The monastery was a tomb of quiet, the air thick with the scent of old paper and cold incense. Kanae sat at the small wooden desk, her frame dwarfed by the heavy, dark folds of the borrowed robe. The garment was meant for prayer, but on her, it felt like a shroud-a temporary skin to hide the hunter beneath.

  She didn't sleep. Her mind wouldn't allow it. Instead, she stared at the sketches on the desk, the lead of the pencil digging deep into the grain of the paper.

  "Kika-shu," she whispered, the name a curse on her lips.

  Her heart beat a slow, steady rhythm-thump, thump, thump-matching the drip of a leaky tap in the bathroom. Outside the window, the moon hung low over the graveyard, casting long, skeletal shadows across the weathered tombstones.

  She turned her gaze to the crosses. To the world, they were symbols of salvation. To her, they were just markers of where the struggle ended.

  She turned her gaze to the crosses. To the world, they were symbols of salvation. To her, they were just markers of where the struggle ended.

  She reached beneath the bed, her fingers grazing the cool, familiar hilt of her blade. The metal didn't belong in a house of God, yet it was the only thing that made her feel whole. She pulled the sword out just enough to see the tempered edge catch the candlelight-a sliver of lethal silver.

  "...Soon," she murmured.

  Her chest rose and fell in one long, final exhale. She stood, the dark fabric of the robe whispering against the stone floor. She didn't look like a traveler anymore. She didn't look like a girl from Hiroshima.

  In the flickering light, she looked like an omen.

  Kanae stood by the narrow window, her chest rising and falling in a measured rhythm. Her eyes traced the blurred, skeletal shapes of the graveyard beyond the glass. Rain drummed softly at first-a rhythmic whisper against the ancient stone walls-before growing steadier, more insistent. Fingers of water traced jagged paths down the pane, distorting the rows of leaning headstones until they looked like jagged teeth rising from the earth.

  "...Rain," she murmured. Her voice was low, nearly swallowed by the constant patter.

  Each droplet felt heavy, deliberate, and persistent. The sound pressed against her thoughts, a quiet reminder of the world she had temporarily left behind.

  A soft, hesitant knock echoed from the door.

  Kanae's heartbeat flicked once. Her awareness sharpened instantly, her muscles coiling beneath the dark fabric of the borrowed robe.

  "...Yes?"

  She opened the door.

  A young nun stood in the dim hallway, clutching a wooden tray with both hands. Her shoulders were rigid, pulled tight toward her ears, her posture screaming of a suppressed terror. Her eyes met Kanae's for a fleeting second before darting away, frantic and nervous.

  "H-Hello," the nun said, her voice barely a thread of sound.

  Kanae tilted her head, a faint crease of curiosity breaking her stoic mask. "Can I help you?"

  The girl swallowed audibly, a tiny tremor vibrating in her throat. "My name is Sister Rebecca," she said, her voice small and fragile. "I was... sent to deliver food."

  Kanae blinked, her mind automatically calculating the variables. "..Food? I didn't order anything."

  Rebecca shook her head quickly, her veil swaying with the movement. "...It's-it is from Sister Alice. The head of the monastery.”

  Recognition flickered across Kanae's expression. Sister Alice. The name carried a weight she couldn't yet define.

  "...I see." A faint, polite smile touched Kanae's lips- small, careful, and almost shy. "...Please tell her thank you."

  Slowly, she took the tray. Up close, the girl's distress was impossible to miss. Rebecca's fingers were trembling-barely visible, but enough to betray the storm inside her. She carried a profound discomfort in her very bones, evidenced by the quick, controlled steps she took as she turned and practically fled down the hallway.

  Kanae didn't close the door immediately. She lingered in the threshold, watching the retreating form, noting the frantic glances the nun cast over her shoulder.

  "...Something's off," Kanae whispered to the shadows.

  Finally, the door clicked shut.

  She set the tray down and sat on the edge of the bed. For a long moment, she simply stared at the meal, her fingers tracing the rim of the ceramic plate. "...Why so nervous?" she muttered.

