The day was gray and heavy with rain as Haruki Vigure stood at his little sister's grave. The wind whispered over the cemetery, making the leaves dance and tugging at the frayed edges of his coat.
No one spoke.No one cried.Not even Haruki.
The world felt numb, muffled, as if there was something between him and reality — a thick, invisible layer, like glass that wouldn't break.
The priest's voice drifted softly across the rows of graves."…And may her soul move on, to the place where memories leave their traces and time can no longer reach her."He paused."Noa Vigure. She was light. Brief. Fragile. But real."
Haruki barely heard him. His gaze was fixed on the damp earth. The marble headstone was new. The name carved into it.Noa. Seven years old. Died in her sleep. No explanation.
And then he saw it.
Only for a breath.A fleeting shimmer that drifted through the air — like smoke.But it wasn't smoke. It was… blue mist.It rose from the gravestone like a sighing spirit, curled gently around Haruki's ankle, and vanished in a flicker.
A chill ran through him.He flinched, turned quickly —But no one else had seen it.
"Haruki? Are you alright?" someone beside him asked. His aunt, he guessed. Her voice was soft, cautious, as if she were afraid he might shatter.
He just nodded."I… must've imagined it."
She accepted that. Like everyone did.
"What was that? Is that normal at a funeral?" he wondered. But before he could think, his mother interrupted.
"Haruki?" she asked gently, pressing a wet cloth to her face. "Come, please. We're going home now."
He nodded.Slowly.
…
The carriage was old but sturdy. The wood creaked with every bump, and the wheels carved grooves into the wet gravel road. The sky hung over them like a heavy, gray sheet, and the fields on either side were swallowed in fog — as if something unseen had claimed them.
Haruki sat between his parents. The air smelled of wet cloth and leather, mingled with the earthy scent of soaked soil. His mother still held the handkerchief to her face. His father sat stiff, motionless, staring blankly into the fog.
No one spoke.
Haruki leaned his head against the wooden wall of the carriage. His thoughts flickered.Images of Noa.Her laughter.How she couldn't fall asleep without the light on.How she was afraid of the dark —And now, she was in it.
A shiver ran down his spine.
"I saw it…" he whispered at last.
"What?" his mother asked, barely audible.
"That mist. At the grave."He glanced at her, but she avoided his eyes."It was… blue. Alive, almost. Like a breath, but made of light."
His mother turned away. "Your eyes are playing tricks on you. Grief does that to us."
Haruki wanted to argue — but just then, the carriage jolted. The horses neighed in panic. The driver cursed outside, reining them in.
And then —Something was there.
Haruki snapped his head around. Behind a thick cluster of trees near the road, something flickered. A shimmer — barely visible. That mist again. But not just mist — this time it seemed like a shadow with color.Blue — tinged with red.It rippled like fog, gliding down the embankment with a faint hiss through the underbrush.
He pressed his face to the carriage window. "There it is again! By the trees!"
"Haruki, please…"His father's voice was tense now. "Not today."
"But—"
"Haruki… please. I can't. Not right now."
Silence again.
The front door creaked softly as they stepped inside. The familiar scent of pine, dust, and old bread greeted Haruki — but none of it felt like home.
His mother hung up her coat mechanically. His father slowly removed his gloves, placed them on the console, and said nothing. Haruki moved as if in a fog, stepped out of his wet boots, walked into the hallway.
The house was still.
A fire crackled somewhere, and it smelled faintly of burnt wood — but the silence had coated everything like a cold film. It wasn't the kind of quiet that comforts — but the kind that stings.
Haruki climbed the creaking stairs to his room. The curtains were drawn. The light dim. He collapsed onto the bed, rolled to his side. The images spun through his mind — the headstone, the blue mist, what he'd seen on the road.
How could no one else have seen it?Or… had they?
Hours passed. The house didn't grow any louder. Dusk faded, unnoticed. Eventually — almost out of obligation — his mother called for dinner.
Haruki slowly made his way downstairs, entered the kitchen where his father was already seated. The table was set, but the bread was stale, the meat barely warm. No one had really cooked — it was a meal that smelled of duty, not hunger.
His mother looked pale. Her eyes red. His father stared out the window.
"The city is quiet," he muttered.
"Too quiet," Haruki said, without looking up.
Silence.
Then, almost casually, his mother said,"The authorities… still have no leads. No suspect."
The words hit like a knife, though no one said it outright:Noa's death was no accident.
Haruki looked up from his plate. "So it wasn't… natural?"
The parents didn't answer.
"Why won't you talk about it? You must've seen something. Or heard something!"
His father's lips tightened. His fingers gripped the utensils a little too hard.
"I…" Haruki began, hesitating. "I saw that mist today. Blue. Like something came out of the grave."
He watched closely — and saw his father's eyes narrow, just for a second. Just a flicker — but Haruki caught it.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" he asked quietly.
The man didn't look at him. Instead, he pushed his plate away. "Finish eating, Haruki."
"You did see something. Tell me."
His mother looked back and forth between them, pleading. "Not now. Please."
But Haruki was already standing. "If you won't tell me… I'll find out myself."
He left his plate untouched and walked out of the room. The door closed behind him — not loud enough to be rebellion, but not soft either.
He spent the rest of the day lying in his room. Silence stretched like cobwebs across the hours. Eventually, evening came. Then night. He listened to the house breathe — the creaking floorboards, the whispering wind through the window cracks. None of it felt alive.
…
At some point — maybe midnight, maybe later — he got up.
Got dressed. Coat. Scarf. Sturdy shoes.
He stepped quietly into the hallway. The oil lamp flickered. Everyone was asleep.No one noticed him slipping through the front door.
The city felt strangely awake, though it was deep in the night.
Haruki frowned.Gas lamps were still burning.Lights glowed behind curtains.Shadows moved behind shutters.A dog barked. Somewhere, glass shattered.
Even though it was four in the morning, lamps flickered on the streets. Candles danced behind windowpanes. Voices echoed between narrow alleys.It was as if someone had lifted the silence from the night.
Haruki followed no map. His feet led the way. Down empty streets, across cobbled squares, past narrow arcades. The fog had thickened. Cold and damp, it clung to the streets — and yet Haruki found he could suddenly breathe more clearly.
And then he felt it.
A thudding in his chest.Not loud — but deep. Heavy. Like a heartbeat that wasn't his.
He stopped.
In front of him stood an old industrial building. Several stories high. Windows shattered. Moss creeping up the stone walls. A forgotten place — but not dead.
Something inside was calling him.
He stepped closer. With each step, the pulse in his chest grew stronger. The fog shimmered.As if he could touch the air, not just breathe it.
He placed a hand on the rusty gate.Cold.Then — warmth.Just for a moment.
He pushed it open.
Creaking. Darkness. And silence.
Then he heard them —Voices. Whispering. Soft. Excited.And light.Faint.Blue.
Haruki stepped inside.
And there they were.
Four. Five. Maybe six other teenagers.All facing the same direction.
One of them slowly turned toward him."You saw it too, didn't you?"
A pulse of light surged through the room.And there — in the center — something glowed.It looked almost like a giant lamp.
Haruki's heart stopped for a beat.Because this time, he knew —
He wasn't crazy.He wasn't alone.