Archive of Our Own ^beta

The cherry blossom petals danced softly in the morning breeze, painting Navori’s pathways in delicate shades of pink and white. The city buzzed with life—musicians tuned their stringed instruments on street corners, sweet-scented incense curled through the air, and colorful banners swayed between ornate stone rooftops. It was the height of the Spirit Blossom Festival, Ionia’s most sacred and beautiful celebration, marking the arrival of spring, the promise of a bountiful harvest, and—above all—the reunion between the living and the spirits of the world beyond.

The Spirit Blossom is the only time of year when the veil separating the living world from the spiritual realm grows thin enough for the people of Ionia to offer prayers to their ancestors, to honor the spirits, and to celebrate their heritage.

Amid this vibrant tapestry of culture, the Kiramman family walked along the main avenue, crossing a bridge over a pond where children scattered open cherry blossoms upon the water—a tribute to the surrounding nature. Caitlyn wore ceremonial robes adorned with pale blue and silver accents, remnants of the tradition passed down through her lineage, inherited from both her mother and father, Cassandra and Tobias, and now shared with her daughters. Beside her walked Cass, a ten-year-old girl with curious eyes and a vibrant blue ribbon tied in her blue dark hair. Caitlyn guided her with natural ease, her steps steady yet patient.

Further back, slightly apart, walked Violet and Lavender. Mother and daughter moved side by side like mirrored shadows. Lavender, with her short purple hair and strong frame, carried the unmistakable bearing of her mother—both in her resolve and her bluntness. Violet, her own dark hair cropped short as always, dressed without the extravagant flair of the eastern lands, wearing only trousers, boots, a long-sleeved shirt, and a flowing red coat. Her posture remained rigid, almost military—her gaze sharp, arms crossed, her stride firm, as if she could never fully step away from duty.

Lavender glanced at her mother, then at the food stalls with a calculating look, as if weighing every option before making a decision—a silent message clear in her eyes.

"Hungry?" Violet asked, the corners of her lips quirking slightly.

"I think we should try those rice cakes before heading to the temple," Lavender said, pointing to a stall where an elderly artisan stacked small flower-shaped rice cakes.

Caitlyn, attuned to her precious girls’ conversation, glanced at Violet. A graceful nod of consent followed.

"Two hours. No more. Meet us at the Kiramman Temple. Don’t get lost among the flavors and dance performances, please."

"We’ll come back in one piece, promise," Lavender replied with a teasing wink—one that Caitlyn could’ve sworn carried the very essence of Violet’s hereditary smirk.

"Deal. But let’s not overdo it, or Cait will scold us for ruining our appetites before dinner," Violet said, gently steering her toward the stall.

As they walked, savoring the food and the melodies of flutes and samisens, Violet felt a tightness in her chest. Not pain, but a nostalgia that no longer consumed her as it once had. Her eyes landed on a girl with purple hair and a raucous laugh, buying fireworks at a corner. For a fleeting moment, she saw a ghost of the past—but only for a moment. Powder, no… Jinx, no longer haunted her.

"You okay?" Lavender asked, noticing her mother’s distant expression.

"Better than ever," Vi answered, squeezing her daughter’s shoulder affectionately. "Just thinking about how much has changed. Never thought I’d be here one day—with you, with Cait, with Cass… here. You know?"

Lavender smiled, understanding without needing more words. She knew the stories, the struggles, the pain her parents carried. But today, beneath petals falling like pink snow, it all seemed worth it.

The girl clutched the fireworks, and with her other hand, she inspected the newly bought matches—a sly glimmer in her blue eyes. "Let’s see the blade dancers before heading to the temple!" She tugged at her mother, who let herself be led by the sleeve of her coat.

Meanwhile, Caitlyn and Cass walked along the hills leading to the ancient Kiramman family temple. The site stood apart from the capital’s bustle, surrounded by silent groves and small streams cutting through the land. Ten-year-old Cassandra hopped from stone to stone, her blue hair tied in a ponytail, her curious eyes carefully analyzing every new detail she discovered.

