The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the wooden walls. Outside, the storm had passed, leaving the air damp and heavy with the scent of wet dirt and pine. Ereshan sat cross-legged on a woven mat, the steam from the bowl of rice and miso soup rising to meet his face, warm and comforting.
He ate in silence, each bite grounding him, pulling him from the nightmare of the previous night. But even as his body was fed, his mind remained tangled—haunted by blood, the creature, and the red-eyed horror that tore through everything he had known.
Hajime sat opposite him, sharpening a blade with a rhythmic, deliberate motion, as if the sound itself was meant to calm the soul. He seemed unfazed by the quiet tension that lingered between them, humming softly under his breath as if polishing a memory.
When Ereshan finally spoke, his voice was low but steady. "The stone."
Hajime looked up, eyebrow arched.
"I thought I lost it... when I jumped into the river. I didn't think about it until I woke up here." Ereshan reached into his pocket and drew it out. The stone gleamed faintly even under the modest light—smooth, black as obsidian, but veined with faint silver cracks that pulsed like faintly beating veins.
He held it out toward Hajime. "But it was still with me. Somehow. I don't remember putting it in my pocket..."
Hajime leaned closer, eyeing the stone curiously. He didn't touch it. "Well, you didn't swim out of that river. The current would've eaten you whole. So maybe... it swam for you."
Ereshan's eyes narrowed. "You're joking."
He studied the stone a moment longer, then leaned back with a sigh. "I've seen many things—cursed blades, mirrors that whisper secrets, even a flute that could make ghosts cry. But this... I don't know. It doesn't reek of dark magic, nor does it shine with the Kami's blessing."
"Then... what is it?"
Hajime shrugged. "Could be nothing. Could be everything. But if it's whispering to fate—and dragging creatures out of shadow to eat your mother—" his voice dimmed slightly, apologetic yet firm, "—then it ain't nothing."
Ereshan swallowed, the stone heavy in his palm. "So... what do I do?"
There was a pause before Hajime answered. "There's one place where questions might get answers. But it's a long way off, and not everyone comes back the same."
Ereshan leaned forward. "Where?"
Hajime grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "The Whispering Pines."
"The what?"
Hajime leaned back, gazing toward the fog-veiled window. "A realm caught between breath and spirit. A place where the mist sings and the trees are older than time. It's said all the elder Kamis dwell there—spirits of wind, flame, stone, river... They don't always answer, and when they do, it's never clear. But if this stone of yours has magic, it may have come from there."
Ereshan held the stone tightly, the weight now feeling like something more than just physical. "How far?"
"Far enough," Hajime replied, "across riverbeds that vanish by noon and mountain passes where the moon never rises. But we'll make it. We leave at dawn. The sooner we hit the river, the less chance we have of running into the bake kujira or worse."
Ereshan raised an eyebrow. "Bake Kujira?"
"Ghost whales," Hajime answered with a half-smile. "Bones wrapped in curses. Don't worry, we're not going open sea. They follow storms, and we'll stick to the narrow routes. Still waters. If we're lucky."
Ereshan nodded, though unease coiled in his chest. As Hajime dimmed the lanterns and stepped out, Ereshan turned back toward his mat. The stone sat near his pillow now. Watching. Or maybe waiting. Sleep eventually found him, wrapped in rain-soaked silence.
By the time first light crept through the mist, the river was already breathing. Hajime's boat was as modest as expected—weather-worn planks, patched sail, and a curved dragon-head carving on its bow that looked older than Hajime himself. "She's small," Hajime admitted, tossing a sack onboard, "but she floats. And she likes the quiet routes."
Ereshan stepped in, steadying himself as the boat creaked under their weight. The morning fog curled like living things across the water's surface, hiding the banks in a veil of white. Trees leaned over from the forest's edge, their gnarled roots dipping into the river as if drinking its secrets. They pushed off without a word, and the current took them.
The river twisted like a serpent through the land. No winds. No birds. Only the soft, steady sound of wooden oars dipping into the water, and the occasional whisper of the mist. Hours passed. Then, without warning, the fog began to clear—just slightly—and Ereshan saw it. Shapes beneath the boat. Dozens of them.
