Aiko sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, surrounded by a fortress of books. Some were glossy library volumes on Japanese archaeology, others were battered family albums and notebooks filled with her sketches and observations. The pottery shard rested on the open page of a Jomon history text, its spiral patterns catching the morning light. She had barely slept, her mind spinning with questions and warnings, the memory of the priestess’s voice echoing in her ears.

  She flipped through page after page, searching for anything that resembled the markings on the shard or the visions that haunted her dreams. There were references to the Jomon’s reverence for the land, their mysterious rituals, and their belief in spirits that dwelled in earth and stone. But nothing explained the power she felt humming beneath her skin, or the way the world seemed to shift and tremble at her touch.

  Frustrated, she turned to her laptop, fingers flying over the keys as she searched for legends of “the vessel” and “earth guardians.” Most results were dead ends—folklore forums, half-baked conspiracy theories, and academic articles that skirted the edge of what she needed to know. She found a single mention in an old digitized journal, a footnote about “the vessel of memory” said to appear when the land was threatened, but the rest of the article was missing, lost to time.

  Aiko sighed and closed the laptop. She glanced at the clock—she still had an hour before she needed to leave for school. On impulse, she slipped the shard into her pocket, grabbed her notebook, and hurried out the door.

  The morning was cool and bright, the village just beginning to stir. She made her way to the small Shinto shrine at the edge of town, its red torii gate standing silent among the trees. The stone steps were slick with dew as she climbed to the main hall, the air filled with the scent of cedar and incense. Aiko knelt before the shrine, bowing her head. She pressed her hands together, closed her eyes, and whispered a prayer—not just for answers, but for courage. The world felt vast and uncertain, and she was only one girl, lost in the tide of history. For a moment, all was still. Then, as she opened her eyes, she thought she felt a faint warmth at her back, as if someone—or something—was standing just behind her. The sensation faded as quickly as it came, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a dove.

  Aiko placed the shard on the shrine’s stone step, tracing the spiral with her fingertip. “If you’re listening,” she murmured, “please… help me understand.”

  There was no answer, no sign from the gods or the spirits of the land. But as she gathered her things and walked back down the steps, Aiko felt a quiet resolve settling in her chest. She might not have found the answers she sought, but she would keep searching. The vessel had chosen her for a reason, and she would not give up—not while the earth’s memory still whispered her name.

  School felt even more distant than usual. Aiko moved through the corridors like a ghost, her thoughts tangled with ancient warnings and the memory of the vision in the forest. Her classmates’ laughter and gossip seemed to echo from far away, as if she were listening from the bottom of a well. She tried to focus on her lessons, but her mind kept drifting back to the spiral patterns, the warmth of the shard, and the warning about shadows that hunger for the land’s heart.

  At lunch, she sat alone beneath the cherry trees, picking at her rice ball. The other girls gathered in tight circles, whispering and glancing her way. She caught snatches of their conversation—something about her “spacing out,” about how she’d “almost made the ground shake” during gym class the day before. Aiko hunched her shoulders, wishing she could disappear.

  When Emi, the quiet transfer student, approached, Aiko tensed. Emi sat down beside her, unwrapping her lunch with deliberate care. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, in a low voice, Emi said, “You’re different lately. Something’s happening to you, isn’t it?”

  Aiko’s heart thudded. She stared at her lap, unsure how to answer. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Emi’s eyes narrowed, but her tone was gentle. “I saw what happened on the track. The ground moved. And I saw you at the shrine this morning. You’re searching for something.” She paused, then added, “You’re not alone, you know. Not really.”

  Before Aiko could respond, Emi stood and walked away, leaving her more unsettled than before. Was Emi watching her? Did she know more than she let on? The thought was both frightening and oddly comforting.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. In the science lab, Aiko’s hands trembled as she measured chemicals, and the glass beaker rattled on the table, vibrating in time with her anxiety. In the hallway, the lights flickered as she passed beneath them, and she heard a teacher mutter about faulty wiring. At home, she dropped her chopsticks during dinner, and they rolled off the table, vibrating as if struck by a hidden force.

