Aokigahara had what one might consider a love/hate relationship with his Wonder. Every three weeks, promptly, he set aside a day to visit and clean. It was beginning to look more lived-in, for lack of a better word - the water in the chōzubachi was fresh and clean, replaced every visit; he had swept the inside of the buildings and aggressively scrubbed the floor of the honden (though there was a stain on the floor that refused to go away), the altar was pristine - and the eternal project of weeding the graves continue. He could do nothing for the dilapidated state of some of the buildings, save for possibly bringing up construction materials, but that seemed a project to wait on.

Still, he liked the idea - of really getting into the old buildings and restoring them, the way you would an old house on Earth. Until he could do that, though, he would garden and clean and do everything he could to ensure that this place was in less of a horribly, miserably dilapidated-looking state. It was a bit of a losing battle, since he was only able to come up once every three weeks and things seemed to grow back and get dirty again faster than he could clean them, but he was still making what could absolutely be considered progress. That was something. That mattered.

And he was trying, so very hard - surely that had to mean something? He did not wander passively waiting for visions, he worked, he cleaned and gardened and refreshed the water and did everything he could to fight against the thousand years of decay that had set in on his Wonder. Surely that was something. Surely that was meaningful. Surely that would show the Code - now that it was uncorrupted and hopefully more capable of recognizing the hard work of a Knight - that he was worthy of the power he had been given.

That he did not need to run to the Negaverse, because haunted Wonder or not, he was not afraid. He would not be deterred. He would soldier on, and the ghosts could frankly get the hell out of his way.

He was remembering more and more of his past life, too - of the last Knight Aokigahara, who had come as a brash young Page with a bright laugh and an infectious smile. Aokigahara saw him and fleeting flashes - setting up a bucket over a door, cleaning while whistling a bright tune, and, once, solemnly greeting the procession of a body. (It seemed he could be serious when it was necessary, and Aokigahara appreciated that.) Rin, was his name.

He was coming, in a way, to be rather fond of Rin. The young man seemed happy and light, ironic given what Aokigahara suspected the kanji for his name would be (if his name was anything like modern, Earth Japanese; there was no guarantee, he supposed) and he had clearly decided that even when surrounded by death and sadness, he was going to enjoy life as much as he possibly could. It was an admirable way to be, and he obviously still understood the necessity of solemnity when his duties called for it.

He had heard, once or twice, the title of “Inquisitor,” but he was unsure what that meant, if it meant anything. Clearly there was much he still had to learn, but...well. He felt more and more like he was beginning to understand. Perhaps he would learn more the more he came and the higher rank he achieved. That seemed the most obvious way of things, and he would be gladly content with that.

Still, all was not perfect or peaceful.

The haunting had not abated - in fact it had gotten worse. What had started as simply the feeling of being watched and a few cold spots had escalated, and now he heard knocking and unintelligible whispers regularly. Strange scratches appeared in the wood of the buildings and were entirely gone on his next visit, objects moved both behind his back and before his eyes, and the cold spots appeared with increasing frequency.

He found himself occasionally conversing with the ghosts, as if that might somehow help - as if they could understand him, might acknowledge his efforts even if his efforts were in the wrong direction. He just wanted to know, to understand - and given the way the ghosts seemed to be reacting, there was something he was doing wrong or not doing. That was deeply frustrating, because he had no way of knowing what it was or what it could be. With his memories of his past life coming only in flashes and fragments, none of them helpful in determining the cause of the haunting or what he was expected (because clearly, he was expected) to do about it, all he could do was keep trying.

Clearly, he was not trying hard enough, and the atmosphere over his past few visits had felt changed, tense, intense.

The entire Wonder felt charged with static electricity, as if something large and frightening was coming.

Aokigahara was not eager to see what it was. Still, he had his duties, and he could not spend all night on some random rooftop in Destiny City reminiscing about what he had already done and wondering what he might do better. There was more to be done, always more to be done.

He whispered the pledge that would carry him there, taking a breath of the strange Saturnian air. He was pleased to see how much better things looked after his restoration efforts, but so much would still need to be done.

He slung his gardening supplies over his shoulder, strode into the graveyard, found where he had left off three weeks prior, and began to aggressively weed. It was easy to tell, even with some growth back, where he had and hadn’t worked. Much of the graveyard remained untouched because of its sheer size, and he felt distantly that he might never tend it all if he was working alone, but perhaps he would not always be. There were people he could invite, if they were willing, to help him with the lengthy work of trying to tend the absolute gardening disaster that was his Wonder’s graveyard. The Heralds, perhaps, if they thought it a worthy effort for their goal of Wonder restoration - and surely everyone could agree, would agree, that the dead deserved their due, and the least of their due was a well-kept resting place.

