The Binding Vow of Lazarus

Chapter 91

Tsukumo approached from the tree line, brushing off a few stray pine needles as she slowed her stride beside him. She held her phone up, the faint glow of a call just ending still lit on the screen. “That’s the last of them," she said with a nod, "The cleanup crew swept the perimeter again. The last cursed spirits have been cleared. None strong enough to even challenge the barrier.”

Yaga gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment.

Tsukumo narrowed her eyes, watching the portal before glancing back out over the treeline. “You think they’ll come back?” she asked, tilting her head towards Yaga.

“Curses always return. It’s only a matter of time.” He looked sideways at her. “We’ve made a lot of noise with this one.”

Around the clearing, the other teams were mobilizing into place. A full perimeter had been marked with invisible seals. Barricades had been disguised with trees, brush, and the faint shimmer of illusions — constructed to mislead even the most curious eyes. It was the portal itself that drew attention like a beating drum beneath the earth. It pulsed with Sarah’s positive energy — the soft golden glow of her blood imbued in the lines and the sharp undertone of cursed energy folded into it by Tamamo-no-mae’s essence.

A blend like that couldn’t go unnoticed for long.

“Are the guards rotated?” Tsukumo asked.

“Every eight hours,” Yaga confirmed. “Three outer teams and two inner squads. All capable, all vetted. A few from Kyoto have volunteered to support if needed. No one gets through and no one’s going in.”

Tsukumo nodded, though her jaw clenched. “Feels wrong that they’re in there without any connection to us.”

Yaga’s expression softened, just slightly. “They knew the risks.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.” Her voice lowered then she turned to go. “I’ll check the southwestern posts.”

Yaga nodded and turned back toward the portal, his figure still, heavy with responsibility.
“All hands are on deck,” he murmured to himself. “As long as no one falters… this should be fine.”

The wind picked up, rustling the trees. The golden ring pulsed again like a breath held between centuries.

Shoko and Utahime made their way back along the worn stone path toward the school. Shoko’s coat was pulled snugly around her, but her hands weren’t tucked into her pockets like usual. One hand clutched the strap of her satchel, the other trembled faintly at her side. She didn’t even notice it at first — she rarely noticed anything about herself in moments like this. She was trained to be composed — Always calm and rational.

But Utahime noticed.

Without a word, she reached over and gently laced her fingers through Shoko’s. Shoko blinked down, startled for half a second, but she didn’t pull away.

Utahime kept her eyes forward, voice soft, “They’ll come back.”

Shoko exhaled, slow and said, “Yeah… I know.” Her voice was even, cool as ever, but the slight hitch before she said it gave her away. It always did, if you knew where to listen.

Utahime didn’t press, didn’t scold, didn’t try to make her talk. She just held on, warm and steady. Her thumb gently stroked across Shoko’s knuckles as they walked.

Shoko gave a little laugh, dry and crooked. “We’ve both seen worse," she said with a little shrug, "Should be fine, right?”

Utahime turned to her with a small smile, “Of course. But worrying doesn’t mean you don’t believe in them.”

“You always were the sentimental one," Shoko sighed and gave her a side glance.

“I’m serious,” Utahime said, a note of quiet steel in her voice, “You’ve been running yourself into the ground. You barely slept the last few days.”

“I had to be sure the portal worked," Shoko shrugged, her grip tightening slightly.

“I know,” Utahime said, “But now they’re there and they’ll be okay. So until they come back, let’s keep busy.”

That was the only thing to do. They were medics, researchers, teachers. And they still had work to do here.

Shoko let out a long breath through her nose. “Right.”

Utahime gave her hand a last squeeze before letting go. Shoko nodded and offered a rare, small smile. “I’ll follow your lead, Sugar.”

Utahime rolled her eyes with fond exasperation. “You’re lucky I like you.”

As they pushed open the main doors to the school, the scent of cedar and ink met them. The hallways were warm, even welcoming, but under the surface, a current of tension hummed. A silence that hadn’t been there before. Everyone could feel the absence — those who had gone, and those who had been left behind. They would keep the world steady until the others returned. That was their job. That was their promise.

The school grounds, usually alive with chatter and footsteps, were still quiet in the evening. In the shadows of the main building, beneath the eaves where the sunlight failed to reach, Suzu moved quietly.

They pressed a palm to the cold glass of a side window, watching the hallway beyond where a group of junior sorcerers passed during their New Year celebration. Suzu didn’t speak. The shadows wrapped around them like a second skin. There was no one to lie to here. Not yet.

Their expression was unreadable. Not guilt. Not grief. Just a waiting tension, like a held breath. They disappeared before the sound of footsteps could grow close, already halfway to another corner of the school, where the halls turned sharp and cold and quiet.

In a narrow apartment not far from the school, Haibara sat hunched on his small sofa, a bottle of sake and an untouched glass on the coffee table. He hadn’t poured anything. Just sat there, elbow on one knee, fingers twisted in his hair as he stared through the glow of the room’s only lamp. His jaw clenched, lips pressed in a hard line. Anger pulsed in him like a heartbeat.

Not at her, not anymore, but at the sense of being left behind with nothing but splinters and half-healed words. He didn’t even know what he wanted — maybe to forgive, maybe not. Maybe to stop feeling everything so loudly all the time.

The silence buzzed louder than any argument could.

Down a corridor, in the quiet of the infirmary, Hani worked alone under the soft yellow wash of a desk lamp.

He was buried in charts and post-op reports, a cup of tea forgotten at his elbow. It had long since gone cold. A sharp line creased the bridge of his nose as he reviewed wound profiles, cursed responses, residual trace energy. He paused once, fingers hovering over the paper, eyes unfocused.

He adjusted his glasses and bent over the next report, pencil already scratching out another assessment.

Outside, there were voices. The crunch of boots on frostbitten grass.

The kids were still playing in the New Year night.

In the schoolyard, Yuta and Maki were squaring off with Todo and Yuji, each pretending to be way more serious than they actually were. Maki had already stolen Todo’s scarf and was using it like a flag of war.

Nearby, Mai rolled her eyes but helped Himiko braid Mimiko and Nanako’s hair anyway, pretending she wasn’t enjoying it. Megumi sat beneath one of the bare trees, sharing a snack with Nobara who loudly complained that no one cared enough about New Year stuff here, but still leaned against his shoulder. Kinji and Kirara were letting Panda wear someone’s sweater.

The air was light. Not empty, not unaware, but warm and living. Like a fire still glowing quietly in the hearth. They weren’t foolish. They knew the world was still dangerous. That something was coming. That something was always coming.

But for this moment was theirs, and if the adults had any say it would stay that way forever.