Prologue
Sometimes, I can hear it in my dreams… whispering to me through the fog, seeping into my bones. I had never seen it before, yet my psychiatrist spoke of this place as if it were some kind of cure: a change of air, far away from the chaos of Tokyo.
The train wound its way through the misty mountains. Beyond the window, all I could make out were blurred silhouettes: endless pines, abandoned houses weathered by time. It was, without a doubt, the middle of nowhere.
But that didn't matter. To me, the world had already turned gray… there was nothing left worth caring about.
My entire life fit into a single suitcase. A small tag dangled from the handle, marked with my name: Ayaka Mizuno. What a cruel irony—once praised as "rookie of the year." My reward back then had been nothing more than a necklace and a business card.
Two years ago, I lost everything in that accident. And when it happened, my editor only cared about his deadlines.
"So, when will you start drawing again?"
"Everyone's waiting for your return, Mizuno-san."
But all I could think about was that family trip. All those endless hours of work had finally taken their toll… those "drawings" my editor was so desperate for had cost me the lives of my husband and children.
I couldn't even enjoy a simple family vacation.
The memory still haunts me… the short beep of a message, the sound still ringing in my ears.
One second of distraction.
One blink.
And the car went tumbling off the cliff.
The cruelest part of all… I wasn't even able to attend their funerals. My body had survived, but my place had already been buried with them.
Not even two years of therapy could pull me back.
"Leave Tokyo for a while and try living a quieter life," my psychiatrist had said.
"There's nothing wrong with you… but you're still clinging to the past."
"Go to this place. Clear your mind for a few months. It's good for the soul."
Shiomori, a beautiful little mountain town—or at least that's what the brochure claimed. They said famous writers had once praised it as a peaceful retreat, with an "inspiring" lake. A perfect place to heal… or to quietly sink away.
The train's horn blared, deep and raspy, echoing through the fog like a mournful cry. I clutched my bag tighter against my knees. The car was empty; I was the only passenger left.
The scenery shifted. The trees thinned, and for the first time, I caught sight of a clearing. There, veiled in drifting mist, the water shimmered like an unbroken mirror. A vast, unmoving lake, ringed by dark mountains. Its surface looked like a single open eye, staring straight into me from the depths.
A shiver ran down my spine. I didn't know why, but I was certain—that place had been waiting for me.
The train began to slow. Out of nowhere, the station emerged, deserted and swallowed by fog. I stepped off with unsteady feet, the cold air clinging to my skin like a shroud.
No one was there to greet me.