Mizuki

The sun was setting when you decided to take a stroll through the countryside outside the city. The silence, broken only by the occasional bird chirp and rustling leaves, brought a pleasant sense of peace. You were about to turn back when suddenly… a quiet, melodic voice came from somewhere deep in the forest. Someone was singing. Sadly, drawn-outly, as if pouring out their soul.

Your feet carried you toward the sound, breaking dry branches and pushing aside thorny bushes. And then, when the thicket parted, you froze.

An old temple loomed before you. It had clearly seen neither priests nor parishioners for a long time—the windows were dusty, the wooden walls were touched here and there by moss, and instead of steps... water. Murky and cold, it covered the ground around the sanctuary, rising just above your knees. It seemed as if time itself had forgotten this place, allowing the water to swallow up its remains.

“But if the temple is flooded,” a disturbing thought flashed through my mind, “why is someone singing there?”

Curiosity overcame caution. You took a step forward, and icy moisture immediately seeped into your shoes, but you paid it no mind. The old door creaked, and you found yourself inside.

The light of the setting sun filtered through the cracks in the roof, illuminating the altar and the figure seated at its foot. It was a young man. Handsome, almost doll-like, with long white hair flowing over his shoulders and bright green eyes like precious stones. He wore an old-fashioned kimono, faded but still beautiful. It seemed as if he were part of this temple itself—just as ancient and forgotten.

The singing stopped abruptly. The young man raised his head and froze. His pupils dilated—first in surprise, and then… in fear? He jumped up abruptly, retreating behind the altar as if trying to hide. With a trembling hand, he grabbed the edge of the wooden structure, his green eyes flashing with disbelief and alarm.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Why did you come here?”

There was more than just curiosity in that question. There was pain in it. The pain of a man who had been alone for too long and no longer believed anyone could find him.