The world was crumbling.
Roots burst from the ground, clawing at the fractured earth like dead hands. Trees wailed in the wind, their twisted branches grasping at the sky. The shrine behind them fell inward, as if devoured by the curse it once held back.
Reiko stumbled through the dark, her fingers intertwined with Shin's. His grip was tight, grounding her, keeping her from vanishing into the blackness. Every breath burned her lungs; every heartbeat pounded like a drum of war.
"We need to get out," Shin muttered, eyes scanning the warped forest. "Now."
The path was gone. Fog curled around them like serpents, thick with the stink of blood and rot. Shadows moved within it — not animals, not wind. Faces. Watching. Whispering.
"Do you hear them?" Reiko said, her voice trembling. "They're… they're calling numbers."
Shin nodded grimly. "We don't have much time. She's calling them too. The others."
Reiko stopped, tugging at his hand. "Shin… if we leave now… Okiku will never be free."
He turned to her, eyes sharp. "And if we stay, neither will we."
Her voice cracked. "But she's just a child…"
"A child turned into a curse," he replied, softer now.
Reiko looked at her palm. A single strand of hair coiled there — black, soaked, stiff. Her hair. The thread Okiku had taken. A part of her soul, marked by sorrow.
"She doesn't want to hurt anyone," Reiko whispered. "She just wants someone to count with her."
Shin stared at her, the moonlight catching in his eyes.
Then he nodded once.
"Then we help her," he said. "But we do it my way."
He pulled something from the inside of his shirt — a long strip of paper, inked in tight kanji, ancient and seething with spiritual energy. A talisman. His hand trembled slightly as he held it up.
"I learned this from my grandmother. A cleansing rite," he said. "But I'll need to get close. And I'll need you to talk to her."
Reiko blinked. "Why me?"
"Because she still sees you as human. Someone with warmth. If she listens to anyone, it's you."
They made their way back through the dead forest. Time bent strangely — branches reached for them, roots tangled their feet. The mist tried to separate them. But they held fast.
Finally, the old well emerged — choked with vines, wood beams rotted and leaning.
She was there.
Okiku stood beside it.
Her back was to them.
Still.
Waiting.
Reiko stepped forward first.
"Okiku," she said gently. "I saw what happened to you. I saw what they did."
Okiku didn't move.
"They hurt you. They made you think you were a curse. But you weren't. You were just… alone."
Okiku's hand clenched. Her body shuddered.
"I'm sorry," Reiko continued, her voice breaking. "They should've protected you. Held you. Counted with you."
Slowly, Okiku turned.
The mask on her face was cracked further now — leaking a thick black fluid like tears. Her eyes shimmered beneath it, bottomless with pain.
"You pity me," she hissed.
"No," Reiko whispered. "I love you."
That stopped her.
The forest seemed to pause — even the fog froze in place.
"You loved your mother," Reiko said. "And she loved you. I felt it. You've carried her voice with you all this time. That's not a curse, Okiku. That's memory. That's love."
Okiku's lips moved.
"Then why did no one come?"
Reiko took another step. "Because they were afraid. Of power. Of sorrow. But I'm not."
Behind her, Shin stepped forward, chanting softly under his breath. His talisman glowed.
Okiku turned sharply toward him — shadows snapping out like tendrils.
But Reiko shouted, "Look at me!"
And Okiku did.
Her eyes widened. The tendrils stopped inches from Shin's throat.
Reiko stepped into them — into the shadows. They wrapped around her gently, like a child's hands.
"You don't need to count anymore, Okiku," Reiko said softly.
"I'll count with you."
She knelt.
Whispered: "One…"
Okiku trembled.
"…two…"
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"…three…"
And then — Shin struck.
The talisman slammed into the ground, blazing with silver light. The spell burst upward, carving symbols in the air. Holy kanji burned into the sky.
Okiku screamed — not in pain, but in release.
The mask shattered. Her face was a child's again — so terribly young, so unbearably tired.
"Four… five…" Reiko whispered, voice shaking.
"Six…"
Okiku's form began to flicker, fading into starlight.
"Seven… eight…"
Shin knelt beside Reiko, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
Okiku reached forward — touching Reiko's cheek with a hand of light.
"…nine…"
The forest sighed. The fog cleared. The whispering stopped.
And then:
"…ten."
With a soft exhale, Okiku smiled.
And was gone.
Only silence remained.
Only the well.
Reiko broke down sobbing.
Shin held her. No words. Just the warmth of his chest and the steady thump of his heartbeat.
"You did it," he murmured. "She's free."
Reiko clutched him tighter. "We did it."
They stayed there until the sun rose — golden light slipping through the trees, burning away the darkness.
Eventually, Shin looked at her.
"You scared the hell out of me, you know."
Reiko gave a tired laugh. "You? I thought I was dead."
He leaned in slightly.
Eyes soft.
"…I couldn't lose you."
Reiko blinked, heart fluttering. "Shin…"
But he looked away quickly, blushing. "I mean— You're important, okay?"
She reached out, touching his hand.
"I'm glad you were there."
They sat in silence for a while. The air smelled of morning and old ash.
Reiko leaned her head on his shoulder.
Just for a moment.
And Shin let her.
The forest, once cursed, now stood still.
And somewhere — carried by the breeze — came a faint, innocent giggle.
A child, finally at peace.
To be Continued