The pebble began to turn.
Ren watched it carefully.
Clockwise.
Slowly at first.
Then a little faster.
His fingers tightened around the string.
He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until his lungs began to ache.
The chef stared at him from across the small room.
“Well?”
Ren didn’t answer immediately.
The pebble continued turning.
Yes.
A strong yes.
Ren swallowed.
“She’s alive.”
The chef’s shoulders sagged.
For a moment, the older man’s face simply collapsed with relief.
His hands, which had been gripping the edge of the table, loosened.
He lowered his head, and Ren could hear the breath leave him.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?” The chef’s voice cracked slightly on the question, as though he didn’t quite trust himself to hope yet.
Ren looked at the pendulum.
The movement had already begun to weaken.
“Certain enough that I wouldn’t tell you otherwise.”
The chef closed his eyes.
“Thank the gods,” he murmured, pressing a hand briefly to his chest.
Ren said nothing.
He wasn’t sure whether gods had anything to do with it.
The pebble gradually slowed until it stopped.
Ren lowered the string.
The first question had been easy.
The answer had been clear.
Now came the difficult part.
“Where did she go?”
The chef opened his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s why you’re asking me.”
“Yes.”
Ren nodded.
That made sense.
He reached for the wooden stick he had been carrying since leaving the previous village — nothing particularly impressive, just a straight branch with the smaller twigs broken off.
He placed one end lightly against the floor.
“Is your daughter still inside this village?” He fed a small amount of spirituality into the branch.
The familiar sensation passed through his body and into the wood.
The stick tipped.
East.
Ren looked toward the eastern side of the village.
“She was.”
The chef stared.
“What does that mean?”
Ren picked up the pendulum again.
“She isn’t there anymore.”
“Then—”
“Let me ask again.” Ren concentrated.
“Is your daughter still inside the village?” The pebble turned counterclockwise.
No.
The chef’s face fell.
“She left?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago?”
Ren hesitated.
That was already a more difficult question.
He tried anyway.
“Did she leave today?” Clockwise.
Yes.
“Within the last six hours?” Clockwise.
A weaker movement.
Ren frowned.
“Within the last three hours?” The pebble barely moved.
It wasn’t quite still, but the answer was too weak for him to trust.
Ren stopped.
“Recently.”
“Recently?”
“Probably within several hours.”
The chef looked toward the door, already leaning in that direction as though his body wanted to run before his mind gave permission.
“Then we can still catch her.”
“Probably.”
The chef immediately stood.
Ren raised a hand.
“Wait.”
“What?” The word came out sharp, almost a demand.
“We don’t know where she went yet.”
“Then ask.”
Ren stared at him, steady.
“I am trying.”
The chef sat back down reluctantly, jaw tight.
Ren understood his impatience — if someone he cared about had disappeared, he would probably want to run outside and search every direction too.
But that was exactly what Ren couldn’t afford.
He had learned this much about divination: a complicated question produced a complicated answer.
He couldn’t simply ask where is your daughter?
That was too broad.
Instead, he needed to break the problem into pieces.
“Did she leave willingly?” Clockwise.
Strong.
Ren frowned.
“She wasn’t forced.”
The chef looked confused.
“Then why would she leave?”
Ren didn’t answer immediately.
He already had a possible explanation.
“Did someone persuade her to leave?” Clockwise.
Yes.
The chef’s expression changed.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can’t you ask?”
“I can ask whether it was a man.” Ren held the pendulum.
“Was the person who persuaded her to leave a man?” Counterclockwise.
No.
“A woman?” Clockwise.
Yes.
The chef’s brows knitted together.
“An adult?” Clockwise.
But weak.
Ren noticed it immediately.
He waited until the pendulum stopped, then asked again.
“Was the person older than your daughter?” Clockwise.
Strong.
That was clearer.
Ren nodded slowly.
“An older woman.”
The chef’s face hardened.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you said—”
“I said an older woman persuaded her to leave.
I didn’t say I know who she is.”
The chef looked frustrated, hands pressing flat against the table as if to steady himself.
Ren understood.
But this was the problem with divination — it answered the question.
It didn’t automatically give him everything he wanted to know.
He considered his next question carefully.
“Was this woman from the village?” Counterclockwise.
No.