  Her family noticed her distraction. Her mother asked if she was feeling well; her father grumbled that she was spending too much time with her “old bones and dirt.” Only Baachan watched her with quiet, knowing eyes. Aiko wanted to confide in her grandmother, to spill everything about the dreams, the visions, and the strange power that seemed to be growing inside her. But she hesitated, afraid of the truth she might hear and of the danger she might bring to those she loved.

  That night, as she lay in bed, the isolation pressed in on her. The world outside her window was silent, but inside, her thoughts churned. She pressed the shard to her chest, feeling its warmth seep into her skin. She wanted desperately to be normal, to let the past remain buried, but she knew the choice was no longer hers. Somewhere in the darkness, she sensed the presence of watchers—real or imagined, she could not say. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breath, clinging to the hope that she would find answers before the shadows closed in.

  The wind was restless that evening, rattling the bamboo outside Aiko’s window and carrying the scent of rain. She sat at her desk, pretending to study, but her eyes kept drifting to the pottery shard resting atop her notebook. It seemed to pulse with a faint inner light, as if it were aware of her unease. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly dusk. Her parents’ voices drifted from the kitchen, muffled and indistinct. Baachan was out in the garden, her silhouette hunched over the rows of green onions. The house felt both safe and fragile, like a paper lantern in a gathering storm.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Aiko stood and crossed to the window. The street outside was empty, the neighbors’ houses glowing softly in the twilight. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching. The sensation had grown stronger all day, a prickling at the back of her neck, a shadow flickering at the edge of her vision. She drew the curtains, heart pounding. When she turned back to her desk, she found a small folded slip of paper resting beside the shard.

  She hadn’t heard anyone enter her room. There was a faint scent of ash in the air, bitter and strange. The paper was cool, unnaturally so, like something unearthed from deep soil. Her hands shook as she unfolded it. Beware the shadows that walk behind you. The vessel attracts more than memory.

  Aiko’s breath caught. She hurried to the kitchen, where Baachan was just coming in, wiping her hands on her apron. Aiko tried to keep her voice steady. “Baachan, did you see anyone come to my room?”

  Baachan’s eyes narrowed. “No, child. Why?”

  Aiko hesitated, then showed her the note. Baachan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This is not good. Long ago, there were those who sought the land’s power for themselves. They would do anything to possess it, even hurt those chosen to protect it.”

  She led Aiko to the living room, where she pulled an old lacquered box from a high shelf. Inside were faded photographs, temple charms, and a yellowed letter written in spidery kanji. “This belonged to your great-grandmother,” Baachan said softly. “She was a guardian once, like you. She was betrayed by someone she trusted. The shadows are clever and patient. You must be vigilant.”

  Aiko’s hands trembled as she traced the old letter. “What should I do?”

  Baachan placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “Trust your heart, and trust the land. But above all, do not face the darkness alone.”

  The moon was high and veiled behind clouds when Aiko awoke, heart pounding, to the sound of something, or someone, moving outside her window. She sat up, every sense alert, and listened. There it was again, the faint crunch of gravel, the soft brush of footsteps along the garden path. The memory of the note and Baachan’s warning pressed heavily on her mind. She slipped from her futon, careful not to wake her family, and crept to the window. The garden was awash in silvery light, the familiar shapes of stones and shrubs casting long, uncertain shadows. For a moment, she saw nothing. Then, near the edge of the old camphor tree, a figure moved, a silhouette, tall and still, watching the house.

  Aiko’s breath caught. She clutched the pottery shard in her fist, feeling its warmth surge through her palm. Compelled by a force she couldn’t name, she slipped on her jacket and tiptoed outside, her feet silent on the cool earth. The figure did not move as she approached the garden gate. Only when she stepped into the open did he turn, his face half-hidden by the brim of a dark hat. His presence was unsettling—calm, patient, and somehow expectant.

  “You’re braver than I thought,” the man said, his voice low and oddly gentle. “Or perhaps just foolish.”

  Aiko stood her ground, the shard pulsing in her hand. “Who are you? Why are you watching me?”

  He regarded her for a moment, then smiled, a thin, cold curve of his lips. “We are interested in the same thing, you and I. The vessel. The memory of the land. You’ve awakened it, haven’t you?”

