Lynma

  Chapter 1 : The Girl Who LivedoOoOo

  It all began with a simple sentence.

  At first gnce, it was the kind of phrase spoken every day around dining tables across the world, casual, familiar, unremarkable. But for one young girl, that seemingly ordinary sentence would have far-reaching consequences.

  “Shōshin shita yo,” said Gabriel Denge proudly. (I’ve just been promoted.)

  Around the table, the reactions were cheerful. Séléné, Gabriel’s ten-year-old daughter, didn’t yet grasp all the implications, but she understood it was good news. Her mother, Miyu, looked pleased as well. They weren’t poor by any means, but she knew her husband, he loved his work, and greater responsibility would only make him happier.

  Kazue, for her part, remained stoic, as any proper Oba-san should. But deep down, she was proud of her daughter and son-in-w. Her gaze lingered a moment longer than usual on Gabriel’s face, and her nod, though brief, carried a silent weight of approval.

  “Mondai wa, Igirisu ni tenkin ni natta koto da,” he continued, a little less cheerfully. (The problem is, I’ve been relocated to Engnd.)

  Gabriel looked thoughtful. At thirty-nine, he was being promoted to Managing Director of the newly opened European branch of Kazura Trading Co., a company specializing in the import and distribution of high-grade Japanese tea and artisanal food products across the UK and Europe. It was the kind of offer no one in his position could refuse.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he had moved for work. Born in France in the 1950s, he had relocated to Japan in the 1970s for a promising career opportunity. That was where he met and fell in love with Miyu Okuni. They married in 1978, and in November 1980, welcomed their first and only child: Séléné Ushio Denge.

  She was the main reason he felt conflicted about the promotion.

  Moving across the world was no small thing for a child. Adjusting to a different culture would be difficult, even for a bright and resilient girl like Séléné. But in some ways, Gabriel hoped Engnd might be easier for her than Japan. She had inherited her mother’s graceful features and could easily be mistaken for a typical Japanese girl, if not for the striking, nearly white-blond hair she had from him.

  In a country as conservative as Japan, that kind of difference sparked gossip. Her primary school had even suggested, somewhat hypocritically, that it might be better if she dyed her hair bck. Odd advice, considering dyed hair was forbidden in the school’s own rules.

  Séléné, for her part, was ecstatic. She wasn’t afraid of the sudden change, she’d always had a bit of an adventurous side. Her curiosity overpowered her apprehension. What would life in Engnd be like? What would the people be like?

  The nguage barrier didn’t scare her either. Her parents had taken great care to switch nguages at home, often mid-sentence, so she would grow comfortable in all three. At ten, she was fluent in Japanese, spoke comfortably in French, and understood English well enough to follow most conversations.

  What she hoped for, deeply, was to finally find people she could connect with.

  She had always been a bit of an oddball around here. She liked to say what she was thinking, and that wasn’t always welcome in Japanese culture, where being polite was often more important than being honest. Then there was her hair. Some parents acted as if she were a delinquent just for looking different, and they even forbade their daughters from pying with her. It was beyond ridiculous. And, if she were being honest, a little heartbreaking.

  And then there were the strange events. Little things that happened when she was upset.

  One day, a teacher had been making some not-so-subtle remarks about improper appearances, and her binder suddenly burst open, papers flying everywhere like a small storm. Another time, near the school gates, a mother had loudly mocked her in front of her child, and moments ter, ended up with the exact same hair color. The best part? Séléné had still been at the shoe racks, completely out of sight, so she couldn’t be bmed. Not that it helped her reputation.

  At this point, most of her free time was spent doing schoolwork, practicing Kabuki, or simply being with her family. Maybe a change of pace really would be for the best.

  “Itsu kara hajimaru no?” she heard Miyu ask her husband. (And when do you start?)

  Séléné blinked, pulling herself back into the conversation after drifting off into her thoughts.

  “I have some work to finish first,” Gabriel said. “But I need to be at my new post in May. So we’ll have time to prepare, and for Séléné to finish her school year. We’ll probably move around April.”

  “Where in Engnd are we going?”

  “Exeter, in the southwest. The headquarters offered to rent something for us in town, but I think we should buy a house in the countryside instead. We can afford it, and it’ll be better for Séléné, and for Oba-san.”

  “Konai yo,” Kazue replied in Japanese. (I’m not coming.) “Can you imagine me in a new country at my age? I don’t even speak English.”

