The wind kept sweeping through the city, as if carrying a whisper that had never quite ended.
It wasn't rain. It wasn't a sigh.
It was something else.
Kuro could feel it.
He often sat in the corridor of the dorms, watching the wind curl along the base of the wall, slip through the cracks in the door, thread itself through the faded flag.
There were moments, brief, but unmistakable, when he thought he could hear the motion of something ancient.
A secret habit of the air, repeating itself in silence.
…
One morning, Kuro woke earlier than usual. Not because of any alarm, but a quiet kind of excitement.
By the time first light slipped through the window, he was already sitting up, heart gently beating with anticipation.
He dressed quickly, slung his bag over his shoulder, and stepped out.
The road to the school's research annex was cool with dew. Faint smells of mist drifted on the early wind. Traffic buzzed in the distance, but here everything still felt calm.
On Mike's desk, data from the anomaly sensors was still inconclusive. Not enough for a hard sample.
But something odd had shown up. Microwaves shifts. Slight but repeating.
Most matched the exact locations where Kuro had "felt" something.
Mike had dismissed it at first, randomness. But after a few days, he began marking coordinates.
Most were in the northern outskirts.
"Could be coincidence," Mike said, eyes fixed on the screen.
That afternoon, they went to the old library.
Mike unearthed a stack of scanned records, from pre-war local chronicles, books on northern terrain, and regional climate.
One book's map had torn pages, but after some digging, they noticed the patterns.
Rugged land. Sparse population. Mostly minority communities.
Northern trade had been severed for decades.
Mike frowned. "We don't have much to go on."
Kuro kept looking. He asked around, searched old articles, borrowed temporary access to the historical archive.
Then, he found something.
Stuffed between dusty books was an old newspaper, creased and almost unreadable.
It told of a vague incident. Three people heading into deep snow. Disappearance. Depression. The area later marked under wildlife danger and signal interference.
The final line stuck with Kuro: "Geologist Than V."
"Mike. Read this."
Mike scanned it, then paused. "We should find him."
"But how?"
Mike pointed at the footer, an address tied to a mine.
"It's something. We follow that."
With luck, an elderly woman nearby knew the area. She warned:
"Don't go when it rains. The slope gets slick, and people lose their way.
If you find him... don't ask too much. He used to be brilliant. Then he chose silence."
…
On a gray morning, they pedaled along a gravel road into the woods.
Each turn brought doubt. Each slope brought the question, what were they chasing?
At last, a wooden house appeared between thinning pines. Weathered, moss-cloaked, but steady.
On the porch, a steaming kettle sat beside a folded chair.
Kuro knocked politely.
From inside, an old voice called, "Who's there?"
"We're students," Kuro lied gently. "Interviewing residents about local life."
They came prepared. Notebooks in hand. Smiles polite.
They sat down. Asked about the region. About Than himself.
Mike was nervous, but Than didn't seem to mind.
He chuckled. "Haven't seen school kids come out this far in years."
Kuro gave a half-smile.
Mike opened his notebook. Flipped pages.
"Sir... did you ever join a geological expedition up north?
One with three men? Only one came back."
Than froze mid-pour. His eyes darkened for a breath.
He looked at both boys. Slowly.
"Where'd you hear that?"
"Library. Not much detail. But your name was in it," Kuro said.
Silence.
Then, Than placed the teapot down. Quietly. As if afraid to disturb something fragile.
"Yes... we went. Three of us. Just a survey. Power lines to a remote village. Officially a tech demo. One geologist. Two electrical engineers."
"We heard only one returned."
"Correct. Phung, classmate of mine. Methodical. Wrote everything down. He vanished. No trace."
"And the other?"
"Lu. Fast-talker. Bright. I thought he'd be the last to return. But he made it back to the checkpoint, and never spoke again."
"He... couldn't speak?" Mike asked.
"Trauma, they said. Maybe worse. His hands still moved. Eyes still saw. But his voice... gone."
Kuro shivered. "And you?"
Than leaned back. Gazed at the ceiling.
A crack ran across the beam, like a scar in memory.
"I came back. But I don't recall the end. There was... a hollow. Not terrain. Something else.
When we stepped in, sound vanished. I fell. When I woke, I was alone."
Silence again.
Only wind sighed through the window slats.
"Why wasn't it investigated?" Mike asked.
"It was. But the area was cordoned off. Official reasons: signal distortion and predators.
We got hazard pay."
Kuro hesitated. "But..."
"I didn't forget. Just chose not to remember in detail."
He looked outside.
"You see, what's terrifying isn't being lost. It's making it back... and never walking forward again."
They stood, bowed.
"Thank you, sir," Mike said. "I think... I understand why you stayed."
Than didn't answer. Just nodded.
A gesture from someone who had once spoken too many unheard words.
Outside, Mike marked a new point on his old map. "The Hollow."
"I'm not sure this is a path we want to take," he told Kuro.
"Besides… it seemed he didn't want to talk more about that silent companion," Mike said, voice lowered, a shadow of hesitation still in his eyes.
Kuro furrowed his brow slightly, replying slowly,
"Maybe we should just survey the area. We don't have to find that man. It's clear he doesn't want the past dug up."
Mike looked up toward the distant tree line, his voice barely louder than a breath.
"I think we need to check the terrain maps again… but what gets me is this: the government said nothing more either. Do you think… it really exists?"
Kuro paused for a beat, then gave a small nod.
"It might be real. But I also think… if it is, it's way too easy to use as an excuse. For anything people can't explain."
Mike gave a faint smile. It was hard to tell if it meant acceptance, or simply letting go.
He didn't say anything else.
They pedaled back along the old path.
The evening wind brushed against their sleeves, carrying the scent of dry pine and decaying resin.
The way back felt shorter, but no easier.
Their thoughts lingered somewhere behind them, caught in the gaze of an old man who knew too well the line between moving forward and standing still.
They biked the same way back. Dry pine air brushing their sleeves.
The return felt shorter.
But not easier.
In their minds lingered Than's eyes, eyes that had seen the line between going on and staying still.
But they weren't the only ones watching.
On the third floor of the research wing, someone else had noticed.
…
Tara, a third-year in Energy Biology, had tracked small irregularities.
Lab logs. Lab tool use. Mismatches with coursework.
She tilted her head.
Something about it all... made her curious.