  She took a bite. The food was warm, simple, and filling, but the comfort didn't reach her mind. Her thoughts kept circling back to Sister Rebecca-the trembling hands, the darting eyes, the hollow silence she left in her wake.

  "...I'm overthinking," she whispered, though the sensation lingered like a cold draft at the edge of the room.

  The rain continued its relentless assault. Dusk surrendered to a pitch-black night. Kanae washed her face, the icy water cutting through the fog of her fatigue, leaving her skin tingling and her mind sharp.

  She lay down, the silence of the room pressing in on her. Her heartbeat thumped softly in her ears- thump, thump, thump.

  Then—

  Grrrr.

  Kanae froze. Her stomach tightened painfully against her ribs. "...Huh?"

  She frowned, pressing a hand against her abdomen. "...I just ate."

  A slow, cautious inhale. Her pulse ticked up. "...Why am I still hungry?"

  No answer came. Only the sound of the rain, tapping with a rhythmic, ghostly insistence against the glass.

  She rose from the bed, her chest tight with a sudden, localized awareness. "...I'll ask," she murmured.

  The hallways were different in the dark. They felt longer, more cavernous, with shadows pooling like spilled ink beneath the flickering oil lamps. Each footstep was a soft scrape of leather against stone. Her senses sharpened; her ears strained for the slightest discordance in the monastery's song.

  Voices drifted from a nearby room-low, urgent, and hushed.

  "...She's not feeling well."

  "... Sister Alice hasn't been herself all day."

  Kanae's brow furrowed. "...Who are they talking about?" The question rolled in her mind, waking a pulse of tactical caution.

  "Kanae?"

  She turned sharply, her hand instinctively dropping toward where her blade should be.

  Sister Sam stood there, her expression calm yet firm, her eyes steady in the gloom. "You shouldn't wander around at this hour," she said softly. Her voice was warm, but it was edged with an unmistakable authority. "...Please return to your room."

  Kanae lowered her head slightly, her posture becoming obedient and small, though the tension remained locked in her shoulders. "...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

  Sister Sam nodded once. "..It's alright. Just be careful.”

  Step by step, Kanae walked back toward her quarters. Each footfall felt heavier than the last, carrying the weight of the unanswered questions. The hallway seemed to swallow the sound of her movement, the echoes lingering like ghosts.

  When she reached her door, she whispered into the dark, her voice almost lost to the rain: "...Everything feels fine."

  A pause. A slow, deep breath. Her heart remained on high alert.

  "...But something still feels very wrong."

  Outside, the rain continued-soft, constant, and unending. Somewhere in the heart of the stone monastery, something was waiting. Something that didn't belong in a house of God.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Kanae returned to her room with the silent precision of a shadow. Each footstep was measured, the soft thud of her shoes muted against the aged floorboards. The door closed behind her with a final, hollow click-a sound that felt disproportionately loud in the suffocating silence of the monastery.

  She paused, standing perfectly still in the center of the room. The candlelight flickered weakly, struggling against the gloom, casting elongated shadows that danced like fever dreams along the stone corners. Outside, the rain had intensified; it pressed harder now against the glass, a relentless, unceasing drumming that felt like a warning.

  "...Something's wrong," she murmured.

  Her stomach tightened-a subtle, parasitic gnawing that refused to quiet. Hunger. It wasn't the sharp pang of an empty belly, but something more persistent, a hollow ache lingering at the very edges of her soul.

  She lowered herself onto the bed, elbows resting on her knees, fingers interlaced. Every breath she took was slow, forced, as if she could manually override the rising tide of her own unease.

  "I've ate... twice," she whispered to the dark. "... Why am I still hungry?”

  No answer came. Only the metronome of the rain, tapping against the glass with a rhythm she couldn't ignore. She leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her mind catalogued the day's anomalies: Sister Rebecca's trembling hands, Sister Alice's sudden collapse, the frantic whispers in the corridors.

