>>5955663In the end, the sensation of guilt fades as well, as cold, pragmatic reality reasserts itself to you. The material world was indifferent to the phantasms of your mind. There was no kami who actually watched you or judged you, at least, not with a conscious mind similar to that of a human’s. Just like the mute statuary they allowed the flow of the world to pass them by with the bespoke wisdom of uncaring apathy to the troubles of your world, and you steel yourself back towards your purpose. For better or worse, you were who you were, and if you were to be a ninja at all you would execute that persona with the same unflinching precision and authority of the stone gods whose eyes impassively tracked your progress towards the temple.
There in the honden, the wooden main hall of the complex, you see a man meditating, blindfolded and surrounded by the smoke of burning incense. You give him a curt bow that he cannot be expected to witness and speak.
“Excuse me. I come seeking the wisdom of the temple.”
The man remains utterly still as if he hadn’t heard you at all. You let that silence linger until the man finally breaks it just as your nerve begins to wane.
He calmly asks “Who speaks to me?”
“Otomo Mizutani, genin of the Hidden Leaf. I’ve gone through a… We’ll call it a complicated set of circumstances. I’ve become burdened with problems of a spiritual nature.”
The blinded man takes in your words, allowing the somber flow of smoke and heat to speak for him for the moment before he finally says to you “Be seated in front of me. Within arms reach. I must take your measure.”
You do as you’re bid, sitting cross-legged in front of the man mere centimeters from your knees colliding, uncomfortably close to a brazier of smoking incense.
He reaches out a calm hand for your face, touching it all over, his thumb gently nudging your eyeballs before drifting down to your neck to feel your pulse and then even lower to your chest where he loses himself momentarily to the pulse of your beating your heart.
“Your spirit is a well of death, in more than one sense.” He says, the raw certainty of his assessment undercut by the gentleness with which he speaks his words. “Tell me what knowledge you seek.”
“I…” You begin, feeling nervous and exposed. “I’ve encountered a demon with my waking eyes. I need to know more about their nature so I can know what to do when it happens again. It’s related to the odd nature of my spirit, which is something I’m looking for answers about as well.”
“Odd?” The man says, frowning. “Yes, I suppose it is odd. You are dead, Otomo Mizutani. The spark of your life has already faded from this world, and yet you sit before me in the flesh. Odd indeed, what foul jutsu has been wrought on your soul.”
“Um…”