"Mom, why have we never come here before? To Ionia?" she asked, holding Caitlyn’s hand as they climbed the moss-covered stone steps—a sign that the place had long been neglected.

Caitlyn took a deep breath, feeling the weight of history in those weathered walls.

"The Kirammans left Ionia long ago, sweetheart. Nearly two centuries back, we were nobles in maritime service. But your ancestors saw greater opportunities in Piltover and left everything behind. Yet this place… this is where our lineage began."

When they reached the temple courtyard, Cass gasped at the sight of the front garden. Though the temple stood partially abandoned, with loose planks and worn rooftops, the garden retained a serene beauty. And at its center stood two towering statues.

One was of a tall, slender woman with a bow in hand and a calm yet resolute expression. Cass recognized her immediately: Kiramman Chen. Her great-great-grandmother, whose portrait hung framed in Caitlyn’s office.

The other statue, shorter, with sharp features, a shadowed gaze, and long hair cascading to her feet, radiated an aura of magical energy, gripping a staff adorned with Ionian runes. Both wore traditional garments, carved with such vivid detail they almost seemed to breathe—despite the moss and roots weaving through the sculptures. Behind them stood a shrine, its structure regional in design, filled with framed tablets and remnants of long-extinguished candles on the shelves.

"Hey, I know this one," Cass said, pointing at the archer’s statue—though it was hard to see the figure’s face beneath the carved fringe covering her eyes. "She looks just like Grandma Cassandra. There’s a painting of her in your studio, right, Mom?"

Her voice brimmed with the excitement of a child discovering a whole new world.

"Yes," Caitlyn answered softly, her hands clasped in front of her. "Kiramman Chen. Your grandmother once told me she was the one who brought the Kiramman name to Piltover after spending most of her life in Ionia. They say she was a hero—and when she died, she was honored with this statue."

"Grandma has a statue in Piltover too..." Cass examined the statue up close, her fingers tracing the carefully carved stone surface—a connection, almost mystical, between the past and its legacy. Perhaps the young Kiramman was beginning to understand the true grace of the Spirit Blossom. "One day, I’ll have a statue too!"

Caitlyn raised a hand to her mouth, barely suppressing a laugh. "Let’s hope that day takes a long time to come."

This time, Cass turned her attention to the intimidating figure of the sorceress beside Chen.

"And who’s this lady with the staff?"

Caitlyn frowned, unable to place her. All she could offer were guesses.

"The Ionians believe that after death, if you were a great hero who died free of obsessions, you become a Kanmei—benevolent spirits who guide their descendants and souls in the afterlife. Kanmei are honored with statues. Maybe this woman was some revered heroine, someone important to our family in the past. That’s why there are so many of these statues scattered across Ionia."

Caitlyn turned her focus back to Chen. The cold eastern wind seemed to seep into her spine, sending an uncomfortable shiver down her back. The resemblance was uncanny—she looked so much like her, and yet, so much like her mother. She didn’t know much about this ancestor’s life beyond the migration to Piltover. But the statue depicted her as fearless, a warrior with eyes trained in the art of war in her youth. To earn a statue in front of the Kiramman temple, she must have accomplished great feats in the glories of the past.

"But personally, I don’t believe in that. No spirits guide us—only our own choices."

Rational and analytical, as always. Just what you’d expect from Piltover’s Sheriff.

Cass decided to explore the area more carefully and, hidden beneath the overgrown grass surrounding the statues, she found an extra plaque outside the temple—inscribed in the old Ionian dialect.

"Mom! Look what I found!" She waved at Caitlyn, who had been about to step into the dark temple but hesitated at her daughter’s voice.

"Well, well, we’ve got a future archaeologist here." Caitlyn approached, ruffling her child’s chin before studying the ornate stone slab with its elegant script—a relic from an era when Ionian writing was so refined that only high society, lords, and royalty could access it.