  "Think tomorrow," she muttered, her voice barely audible. Her eyelids grew heavy, weighted by the sheer exhaustion of her journey and the hypnotic drone of the storm.

  Just as sleep began to pull her under—

  Tap.

  A faint sound. Precise. Metallic. It came from the window.

  Kanae's eyes snapped open. She held her breath, her senses screaming. "... Hmm?"

  She waited, listening to the static of the rain. Nothing followed. After a long minute, she exhaled slowly, letting her shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. She turned onto her side, pulling the dark robe tighter.

  "...I'm imagining things," she whispered, as if the words could make it true.

  Sleep eventually claimed her, but it was restless and thin.

  Morning arrived in shades of leaden gray and damp wool. The rain was still there-steady, unyielding, a permanent fixture of the Osaka sky. Kanae woke to the sound, her muscles stiff as if she had spent the night fighting in her dreams.

  "...Still?" she muttered, sitting up and rubbing the grit from her eyes.

  She moved to the bathroom, splashing her face with ice-cold water. She brushed her teeth and straightened her borrowed robes, each action a grounding ritual meant to anchor her to the present. When she returned to the room, a sharp knock echoed at the door.

  She opened it, but the hallway was empty. Only a tray sat neatly on the floor, steam rising from the bowl in pale, curling wisps.

  Kanae's eyes narrowed. "... They're really persistent.”

  She brought the tray inside and ate with deliberate, measured bites. Yet her thoughts remained elsewhere-the sisters were too kind, too watchful. There was a weight behind their hospitality, a sense of observation that felt more like a cage than a welcome.

  She finished the meal and lifted the tray. "..I should return this," she murmured.

  The monastery was alive with the sound of muted movement. Kanae walked with purpose, following the distant echoes of labor until she found Sister Sam. The older nun was slumped in a chair, her sleeves rolled up, her posture radiating a bone-deep exhaustion.

  "Oh," Sam said, looking up with a startled blink. "You brought the tray."

  Kanae nodded, stepping forward with a slight, respectful bow. She handed it over, her eyes scanning the room.

  "Thank you," Sam said softly. "You're very polite."

  "...May I ask something?" Kanae's tone was cautious. "My clothes?”

  Still in the laundry," Sam explained, a trace of hesitation in her voice. "...The rain won't stop. They simply won't dry."

  Kanae nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on the dark circles beneath Sam's eyes and the tension lines etched into her face. "... You're tired," she said quietly.

  Sam blinked, caught off guard by the blunt observation. "Ah-no, it's nothing."

  Kanae shook her head gently. "...Let me help."

  "No, please," Sam's hand shot up in protest. "You're a guest."

  "I insist," Kanae replied. Her tone was firm, the voice of someone used to duty. "...I can't just sit while you work."

  Sam studied her for a long moment, weighing the young traveler. "...You're stubborn," she said finally, a tired, genuine smile tugging at her lips. She exhaled a long breath and handed Kanae a cloth. "Wrap this around your face. Dust."

  Cleaning supplies followed. Kanae bowed again. "Thank you.”

  She worked with methodical, silent efficiency.

  Sweeping. Wiping. Scrubbing. Each motion was a kata, precise and deliberate. Other sisters paused in their chores, watching her, whispering in the corners. "... She's serious," one murmured.

  From a distance, Sister Sam watched her with a quiet, growing curiosity. "... Who are you, really?" she whispered to herself.

  As Kanae passed a closed door near the end of the hall, voices drifted out-low, urgent, and strained with a frantic edge.

  "...She won't stop vomiting."

  "..She saw something."

  "...She refuses to talk about it."

  Kanae slowed her pace, her ears straining. "...Hmm?" she breathed.

  A faint, wet retching sound echoed from behind the wood. Kanae's jaw tightened. Footsteps approached the door from the inside; she immediately straightened, resuming her work as if she were merely focused on a smudge on the wall.

