The rain had started in the late evening, soft at first, then heavier as night deepened. Miyu sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the pattering sound against her window calming her nerves. The overhead light was off—only the warm glow of her desk lamp lit the room.
Her sketchbook lay open in front of her, surrounded by scattered pencils, charcoal sticks, and blotched tissue paper. Her hands were smudged with graphite, the tips of her fingers stained like a ritual she performed nightly.
Tonight, she wasn't drawing ruins or forgotten temples.
Tonight, her pencil had led her somewhere... colder.
A lone mountain stood beneath a vast, starless sky. At its base, dense woods stretched endlessly, shrouded in mist. A river, black like ink, ran across the landscape. And there—right there in the clearing—stood figures. Half-human, half-beast. She hadn't finished them yet. Their faces were still blank, their postures wild and poised as if ready to pounce.
Werewolves? The word floated to her mind uninvited.
She stared at the page. She hadn't meant to draw this. Again.
She didn't understand it, but something about the image made her chest feel tight.
Her phone buzzed beside her. A message from Hana:
> "Did you see the moon tonight? So full and golden! Wish you were here to sketch it."
Miyu stood and walked to the window, pushing the curtains aside.
The moon hung low and massive, casting a pale light that bathed the world in silver. It was beautiful… but eerie. The kind of beauty that whispered secrets.
She looked back at the drawing.
Without thinking, she dipped her brush in ink and added a final stroke to the figure closest to the moon. A single eye—sharp, glowing, filled with something ancient.
The second her brush left the page, a gust of wind rushed into her room—though the windows were tightly shut.
She froze.
Behind her, the pages of her sketchbook flipped on their own.
Her heart thudded.
She stepped back.
Then everything went still again.
"...Just the wind," she murmured.
But her fingers trembled.
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