  Suddenly, Séléné felt a lot less ecstatic.

  She had lived with her grandmother all her life. Kazue was the one who introduced her to Kabuki, a long-lived family tradition, and the one who braided her hair with patience on school mornings. She didn’t want to be separated. But what could a ten-year-old girl do?

  For a little while, the conversation around the table went back and forth. Gabriel and Miyu tried, gently, then more firmly, to convince Kazue to come with them. But in the end, they couldn’t sway her. So they settled on the next best thing: they would try to visit Japan during the summer, at least Miyu and Séléné if Gabriel was too busy, and Kazue could come stay with them over the winter holidays.

  The meal ended on a note a little less cheerful than it began. After helping clear the table, Séléné retreated to her room to read, and, admittedly, to sulk a little.

  oOoOo

  “Oba-san wa watashi no koto kirai na no? (Do you hate me, Oba-san?) Is that why you don't want to come with us?”

  Séléné was being tucked into bed by her grandmother after an emotional evening, and like any tired little girl, she was afraid that she might somehow be the cause of this test upheaval.

  “Of course not, Ushio-chan,” Kazue said gently. “Your Oba-san loves you. You know that. But I’ve lived my whole life in Japan, and I’m too set in my ways to be comfortable in a new country. And there’s also your aunt, we can’t leave Michiko alone. I’ll visit you as often as I can, and you’ll come visit me.”

  “I’ll miss you a lot,” Séléné murmured, her pout equal parts adorable and heartbreaking. It made Kazue smile despite herself.

  “I know, Ushio-chan. And I’ll miss you too.” She smoothed back her granddaughter’s hair, fingers brushing over the pale strands with care.

  “Here. I have something for you,” Kazue said softly. She reached behind her neck and uncsped the familiar silver chain she always wore. With slow, deliberate fingers, she lifted it free and pced it gently into Séléné’s hands.

  “It’s been in our family for generations,” she added. “I meant to give it to your mother… but I think it’s truly yours.”

  Séléné cradled the neckce in her palms. The chain was simple, elegant. But the pendant, an engraved rectangle etched with the kanji 月 for Tsuki, the moon, caught the light and held her gaze.

  “Are you sure, Oba-san? I've never seen you without it.”

  “Yes, I’m sure, Ushio-chan. You're not leaving for several months, we’ll have plenty of time together before then. But for tonight, your mother is probably waiting to say good night. So, sleep well.” Kazue kissed her gently on the forehead.

  “Oyasumi, Oba-san!”

  Kazue stood up, a gentle smile on her lips. As she stepped away, the door creaked open and Miyu slipped inside, taking her pce beside her daughter’s bed.

  “So, do you want a story?” Miyu asked, her usual warmth filling her voice. “It’s getting te, and you still have school tomorrow.”

  “Yes, please! Can you tell The Tale of the Moonlit Hare and the Wisp of the Wood?”

  “Of course, love,” Miyu nodded, turning the pages of the storybook like a well-oiled routine. “Get comfortable, and I’ll start.”

  Once she had confirmation, Séléné snuggled deeper under the covers, eyes already fluttering shut, her breathing slowing as her mother’s soothing voice began her tale.

  “Long ago, in the heart of an ancient forest where the trees grew taller than the stars, there lived a little hare named Solis. His fur shimmered silver like moonlight, and his eyes glowed softly, like two tiny stars. He was known far and wide as the Moonlit Hare, for he could run faster than the wind and leap higher than the tallest tree.

  But despite his magic, Solis was lonely. No one could keep up with him. Though he raced through the trees every night, he longed for someone to run beside him.

  One chilly autumn evening, resting by the great oak at the forest’s edge, Solis noticed a flicker of light between the branches. Faint at first, the glow grew brighter until it became a swirling wisp of luminous magic.

  The wisp floated around Solis, casting a soft shimmer in the air. He had heard of the Wisps of the Wood, creatures that appeared only to those in need, but had never seen one so close.

  “Dear Solis,” the wisp said, its voice like a whisper of wind, “I have come to find you. You are a lonely soul, but tonight, that will change.”

  Solis twitched his ears. “How can that be? No one can run as I do. I have no one to leap through the stars with.”

  The wisp sparkled brighter. “I may not be able to run beside you, but I can lead you to someone who can.”

