The cedar floors, the shoji screens, the tatami mats look as polished as ever but the smell of death clings to the Zenin grounds. The smell of jasmine from the oil lamps can’t cloak the lingering effects of Maki’s rampage.

Naoya stands in one of the bathrooms, the tub filling slowly and the sounds of your light footsteps on the stone floor as you prepare the bath. He stares out at the sky, by the open shoji door, gazing at the pinpricks of light from the stars as the scent of honeysuckle fills the air as you pour oils into the steaming wooden tub.

You work efficiently and quietly, not disturbing Noaya as he laments over what to do next. His entire clan is dead, the Zenin’s wiped from the Earth by a vengeful Maki who kidded herself a poor imitation of Toji. He doesn’t feel grief, but he feels a sense of emptiness by the silence of the grounds. He’s never liked it — oppressive silence. Even though the Zenin grounds have always been cold and ostentatious. Even with its perfectly trimmed bonsai gardens and the smell of jasmine in the air, the sense of cold never left it.

And now it’s cold and silent. Perhaps that’s why Naoya’s not entirely disturbed by your presence. Another soul in the grounds means it’s less oppressive, even if it is you. You who tended to his inquires dealt by Maki as she left him on the floor to die. You who’s stuck by him in the aftermath of the massacre, who’s always been there, just in his periphery.

He doesn’t know why you stay, why you didn’t just flee like the rest of the servants, why you didn’t leave him to bleed out. Why you stay as his servant despite how cruel he knows he can be.

Naoya doesn’t even know why you’re filling the tub for him with the oils he prefers. It’s almost agitating, how you never waver in your loyalty to him despite how cutthroat and ruthless he can be.

“Is the bath ready?” he asks finally, his voice cutting sharply through the sound of spilling water as steam thickens in the air, honeysuckle and magnolia drifting over him.