The first rays of sunlight bathed Aokigahara in a golden glow, casting long, warm fingers across the small village of Tsuyukusa nestled at the forest's edge. Life here moved to the rhythm of old seasons—quiet and unhurried, in a place cradled by ancient trees, shadowed hollows, and an endless plain. Even at the height of day, the forest whispered with a hush that spoke of forgotten things, its depths a place where light dared not linger.
Haruki, a young girl with fiery red hair and vivid green eyes, was already awake before dawn. She had drawn fresh water from the well behind her family's modest but well-kept home and hurried to the shrine at the village outskirts. It was her duty—her honor—to tend to the sacred place: to cleanse the stones, lay fresh flowers, and light incense. She embraced the task with quiet devotion, always thinking of her grandmother, Hana, whose stories and herbal wisdom had shaped her heart.
"The four dragons, Haruki—remember—left behind four swords, four bloodlines. If darkness ever rises again, it is their blood that will be called to stand..." The tales echoed in her memory, stories once told in firelight, spoken with a reverence that even time could not erase.
"Morning, Haruki!" called out cheerful Sayo, the neighbor, her basket swinging as she made for the marketplace. "You're always the first one up!"
"Morning's the best time for quiet work," Haruki replied with a smile.
When the shrine gleamed with care, Haruki turned back toward the village. She was everywhere—helping the flower women water their plants, comforting children whose toys had broken, guiding old Naota's goats up the hillside.
But whenever time allowed, Haruki would secretly return to the forest's edge, where she had hidden a handmade sketchbook beneath the roots of an old tree. There she drew maps of secret places, strange creatures, and shadows no one else seemed to see. These were her "quiet discoveries," glimpses into something beyond ordinary life, shared with no one.
By midday, her father Ryoma, the village blacksmith, was already hard at work.
"You spend more time helping others than chasing your own dreams," he said, half-grumbling as he hammered glowing steel. "You didn't choose the sword, you chose the village. Your mother would be proud."
Haruki handed him the next tool with a soft smile.
Her mother, Ayame, had been the village teacher—a kind and patient woman who taught children and adults alike to read. After her passing, Haruki often took over the younger children's lessons, and in the evenings, she would share tales of the legendary four dragons. Most thought of them now as myths, nothing more.
She had grown up alongside her friend Daiki, now one of the village's most promising warriors, praised for his skill and discipline. Yet, he had remained the same quiet dreamer who walked with her to their secret lake, where trees bowed to the earth and the water's surface seemed to hold forgotten truths.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm losing you," Daiki said one afternoon as they sat by the lake.
"You're not," Haruki replied. "There's just so much I need to do. But my dreams… they're still with you."
As the sun dipped behind the hills, the village settled into stillness. The air grew cooler, the sky washed in deep violet. Preparations for the next day's festival were nearly done: the marketplace stood bare, shrines overflowed with incense and flowers, and the fields lay quiet beneath twilight's hush.
But that night, something changed.
Haruki stood by her window, her heart pounding with unease. The ground trembled faintly—just enough to rattle the vase beside her bed.
Then came the roar. Deep, guttural, as though from the mountain's very core.
The sky lit up. Far beyond the forest, the mountainside glowed red. Flames surged from a great rift, as if something ancient had clawed its way to the surface.
The villagers rushed into the streets, drawn by the light, stunned into silence. No one knew what had happened—but every soul there felt it:
Something had begun.
Haruki's heart raced. A strange, stirring feeling rose from deep within her—a word formed on her lips, one she had never spoken before, yet somehow knew to be true:
"Awakening."