Caitlyn, well-versed in many of Runeterra’s languages, could make out most of the words—except for the overly pompous ones. "I can read it. Want me to?" she asked, already knowing the obvious answer.

"Yes, please!"

Caitlyn let out a nasal laugh at how easily she’d predicted her daughter’s response before beginning to recite:

"The Sorceress-Queen Misaki made the corvid take flight—a sleek, black-winged bird, imbued with the power of a demon only Misaki knew how to wield. In a moment of peace and celebration, the raven cut through the sky with wings as dark as the deepest night. And the sorceress decreed: ‘Nothing more shall grow, lest they heal their afflictions. From this day forth, they are children of hunger and misery. Let this demon that looms over you be my just hand.’"

"They called from the east, the west, from the four winds—the finest warriors who wielded the bow, to break the raven’s putrid song. Guang shot ten arrows, Hure shot twenty, and Maoko ten more. They missed their mark, and cursed they were. Then, from Navori, came the fourth huntress—with but one arrow and fearless heart. Chen, our protector. And she did not come alone. Akha, the demon-slayer, stood by her side."

"Akha cried out thrice: ‘May the bird’s breast accept this gift.’ The arrow struck true. The beast fell. And all misery crumbled with it. The protector of this land, of this family, overcame the evil. And Misaki, in turn, no longer held the demon—only the wicked soul embedded in her chest, which Akha saw fit to tear from her body. Daughters of this land, may your names never fade from memory."

The wind whispered through the cherry blossoms, as if the words carved into the plaque had come alive when spoken aloud. Caitlyn felt another shiver—not from the cold, but from the eerie sense that this story resonated somewhere beyond mere carved stone.

"Chen... and Akha," Cass repeated the names, as if tasting them on her tongue. "So the other statue is Akha? The demon-slayer?"

Caitlyn studied the long-haired woman with the runic staff, now with new understanding. There was something in her expression, in the intimidating posture of an arcane mage, that felt... familiar.

"It seems so," Caitlyn murmured, her fingers tracing the faded runes. "But why is she here, in the Kiramman temple? And why has no one ever mentioned this story?"

Cass, ever curious, was already climbing onto Akha’s pedestal, trying to get a better look at the staff’s details. "Maybe she was Great-Grandma Chen’s friend! Like... battle partners!"

Caitlyn smiled, but unease lingered. If Akha was an Ionian heroine, why wasn’t her name in the family records? And more importantly—why was her statue here, in an abandoned temple, as if she were part of the Kiramman lineage?

The wind carried the sweet scent of blossoms and the distant sound of loud laughter as Violet and Lavender finally arrived at the temple. Lavender, the eldest, was laughing beside Violet, holding a skewer of warm dango and a small bundle of fireworks under her arm.

"Looks like you two had fun," Caitlyn remarked, her blue eyes bright with affection as she watched Lavender try to hide the stolen sweets before her mother noticed. "And I take it there’ll be no room left for dinner?"

Caitlyn pointed at the treat in her daughter’s hand, and the two remembered their synchronized warning:"don’t spoil your appetite before dinner" with comedic timing.

"Ah, you know how it is. The city’s full of interesting things," Violet replied, the corners of her mouth quirking into a rare smile. She stepped closer to Caitlyn, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her gently against her side. "And looks like you found something interesting too."

Caitlyn tilted her head toward the plaque Cass had discovered. "An old story. Seems our ancestor Chen had a partner—Akha, the ‘demon-slayer.’"

Violet raised an eyebrow, examining the statue of the long-haired sorceress. "Seems the Kirammans always had a thing for dangerous women," she teased, making Caitlyn roll her eyes—though not without a faint blush.

"Look, Lavender!" Cass tugged her sister’s arm, pointing at Akha’s statue. "She looks like Mom Violet, but with long hair!"

Lavender scrunched her nose, scrutinizing the sculpture. "No way. Mom’s way stronger."

