Wake up. Wash my face. Brush my teeth. Then bow my head in prayer to the Wind God.
That's how every day begins for me. It's not something I do out of habit alone—it's what my family has followed for generations. The god of wind, Fujin, has always been at the center of our household. My father does it, my mother does it, and so, naturally, I, Mazari Kaze, follow in their footsteps as well.
After school, when the sun dips low and the shadows stretch long, I make my way to my uncle's dojo. He teaches sōjutsu, the art of the spear, and under his watchful eye, I train. My uncle often tells me he's proud, that among all his students I stand above the rest. Whether it's just encouragement or the truth, I can't say—but hearing it makes my chest tighten with determination.
The iron spear I wield is no child's toy. Its weight digs into my hands and shoulders every time I lift it, but my body has been hardened by endless practice. With a sharp thrust, I drive the tip forward, striking through the mannequin's wooden skull. The solid crack that follows never fails to make both me and my uncle smile with pride.
When training ends, I walk straight home. There's no reason to linger outside—I don't have many friends waiting for me, and I've grown used to the silence of walking alone. At home, my evenings pass quietly. Sometimes I bury myself in study, other times I lose myself in games. Later, before bed, I take a long bath, brush my teeth, and once again bow before Fujin's shrine. That was supposed to be the shape of today as well—steady, ordinary, predictable.
But right now…
I'm not in my room.
I'm not holding my spear.
I'm not even standing on solid ground.
Instead, I find myself drifting in a vast, endless white space. Empty. Silent. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
And I have no idea why I'm here.
"Dear Mazari…"
A deep, resounding voice echoed behind me, rolling like thunder across the emptiness. My whole body stiffened. Slowly, I turned, and what I saw made my breath catch in my throat.
Before me floated a massive, glowing figure. Its entire body shimmered in shifting shades of green, yet it had no true shape—no face, no arms, nothing I could clearly recognize. It was like staring into a storm made of light.
My mind went blank for a moment. Confusion gripped me, and the only thought that came was that this had to be a dream.
"Yes… that's me?" I answered, my own voice trembling a little.
Gathering my nerves, I forced out the questions that clawed at my chest. "And… who exactly are you? Where is this place?"
The green radiance pulsed faintly, and the same deep voice answered, calm and unwavering.
"You are currently in nothingness."
"Nothingness?" I repeated, frowning. "What do you mean by that?"
"Yes. Nothingness," the figure continued, its tone carrying an authority that left no room for doubt. "And I… am Fujin."
My eyes widened so fast they hurt. My breath hitched as shock flooded every corner of my mind.
"Wha—what! Lord Fujin?! The god of wind?!" I screamed. My voice cracked, but I couldn't hold back. Whether this was real or just a hallucination didn't matter—the situation forced me to believe.
I tried to lower myself into a kneel, to press my forehead against something in respect, but floating in the emptiness made it awkward and almost impossible.
"Don't worry. You don't need to do that." His voice softened, though it still carried immense weight. "I summoned you here for a reason."
My heart pounded in my chest. I stared at the glowing storm of light, waiting.
He spoke again, his words slow and deliberate. "Your family has worshipped me with unwavering devotion for generations. Their loyalty has never faltered. And now, I intend to grant you something in return."
I blinked, unsure what he meant. His words carried both honor and mystery, but the next sentence hit me like lightning.
"I want you to go to another world."
"What?" I muttered, my voice breaking. My head spun as the meaning sank in. Another world? Like those fantasy novels? Like those games?
"Yes," Fujin confirmed. "Only those who have proven their loyalty to me are given this chance. If you refuse, however, this right can pass to another. Perhaps… your younger brother."
My heart sank instantly. My little brother—Rain. He's only fourteen, three years younger than me. He still laughs like a child sometimes, still asks me questions about games, about school, about life. The thought of him being thrown into some unknown world, forced into danger, twisted my stomach.
No. That wasn't right. That wasn't fair.
"I'll do it!" I declared. The words burst out of me with more force than I expected. My voice carried a confidence I barely even felt, but deep inside, I knew it was the only choice I could make.
For Rain. For my family.
And maybe… for myself.
"Very well then."
His voice was gentle but final. The emptiness hummed around us like a held breath.
"Wait!" I shouted, panic ripping through me. "What about my family? What will they do when I just—vanish?"
For a moment, there was only the soft, steady glow of Fujin. Then he answered, calm as a wind over fields. "You need not worry. I spoke with your parents long ago. They accepted this—proud that one of their blood was chosen. They were, of course, sad, but they understood."
Hearing it said so plainly did not soothe me. My chest tightened; memories of my mother folding laundry, my father's quiet nod at dinner, Rain's bright face laughing over a game—they pressed in like a tide. "Huh… I see," I muttered, voice raw.
"You may leave a final message to them," Fujin said. At his words, my phone materialized into my palm as if pulled from a pocket I hadn't opened. The screen glowed with the familiar blue of home. "Type what you wish. It will be delivered."
I stared at the device like it was a lifeline. The thought that my last words could be sent comforted and terrified me at once. "So… this is goodbye, huh." The words tasted strange in my mouth.
My fingers moved before my head finished thinking. I typed slowly at first, then faster—as if each tap could stitch a few more moments into their lives. I told them to stay happy, to look after Rain, to not blame themselves. I wrote about small things: don't forget to water the potted basil on the windowsill, Dad—Rain still hates mushrooms, Mom, promise me you'll sing when you cook. I typed promises I meant and apologies I might never get to say in person.
When I hit send, the message vanished from the screen like breath into wind. My phone slipped from my fingers and disappeared into the white. Silence fell again, heavy and complete.
"So—are you ready?" Fujin asked. There was no cruelty in it, only the clear weight of choice.
I nodded, throat tight. My hands shook but my head felt steady.
"Very well," he said. "You will be sent to the goddess of the world you are meant for. She will grant you gifts—powers that will aid you there."
Goddess. The word echoed in my mind. 'Goddess, huh…' I thought, a strange mix of fear and curiosity curling through me.
"I'll do my best," I said aloud, meaning it with everything I had.
"Good luck, my child," Fujin whispered. His warm light gathered around me, soft and inevitable. I felt my edges blur, like ink in water, like sand slipping from my fingers. Bits of me drifted away—memories, breath, the small, steady rhythm of a life I'd known.
I tried to hold on to Rain's laugh, to my mother's hands, to the smell of rain on the earth. But the light pulled harder, patient and sure. My body began to crumble, not in pain but like an old paper map folding itself up.
Everything melted into dust. The white closed over me. Then—darkness.