“Was she from another village?” Clockwise.
Yes.
Ren’s expression tightened.
“Did your daughter know her?” Counterclockwise.
No.
The chef stared at him.
“My daughter wouldn’t leave with a stranger.”
“Apparently she did.”
“Why?”
Ren looked at the pendulum.
“That’s what we need to find out.” He thought for a moment.
“Was your daughter tricked?” Clockwise.
Strong.
Ren’s eyes narrowed.
The chef went pale.
“Tricked?”
“That’s what the answer says.”
“By that woman?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?” The word came out almost accusing.
Ren looked at him evenly.
“I can make mistakes.” The chef stared, and Ren continued before he could speak.
“And divination isn’t all-powerful.
If I don’t have enough information, the answer can become unclear.”
The moment he spoke, a little of the potion within him was digested.
However, Ren temporarily ignored it and focused on the case of the missing girl.
The chef looked disappointed, shoulders dropping.
Ren couldn’t blame him.
Still, Ren felt a strange certainty that he was learning something important.
The pendulum wasn’t failing.
He was — at least, that was what he believed.
He simply didn’t know enough.
If he had more information, a better understanding of where she had gone, perhaps the answers would become clearer.
That was something he could work with.
“Did anyone see them leave?”
The chef nodded.
“Several people.”
“Then let’s ask them.”
The first person Ren questioned was a boy of about ten years old.
He had been playing near the eastern edge of the village when the girl disappeared.
Ren crouched in front of him, keeping his voice light so the boy wouldn’t feel like he was being interrogated.
“Do you remember seeing her?”
The boy nodded, chest puffing slightly with the importance of being asked.
“She went that way.” He pointed east.
“With someone?”
“Yeah.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.”
“What did she look like?”
The boy thought, scrunching his face in concentration.
“Pretty.”
Ren almost smiled.
“That’s not very useful.”
“She had long hair.”
“What color?”
“Brown.”
“Anything else?”
The boy shook his head.
“Did she say anything?”
“Not to me.”
“Did she give your friend’s daughter something?”
The boy’s expression brightened, as if he’d just remembered the best part.
“A flower.”
Ren’s attention sharpened.
“What kind?”
“A red one.”
“Did the woman give it to her?”
“Yeah.”
“What did she say?”
The boy frowned, trying to remember.
“I didn’t hear much.
Just something about a garden.”
“What garden?”
“I don’t know.”
Ren looked toward the eastern road.
“Did you see where they went?”
The boy pointed again.
“Into the trees.”
“Thank you.” Ren stood.
The chef immediately followed his gaze.
“There.”
Ren nodded.
“That’s where we’ll start.”
They walked toward the eastern edge of the village.
Ren didn’t rush.
The chef did — several times, the older man had to stop himself from running ahead, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
But he also understood that blindly chasing after the girl would accomplish nothing.
She was alive.
That was enough.
At least for now.
The eastern road eventually narrowed into a forest path.
Ren crouched at its entrance.
Footprints.
Several sets.
Most were old.
But some were fresh.
Small sandals.
Ren looked at the pendulum.
“Did she pass through here?” Clockwise.
Strong.
Ren stood.
“She did.”
The chef released a breath he seemed to have been holding the entire walk.
They followed the trail.
At first, it was easy.
Then the soil hardened.
Roots crossed the path.
Leaves covered the ground.
The footprints became difficult to distinguish.
Ren took out the stick.
“Did she continue east?” The stick fell east.
They followed.
“Did she turn north?” North.
They turned.
“Did she cross the stream?” No.
They stayed on the same side.
Ren gradually began to appreciate just how useful divination could be.
It wasn’t a tracking spell.
It didn’t show him glowing footprints.
It didn’t tell him the girl’s location.
It simply filled the gaps.
When the physical evidence disappeared, he asked a question.
When the trail divided, he asked which path she had taken.
When he wasn’t certain whether a footprint belonged to her, he asked.
It turned the search into a chain — evidence, question, answer, movement, then another question.
The chef watched him in silence for a long time.
Finally, he spoke.
“You really can find people.”
Ren shook his head.
“Not exactly.”
“But we’re following her.”
“Yes.”
“Then isn’t that the same thing?”
“No.” Ren glanced back.
“It’s important to know the difference.”
