The warm air hit your face as you stepped off the tricycle, your shoes sinking slightly into the sand-covered path leading to your childhood home. The sea glittered under the early afternoon sun, and beyond it—on the eastern horizon—a strange hush lingered in the air, like the island had been holding its breath in your absence.
You stood still for a moment, letting the wind brush your hair back, eyes drawn to the line where sea met sky. A flicker. Just there—almost hidden in the shimmering heat. A shape, small and rust-colored, dashed between two coconut trees and vanished.
"…Was that a fox?" you murmured, more to yourself than to anyone else.
Your cousin, Leo, who was helping carry your bags, paused. "A fox? Around here? That'd be a first. You really haven't changed."
You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Leo gave a half-laugh, half-shrug. "You still say weird things. Remember back then? You were obsessed with all that myth and spirit stuff. Used to tell me stories about spirits hiding in the woods and foxes that could steal your name."
You smirked. "I still believe in those stories."
"Yeah, I figured." He adjusted the strap on his shoulder. "You know, you had this one friend—what was his name again? Back when we were kids. He was into that stuff too."
You stopped walking. "I did?"
"Yeah. Scrawny kid. You two were always up by that banyan tree near the old shrine ruins. Talked about fox spirits, moon eclipses, all that weird stuff. Then one day, he just stopped showing up. Maybe he moved, I dunno."
You stared out again toward the sea. The wind shifted.
Leo chuckled again. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"No," you said slowly, "Just… it's probably nothing."
But it wasn't nothing. Deep inside you, something stirred. The memory of that flicker—the not-fox—clung to your thoughts like salt in the breeze.
And far beyond the horizon, something familiar waited.
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