A sibling squabble erupted. The older, taller, and stronger Lavender laughed, holding Cass back with a hand on her head, frustrating the younger girl.

"Enough, you two," Violet cut in, firm but not harsh. "This is a temple, not a fighting ring."

Lavender and Cass exchanged glances but quieted down. Cass still stuck her tongue out at her sister, who retaliated with a light shove—enough to make Caitlyn sigh and Violet shoot them both a warning look.

"Behave," Caitlyn said softly, but with that "this is not a request" tone only Piltover’s Sheriff could muster.

The girls settled, and the family stepped inside the temple.

The interior was darker, lit only by the sunlight filtering through the high windows. The air was cool, thick with the scent of aged wood and dust. For an abandoned place, it was surprisingly intact—no graffiti, no broken glass, no signs of vandalism. As if the people of Ionia still respected this space, even if time had forgotten it.

Along the walls, small framed portraits of Kiramman ancestors hung in perfect alignment—some painted, some embroidered. Caitlyn walked slowly past them, her fingers hovering over the dusty frames, until she stopped before a familiar image—a photograph she herself had placed there.

It was Cassandra Kiramman.

Her mother.

The black-and-white photo captured the stern, proud expression Caitlyn knew so well. She lifted it carefully, wiping the dust from the glass with the sleeve of her ceremonial Ionian robe. There was no sadness on her face—only silent respect.

Cassandra had died in the attack on Piltover’s Council years ago, lost in the chaos Jinx left behind. But here, far from the city, far from blood and politics, she was just another Kiramman—a link in a chain stretching back centuries.

Lavender and Cass, sensing their mother’s quiet moment, approached without a word. Neither had known Cassandra personally, but they knew the stories—of the grandmother Caitlyn rarely spoke of.

"She was pretty," Lavender murmured, looking at the photo.

"She looks scary," Cass added with a grin. "Just like you, Mom."

Caitlyn chuckled softly, placing the portrait back on the wall. "She would’ve loved you two. Especially because you’re worse than I was as a child."

Violet, watching from nearby, crossed her arms. "Impossible. Every childhood story you’ve told involves a bullet or a chemical explosion in Jayce’s lab."

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny it.

Meanwhile, the girls had wandered over to the wooden plaques lined up on a low shelf—small memorials inscribed in ancient Ionian, each bearing a prayer or tribute to an ancestor.

"What does this say?" Cass asked, squinting at the elegant script.

"It’s hard to read," Lavender admitted, frowning. "Something about… ‘the guiding Kanmei’?"

Caitlyn stepped closer, scanning the words. "They’re prayers. The Ionians believe honored heroes in the afterlife can hear and guide their descendants."

Violet, never one for spirituality, shrugged. "If they’re really listening, I hope they appreciate the visit." She glanced around the dim temple, its surfaces coated in a fine layer of dust.

Cass, however, looked fascinated. She picked up a blank plaque—there were several left, prepared for new tributes—and turned to Caitlyn. "Can I write one?"

Caitlyn hesitated, then nodded. "Of course. But think carefully about what you want to say."

Cass took a thin brush and ink that had somehow survived the years, focusing as if she were about to perform the most important task in the world. Lavender peeked over her shoulder, whispering suggestions that Cass immediately shushed away with an irritated "Hush!"

While the girls were occupied, Violet moved closer to Caitlyn, keeping her voice low.

"You okay?"

Caitlyn looked at her, then at Cassandra’s portrait, and finally at the statues in the garden—Chen and Akha, the warrior and the sorceress, partners in a story even the Kirammans of Piltover had half-forgotten.

"Yes," she answered, squeezing Violet’s hand. "Just thinking… about how many stories were left behind. How many people we don’t even know existed."

Violet tightened her grip. "Doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re here now. And this time, no one’s erasing our history."

Caitlyn smiled, pulling Violet into a quick kiss—just enough to make Lavender turn away, embarrassed, while Cass remained too engrossed in her writing to notice.