  The door flew open. A nun emerged, her face pale and shaken. She looked at Kanae with a sharp, suspicious glare. "... Who are you?"

  "A traveler," Kanae said calmly. "Just helping clean. Can i clean this room?"

  The nun hesitated, her hand still trembling on the doorknob. "...No. I'll handle it."

  Kanae bowed politely. "Understood."

  As she turned to leave, the nun's voice stopped her. "...Wait." She looked down the now-spotless hallway, her eyes widening at the sheer volume of work Kanae had completed in such a short time. "...You did all this?"

  "...Yes," Kanae said softly.

  The sister exhaled, her defensive tension melting into desperation. "...Fine. You can clean inside."

  Inside the room, the smell hit her first. It was the scent of sickness-bitter, heavy, and cloying. Kanae's movements slowed instinctively. She became a ghost, respectful and silent. She wiped the floors and cleared the grime from the windows, her eyes never lingering too long on the bed.

  On that bed lay a figure, covered and deathly still. Kanae glanced once, her pulse ticking up. "..Not now," she whispered to her own rising instincts.

  She finished her task and stepped back into the hall. The sister looked at the transformed, sterile room. ".. Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking.

  Kanae bowed one last time. As she walked away, her mind was a whirlwind of questions. Who saw what? What is making them sick?

  Outside, the rain continued its relentless assault. And deep within her, the hunger gnawed-persistent, hollow, and refusing to fade.

  Kanae stepped out of the room. The hallway stretched before her, a cavernous throat of old stone and damp air. Rain seeped faintly through the masonry, the scent of wet earth mingling with the lingering musk of incense. Her movements were calm, measured-each step light and deliberate, almost too smooth for a common traveler -but her eyes betrayed the predator within. They flicked down the corridor, then forward, scanning the shadows for a discordance in the dark.

  Scanning. Assessing. Never lingering.

  "...Something's not right," she murmured. Her voice was a mere breath, her lips barely moving. Her heartbeat quickened by an imperceptible fraction-a subtle, cold pressure mounting behind her ribs.

  She continued her cleaning as if the world were at peace, wiping railings and sweeping corners with mechanical precision. To any sister watching, she was the perfect, diligent guest. But inside, her thoughts spun like a whetstone.

  Someone saw something. Someone fell ill. And the silence here is far too heavy.

  She gripped the cleaning cloth tighter, her knuckles whitening, muscles coiling just beneath her calm exterior. She was a coiled spring in a dark room.

  After an hour of silent labor, Kanae reached the main hall. The massive, arched windows framed relentless sheets of rain, mist curling along the floorboards like ghostly fingers. Sister Sam sat slumped in a high-backed chair, her head tipped to the side, deathly still.

  Kanae paused, her hand hovering over the broom. She noted the subtle, shallow rise and fall of the sister's chest.

  "...She didn't even realize I was here," she whispered under her breath, her eyes narrowing.

  She cleared her throat softly. "Sister Sam?"

  No response.

  She raised her voice slightly, careful not to startle the exhausted woman. "...Sister Sam.”

  The nun's eyelids fluttered. Slowly, painfully, awareness returned. "Oh-!" She straightened instantly, a flush of embarrassment coloring her pale cheeks. "I fell asleep? In the hall?"

  Kanae inclined her head. "Yes. But... I finished."

  Sister Sam glanced around the hall. Her eyes widened, reflecting the dull gray light from the windows. The floors gleamed like polished obsidian. The corners were spotless. Even the ancient shelves had been reorganized with obsessive care.

  "... You cleaned everything?" Her voice was thin, tinged with a weary disbelief.

  Kanae offered a slight bow. "I hope it's acceptable."

  A soft, incredulous laugh escaped Sam's lips-relief mixed with exhaustion. "Acceptable? This is incredible, child." She studied Kanae closely, her gaze searching. ".. You really don't know when to stop helping, do you?"

  Kanae hesitated, then spoke with a level, unwavering tone. "...May I help more?"

