There are relics too sacred to name, and too humble to be noticed.
Kazuki found one in a shallow basin carved beneath the monastery—untouched by time, unspoken by the monks, sealed behind prayer-salted stone.
It did not shine.
It did not hum.
It simply… soaked.
The Forgotten Relic
Nestled in a bowl of stillwater, beneath carvings long eroded by sea-wind, sat a withered yellow sponge—gray at the edges, hardened by centuries of silence.
Yet as Kazuki neared, he felt it stir—not physically, but emotionally.
Regret. Hope. Resolve.
Feelings washed over him like tides, wordless yet heavy.
The monks called it legend:
"The Whispering Sponge."
Said to have once belonged to a minor cleansing god, so devoted to purity he tried to cleanse the heavens themselves.
He failed.
But his essence remained—absorbed, waiting, remembering.
Visions of the Failed
When Kazuki touched it, his mind drowned in visions:
A priest scrubbing a bloodstained altar until his hands bled.
A maiden washing the mouth of a plague god until her soul disintegrated.
A choir of mortals singing divine hymns so pure, their bodies evaporated into light—only to be forgotten.
All tried to cleanse the divine.
All failed.
Until now.
The Choosing
Unlike the others, Kazuki did not demand control.
He did not pray.
He did not purge.
He simply said:
"I understand.
This isn't about perfection.
It's about trying anyway."
The sponge glowed.
Soft golden light seeped from its pores. The salt air turned warm. His scars faded slightly—not healed, but acknowledged.
A New Power
Kazuki rose from the chamber holding the Whispering Sponge—not as a tool, but as a bond.
He could now channel a fragment of divine sanitation—an ancient, empathetic force that cleansed with consent, not conquest.
"You're not a weapon," Kazuki murmured to it.
"You're a memory. A promise.
Let's remind the gods what purity used to mean."
And far above, in the cracks between stars, something stirred.
Not in anger.
But in fear.