The dojo was deathly silent, save for Shinjuro's heavy breathing and Senjuro's stifled sobs.
After a long while, Rokuya released his grip and straightened, his tone softening slightly. "Take me to see her."
Shinjuro shuddered and raised his head, his eyes filled with disbelief and wariness. "What are you going to do?"
"I have a special power. It might not cure her terminal illness, but I can stabilize her condition and keep her alive a while longer." Rokuya dusted off his hands. "If you want her to spend a few more years with you, stop playing dead on the floor."
Shinjuro's eyes suddenly lit up, as though he had found a lifeline. He struggled to his feet, not even bothering to wipe the vomit off himself, his hoarse voice trembling. "You... is that true? Can you really save Ruka?"
"Lead the way. Keep babbling and I'll change my mind," Rokuya said impatiently.
The air in the sickroom felt somewhat stuffy, thick with the bitter smell of medicine.
Thick bedding lay spread across the tatami. A gaunt woman, her face as pale as paper, lay there quietly, her breathing so faint it was almost inaudible. Even so, an innate strength and dignity remained in her features.
Ruka.
Rokuya walked over to the bedside and looked at the woman whose time even the Grim Reaper was counting down. He could sense that the vitality within her was like a candle flickering in the wind, ready to go out at any moment.
"Ruka..." Shinjuro knelt beside the bedding, clutching his wife's hand as tears streamed uncontrollably down his face.
"Move." Rokuya unceremoniously pushed Shinjuro aside.
He drew a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes. The overbearing, mysterious arcana power within him began circulating furiously.
Gradually, a silver-blue radiance as deep as