  Sam blinked, caught off guard. "... What?"

  "If there's anything else," Kanae said, her earnestness cutting through the gloom.

  The older woman paused, her eyes softening as she weighed the girl's sincerity. "...You don't have to," she said gently.

  "I want to," Kanae replied, her voice a flat, matter-of-fact constant.

  Sam exhaled, a quiet surrender to the girl's stubbornness. "...Alright," she said, her voice softening into a rasp. "Could you make me a fresh cup of tea?"

  Kanae nodded immediately. "Of course.”

  Kanae entered the kitchen, where the scent of bitter herbs and lingering rain fought for dominance. She froze in the center of the room.

  "...Tea."

  She stared at the sprawling counters, a rare uncertainty creeping into her posture. ...How do you make tea?

  She began opening cabinet after cabinet-plates, cups, jars-each wooden click echoing sharply in the hollow kitchen. "... Not this."

  Another cabinet groaned open. "...Ah."

  A small wooden box revealed a stash of tea bags. She picked one up, inspecting the paper tag, then the bag itself as if it were a complex mechanism. "Instructions?"

  She searched the counter and found a small, handwritten sheet. She read it. Paused. Re-read it.

  "...Too many steps," she muttered, a frown creasing her brow. She crumpled the paper lightly and tossed it aside. "Simple is better.”

  She dropped every single tea bag from the box into the pot. ..More tea equals stronger tea, she reasoned. She added boiling water. Then sugar. ... Sweetness helps the soul.

  She hesitated, her hand hovering over a small jar of white crystals. "...Salt?" A tiny sprinkle followed. ... Balance.

  Kanae nodded slowly, satisfied with her crude but thoughtful alchemy.

  She returned to the hall with the cup, her walk careful and measured to prevent a single drop from spilling. "Here," she said, handing it over.

  Sister Sam lifted the cup, her eyes curious. She took a slow sip.

  Pause.

  Her eyes widened slightly. "...This is... good."

  Kanae blinked, her stoic mask slipping for a heartbeat. "...Really?"

  The nun took another deliberate sip, a look of genuine surprise on her face. "...Surprisingly good. Potent."

  Relief spread across Kanae's shoulders like a physical weight lifting. "...Is there anything else?" she asked quietly.

  Sam shook her head firmly. "No. Absolutely not." Her smile warmed the dim, cold room. She reached into her sleeve, pulling out a small, embroidered pouch. "Please," she said, holding it out. "Take this."

  Kanae's hands shot up reflexively, palms outward. "No, I can't—”

  You helped us in our hour of need," Sam said firmly, pressing the pouch into Kanae's palm. "Let us repay that kindness. It is the way of the church."

  Kanae looked down at the pouch, her fingers curling around the fabric. "... Thank you," she murmured, her voice dropping to a low, respectful register.

  Sam's eyes fell on Kanae's borrowed robe, noting the dust and water stains. "Oh-this needs washing too. You've worked so hard."

  Kanae shook her head quickly. "It's fine."

  But the sister was already rummaging through a nearby linen press. "No, no. Here." She handed her another set of dark, flowing garments. "And your own clothes will be dry by tomorrow morning."

  Kanae took the garments carefully, her mind already shifting back to the shadows. As she turned to leave

  "...Wait," Sister Sam said softly. She had opened the tea cabinet. "...The tea bags. Where did they go?”

  Kanae froze for half a second-then relaxed, her expression returning to its usual, calm neutrality. "I... may have used them all," she admitted.

  Sam sighed softly, though her eyes were twinkling with a tired amusement. "...Could you buy some later? If the rain lets up?" Her tone was polite, almost hesitant. "Sister Alice will need her tea when she wakes."

  Kanae nodded slowly. "...I will."

  As she walked away, her fingers tightening reflexively around the pouch in her pocket, she whispered under her breath, a promise to the dark:

  "...Tomorrow... I'll know the truth."