The chef frowned, clearly unconvinced but too tired to argue.
Ren couldn’t explain it better.
He wasn’t seeing the girl.
He wasn’t seeing the future.
He wasn’t receiving some perfect divine revelation.
He was asking questions about things that had already happened.
That distinction mattered.
Eventually, the trail brought them deeper into the woods.
Ren stopped.
Something felt wrong.
Nothing obvious.
No sound.
No movement.
No broken branches.
Just — wrong.
He rubbed his right ring finger.
Spirit Vision activated.
The world changed.
The chef’s aura appeared beside him, mostly white.
Ren turned toward the forest.
The trees remained trees.
The ground remained dirt.
But something else was there.
Faint.
Almost invisible.
A thin residue of spirituality clung to the surrounding trees.
Ren blinked, then deactivated Spirit Vision.
Activated it again.
Still there.
He frowned.
This wasn’t a normal tree’s aura.
It wasn’t even close.
It was more like something had been painted across the forest with spirituality.
Ren took a step forward.
The air shimmered.
He stopped.
The chef nearly walked into him.
“What is it?”
“Something’s here.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Ren activated Spirit Vision again.
This time he saw it.
The path ahead wasn’t quite right.
The trees were in the wrong places.
The distance between them was subtly distorted.
The forest looked normal.
Except it wasn’t.
Ren stared for several seconds.
Then he understood.
“An illusion.”
The chef went pale.
“An illusion?”
Ren nodded.
“Someone is making us see something that isn’t there.”
“A demon?
Or a yokai?”
Ren turned to look at the chef.
He understood the people in this era were believers of almost anything.
Not that they had any choice — it was either listening and being entertained by folk tales about yokais or focusing on whether or not they will die to famine or samurais tomorrow.
He himself didn’t believe in much folk tales at first, until the Seer potion appeared before him.
Now, he was easily seeing evidence that he was not a unique person with supernatural abilities — others existed too.
Maybe the same type as him or a person wielding magic, Ren didn’t know.
He looked around.
The strange spiritual residue was everywhere.
Not enough to be overwhelming.
Not enough for an ordinary person to notice.
But enough.
Ren looked toward the path.
“Someone doesn’t want us going further.”
The chef’s voice trembled.
“Who?”
Ren didn’t answer.
Instead, he took out the pendulum.
“Is your daughter still beyond this point?” Clockwise.
Strong.
Ren’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes.”
The chef nearly rushed forward.
Ren stopped him.
“Wait.”
“She’s there!”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because whoever made this illusion might still be nearby.”
The chef froze.
It was a real possibility that he couldn’t think of with his mind in a mess.
Ren looked around.
The forest was silent.
Too silent.
He rubbed his ring finger again.
Spirit Vision opened.
This time, the illusion became slightly more obvious.
It didn’t show the weakness of the illusion or how to get out of it.
It simply showed that he wasn’t seeing the real world.
The path ahead split.
One side looked ordinary.
The other looked like a beautiful garden.
Flowers bloomed everywhere.
A wooden house stood in the distance.
Warm light shone through its windows.
The only thing that made it obvious to Ren’s Spirit Vision was that everything was covered in a faint glow of orange-green.
Ren stared.
Then he understood.
“That’s what she saw.”
“What?”
“Your daughter.” Ren pointed toward the false garden.
“That’s what convinced her to follow.”
“She thought this was real?” The chef stared.
“I mean, this is too suspicious, isn’t it?”
“Probably.
But even if children mature early, they are still children in the end.”
Ren stepped forward.
The scenery warped slightly.
The garden remained.
The flowers smelled real.
The sunlight felt warm.
It was a surprisingly convincing illusion.
But the spiritual residue betrayed it — the colors were wrong, too thin, too smooth, too perfect.
Ren walked through it.
The illusion broke.
He didn’t know how or if it was even due to his effort, but the forest returned.
And beneath a tree ahead sat the missing girl.
Alive.
The chef’s breath caught.
“My daughter!” He ran.
Ren reached out.
“Wait—” Too late.
The girl looked up.
“Dad?”
The chef dropped beside her.
The girl immediately threw her arms around him.
For a moment, Ren simply stood there.
Seeing nothing out of the ordinary happen, he simply let them have the moment.
