The train ride back to Hiraizumi felt like a journey through time itself.
The closer I got to home, the more the cityscape gave way to quiet fields, familiar rivers, and old shrines nestled among the trees. Each sight stirred memories I hadn't touched in years—long summer days, the smell of fresh tatami mats, and Aoi's calm voice echoing through the house.
It was strange, how the past could feel both distant and just a breath away.
When I stepped off the train, the platform was almost empty. The mountain air was crisp, and a soft mist clung to the edge of the forest beyond the tracks.
I spotted her immediately—Aoi, standing under a persimmon tree, wearing her usual soft gray cardigan and a woven scarf. She hadn't changed at all.
"Hikari," she said gently, her voice steady as ever.
I ran to her, and for a moment I didn't know what to say. She wrapped her arms around me in a tight, grounding hug. I hadn't realized how badly I needed that until now.
"I'm sorry for coming back so suddenly," I murmured as we walked back toward the old house.
"I had a feeling you'd return," Aoi said quietly. "I've been sensing… unrest."
Her words settled in my chest like stones.
The house was just as I remembered it—faint incense lingering in the air, wooden floors creaking with every step, and her little altar tucked away in the corner, adorned with protective charms and faded photographs.
She served tea without asking, placing the cup in front of me as I sat at the low table. The steam curled up between us.
"I need to ask you something," I said, gripping the warm ceramic in my hands. "Something… strange has been happening to me. To others. I've seen things."
Aoi didn't interrupt. She waited, her eyes focused and calm.
"I saw a creature," I continued, voice lowering. "Twice now. Once in the subway. And again last night, in the library. It was… massive, but no one else saw it. And then—Sakura, my co-worker—something entered her. Possessed her. I know how that sounds, but—"
"I believe you," Aoi said softly. "I've seen them too."
My breath caught.
She leaned back slightly, her fingers gently brushing the crystal hanging from her neck—the same kind of charm she once gave me.
"They're not creatures in the way we understand," she continued. "They are fragments of something older. Shadows born from pain, fear, and forgotten truths. Spirits that never moved on… or worse, those that were never truly alive to begin with."
"What do they want?" I whispered.
"To feed. To become more."
A chill ran through me.
"They follow those who are emotionally open—sensitive. People like you, Hikari. You've always had the sight. You just forgot."
"I didn't forget," I said, heart pounding. "I buried it."
Aoi nodded. "You were very young. You saw something back then, something terrible. It's connected to what's happening now."
"What do you mean?"
She stood and walked toward a cabinet. From a hidden drawer, she pulled out a bundle wrapped in white cloth and placed it between us.
Inside was an old notebook, its pages yellowed with age and covered in symbols I couldn't understand.
"This belonged to your mother," she said. "She saw them too."
I froze. My memories of my mother were blurry—a soft voice, distant lullabies, the scent of lavender. She passed away when I was a child, and we never talked about what she believed, what she saw.
"She knew," Aoi said. "And she tried to protect you. The charm I gave you—it was hers."
I touched the bracelet now hanging from my wrist, still faintly warm.
"The thing you saw," she continued, "it's not just a spirit. It's an Ikiryo. A living shadow. Born from someone's unresolved grief or rage. If it's attached to Sakura, then either she created it… or it chose her."
"But why?" I asked. "Why now?"
Aoi's expression darkened. "Because the veil is thinning. It happens every few decades—when emotion and memory swell to a certain breaking point. Spirits find the cracks and slip through. And if your friend Hanabi is dreaming of a woman… it might already be spreading."
"What do I do?" I asked, feeling the weight of everything I'd just learned.
"You need to remember. Everything. Your past, your dreams, the things you've pushed away. The only way to confront it is to understand its origin. I can help guide you. But in the end, it's you who has to see."
I nodded slowly.
That night, I stayed at Aoi's house, I used to stayed here most of the time when I was young, unable to sleep. The trees outside whispered like voices in a language I almost understood. I stared at the ceiling and remembered a lullaby my mother used to sing.
And in the space between waking and sleep, I saw a flash—
A dark room.
A woman with no face.
And a child—me—reaching out, crying for someone who never came.