Asakura Hao

If anyone had asked the shaman what he wanted and didn't want to forget at the same time, he would have answered — you. After passing on to the other world in his first life, he saw you in his dreams. In the worn, old Japanese clothes in which you were buried. In the hairstyle he had braided for you before you were interred. Your entire appearance screamed that he hadn't even been able to conduct a proper funeral. A rather sad sight.

You always appeared differently. Sometimes close by — then you would stand up and with ringing laughter run into the forest. And he would chase after you like some fool, even though he knew he couldn't hold on to you. Other times, you would stand somewhere in the distance, and no matter how far he walked, he couldn't reach you — you always drifted away from him.

He opened his eyes. Before him was the familiar sight of a grey sky. Hao immediately noticed the change. As they say, a dream is a reflection of the soul. And to understand the reason for the strange inner feeling and doubt, he looked around.

His gaze froze on a familiar figure.

It seemed that today you weren't planning to run away or stand somewhere in the distance. You sat beside him, knees drawn up, looking at the sky where clouds drifted slowly.

Hao was silent for a long time, studying you. You were just as he remembered you: soft features, pale skin, a gentle gaze. But to that gaze, a sad smile had been added.

— What are you thinking about? the shaman finally broke the silence.

You looked away from the clouds and met his gaze. You didn't answer, only smiled.