He rubbed his ring finger, allowing the Spirit Vision to return.
Then he noticed something.
The girl’s aura was strange.
Not damaged.
Not sick.
Just — faint.
The white surrounding her body was considerably thinner than the chef’s.
Ren frowned.
Her physical condition looked perfectly healthy.
No obvious exhaustion.
No injuries.
No strange darkening around any particular part of her body.
Yet there was simply less spirituality being emitted from her.
Ren didn’t know what that meant.
He assumed it was probably related to the illusion.
He would only understand much later that the girl had unconsciously reduced the amount of spirituality she emitted because she had been frightened and confused.
For now, it was simply another mystery.
Ren looked toward the trees.
Something moved.
A rustle.
He turned.
Nothing.
Then a voice came from somewhere nearby.
“You’re not supposed to be able to see that.”
Ren froze.
The chef didn’t react.
The girl didn’t react.
Only Ren had heard it.
His danger intuition stirred — not enough to warn him of immediate danger, just enough to tell him that whatever was speaking wasn’t entirely harmless.
Ren slowly turned.
“Who’s there?”
Silence.
Then a young girl’s voice, light and unhurried, like someone enjoying a game only she knew the rules to.
“Nobody.”
Ren stared.
“That’s a terrible answer.”
A giggle came from the trees.
Ren sighed.
“You’re the one who made the illusion.”
“Maybe,” the voice said, almost singing the word.
“You brought her here.”
“You tricked her.”
“I showed her something nice.”
“You showed her something that didn’t exist.”
“That’s what an illusion is.” The voice sounded almost proud of the observation.
Ren rubbed his forehead.
He was beginning to dislike this conversation.
“Can I see you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to.”
“Fair.”
The voice giggled again.
Then something stepped out from behind a tree.
A girl.
At least, she looked like one — young, dark-haired, small, wearing simple clothes that looked surprisingly clean for someone who had supposedly spent time in the forest.
Ren looked at her.
Then his gaze moved upward.
Two reddish-brown ear-shaped spirituality sat atop her head, twitching slightly as though listening to something only she could hear.
Ren stared.
The girl stared back, tilting her head with open curiosity.
“Oh.” She touched one of her ears, almost thoughtfully.
“You can see those too.”
Ren’s danger intuition remained quiet.
That was reassuring.
Yet, it was strange.
The aura surrounding her was strange.
Her white aura was much thinner than a human’s, but her body didn’t look unhealthy.
Her spirituality seemed to cling closely to her instead of dissipating outward.
Ren didn’t understand.
He only knew that she wasn’t human.
He shut Spirit Vision down.
“What are you?”
The girl tilted her head further, a small, teasing smile tugging at her mouth.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m me.”
Ren sighed.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She smiled, clearly enjoying herself.
“I’m a kitsune.”
Ren waited.
The girl waited, her ears twitching once, expectantly.
Finally, she blinked.
“You don’t know what that is?”
“No.”
“Really?” She sounded genuinely delighted by his ignorance.
“Really.
Is kitsune considered a yokai from the legends?”
She stared at him.
“So you do know.”
“Not enough, I suppose.
Seeing something straight out from a folk tale is a different experience.”
The kitsune paused before laughing — a bright, unguarded sound.
“You’re strange.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You can see through my illusions.”
“Apparently.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re a Seer.” She said it like she was trying the word out, tasting it.
“I heard it when I was wandering around the village.”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“I ask questions.”
“And?”
“Sometimes I get answers.”
She frowned, unimpressed.
“That’s boring.”
Ren looked offended.
“It’s more complicated than that.”
She laughed again, the sound echoing faintly through the trees.
For some reason, Ren found himself smiling.
Then she leaned closer, though their bodies were still quite far apart, eyes bright with mischief.
“Can you see the future?”
“Sometimes.”
Her eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Sometimes.”
“Can you see mine?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know how.”
She seemed disappointed, ears drooping slightly.
Ren looked toward the girl and her father.
“Regardless, you need to leave.”
The kitsune’s ears lowered further.
“Why?”
“Because you scared her.”
“I didn’t mean to.” Her voice had softened, some of the playfulness draining out of it.
“You still did.”
She looked toward the girl, who was still talking to her father, apparently unaware of the conversation happening at the edge of the clearing.