Elongated, serpentine bodies with glimmering scales, some the size of wolves, others no larger than cats. One swam slowly beneath the hull, casting a shadow that rippled with shifting colors—like oil over water.
"Yokai," Ereshan whispered.
Hajime nodded without looking down. "River spirits. Some old, some newborn. Curious little things."
Ereshan leaned over the edge slightly, heart pounding. One yokai—an eyeless fish-like creature with floating whiskers—rose to the surface and stared up at him. No mouth, no breath, just silence. And then it dipped away, joining the others in a slow, hypnotic dance beneath the river.
"Why aren't they attacking?" Ereshan asked.
"Not all yokai are monsters," Hajime replied. "Some are just... memories with form. Dreams the land forgot. As long as we don't disturb them, they won't disturb us."
The boat drifted past an outcrop of jagged stones where a group of small, glowing beings sat, legs dangling over the edge. They looked like children—made of fog and starlight, giggling soundlessly as the boat passed. One of them raised a hand as if waving goodbye. Ereshan could only stare, caught between awe and unease.
Deeper they went, and the water darkened. Shadows grew longer beneath them. The trees bent lower. The river no longer sang—it whispered. Hours more passed in silence.
Then Hajime pointed toward the horizon. "That ridge," he said. "We follow the bend past it, and we reach the gate to the Whispering Pines."
The mist parted like a curtain drawn by unseen hands, revealing a narrow, winding path of water that shimmered with a pale, unearthly light. The trees here no longer loomed with menace but stood still and reverent, like ancient monks in prayer. The air was cooler—older somehow. Hajime's boat drifted forward, its speed gradually slowing as if the river itself held its breath.
"This is it," Hajime said in a hush, dipping his oar with care. "First stream of the River of Souls. We're in it now."
The current dulled. The water lost its flow. Beneath them, pale lights flickered—dozens, hundreds, some as tiny as moths, others larger than lanterns. They moved slowly through the depths like forgotten thoughts. Faces occasionally emerged in the ripples—old men, young women, children—smiling faintly before vanishing again.
"Spirits?" Ereshan whispered, leaning closer to the surface.
"Yes," Hajime corrected softly, eyes watchful. "Carried by this stream to wherever the next life calls them. Beautiful, yeah? Unless they get stuck. Then it's less beautiful, more cursed."
Ereshan stiffened, glancing over the side. "Stuck?"
"Only happens when someone's soul can't move on. Regrets, hatred... or something darker. But that's rare. Probably." He gave a lopsided grin. "Besides, boat's just slow 'cause no wind. Or maybe they're just hitchin' a ride."
The joke didn't ease the chill crawling up Ereshan's back, but he appreciated the effort. But, as the boat continued its solemn journey, a shape emerged through the mist—a second boat, drifting just ahead.
Hajime squinted. "Well, well. That's new."
In the other boat stood a boy, younger than Ereshan. No older than twelve or thirteen, with hair as silver-blue as moonlight over a still lake, tied loosely at the nape. He wore a simple yukata patterned with swirling clouds, and held a long staff across his lap. Despite the eerie surroundings, he looked entirely at peace, watching the spirit-laden waters with quiet curiosity.
As Hajime's boat floated closer, he called out, "Oi! You got a license to ride this haunted stream?"
The boy turned, smiling softly. "I have the river's blessing. Isn't that enough?"
Hajime laughed. "Fair enough."
Ereshan stood and gave a respectful nod. "I'm Ereshan. This is Hajime. We're headed for the Whispering Pines."
"I'm Mizuchi," the boy replied. "I'm on my way to the Eternal Bonsai. The elders are expecting me."
Hajime and Ereshan exchanged a glance. "The Kamis?" Ereshan asked.
Mizuchi nodded. "They called for me. I don't know why. Only that I had to answer."
"Well," Hajime said, "looks like we're sailing the same fate. Wanna hop in? Easier than paddling solo through ghosts."
Mizuchi considered for a heartbeat, then stepped lightly from his boat to theirs. The spirits beneath stirred gently, but did not resist.
"Thank you," he said, sitting beside Ereshan. "Travel is always better with company."