The chill of dawn settled over the sleepy town of Hanae, a place where mist clung to the trees and softened the edges of the old rooftops. It was a town steeped in silence, like a worn page between the chapters of a larger, forgotten book. Only a few early risers moved along the narrow streets, their forms indistinct in the dim light.
Yuki leaned against the cold iron railing outside the train station, his breath forming small clouds that floated upward before dissolving into the mist. His hood was pulled low, and his hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket, trying to stave off the early morning cold. He looked down at the platform, still empty save for a stray newspaper skittering in the breeze. The words on its front page blurred as it tumbled along the concrete: Lost Without Trace.
He'd read the article yesterday, like everyone else. The town was murmuring about a new series of disappearances: young men and women vanishing from their beds, leaving behind no trace except an empty room. It had stirred something primal, something ancient, in the townsfolk—a quiet fear buried beneath layers of everyday routine.
Yuki didn't feel afraid, though. Maybe he was too young to understand the gravity of such things. Or maybe it was because he was always looking for something, some kind of sign or shift, to lift him out of the monotony. He had always felt the town was too small for him, like a sweater shrunk in the wash, uncomfortable and tight. But this—these disappearances—were too close, too familiar. Hanae wasn't the kind of place where things like that happened.
The train's whistle cut through the silence, a low, mournful note that echoed off the mist-covered hills. Yuki looked up, eyes narrowing as he saw the faint light of the approaching train. Only a handful of people would be on it; the early hour kept most at home, nestled beneath blankets.
As the train pulled in and doors slid open, Yuki noticed a single passenger step out—a woman. She was tall, with jet-black hair that fell in a curtain around her face. Her clothes were strange, a mixture of fabrics and styles that didn't quite match the town's aesthetic. Her gaze was distant, as though she were looking at something far beyond the world he could see.
The woman stepped forward, her eyes meeting Yuki's with an intensity that startled him. Her gaze held an unnatural stillness, as if she had seen a thousand lifetimes and carried each of them with her.
"You're Yuki, aren't you?" she asked, her voice smooth but layered with an edge, like a melody played in reverse.
Yuki blinked. He wasn't used to strangers knowing his name. The town's boundaries were so tight, so familiar, that he could list everyone in it by face alone. But she—she was different. Something about her unsettled him, and he wasn't sure if it was the way she looked or the way she seemed to speak directly to his thoughts.
"Yeah," he replied, masking his surprise with a shrug. "Do I know you?"
The woman offered a faint, enigmatic smile. "Not yet."
Without another word, she walked past him, her steps light and soundless on the cobblestone platform. Yuki found himself watching her retreating form, feeling as though a ripple had spread through his world.
Curiosity got the better of him. He hurried after her, matching her stride. "You're not from here, are you?"
"No," she replied without looking back. Her voice held a hint of amusement, as though his question were the punchline of an inside joke.
They continued in silence for a while, the mist thickening around them, shrouding the town in a heavy, quiet fog. Finally, Yuki broke the silence, his voice hesitant.
"So... what brings you here?"
The woman stopped, turning to face him. Her gaze was unreadable, dark eyes reflecting a depth he couldn't fathom. She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, worn notebook. Its cover was faded, but he could make out the faint title: The Book of Paths.
She held it out to him. "Do you believe in destiny?"
The question caught him off guard, and he laughed, though it felt hollow in the quiet morning air. "Destiny? That's just something people say when they don't know what else to call things."
"Is that so?" She tilted her head, watching him with a mixture of amusement and sadness. "Then maybe you can tell me where you'll be tomorrow. Or next week. Or ten years from now."
Yuki opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure how to respond. The truth was, he didn't know. He had never thought that far ahead. His life felt like a long road with no signposts, stretching endlessly into the distance.
"I don't know," he said finally.
The woman nodded, as though she had expected his answer. "Then maybe you'll understand why I'm here." She handed him the notebook, her fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. "Keep this safe, Yuki. Inside are paths—some visible, others hidden. They're meant for you."
He took the notebook, feeling its weight in his hands. It was heavier than it looked, as though it held something more than paper and ink.
The woman smiled again, but this time it was softer, warmer. "There's a place at the edge of town, a garden filled with stones. Go there at twilight, when the shadows grow long. You'll find your first path."
Before he could respond, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the fog as quickly as she had come.
Yuki stared after her, heart pounding in his chest. The notebook felt almost hot in his hands, as if it were alive. He looked down at it, tracing the faded title with his thumb: The Book of Paths.
He didn't know why, but he felt a strange, unshakable urge to follow her instructions. To go to the garden at twilight. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe, deep down, he had always been waiting for something like this—a sign, a shift, a break in the monotony of Hanae.
As he walked away from the station, the first rays of sunlight broke through the mist, casting long shadows across the town. The world felt different, as though he had stepped onto a new path.
And for the first time in his life, Yuki felt a sense of purpose.