  Outside, the rain showed no sign of stopping. Each drop was a constant, drumming reminder of the weight pressing in-the unseen, the unanswered, the waiting.

  ... It's lying low, she thought, her eyes narrowing. ...Trying to stay beneath the world's notice.

  She drifted back, ducking behind a heavy stone pillar. From this vantage point, she could see a sliver of the room through the narrow gap beneath the door. The light inside was dying-a single candle flickering in its own wax, casting long, skeletal shadows that danced frantically along the far wall.

  "...I'll know soon enough," she muttered under her breath. Her breathing remained rhythmic, a controlled cycle of air. "...Just a little closer."

  She edged forward into the spill of the shadows, her gaze sweeping every corner. The faint scent of antiseptic grew stronger, turning pungent and chemical. But there was another scent layered over it-a smell she knew from the dark corners of Hiroshima. It was metallic, cloyingly sweet, and sharp.

  Fear.

  Someone was hiding, and that someone was terrified.

  She crouched lower still, sliding her hand along the wall until she found the corner of a storage closet. From here, she had a clear line of sight to the bottom hinge of the door. Through the gap, she saw the slight, erratic rise and fall of the bedding in the candlelight.

  "... Who is it?" she whispered, the tension of a physical cord in her throat. "... Who's really sick... and what did she see?"

  A soft, almost imperceptible sound reached her-a wet, muffled retching. Kanae's breath hitched, restrained by sheer force of will. Her hand flexed, fingers curling into the shadowed edge of the closet until her knuckles turned to ivory. Her body was a coiled spring, ready to release but held in check by her training. The world had contracted to this narrow hallway, this door, and the sound of someone in quiet, rhythmic suffering.

  "...I'll find out," she thought firmly.

  The shuffling inside paused. Then, a faint voice drifted through the wood-a voice so thin it sounded like it was made of dry leaves.

  "...It's still there... I can see it... it won't leave me alone..."

  Kanae's eyes sharpened into pinpricks of focus. Her heartbeat didn't accelerate with fear; it clarified with intent. Whoever this was, whatever they had seen, it was potent enough to shatter a mind. And the others-Sister Sam, Sister Rebecca-were shielding it. Protecting the victim... or smothering the truth.

  She adjusted her stance, sinking even deeper into the darkness of the closet's alcove. The shadows seemed to cling to her, turning her into a part of the architecture.

  "...Just a little closer," she whispered to the void. "Observe. Learn. Wait..."

  The rain outside pounded with renewed fury, drowning the monastery in a roar of water. Every drop echoed in the hallway, in the chamber beyond the door, and in the space between Kanae's ribs. The tension hung in the air, silent but vibrantly alive, a thin veil between her and the nightmare waiting on the other side of the wood.

  That's the end of Chapter 8! We've officially traded the bright lights of Osaka for the damp, oppressive silence of the monastery. While Kanae can scrub a floor to a professional shine and survive a night in a graveyard, we now know her true weakness: steeping a simple cup of tea. Apparently, "more is better" is a philosophy that applies to combat, but results in tea potent enough to wake the dead.

  It was a quiet moment of bonding with Sister Sam, but the hospitality can't hide the rot underneath. Between the "shroud" of her borrowed robes and a hunger that seems to grow the more she eats, Kanae's sanctuary is starting to feel more like a trap.

  In Chapter 9, The Anatomy of a Sip, the rain isn't the only thing relentless in this house of stone. As Kanae stalks the hallways, the whispers from behind closed doors are getting louder. A sick sister, a sighting of something that "won't leave," and a metallic scent that definitely doesn't belong in a chapel-the "Silent Stone" is about to start screaming. Is there a medical mystery unfolding, or is Kanae about to find out exactly what kind of "demon" is haunting these sisters?

  If you're enjoying this dive into the gothic shadows and Kanae's questionable culinary skills, please consider Following the story and leaving a Rating or Review! Your support is the fuel that keeps the chapters coming as we fight our way up the Rising Stars list!