"For all you or anyone else knows, you could be a Child of Izumo," Genkaku replied, folding his arms slowly and regarding the boy with a sober, cool expression. Seimei was old and wise in his way, certainly, but there was a gravity to Genkaku that the onmyoji never affected. A bitter, weary edge to his wisdom.

"The people who died here were not the only people of Izumo. There were others who did not live in the village, who married elsewhere, who traveled, who ran, who survived. The time and the place never matters when you carry an inalienable truth in your heart. It took me a long time to understand that," he admitted, pacing around the chamber and gazing at the stone walls and their paintings.

"I would rather the memory of Izumo lived on, carried by thoughts of peace and generosity. Those were the people of the Izumo I lost. Abe no Seimei is carrying Izumo out of this place, and so shall you. Twin boys with hair like fire and the son of Kuzunoha? Ha, I should be honored to have such people create a new Izumo. The paintings your people will eventually make of you will be quite exciting, I am certain."