The moment was broken when a sudden gust of wind swept through the temple, making the plaques sway gently. And for an instant, Caitlyn could’ve sworn she heard a whisper—not in Ionian, but in crisp Piltovan, clear as a bell:

"Always proud, Caitlyn."

Then, the wind was gone.

Cass, oblivious, held up her plaque triumphantly. "Done!"

In childish but earnest letters, she had written:

"To the Kirammans who came before us—thank you. We’ll take care of them now."

Lavender read it and, to everyone’s surprise, didn’t mock it. She just nodded, as if those words were sacred.

Something warm settled in Caitlyn’s chest—not grief, not longing, but… belonging.

"Come on," she said, slipping an arm around Violet and waving the girls forward. "The festival won’t wait for us."

Twilight painted Ionia’s sky in shades of purple and gold as families gathered in the temple gardens, each holding small paper lanterns. Caitlyn cradled hers carefully, watching the flame flicker inside the delicate shell. Violet, beside her, seemed less impressed—but even she couldn’t hide her fascination as the first lanterns began to rise, carried by the warm mountain breeze.

"It’s pretty, I’ll admit," Violet murmured, while Lavender and Cass ran off to get their own lanterns.

"It is," Caitlyn replied softly. "My father brought me to the Spirit Blossom Festival when I was six. We made a wish together."

Violet smirked. "And what did you wish for now?"

Caitlyn met her gaze, her eyes reflecting the lantern light. "Us, bond."

Violet laughed, but before she could retort, a gong rang out in the square, signaling the end of the lantern rite.

The family reunited, this time drawn to the entertainment in the crowd—a grand open-air theater.

Under a stage lit by torches and the full moon, masked actors performed the Dance of Spirits. Kanmei—ancient Ionian heroes—glided across the stage in graceful movements, their golden masks gleaming like the sun. They embodied wisdom, courage, and balance, guiding the living with serene gestures.

But then came the Akana.

Twisted spirits, consumed by obsessions in life, they writhed onstage, their black masks contorted in agony and fury. One, larger than the rest, played a warrior who had once been noble but lost himself to hatred in his quest for power.

On a stage bathed in blue flames, a Kanmei—a majestic actor in silver robes—reached out to the Akana, a figure in tattered shadows, convulsing in torment.

"You don’t have to suffer anymore," the Kanmei intoned, his voice like a chant. "Let your obsession go."

But the Akana recoiled, shrieking:

"I can’t! Vengeance is all I was given, and all I have left!"

Lavender watched intently, eyes narrowed. "So they’re, like, tormented souls?"

Cass tugged at her sister’s sleeve. "Shh! I wanna hear!"

But Caitlyn and Violet exchanged an amused glance. Akana—spirits bound by resentment, madness, destruction. Who better than them to recognize that pattern? Violet thought of Jinx, and how she'd been powerless to save her from those same obsessions—feelings as sharp as gunfire.

How many Akanas have we left behind ourselves? Both wondered silently.

And then, to lighten the mood, they began joking about who they'd become after death—Violet teasing that she'd be the Akana of obsession, specifically obsession with the woman she married.

As the night deepened, Lavender finally revealed her secret purchase—the fireworks she'd bought earlier.

"Let's set them off up there!" she insisted, pointing to an isolated cliff behind the temple.

Caitlyn hesitated, but Violet—to no one's surprise—agreed.

"Fine. But just a few, got it?"

The path to the peak was quiet, lit only by the moon and the last few lanterns still drifting in the sky. When they arrived, Lavender and Cass took charge of setting up the fireworks while Caitlyn and Violet sat on a flat rock, overlooking the valley below.

For a while, neither spoke. They simply enjoyed the silence—a rare luxury in their hectic lives.

It was Violet who broke it.

"You believe in all this? The Kanmei, the spirits... this whole 'veil between worlds' thing?"

Caitlyn gazed at the sky. "I don't know. But... I like the idea."

