Shinsei slowly opened his eyes. In his Mangekyō Sharingan, a faint flame flickered and Issen.
He looked at Kaguya, who was crying, forced a smile, and comforted her.
Why do you say that? Have you remembered something?
Otsutsuki Kaguya hung her head, tears dripping from her eyes onto the ground.
Her tone was low and detached, with an indescribable chill.
Would you like to hear a story?
My name is Otsutsuki Kaguya, and I've lived in a very cold, tall tower since I was a child.
That tower is so tall that even the clouds are below it. I always sit by the window and watch the people below.
They wore the same white clothes and walked silently. Sometimes they would look up at me, and I would shrink back. My mother said I shouldn't let them look for too long.
If it goes on for too long, they'll remember a face. And if they do, it'll be dangerous.
The mother is the father's servant.
His father was the clan chief, and everyone in the clan called him the Ancestor of the Ōtsutsuki.
My mother said she wasn't from the Ōtsutsuki. She used to be a goddess from another heaven, who would bring rain and watch over a valley.
Later, the Ōtsutsuki came, swallowed her heaven, and took her into the tower as well.
My father said it was kindness. I didn't know what kindness was. All I knew was that my mother's hands were cold, like water just scooped from a well.
She combed my hair slowly. The bone comb was engraved with extremely fine patterns; it came from her own world, and a small wisp of grass from her hometown was still wrapped around it. My mother said, "Kaguya, you must smile from now on."
People who can't laugh won't live long in the tower.
I don't laugh.
My mother put down the bone comb, squatted down, and cupped my face in her hands. She said, "It's okay, just looking at you makes you smile."
I looked at her and actually smiled.
My mother was often beaten. My father didn't do it himself; those people in white would.
They beat their mother for breaking a plate. They beat their mother for walking too slowly.
They beat her when her mother sang at night. They said slaves shouldn't make a sound. So her mother stopped singing. But she would still secretly wipe away her tears.
I saw her curled up in the corner, her face against the wall, her shoulders trembling. I crawled over and pressed my face against her back. She immediately stopped trembling. She turned around, her eyes were terribly red, but there was a smile on her lips.
She said, "It doesn't hurt. Kaguya, it doesn't hurt."
I knew she was lying to me, but I still nodded. Because if I smiled, she would feel relieved.
Later, my mother had a friend who was also a maid whom the Ōtsutsuki had taken in from outside.
She was taller than her mother, spoke loudly, and would talk back even when hit.
She always said, "You can hold onto your body, but you can't lose your spirit." My mother would laugh when she heard that. She often patted my head. Her hands were warmer than my mother's.
She said, "Your mother didn't suffer in vain; at least she gave birth to such a beautiful little thing like you."
When she said this, her eyes sparkled, as if she were holding light in her eyes.
Later she became pregnant.
Life inside the tower remained the same. The Ōtsutsuki Clan began traveling from planet to planet.
They call it "pilgrimage." Wherever they go, they plant God Tree on the ground.
As the God Tree grows, its fruit goes to those inside the tower, but its roots will drain the entire earth dry.
My mother said that those people crying outside are just like we used to be.
I asked if they would also be taken into the tower. My mother didn't answer.
The tall aunt stood by the window, looking at the blazing sky outside, and said they wouldn't. Useless people wouldn't be brought in. Then she put her hand on her stomach and remained silent for a long time.
I have a younger sister.
When she was born, her father sent someone to take her away, saying that the children of the Ōtsutsuki should be raised together. She grew up in front of the Ancestor of the Ōtsutsuki. I rarely saw her, but every time we did, she would give me something.
A piece of gummy candy, a flower that never fades, sometimes it's just a cool leaf.
She said, "Sister, this leaf can sing." I put it to my ear, but I couldn't hear anything. She said, "You're too impatient. You have to wait until it remembers before it sings."
We sat on the steps and waited. As the sun began to set, the leaves finally rustled.
We grew up little by little like that.
Father led us on a pilgrimage, from one world to another. I stood behind him, watching those worlds turn gray beneath the God Tree. My sister stood beside me.
She stopped carrying leaves. She stared at those people for longer and longer periods, her lips tightening more and more. I tugged at her sleeve.
She whispered, "Sister, look at that man. He's holding his child in his arms."
I nodded.
She asked, "Will we become like that someday?"
I said no.
She didn't say anything.
It was a sunny day. The people on that planet knelt before the God Tree; there were old people and children.
My father stood on the tree roots. He said, "There will be no more hunger on this land." But I knew he was lying. He always told the same lie. A man in the crowd rushed out, grabbed the roots at my father's feet, and cried out, begging him to let him go.
The father didn't move, but the men in white stepped forward and dragged the man away.
The man's child, only five or six years old, followed behind him, as thin as a bird. The father waved his hand. One by one, the ordinary people fell down.
My younger sister suddenly went outside.
"Enough!"
All the Ōtsutsuki were looking at her. Her father was looking at her too. Her father said, "What did you say?"
My sister didn't back down. She stood there, chin up, legs trembling, but her voice didn't.
"I've said enough! We've killed so many people. The people here are innocent. They just want to live."
The father remained calm. He said, "You want to speak up for them?"
My sister said, "Yes."
Father smiled. He rarely smiled. The last time I saw him smile was the day Mother was dragged away. He smiled, then raised his hand. In an instant, all the kneeling ordinary people were sliced into pieces by the light blade. My sister's pupils contracted. A splatter of blood appeared on her white dress.
"See that? Everyone who spoke up for them is dead. Get out of the way, or you'll die too!"
The younger sister didn't say anything. She just stood there. The father seemed to find it boring and stopped looking at her.
Just then, a figure rushed out from the crowd—it was the younger sister's mother. She was thinner than anyone else, but she ran faster than anyone else. She spread her arms and shielded her younger sister.
The father frowned.
"The bloodlines of these lowly gods are indeed filthy, utterly ignorant of their place!"
The mother also stepped forward. Together with her sister's mother, she pushed her sister back.
My mother called to me, telling me to pull my sister away. I had just run over when the light came down.
The aunt fell first. Her back was split open diagonally, but she was still standing, her head drooping.
My sister didn't scream, she just rushed over and hugged her. Blood flowed from under my aunt, down the steps to my feet. My mother was still kneeling beside her, her face already ashen.
The father turned his head and looked at the mother.
"I almost forgot, you also have the bloodline of a low-level deity."
The light fell again. The mother didn't even cry out.
My sister pulled me back to the edge of the steps. My father didn't even look at us; he just turned and walked away.
Those people in white dragged my mother and aunt away. I could hear the sound of their clothes scraping against the ground.
My sister and I buried our mother and aunt together.
"She used to say that she would go back to her hometown after the war ended. She lied."
She didn't lie to you.
My sister looked up at me, her eyes were terribly red, but she still didn't shed a tear.
"I've had enough! I've really had enough! My father's blood flows in my veins, that's truly sinful blood! Filthy blood! It can't be washed away no matter where I go. I hate him. I hate myself too!"
I didn't know what to do, so I just held her.
That night, she came to my room. She sat on the edge of my bed, just like she did when I was a child.
She said, "Sister, I'm leaving."
I asked, "Where are you going?"
She said, "I'm going to a place where I'll never have to eat people again."
Then she smiled. A smile unlike any other. She reached out and touched my forehead. It was cool, like a mother's fingers.
"I'm sorry, but I have to use these Ōtsutsuki's Plundering Eyes once more."
Her eyes began to glow. The light wasn't white; it was cold, like two moons without warmth.
She looked at me. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier. I wanted to grab her hand, but it had already left mine.
"Forget me, dear sister. That way, you won't be in pain."