Before the Shrine's main hall, the bonfire burned brightly.
A massive pyre built from dozens of pine logs blazed in the night. Sparks were swept up by the night wind and drifted into the pitch-black sky like countless fireflies set free.
The firelight bathed the entire Shrine in warm gold and crimson. Those ancient wooden buildings stood silent amid the light and shadows, like old men who had witnessed centuries of change and, at this moment, finally revealed a faint smile.
Long tables were lined up along the stone steps before the main hall, covered in snow-white tablecloths and laden with lacquered food boxes and bottles of sake.
The Eight Clans of the Serpent executives in black suits sat in small groups. Gone was their usual bloodthirsty ferocity; all of them were smiling, clinking cups and laughing loudly.
Several clan heads sat at the head of the tables.
Genji Wakana held a wine cup as he turned to speak with Minamoto Chisaki beside him, his smile gentle. His features were still as delicate and beautiful as ever, but much of that gloomy air had faded, as though a boulder that had weighed on his heart for years had finally been removed.
Minamoto Chisaki sat beside him with a smile on his face as well, though he looked somewhat exhausted. Holding his cup, he listened to his younger brother and nodded from time to time. The side effects of the Dragon Blood serum had yet to fully subside, and his complexion remained a little pale, but his eyes no longer held that desperate strain of someone on the verge of collapse.
Uesugi Koshi sat across from them.
The old man had drunk a little too much tonight. His weathered face was flushed bright red as he slung an arm around a