The first rays of sunlight slipped through the wooden window of the Akizuki estate, casting the room in a soft glow that settled over the tatami mats like a veil of warmth. A gentle breeze made the paper walls shiver, while outside, life in the village slowly stirred again—birdsong, the distant clink of tools, the rhythmic pounding of a mortar somewhere at the edge of the world.

  Miko opened her eyes.

  A dull pressure pulsed in her head, like a fog layered over her thoughts. Her body felt as if it had been through a long, draining ritual—tired, heavy, each movement a quiet rebellion. A strange tingling threaded through her limbs, not painful, but foreign.

  Where... am I?

  Slowly, her gaze wandered. The ceiling above was familiar, the patterns on the walls known to her. The scent of dried wood, faint incense, and the trace of tea told her she was home. In her room. In her bed.

  But it didn’t feel like it.

  She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain cut through her side as soon as her muscles tensed. Her body resisted—as if it had decided it preferred stillness.

  A rustle made her pause.

  Beside her lay a second blanket. Beneath it—Aiko. Her sister lay curled on a futon on the floor, still in her day clothes. Her face looked peaceful in sleep, but the dark rings beneath her eyes betrayed a sleepless night. Her breath was steady, quiet, but her rest looked thin—fragile, as though any sound might shatter it.

  Miko blinked, startled.

  Aiko had stayed with her all night?

  For a brief moment, something warm stirred in her chest—comfort, affection. But it didn’t last. Something about it felt wrong.

  Why had Aiko kept watch?

  A cold prickle crept over her skin as Miko realized—

  She couldn’t remember how she’d come to bed.

  Or anything from the hours before.

  Her thoughts reeled, grasping for something that wouldn’t come.

  She swallowed and shifted carefully. The heavy resistance in her body returned—like it had lived through something her mind refused to acknowledge.

  The quiet movement woke Aiko.

  She mumbled something and opened her eyes.

  It took her a moment to process.

  Then she bolted upright.

  “Miko!”

  Relief rang clearly in her voice—but so did the tension tightening her shoulders.

  Before Miko could respond, Aiko had knelt beside her, hands gently on her shoulders.

  “How do you feel? Are you in pain? Can you speak?”

  Miko tried to collect the words racing through her mind.

  “I… I’m just tired.”

  Her own voice surprised her—fragile, distant, as if it came from somewhere far away.

  Aiko hesitated for a moment, watching her closely.

  Then she stood and went to the door.

  “I’ll get Father.”

  Miko lay still, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

  The room’s silence felt peaceful—

  and yet, something crawled under her skin.

  A nameless unease, like a warning without a source.

  Her mind strained against a curtain of fog she couldn’t pull aside.

  Then she heard footsteps.

  Slow. Heavy.

  The gait of someone unsure what they might find.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The door slid open.

  Himoto Akizuki entered—tall, composed, his usual authority intact.

  But today, there was something else on his face.

  Concern. Not the quiet, fatherly kind—

  but something sharpened by unspoken fear.

  He approached the bed and knelt beside her.

  “Miko…”

  His voice was deep, calm—

  but behind it lurked something he wasn’t ready to show.

  “How do you feel?”

  She swallowed. Her throat was dry.

  “Just… tired. Father, but why—”

  Her words stopped as she looked into his face.

  Something in his expression unnerved her.

  Something that devoured every question before it could form.

  “What happened?” she asked instead—barely more than a breath.

  His reply came slowly. Carefully.

  “That’s what we’re asking you.”

  She froze.

  One sentence.

  And yet, it felt like a judgment.

  Her heartbeat quickened.

  A pressure inside her rose, straining outward—

  as if a memory were knocking from the inside.

  She reached for the edges of what she knew—

  and found only blankness.

  Then, fragment by fragment, images began to surface.

  Fog.

  A shadow.

  Something vast and silent.

  Steps that made no sound—but could be felt.

  And a gaze.

  Two empty, black eye sockets that didn’t see...

  but consumed.

  The being.

  Not of this world.

  Not Oni. Not human.

  Nothing that could be named.

  Her breath came faster.

  Her fingers clutched the blanket.

  Her thoughts spiraled.

  “I…”

  Her voice cracked, too soft for even herself to hear.

  Aiko stepped closer from the doorway.

  “Was it an Oni?” she asked quietly, hopefully—

  as if a known word could make the unknown less terrifying.

  Miko shook her head slowly.

  Her movement was cautious—

  as if each gesture threatened to pull more memory from the dark.

  “No.”

  She said nothing else.

  But it was enough.

  Himoto watched her.

  He didn’t speak.

  But his gaze revealed that he understood—or at least, suspected.

  He gave her time.

  Then placed a hand gently on the blanket.

  “You don’t have to remember right now. Rest. We’ll talk again later.”

  Miko wanted to protest.

  She wanted answers.

  But the weight in her bones had other plans.

  Aiko came to her side and took her hand.

  “We’re here. Sleep a little longer.”

  Miko closed her eyes.

  The pressure in her head didn’t fade—

  but shifted.

  From fear… to exhaustion.

  She didn’t fall asleep.

  She slipped into it—

  like falling into a pool with no bottom.

  And in her dreams…

  the fog waited.

  The Akizuki house sat quiet beneath the gentle light of morning.

  But beneath that calm, something invisible had begun to grow.

  Something had changed.

  Not just in Miko.

  Not just in her family.

  Something had found a place to stay.