The morning came cold and quiet — the kind of silence that feels unnatural after a storm. Toshio barely noticed the faint sunlight filtering through his curtains. He hadn't slept at all. His eyes burned, and his thoughts wouldn't stop replaying that moment in the park — Hana's silhouette in the lightning flash, her whisper in the rain, her umbrella left behind like a message.
He sat up, the letter still clutched in his hand from the night before. Her words echoed endlessly in his mind:
"Please, forget me — or at least, try to."
But how could he forget the only person who ever made him feel alive?
His stomach growled softly, a painful reminder that he hadn't eaten in over a day. He forced himself to stand, each step heavy, and walked to the kitchen. The apartment was eerily still — too quiet, too empty. The smell of cold coffee hung in the air.
As he reached for a glass, a knock echoed at the door.
Toshio froze.
Three sharp knocks. Then silence.
He glanced at the clock. 6:04 a.m. No one ever came this early. Slowly, he approached the door, heart pounding. "Who is it?"
No answer.
He unlocked the latch and pulled it open just enough to peer outside.
No one was there.
But something was — a small, brown envelope lying neatly on his doorstep. No address. No name. Just a red wax seal pressed into its flap, marked with a single symbol: a crescent moon.
Hana's symbol.
He bent down, hand trembling, and picked it up. For a long second, he just stared at it. Then, unable to wait another moment, he tore it open.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Hana — standing in front of what looked like an abandoned shrine. Her expression was distant, haunted. Behind her, barely visible in the shadows, was a man dressed in black, his face obscured by a hood.
Scrawled in red ink at the bottom of the photo were four words:
"Don't follow the light."
Toshio's heart stopped. The message was unmistakably a warning — but from whom? From Hana? Or from whoever had taken her?
He flipped the photo over. A date was scribbled on the back: October 18. That was yesterday. The image was recent — maybe even taken the night she vanished.
He stumbled back, gripping the counter to steady himself. His pulse thundered in his ears. Every instinct screamed that something was terribly wrong, but another voice whispered inside him — she's alive.
He grabbed his jacket, stuffed the photo in his pocket, and ran out the door.
The streets still glistened with leftover rain. Toshio's shoes splashed through puddles as he sprinted toward Yumi's house. She was the only one who might help him make sense of this.
When she opened the door, her eyes widened. "Toshio? You look—"
"Where did she go?" he interrupted, breathless. "Hana. I got this this morning." He thrust the photo toward her.
Yumi's hand trembled as she took it. "Oh god…" Her face drained of color. "This place — I've seen it before."
"You have?"
She nodded slowly. "It's outside the city, near Mount Kaido. There's an old shrine that was abandoned after the landslide ten years ago. No one goes there anymore."
Toshio's heart raced faster. "Then that's where I'm going."
Yumi caught his wrist. "Wait. You can't just—"
"I don't have time to wait."
"Toshio, listen!" Her voice rose, desperate. "You don't understand. That place— it's rumored to be cursed. People who go there disappear."
He looked into her eyes, his own fierce with determination. "If she's there, I'll disappear with her."
Yumi's lips parted as if to argue, but she saw something in his expression — the same unbreakable resolve she'd seen when he first confessed his love for Hana under the fireworks. She sighed shakily. "Then I'm coming with you."
"No."
Her eyes flashed. "You think I'll just let you go alone? She was my best friend too."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. But stay close."
The drive to Mount Kaido was long and winding. The storm clouds still hovered above, threatening more rain. The radio stayed off; the silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken fear. The photo lay on the dashboard, Hana's face catching the pale morning light.
When they reached the foot of the mountain, Toshio parked by the roadside. The forest beyond loomed dark and silent. The path that led to the shrine was overgrown with moss and vines, untouched by human footsteps for years.
They walked in silence, branches snapping under their shoes. The further they went, the colder it became. Even the birds were silent.
Yumi shivered. "It feels… wrong here."
Toshio nodded grimly. "Like the air itself doesn't want us here."
As they climbed higher, the trees grew denser, their twisted roots breaking through the path. Finally, they saw it — the old shrine, half-collapsed, its torii gate leaning precariously. The stone steps were slick with rain.
Toshio took a step forward. "Hana…"
Something moved near the gate — a faint shadow.
Yumi grabbed his arm. "Wait!"
But Toshio broke free and rushed ahead, his heart hammering. He turned the corner — and froze.
Someone was standing at the shrine entrance.
A man. Dressed in black. Hood pulled low over his face.
The same figure from the photograph.
"Where is she?" Toshio demanded, voice shaking with anger. "Where's Hana?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and tossed something onto the ground — another envelope. Then he turned and began walking toward the trees.
"Stop!" Toshio shouted, running after him. But before he could reach him, the man vanished — melted into the shadows as if he were never there.
Yumi hurried to his side. "Toshio! What was that?"
He didn't reply. He bent down and picked up the envelope. His fingers were cold as he opened it.
Inside was a second photo.
It showed him.
Standing at the same shrine — from behind, as though someone had been watching them all along. And written on the back, in the same red ink:
"You were warned."
The wind howled suddenly, carrying with it a faint, unmistakable sound — the melody of Hana's laughter, distant and sorrowful.
Yumi clutched his arm. "Tell me you heard that…"
He nodded slowly, eyes dark. "She's here. Somewhere."
"Toshio, this is insane—"
He turned to her, voice low but firm. "Yumi, if Hana's trapped in something dangerous, I can't turn back. I don't care who's behind this."
She hesitated, fear flickering across her face. But then she saw the look in his eyes — the same burning resolve that had once made Hana fall for him.
"Then we find her," she whispered.
They spent hours combing the shrine grounds. Every creak of wood, every shift of shadow felt alive, as if the place itself were watching them. At last, Yumi called out, "Toshio! Over here!"
He ran to her. She was kneeling beside a small offering box, half-buried under fallen leaves. Inside, wrapped in silk, was another letter — sealed with the same crescent moon symbol.
Hands trembling, Toshio opened it.
Toshio,
If you've found this, it means they know you're looking for me.
I begged them not to involve you, but they said you'd come anyway.
Please — don't go any further.
The people behind this aren't human.
You once said you'd walk through any storm for me.
I never wanted you to prove it.
— Hana
His throat tightened. He stared at the letter, heart pounding with equal parts love and terror.
"She's alive," Yumi whispered.
"But she's in danger," Toshio said quietly, eyes burning. "And I'm not stopping until I bring her back."
He folded the letter, tucked it into his jacket, and turned toward the forest again — toward whatever darkness waited beyond.
Behind them, the wind stirred. The red wax seal from the letter rolled into the mud, cracking open — and from it, a faint crimson light began to pulse.
Unseen.
Unstoppable.