The kitsune was quiet for a moment.
“I just wanted to see what would happen.”
Ren frowned.
“So you did it for fun.”
A small nod, her gaze dropping to the ground.
“You weren’t trying to hurt her?”
“No.”
“You just wanted to trick her.”
“Yes.”
Ren sighed.
That explained quite a lot.
“You need to understand something.”
“What?”
“People aren’t toys.”
The kitsune looked confused, head tilting the other way.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She hesitated, one ear twitching uncertainly.
Ren softened his voice.
“You might not have meant to hurt her.
But if you keep doing this, eventually someone will get hurt.”
The kitsune looked down.
“…I didn’t think about that.”
“I know.”
She looked back up, and her expression shifted — curiosity replacing the guilt that had briefly crossed her face.
“You’re interesting.”
Ren blinked.
“What?”
“You.” She pointed at him, grinning now.
“You’re not like the other humans.”
“How?”
“You can see things.” She tilted her head again.
“And you ask strange questions.”
Ren sighed.
“I’m a Seer.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you surprised?”
“Because I’ve never met one.”
Ren paused.
“You’re young too, aren’t you?”
She immediately narrowed her eyes, ears flattening in mock offense.
“That’s rude.”
“You ask a lot of rude questions.”
“So do you.”
Ren smiled faintly.
“Fair.”
She grinned back, sharp and pleased with herself.
For several seconds, they simply looked at each other.
Then Ren said, “Leave the village alone.”
She considered it, chewing thoughtfully on the words.
“For now.”
Ren frowned.
“That’s not what I said.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
She smiled.
“Fine.
I’ll leave.”
Ren wasn’t entirely convinced.
But he could feel no immediate hostility from her.
That mattered.
She turned toward the forest.
Then stopped.
“Seer.”
Ren looked up.
“What?”
“I’ll see you again,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder, eyes glinting with something like anticipation.
Ren frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your powers are interesting.” She smiled once more.
“And I want to know what else you can do.”
Before Ren could answer, the forest shimmered.
The kitsune disappeared.
Ren stared at the empty space.
He had no idea where she had gone.
But he had the distinct feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her.
He looked toward the chef and his daughter.
At least one problem had been solved.
That was enough.
By the time they returned to the village, word had already begun spreading.
The chef’s daughter had been found.
Ren had found her.
People gathered around them, and questions came immediately.
“Where was she?”
“How did you find her?”
“Did you really use divination?”
“Was there a forest spirit?”
“Was she kidnapped?”
Ren answered as little as possible.
“I followed the trail.” That was true.
“I used divination.” Also true.
“The girl was tricked.” True enough.
He said nothing about the kitsune.
He wasn’t sure if anyone would believe him.
More importantly, he wasn’t sure what would happen if they did.
That evening, the chef brought him a generous bowl of food.
Ren looked at it.
“What’s this?”
“Payment.”
“I didn’t ask for payment.”
“I know.” The chef smiled, setting the bowl down with a kind of quiet finality.
“That’s why I’m giving it to you.”
Ren looked down at the food, then smiled.
“Thank you.” He ate.
He didn’t know what the chef had seen when he was conversing with the kitsune, but the tacit silence remained throughout dinner.
*****
The story continued spreading.
By the following morning, people had begun calling him something.
Not a powerful Seer.
Not a prophet.
Not a great diviner.
Something much simpler — the young Seer who could find lost people.
Ren wasn’t sure whether he liked the reputation.
But he couldn’t deny that it was useful.
And somewhere beyond the forest, a young kitsune was probably thinking about him too.
Ren didn’t know her name.
He didn’t know what other supernatural creatures existed.
He didn’t know that he had just encountered the first of many beings that would eventually complicate his understanding of the world.
For now, he only knew one thing.
The world was stranger than he had thought.
If yokais like kitsune existed, perhaps stronger beings with immense destructive force like onis also existed.
Ren looked down at his right ring finger.
Then at the pendulum hanging from his belt.
He smiled faintly.
He had learned how to use divination.
He had learned that illusions could be seen through.
And he had discovered that he was not the only beings capable of using spirituality.
That was enough for one day.
As for worries about meeting with hostile yokais, that was for the future.
For tomorrow, there would be another question.