They parted without ceremony—Hana trailing behind Shinji with her arms crossed over her chest, thoughtful and quiet. The village was still. Somewhere in the distance, a frog croaked lazily, and the wind stirred the reeds near the river. No one spoke as they stepped over the wooden threshold and closed the door behind them.
Their mother had already gone to bed, and Father Jiro was sitting by the hearth, adding a final stick of wood to the fading fire. He looked up as the two of them entered.
"Back late," he murmured. "You didn't get caught up in mischief, I hope?"
"No, Father," Hana said quickly, pulling her braid over her shoulder. "Just talking near the tree. Gran-elder Daichi says talking under the blossoms brings good dreams."
Jiro huffed softly, but his eyes smiled. "He's always saying things like that. I suppose there are worse people to believe."
Shinji didn't speak, only nodded. His mind still buzzed faintly from their practice—the strange warmth in his chest hadn't entirely faded, though it now lay quiet, curled inside him like a sleeping coal.
They washed, ate a little reheated rice, and rolled out their mats.
Sleep came fast.
But it didn't last.
Somewhere between night and morning—when the sky was still a dull navy and the mist clung low to the fields—it came: a scream, raw and frantic, so loud it felt like it tore the fabric of the village in two.
Shinji bolted upright.
Another scream followed, higher and hoarser, cracked with terror.
"Taro?! Taro?! Where's my son?!"
Shinji scrambled for his sandals.
He heard their father's heavy footsteps rushing to the door, the paper screen pushed aside in a single breath. Hana was already out of bed, tying her sash with shaking fingers.
"It's Naoko," she whispered. "I think she's—oh gods—she's screaming for Taro."
Jiro's voice called from the hallway, calm but tense. "Stay inside. I'll check."
"I'm going," Shinji said.
"Me too," Hana added.
Their father didn't argue. He only paused, then said, "Stay close. Don't wander."
They ran.
The mist was heavy, curling in sheets across the footpaths like breath from an unseen beast. Doors were opening all around them, neighbors stepping out in nightclothes, faces pale and tight with unease.
At the edge of the southern field, where the fence met the first sloping hill, they saw Naoko.
She was barefoot, on her knees, her hair loose and tangled from sleep. She clutched a tiny straw sandal in both hands, pressing it to her chest like it might bring her son back if she held tight enough.
"He was right beside me!" she screamed, tears running freely down her face. "He was there—I tucked him in, I swear it! I turned around for a second, just a second—!"
"Naoko," someone said, kneeling beside her. It was Mieko, the potter's wife. "Breathe, please, we're here. Tell us—did you see anything?"
Naoko shook her head violently. "No, no—just wind. I heard the door click, I thought it was the breeze. I thought—he gets thirsty sometimes, he fetches water from the basin. I looked around and… and he wasn't there."
The crowd was thickening. Villagers murmured in clusters, trying to make sense of what they were hearing.
Ren stood on the outer edge, expression unreadable, arms folded tightly over his chest. When he saw Shinji, he stepped closer.
"Did you hear it too?" Ren whispered.
Shinji nodded, swallowing. "They say she found his sandal by the fence."
Hana brushed past both of them, her voice low but clear. "Look."
She pointed to the ground.
A few meters away, just past the first wooden post of the fence, droplets of blood beaded across the grass. Not a trail. Not a pool. Just—dots. Precise. Almost delicate.
Masato crouched beside them, fingers tracing the edges of one drop.
He said nothing for a while.
Then, "This is fresh."
Naoko's sobbing quieted for a moment.
Masato looked up, his face a mix of confusion and calculation. "No scuff marks. No dragging. Not even a footprint near the drops."
Goro approached from behind, hammer slung over one shoulder. "Animal?" he asked.
"No." Masato stood. "Even a bird would leave prints. Something moved here, bled here, and vanished."
Jiro stepped forward. "Could it have been carried?"
"Maybe," Masato muttered. "But by what? No child this light should drop blood like this from being carried. And why carry them through the mist at all?"
"The woods?" Goro asked.
Masato nodded slowly.
They followed the trail—what little there was of it. The blood curved toward the woods beyond the fence, where trees loomed like watchmen in the gray light. Then it stopped.
Just stopped.
Goro crouched low again, brushing the damp earth. "It's like it floated," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
A silence followed that statement.
One of the older men, Riku, crossed his arms. "You saying something flew away with him?"
"No wings. No feathers," Masato said, but his face was pale. "I don't know what I'm saying."
Naoko had gone quiet. She stared into the trees like she could force the truth out of the dark with nothing but will.
"I want my son back," she whispered. "Please. Please, someone bring him back."
Jiro stepped forward. "We'll find him. I swear it."
"Not alone," Goro added. "I'll fetch my gear. We'll track every inch."
The group began to split—some rushing home to prepare lanterns and weapons, others staying behind to comfort Naoko or organize the search.
Ren grabbed Shinji's sleeve. "You heard what he said. Floated."
Shinji nodded. He didn't know what to say.
Hana joined them, voice quiet. "No sign of a struggle. No footprints. Only blood."
"That's not right," Ren murmured. "That's not how anything works."
A crow cawed from the trees, sharp and sudden. It made Naoko flinch.
...
The morning sun never truly came that day.
Only a pale, silvery light filtered through the mist, casting long shadows that never sharpened. Everything felt damp, like the air itself had decided to hold its breath.
Shinji stood just outside his family's home, clutching a cloth-wrapped rice ball he hadn't touched. Hana was seated beside him on the wooden porch, fingers threaded together in her lap. Neither of them had spoken in several minutes.
Their father had joined the search party before first light. Goro too. Masato was said to be leading them, bow strung tight across his back, arrows lacquered against the moisture. Everyone with a weapon had taken it.