Setting

In the Secret Realm behind Inari Shrine, inside an open-air hot spring.

Completely naked, Miketsu soaked in the spring, leaning back against the edge. Through the thick steam, she stared up at the night sky, let out a long breath, and murmured softly:

“Phew… it’s really been a long time since I… had a dream…”

Ever since she crossed into this world and became a deity, Miketsu had rarely dreamed. She still remembered that her first dream in this world had also been here at the shrine—born from Matara Okina’s call. It was at that time that she obtained Qin Xin, the fox mask.

Her second dream—just now—had been of an old man and a child kowtowing to her, praying desperately. Behind them were pursuers, and in her daze, she reached out and saved them.

The whole dream was extremely blurred. She couldn’t make out much. She only knew that the old man’s words weren’t in the archaic Japanese she usually heard, but in another language—one that felt familiar—yet she could understand it.

What did that dream mean? Had that scene really happened? Where and when had it taken place? Why had it appeared in her dream?

A chain of questions surfaced one after another in Miketsu’s mind, and irritation rose in her. She sank more of her body into the water, trying to ease a fatigue that didn’t truly exist.

“Heh… you don’t look so good. What—did something happen?” At that moment, a familiar voice drifted to Miketsu through the hot spring’s mist.

Miketsu turned her head. Peering through the fog, she saw a girl who looked exactly like her in every way except hair color. The girl was leaning against the opposite bank. On the shore beside her sat a tray: several skewers of grilled meat and a flask of wine. Smiling, she raised a cup toward Miketsu, looking utterly at ease.

It was Miketsu’s incarnation—Dakini-ten.

“So it’s you…” Miketsu said slowly, looking at the girl who shared her face. “You’re really enjoying yourself like this. Looks like you’ve adapted to life in the human realm pretty well.”

After arriving in the human realm, Dakini-ten had begun traveling everywhere. While keeping an eye on her, Miketsu had taken her to all sorts of places in Heian-kyo—after putting on disguises, of course.

All in all, after watching a girl who looked just like her every day these past few days, Miketsu had started to feel as if she’d gained a younger sister.

“Of course I have. I came to the human realm to enjoy myself~ Chanting sutras all day is so boring I could die. I really don’t get why there are so many mortals who want to become immortals or Buddhas—when the world of dust is so much more exciting and fun.” Taking a sip of wine, Dakini-ten grinned. She’d gotten all of this from Choyo-machi.

“The world of dust may be full of wonders,” Miketsu replied, “but its living beings are also bound by the suffering of birth, aging, sickness, and death. If they could, who wouldn’t wish to become an immortal or a Buddha—to transcend rebirth and live forever?”

“Hah~ Whether it’s becoming an immortal or becoming a Buddha, you have to spend a long time cultivating—cutting off desires, resisting calamities—until you reach a transcendent state of wanting nothing and seeking nothing. Only then can you ascend.

“But if you cultivate because you desire longevity, or desire power—then no matter what you do, you’ll never succeed.

“Isn’t that ridiculous? I cultivate to enjoy life and live forever—but if I keep that desire, I can’t succeed. And if I abandon every desire and finally ascend… then I’ve lost what I wanted in the first place, and everything becomes meaningless. What a joke.” Dakini-ten spread her hands, her tone openly mocking.

Her words made Miketsu sink into thought.

“Then… for beings like us—who can keep our desires, and who were gods and Buddhas from the start… orthodox gods are the best, aren’t they?” Miketsu tried to reason it out. Gods and Buddhas like her and Dakini-ten were powerful and immortal—didn’t that really make them better off than mortals who had to abandon desire to ascend?

“orthodox gods? No.” Dakini-ten’s expression turned serious as she spoke. “Don’t assume every god and Buddha in the Celestial Realm is like you. In some sense… they’re even more tragic.”

“Tragic…? What do you mean? Is something wrong with the other orthodox gods?” Miketsu frowned. In that instant, she remembered how Suwako had also mentioned something strange about Kanako.

“Wrong? You could call it that… Or maybe, in their eyes, we’re the abnormal ones.” Dakini-ten sighed and looked up at the sky, then continued:

“In the Celestial Realm… no matter what land a god or Buddha comes from, they all share the same problem. Everything about them is as if it was designed in advance—like they’re compelled to act according to a fixed script…”

“Designed?”

“Yes. Let me give you an example. A guardian Heavenly King must always be a wrathful vajra—fierce against evil, never compromising in the slightest. A savior Bodhisattva will always be overflowing with compassion, doing everything to deliver all beings, without even a trace of selfishness…”

Dakini-ten spoke slowly, but Miketsu only felt more confused.

“And what’s the problem with that?”

“The problem is enormous. Every single god and Buddha in the Celestial Realm acts exactly as their image and traits are recorded in myth and scripture—without the slightest deviation. A god defined as ‘good’ will never show private malice or selfish intent. A god defined as ‘punishment’ will be perfectly impartial and severe, never leaving any leeway. It’s unlike mortals, who live in chaos—capable of every emotion, doing all kinds of things. This is a different kind of purity.

“That is divinity.”

Hearing that, Miketsu’s heart clenched. She thought of her own divine virtue as Inari Okami—the divine virtue of a purely benevolent, kind deity. It influenced her actions at all times. If she obeyed that divine virtue completely, she would become a hopelessly saintly goddess who held goodwill toward all living beings—exactly the “pure good” Dakini-ten described.

But luckily, she could resist it. By now, the influence of that divine virtue had been growing weaker and weaker.

“Completely bound by mythic ‘settings’…? But you don’t look like the evil figure from legends at all.” Miketsu looked at Dakini-ten, puzzled. Dakini-ten had always felt more like a person—like Miketsu herself.

“Me? At the beginning, I was like them. I lived exactly like the Dakini from the Buddhist classics—no different at all. But after I entered Syncretism with you, everything changed. Little by little, I became what you see now—less like a god or Buddha, more like a mortal.

“And that’s all because of you.” Dakini-ten smiled as she raised her cup again, and Miketsu was startled.

“I influenced you through Syncretism?”

“Of course. Because of your influence, I gradually broke free of myth’s restraints. And I became less and less able to endure life in the Celestial Realm. That only strengthened my determination to leave it. I’d rather become your incarnation than stay up there.

“That place—the Celestial Realm—looks peaceful and wonderful… but it really isn’t somewhere a ‘person’ can live.” Dakini-ten finished the wine in her cup in one gulp, then relaxed into the hot spring’s warmth, exhaling in pure enjoyment.