"Which one? That our ancestors are watching us?"

"That we're not alone," Caitlyn corrected softly. "That, in the end, we're part of something bigger."

Violet was quiet for a moment. Then, with a half-smile: "You're getting sentimental, Kiramman."

Caitlyn laughed, leaning against her. "Look who's talking. You're the one being unusually soft with the girls."

Violet didn't deny it.

A boom split the air—the first firework shot up, exploding in a shower of golden sparks. Lavender and Cass cheered, jumping like two small shadows against the starry sky.

Another followed, then another. Each one brighter, louder.

And then, as the last one faded, Lavender announced:

"Let's take one last look at the temple before bed!"

Cass agreed immediately, and before Caitlyn could protest, the girls were already scrambling down the path, leaving their mothers alone at the top of the world.

"If it takes more than 15 minutes I'll hunt you both!" Violet yelled.

Caitlyn sighed, but she was smiling.

"They've got your spirit, don't they?" Violet remarked dryly.

"They're exactly like you," Caitlyn countered.

Violet looked at her, and for the first time that night, her expression turned serious.

"You think... she could've ever been a Kanmei? Instead of an Akana?"

Caitlyn understood immediately. Jinx.

She thought of the play, of the spirit who refused the outstretched hand.

"I think she still could," Caitlyn finally answered.

Violet said nothing. She just held Caitlyn's hand tighter as the last festival lights glimmered below them.

The night was serene as Lavender and Cass returned to the Kiramman temple, following a path illuminated by floating lanterns and distant fireworks. Ionian pilgrims passed them, murmuring prayers or laughing softly, their faces bathed in golden firelight. The air smelled of incense and cherry blossoms, and for a moment, the girls almost felt part of something grand—like they'd stepped into an ancient tale.

Inside the temple, the shadows were deeper. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, painting the floor silver. The statues of Chen and Akha loomed even larger at night, their shadows stretching like silent specters.

"Let's play Chen and sorceress-queen Misaki!" Cass suggested, grabbing a curved stick from the ground and brandishing it like Chen's bow.

Lavender rolled her eyes but quickly surrendered to the game. She hunched over, pretending to be the sorceress Misaki, while Cass declared with dramatic flair:

"I am Chen Kiramman, the protector! And you, wicked sorceress with your demonic raven, I shall purge the evil you've brought upon this land!"

Lavender let out a theatrical snarl. "My raven will bring the plague, and I’ll destroy you and your beloved sorceress Akha!"

Cass paused, blinking. "Wait... were they dating?"

"Maybe," Lavender mused, eyeing the statues. "Like Mom Caitlyn and Mom Violet."

Cass scrunched her nose. "Ew. Romance is gross."

Lavender was about to retort when a sound cut her off—the faint scrape of footsteps on the wooden floor, coming from deeper inside the temple.

Someone was there.

The girls exchanged glances. Lavender motioned for Cass to stay quiet and crept forward, peeking around a column.

A hunched figure stood before the ancestral portraits, their bony fingers tracing the frames with near-melancholic reverence. It was an elderly woman, dressed in traditional Ionian robes, her gray hair tied in a long ponytail. In her hand, she clutched a weathered wooden staff, as if she’d carried it for centuries.

Lavender swallowed hard but didn’t back down. "Hey!"

The old woman turned slowly, her eyes—a startlingly vivid blue for her age—settling on the girls. She didn’t seem surprised, just... curious.

"Ah," the woman murmured, her voice as rough as wind through dry leaves. "The protector’s daughters."

Lavender frowned. "How do you know who we are?"

The old woman smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. "The garden speaks. The stones do too. And your mothers... they wished for unity tonight, didn’t they?"

Cass, forgetting all caution, bounced forward. "You saw our lanterns?!"

The woman chuckled low. "I’ve seen many things, little Kiramman. Including your plaque: ‘To the Kirammans who came before us—thank you. We’ll take care of them now.’ Haha. Chen would be proud of you, little one."