  Aiko’s heart hammered. “I don’t know what you want, but you can’t have it.”

  He stepped closer, and she instinctively took a step back. “You don’t even know what you’re holding. That power belongs to all of us, not just one frightened girl. It is the key to harmony or annihilation. But make no mistake: it will not remain yours alone for long.”

  Aiko felt anger rising, mingling with fear. “Stay away from my family. I won’t let you hurt anyone.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “You have spirit. But spirit alone is not enough.” He reached out a hand, palm up, as if inviting her to surrender the shard.

  Aiko’s grip tightened. The earth beneath her feet didn’t just tremble—it growled. A low rumble surged upward, like stones grinding beneath centuries of pressure. The ground split in a jagged line between them, and a gust of wind rose from the soil, swirling dead leaves into the air. The shard in her hand grew hot, its spirals glowing with pale, burning light.

  The man’s expression changed—surprise, then calculation. “So it’s true. You are the vessel’s chosen.”

  Aiko’s fear exploded outward, and with it, a wave of forceroared, and the gust struck the man hard enough to stagger him. Stones rattled across the garden as the tremor crescendoed—and then, like breath drawn back, faded into stillness.

  “This is only the beginning,” he said, his voice now edged with threat. “You cannot stand alone forever.”

  He turned and vanished into the shadows between the trees.

  Aiko stood in the garden, breath ragged, the shard’s light fading in her palm. Her knees gave way, and she dropped to the grass, heart pounding. She had faced the watcher and survived. But the night had changed, and so had she.

  The house was silent when Aiko slipped back inside, her body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. She crept down the hall, the pottery shard still warm in her hand, and paused outside Baachan’s room. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure whether to disturb her grandmother’s sleep. But the memory of the watcher’s words—the threat in his voice, the certainty that this was only the beginning, gave her courage.

  She knocked softly. The door slid open almost immediately, and Baachan stood there in her night robe, her eyes sharp and alert despite the late hour. “Aiko?” she whispered, concern etched into every line of her face. Aiko’s voice shook. “Baachan, something happened. He was here, the man from the shadows. He wanted the shard. He knew about the vessel. I… I made the ground shake. I couldn’t control it.”

  Baachan drew her inside and closed the door behind them. She motioned for Aiko to sit, then knelt beside her, taking Aiko’s hands in her own. “It’s time I told you everything,” she said quietly. “You are not the first in our family to be chosen by the land… The vessel’s power has passed through our blood for generations, always awakening when Japan is threatened by darkness.”

  She opened the old lacquered box again, showing Aiko the faded photographs and the letter written in trembling kanji. “Your great-grandmother was a guardian, too. She faced the Kage no Kurayami, the Shadow of Darkness. They have always coveted the vessel’s power, believing it is the key to controlling the fate of our country. But the vessel chooses only those who listen to the land, who respect its memory.”

  Aiko’s eyes filled with tears, a mixture of fear and relief. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough, Baachan. I’m scared.”

  Baachan squeezed her hands, her voice gentle but firm. “Being chosen does not mean you must stand alone. The land’s memory is vast, and there are allies yet to be found. You must trust your heart and trust those who prove themselves worthy. But above all, you must never let the shadows take the vessel. If they do, the balance will be lost, and darkness will spread across the land.”

  Aiko nodded, wiping her eyes. The exhaustion in her limbs was tempered by the fire of resolve burning in her chest. “I understand. I won’t run away. I’ll protect the vessel and our family. Whatever it takes.”

  Baachan smiled, pride and sadness mingling in her gaze. “Good. Tomorrow, we begin your training. There are other sacred sites, other guardians’ secrets you must learn. The journey will not be easy, but you will not walk it alone.”

  Aiko clutched the shard, feeling its warmth pulse in time with her heartbeat. For the first time since her awakening, she felt something like hope, a sense that even as the shadows gathered, she had the strength to face them. As dawn crept over the mountains and the first birds began to sing, Aiko sat with Baachan, ready to learn, ready to fight, and ready to embrace the destiny that waited beneath the whispering earth.