Up to that moment, the only sound to be heard was the lapping of the water against the banks. There he stood, admiring the vast expanse that enchanted him, and which, along with its waves, brought back the past.

Had he truly matured and left the past behind? Had he truly left it behind?

The most obvious answer was no.

Carrying the last flower he had gathered from the grave of a hare he had killed, he was forced to face reality. Ultimately, in these present days, he was a priest stained by the sin of death. A man who made offerings to the departed was pitted against his own teachings by hunger.

Hotaru dropped the flower near the damp sand, already wet from the approaching sea. It didn’t take long for the blue petals to be swept away by the tide.

For many long minutes, he stood gazing at the horizon, resisting the urge to resume his solitary journey. Over the past few weeks, learning to live as if for the first time was like teaching a child to see the world anew. He was that child now.

As his life went on, the little firefly — who had once lived only so that the dead might be remembered — realised today for the first time that he, too, should be remembered. But for what? What qualities would make him worthy of being remembered?

After pondering many possibilities, this young firefly realised that the most fitting way to be remembered would be by the one who takes a life and regrets having done so, the one who covers death with the scent of flowers so that his apologies might make sense.