  It guided Solis deeper into the woods, where moonlight barely touched the ground. Eventually, they reached a clearing bathed in silver light. There, sitting upon a stone, was another hare. Her fur was as dark as midnight, and her eyes shone like the two halves of the moon, one pale, one shadowed.

  “This is Umbra,” said the wisp. “She too has been searching for someone to share her magic with.”

  Solis felt something stir in his chest. Umbra hopped forward, and they stared at each other with quiet recognition, as if they had known one another for a very long time.

  From that night on, Solis and Umbra ran through the forest together, leaving trails of silver moonlight wherever they leapt. Their ughter echoed through the trees, and they became as inseparable as the moon and stars.

  And so, my dear, the Moonlit Hare and the Wisp of the Wood remind us that sometimes, when we feel alone, magic is already working. It is leading us quietly toward the ones who are meant to find us.”

  Miyu gnced down and, as expected, her daughter was already asleep. She leaned forward, kissed her forehead, and tucked the covers a little more securely around her. For a moment, she simply watched her daughter sleep, the expression soft, the shes pale against her cheeks, and then quietly left the room.

  oOoOo

  When she opened her eyes, Séléné knew at once that this was not the world she had just left behind.

  She wasn’t lying in her bed anymore. The air felt different, cooler, and tinged with incense. She could feel she was dreaming. Her body felt light, as if wrapped in silk and fog. Her feet touched the ground, yet not quite. Each movement felt slightly deyed, as though the dream moved on its own rhythm and she was simply flowing through it.

  Before her stood a grand, ancient kabuki theatre. Not modern, not even cssical, the style was so old it almost defied time. Weathered wood framed the stage, painted nterns cast faint amber halos, and delicate gold-leaf patterns shimmered on faded curtains.

  Somehow, though she had never been here before, it felt like coming home.

  She recognized it for what it was. Her grandmother owned a small traditional theatre in the center of Uji, she had pyed behind the curtains since she could walk. But this one was rger, older, sacred in a way that made her hesitate.

  The house was nearly empty. No crowd, no orchestra. Only one figure knelt at the center of the stage: a breathtaking woman in an eborate kimono, embroidered with waves and cranes in flight. A shamisen rested gracefully across her p, her fingers poised with practiced elegance.

  Séléné felt acutely out of pce in her childish cat-themed nightgown. She wanted to vanish, to turn into mist and float away. But the woman smiled, not cold or distant, but with something like recognition. It gave her courage. She stepped forward.

  As she descended the creaking steps toward the stage, the woman plucked a single note on the shamisen, light, pyful, like a ripple in still water. With each step, another note. Not a song, not yet. Just a rhythm that held her, reassured her, guided her.

  She reached the edge of the stage and paused.

  “Ohayō,” Séléné said, hesitant.

  “Hello, Sochi,” the woman answered, her voice a breath of wind through silk, spoken in a graceful, older form of Japanese. “I imagine your thoughts are quite full right now. Perhaps you are wondering ‘Who is this woman?’ and ‘Where am I?’”

  Her smile deepened. “Let us skip ahead. I will tell you what you need to know. You may ask the rest when the time is right. Does that seem fair to you?”

  Séléné could only nod.

  The woman adjusted the folds of her kimono and struck a soft chord, as though tuning the dream itself.

  “I was born in 1572, in the province of Izumo. At that time, I was known as Izumo no Okuni. Yes, Sochi,” she added before Séléné could speak. “That famous Okuni. Founder of Kabuki. And yes… it is the origin of your lineage.”

  For a few moments, Okuni’s eyes drifted far into the distance. She plucked a slow, thoughtful melody from the shamisen, each note curling like incense into the theatre air.

  “The first thing you need to know, Sochi, is that Magic is real. It is a well known secret, but it has always been like that. When I built my theater, it was not only to spread joy and culture, even if it was part of it, it was mainly to protect women who, like me, had magic. Women who were hunted, shamed, or simply alone.

  We concealed our power in dance and story, turning rituals into performances, weaving spells into gestures and breath.

  Together, we created something no man could imitate.

  We brought luck, beauty, and mystery to the people. And that… was why we endured.”

  Her fingers stilled. The theatre seemed to exhale.

  “When I was thirty-eight, I gave birth to my second daughter. She had no magic, like my first. And in her eyes, I saw the end of magic in my line.