He supposed he should be glad there was plant life at all, since by his understanding many planets and Wonders lacked even that, but it was still frustrating. He wondered if part of the development of this place would be a retreating of the tangles of strange plants that wound around the graves, letting them breathe again. That would certainly save him a lot of work, and let him focus on other parts of the Wonder’s lessened state. It would never be what it once might have been, but he could at least bring it closer.

It was remarkable, actually, how little the stones themselves had worn - though the script (or scripts, he was beginning to think there was not only one language represented here, but many) was completely alien to him, it was all still visible, as fresh as the day it was carved. He did not need to read to know that many of these would be names and dates, little last traces of people who had lived a thousand years ago and more, and who had been buried in his cemetery.

(It really did feel like his. He tended it, he cared for it, he ached to know who was buried there and why.)

For a moment, he heard a pair of voices - Rin’s and another, a woman, close, as if they too were leaning over the very grave he knelt in front of.


“Do you know the story behind this one?” The woman asked. He heard a slight, mildly sorrowful sigh.

“An assassin. The people of his planet wanted to toss his corpse out like trash, because of what he did - his target, his victim, was a beloved leader. But it was, as ever, my duty to ensure that he had a proper burial.” Rin said. There was a huff from the woman, who sounded disbelieving.

“Why even bother? Why not just let them rot?”

“Because,” Rin said, “in death we are all equal. And Aokigahara is for those who would be denied their basic due.”

Aokigahara felt like his breath had been stolen from his lungs. This was the closest he had gotten to a real answer about his Wonder’s purpose, and it was...it was what most might consider wasteful, or wrong, or unnecessary.

Aokigahara is for those who would be denied their basic due.

He stood, turning around, looking at the vast expanse of graves. Was that who all of these were? The lost, the forgotten, the unwanted, the denied? If that was the case, then he felt a mild surge of pride in his role as a Knight. Yes, this place needed a guardian i if it was truly a cemetery of the rejected as much as the abandoned, then undoubtedly it had been vandalized, damaged, denied. People did not like to imagine those they despised actually getting their eternal rest. Likely that was why this place existed at all.

He felt a sudden, bone-deep chill, and he exhaled, watching his breath mist the air.

“Is that what you are?” He asked the ghosts of the Wonder. “The restless spirits of those buried here? Then why do you remain? You were given rest, you were acknowledged, surely you cannot be angry about that.”

There was no answer, not that he had particularly expected one. The ghosts never replied to him, and they likely never would. He would have to find whatever answers he could dig up on his own. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have time - as far as he could tell his Wonder was not going to stop being accessible, and the ghosts had not yet been dangerous, merely frustrating and potentially frightening. He could handle both of those things with absolutely no trouble at all, so if that was all they were going to be…

Aokigahara sighed.

“You know I wish to help, don’t you?” He tried, but again, there was no response. Frustrating, that was what this was, more than anything else. He had a duty to his Wonder, he knew and understood that, but he could not be entirely sure what that duty was. Answers were not quick in the coming, and he found himself becoming somewhat bitter at that. There was so very much he wanted to do, but until he had a clearer picture of what the hell he was supposed to do, he could not accomplish any of them.

The cold spot faded away, and that, Aokigahara supposed, was that.

He sighed and returned to his weeding, pulling vines carefully away from a new headstone. Once it was revealed, he ran his gloved fingers over the inscription, wondering who was buried here. Another killer? Someone who was culturally shunned? There was no way of knowing, with there being thousands of planets in the galaxy - more, even - how many different cultures the Wonder Aokigahara had interacted with. How many different places the people buried here came from.

He moved onto the next one, which had some kind of strange thorny plant growing up it. Carefully, he peeled it away, making use of his shears to cut it away from whatever granite-like substance made up the marker.

He tugged particularly hard, grabbing the vine in just the wrong place, and felt thorns bite into his palm. He swore, and dropped it, then peeled off his glove, frowning at the small wounds in his palm. Blood welled up, and he watched it drip.

As soon as it touched the ground, he felt a wetness under his knees. Disturbed, he glanced down - and there were red stains on the white fabric of his pants.

Horror crawled up his spine.

He looked back at the thorns, and then back down - and the red was gone from his pants and the ground was dry, no sign that he had been, apparently, kneeling in ground so wet with blood it leeched.

He swallowed and stood.

That, he thought, was enough gardening for one day.