Lavender wasn’t convinced. "What are you doing here?"

"Remembering," the old woman replied, her gaze drifting to the statues. "Some stories shouldn’t be forgotten."

Cass, ever blunt, pointed at Akha. "Do you know who she was? Why doesn’t anyone talk about her?"

The woman fell silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of ages.

"Chen and Akha were many things. Sisters in arms. Lovers. Friends. But fate... is cruel to those who refuse to forgive."

She stepped closer to Akha’s statue, touching the carved staff with a trembling hand.

"Chen left for the west. She wanted to build a new world, a new legacy in a rising foreign city. And she wanted Akha to come with her."

"But she didn’t," Lavender guessed.

The woman shook her head. "Akha, the demon-slayer—the one who helped fell the cursed raven, who tore the heart from Sorceress Misaki... was made of fury and pride. She never forgave Chen for leaving Ionia. And when Chen died, she became a Kanmei—a guardian spirit. But Akha..."

She paused, glancing at the shadows around them.

"... stayed behind. Became an Akana. Forgotten. Consumed. Ironic, isn't it? The honored sorceress who hunted demons, became an afterlife."

Cass went quiet, her small face solemn. "That’s sad."

"That’s life," the woman corrected. "But perhaps... not all stories must end that way. Redemption. You can’t undo a lifetime of mistakes, but it’s never too late to do what’s right."

The old woman gave the girls one last look, her blue eyes gleaming with a light that didn’t belong to this world.

"Never too late." she repeated, then turned and walked toward the forest surrounding the temple.

Lavender and Cass stood frozen, watching as the hunched figure retreated. But then, something strange began to happen.

The woman’s body began to glow.

At first, just a faint shimmer, like moonlight on water. But soon, the light intensified, wrapping around her in a veil of gold and silver. Her aged features softened, her gray hair darkened, her posture straightened—taller, stronger.

The cracked wooden staff transformed into a runic scepter, adorned with ancient symbols pulsing with arcane energy.

And then, before the girls’ wide eyes, the old woman was no longer old.

She was Akha.

The demon-slayer.

Clad in battle regalia, her long hair now black as night, her face half-hidden behind a fox mask. Her eyes were the same—that vivid blue—but now burned with a resolve that hadn’t been there before.

And then, from the forest, another figure emerged.

Kiramman Chen.

The girls’ ancestor, the protector, the warrior who had left Ionia to forge a new legacy. She looked exactly like her statue—tall, slender, a bow strapped to her back, her expression serene.

Akha looked at her, and Chen smiled, extending a hand.

The two embraced, and for a moment, the air around them seemed to vibrate, as if the world itself was realigning.

Lavender and Cass were paralyzed, unsure whether to run, scream, or keep watching.

"The Spirit Blossom is the only time of year when the veil between the living world and the spirit realm grows thin enough for the people of Ionia to offer prayers to their ancestors," Cass remembered.

Chen then looked at the girls, her smile deepening.

"Your mothers," she said, her voice soft as the wind. "They are being watched over. By us. And now, by you."

Akha didn’t speak, but her gaze said everything.

And then, as if made of the same light as the lanterns floating skyward, the two figures began to dissolve, their outlines unraveling into pink petals that mingled with the night air.

Within seconds, there was nothing left—just the forest, the temple, and the quiet of the night.

"... Wow." Cass was the first to speak.

Lavender swallowed, still processing what they’d seen. "They... they were here the whole time?"

"Seems like it," Cass murmured, staring at the statues. "And they made peace."

Lavender was silent for a long moment, then took her sister’s hand.

"Let’s go back to our moms," she said. "They need to hear about this."

Cass nodded, but before leaving, she cast one last look at the statues of Chen and Akha.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

And under the moonlight, amid the last drifting lanterns, the two girls left the temple—carrying with them a story that had, at last, found its ending:

"You can’t undo a lifetime of mistakes, but it’s never too late to do what’s right."