  Then, I received a vision, long, vivid, and heavy with sorrow. It showed me what would come.

  A child of my blood, born centuries ter. A daughter of the moon, walking in a world where magic was cruel, broken, twisted by power and pride.

  Where even the ones called good would cause pain.

  She would face it alone, unknowing, unprepared. I could not let that happen.”

  Her voice, until now soft and distant, became firm.

  “So I crafted a ritual. A great one. My spirit was bound to a single object, this pendant.”

  She plucked a harmonic, and the kanji for Tsuki glowed faintly at Séléné’s chest.

  “I gave up my life not to haunt, but to guide.

  When the time came, I would return, not as a savior, but as a whisper through sleep, to prepare you.”

  Séléné's throat felt tight. The pendant grew warm in her hand.

  Okuni’s smile returned, mencholy, but proud.

  “You are that daughter, Sochi.

  Your white hair is not from your father, it is the sign of the magic reawakening in our blood. I had the same hair, hidden beneath my wig.

  And all those odd little incidents? That was your magic reaching out. Responding to fear. To anger.

  You are not cursed. You are not alone.”

  She paused.

  “I lived a short life, but I was happy. And I gave it up freely. So I could be here, now, when you need me most.”

  oOoOo

  “Ushio-chan, hashiranai de yukkuri shite!” (Don’t run, Ushio-chan. Slow down.)

  Kazue’s warm voice echoed gently among the mossy steles of the Uji cemetery.

  The sun was shining on this beautiful April morning. The wind still carried a chill, but the cherry blossoms had begun to bloom, fragile pink against the blue sky. Birdsong fluttered from the trees above, and the silence of the cemetery felt less somber than usual.

  It was the perfect day to pay homage to the ancestors.

  Kazue and Séléné were on their way to her grandfather’s grave. Séléné carried the bucket of water with both hands, arms slightly wobbling with effort, while Kazue brought the paddle and incense. Her parents had traveled ahead to Engnd to finalize the house. The move was pnned for Saturday the 13th, only one week away.

  And she was trying to make the most of the time she had left.

  “Hai, Oba-san, gomene.” (Yes, Oba-san, sorry.) “It’s just that the weather is so beautiful, I can’t help being a little bit excited.”

  “Wakatta,” Kazue replied with a knowing smile. “But you must show respect in a cemetery. We wouldn’t want to disturb the yōkai.”

  The rest of the walk passed in companionable silence. At the grave, they cleaned the stone carefully, removed wilted flowers, and swept away fallen petals. They lit the incense, hands folded, heads bowed. The ritual was quiet, simple, but meaningful.

  As they made their way back, Séléné looked up.

  “Say, Oba-san… do you think I’ll like Engnd?”

  “Of course, Ushio-chan. And I think Engnd will like you in return.”

  “Do you think they’ll make fun of my hair?”

  “Why would they? It’s only considered strange here because it’s rare. If it weren’t so unique, people would realize how beautiful you are.”

  “Oba-saaaan!” Séléné whined, half-ughing, half-flustered.

  “But really,” Kazue added more gently, “even if some people are mean, it doesn’t matter.

  You’ll find your real friends soon enough, people who like you for who you are.

  And those who judge you from the start? Well, they save you the trouble of getting to know them.”

  “Are you sure you can’t come with us?”

  “I’m sure. I still have Michiko and some friends here. And someone has to look after your grandfather. But I’ll visit, and you’ll be so busy making new friends you won’t have time to miss me.”

  “Nah. I’ll never be too busy for you.”

  Kazue smiled and pulled her into a hug. They walked like that for a while, arms around each other, sharing warmth in the crisp spring air.

  As they neared home, Séléné’s thoughts drifted once again to her dreams.

  Okuni had returned several times since that first night.

  She spoke not only of history and magic, but of what was coming.

  She had warned that Séléné wouldn’t be the one at the center of events, a marked boy already carried that fate.

  But still… she would have a part to py.

  And the magical world?

  It would need fixing.

  When they finally reached the house, Séléné felt torn.

  Her life in Japan had never been easy, but… would it be any better in Engnd?

  There, she would be a Muggleborn, looked down on by many, or so Okuni warned. And she couldn’t tell her parents. Not yet. Not until they saw it for themselves.

  So she did what she always did.

  She kept going.

  She would prepare herself, quietly, steadily.

  And when the time came… she would be ready.