The forest felt alive—but not in a peaceful way.
Haruki walked behind Ayame and Rin, the silence around them deeper than it should've been. The trees stretched tall and close together, their bare branches like fingers weaving into a dark canopy above. Sunlight barely reached the ground. Only dim light filtered through, making the shadows move like they were watching.
The pendant around Haruki's neck gave a faint pulse, like a tiny heartbeat. He placed his hand over it. It had been doing that more often lately—like it was sensing something he couldn't.
"Are we still going the right way?" he asked softly.
Ayame paused. She reached into her satchel and pulled out the old notebook—the one filled with her father's strange notes and drawings. She flipped to a page marked with a pressed leaf and ran her fingers along the writing.
"If this is right," she said, "we're heading toward the Kuroyama Shrine. The path should wind around the cliffs soon."
Rin looked around, frowning. "There's barely even a path."
Ayame closed the notebook. "That's because this place isn't meant to be found easily."
They moved forward.
Roots jutted from the ground like traps, and moss clung to every surface. The deeper they went, the more the forest changed. It grew colder. The air felt heavy, like it held something old. And something... watching.
Haruki kept catching movement out of the corner of his eye—a flicker here, a shadow there—but every time he turned, there was nothing.
Then, Rin spoke up. "Tell me I'm not the only one who feels like we're being followed."
Ayame didn't answer, but her hand drifted toward the hilt of the short blade at her side.
Haruki nodded slowly. "I've been hearing whispers. Not loud… just soft echoes."
Ayame stopped and looked at him. "What do they say?"
He hesitated. "They say my name. But not like a voice. More like... memory. Or a dream I forgot."
Ayame looked up at the trees. "Places like this remember things. Some of those things want to be forgotten."
As they continued, the whispers grew louder. Still not clear, but definitely there—layered voices that brushed the edges of their minds. The fog thickened. It curled around their legs and drifted low to the ground like smoke.
Then came the symbols.
Carved into the bark of trees were markings—some the same as on Haruki's scroll. He stopped to trace one. It was warm.
"These symbols," Ayame said quietly, "were drawn to warn people. Or to keep something in."
Rin gave a nervous laugh. "That's comforting."
Suddenly, the fog shifted—and a figure appeared up ahead.
A person, standing in the mist, not moving.
Haruki's breath caught in his throat. "Hello?"
No answer.
The figure didn't step forward. Didn't flinch. Just stood there.
Ayame stepped in front of Haruki. "Stay back."
She took one step toward the figure—and it turned and vanished into the fog without a sound.
"What was that?" Rin whispered.
Haruki shook his head. "I don't know. But I think it's been watching us for a while."
They walked faster after that.
The path narrowed, curving through a rocky pass where the trees thinned. Eventually, they stepped into a clearing.
At the center stood a broken stone gate—covered in vines, half-collapsed, like something out of a forgotten story. Beyond it, a narrow staircase led up the mountain, disappearing into shadows.
"This is it," Ayame said. "The entrance to the old shrine path."
Rin walked up to the gate and ran a hand over the stone. "This place gives me the creeps."
Haruki didn't answer. His heart pounded. The pendant was glowing softly now.
He stepped beside Ayame. "This is where we're meant to go."
Ayame looked at him. "You feel it too, don't you?"
He nodded. "It's like something is calling me."
Ayame opened the notebook again and turned to a drawing of the gate. "My father came here once. He wrote that it was a place where the past and future touch. Where the ember stirs."
Rin glanced between them. "So... we're just walking into it?"
"We've come this far," Haruki said quietly. "And I don't think we're alone anymore."
Ayame looked back into the fog-covered forest. The shadows behind them hadn't moved, but the silence felt heavier, like something had paused to watch them leave.
"We should hurry," she said.
Haruki stepped through the gate first.
The stone felt warm as he passed.
They climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last—not from exhaustion, but from something else. Like the mountain was testing them. The air thinned. The pendant's glow grew brighter.
And then, just before the stairs vanished into darkness, Haruki heard it again—a voice.
Soft. Old.
"Haruki..."
He turned.
No one was there.
But he knew now. The path wasn't just leading him to the shrine.
It was leading him to the truth.