strangers, he may as well just go looking for his masters—

That thought went through him like a thunderclap.

Yes, his masters. The Patriarch would want to know his seal was broken—wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t have made it in the first place if he didn’t, right? The more Anzan turned the idea over in his head, the better it sounded. It solved everything. There was no use just sitting around and waiting for intruders with his nonexistent fighting skills, and he had no idea how to even begin fixing whatever was wrong with the garden or the seal. But the Patriarch could fix everything, and no one was stronger than him—Anzan was certain. Yes, the temple would be safe and everything would go back to normal if he could only find him. The only thing standing in his way was his leash. It seemed firmly stuck in place, but he’d never truly given his all to move it either.

Anzan’s anxious expression flattened out, and his gaze locked onto the faraway Great Hall. Seeming to sense something, Pilgrim stopped playing and followed as Anzan bounded through the gap and raced toward the central peaks. He had to try.

***

Anzan’s excitement reached a fever pitch as he ascended the temple’s main peak. He was set on his course of action, and his mind subconsciously rejected the possibility of failure. He almost tripped up the steps several times, tied up by daydreams of reuniting with his masters. Pilgrim trailed closely after him, but the spirit mouse seemed far less enthused with their sudden turnabout, growing quiet and anxious as their surroundings grew foreboding. But, with his mind in the clouds, Anzan didn’t notice until Pilgrim alerted him with a single imperiled squeak.

Anzan ground to a halt just as he padded up the final few steps to the Great Hall. Pilgrim didn’t stop, however, and ran straight into him, scampering up his flank and nesting in the fur of his mane before he could even figure out what was what. Then the mist caught his eye, and Anzan looked around in confusion.

The Great Hall was immersed in a wispy white sea. Tendrils of fog were everywhere, seeming to close in behind him, blocking his retreat, and Anzan soon lost track of the way he came. An eerie silence hung in the air—this one more malevolent than the dead air he was used to—but despite his misgivings, Anzan’s hopes drove him deeper. He pushed through the fog, seeming to travel impossibly far for the relatively small area. When he finally caught sight of the Great Hall itself, his heart jumped, and he searched out the lion statue, but it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Panic overcame him, and Anzan blundered toward the site. Suddenly, he staggered, tripping over scattered stones, and when he looked down, he found the statue in pieces.

It had been utterly pulverized—the largest shards of rock no bigger than a fist. Anzan’s thoughts reflexively turned toward some kind of attack or accident, but circumstance told him the truth: it must have something to do with the seal. He searched for his leash, finding little bits of gold and twisted metal strewn around. And as he waded through the debris, he found the main jewel—the blood-red pearl—sitting neatly in the center of the destruction. Anzan approached, and it started to glow. The wind picked up, and he stopped dead in his tracks as an indescribably powerful aura permeated the air. Ghostly flames rose from the pearl, merging with the tendrils of mist, and slowly a spectral figure took shape in front of him.

She was slender, wore an ornate, too-big-looking black gown, and had skin as white as polished bone. She had even whiter hair that hung just below the waist and eyes like red cat’s-eye with a grin like one to match. As her face came into focus, an immense pressure settled on him. Anzan instinctively got down on his belly, and that seemed to please her. She raised her head and looked away, lifting one arm and sweeping it to the side in a grand gesture. Anzan held his breath and waited for whatever great magic was about to unfold.

Nothing happened.

She waved her arm again.

Nothing happened.

She stamped her foot, and looked at Anzan peevishly as though blaming him for watching. He averted his eyes. Then he heard violent sweeping noises accompanied by lots of stomping. At some point, he realized the pressure had vanished and rose tentatively. When he looked up to regard her, she was facing away from him.

“Wh-who are you?” he asked.

She mumbled something, and Anzan leaned in, but he didn’t catch it. He was about to ask again, but then she mumbled more. He walked forward, and strained to listen.

“I—I…no…trivial,” she mumbled furiously, but whatever she said was incomprehensible to him.

“Who are you!”

She whipped around. In that moment, she rearranged the configuration of her face many times before finally settling on a haughty look.

“Eh-uh? Call me…” she glanced around dubiously, “Ling.”