The sun was beginning to set as Yuki and Taro made their way out of Isamu's Wood and into a vast, rolling plain. The golden light of dusk stretched across the open landscape, casting long shadows on the grass. For the first time in days, the world felt wide and free, as if unburdened by the sorrows and stories that weighed down the places they had passed through.
"This is a welcome change," Taro said, breathing deeply. "Open skies. Fresh air. And no ominous forests or curses."
Yuki smiled. "It does feel lighter, doesn't it? Almost… peaceful."
As they walked, they heard something unexpected drifting on the breeze—a melody, haunting yet gentle, like a lullaby carried across the fields. It was barely there, as if it could disappear at any moment, yet it drew them in, leading them forward.
"Do you hear that?" Yuki asked, stopping to listen more intently.
Taro frowned. "I do. But where's it coming from? There's nothing out here."
They followed the sound over a small hill, and there, in a hollow at the base, was an old, solitary house. It looked abandoned, its roof sagging and its walls covered in ivy. Yet the music came from within, faint but undeniably present.
Yuki and Taro exchanged a glance. They both felt it—a sense of curiosity mingled with caution.
"Should we check it out?" Yuki asked.
Taro shrugged, though he seemed intrigued. "Well, it's not like we're in a hurry."
They approached the house slowly, each step accompanied by the soft, melancholic tune. When they reached the door, Yuki gently pushed it open, and the melody washed over them, filling the dimly lit interior.
Inside, the house was empty, save for a few broken chairs, a dusty table, and a single, ancient-looking music box sitting on a shelf. The melody was coming from the music box, its lid open, the tiny metal cylinder spinning slowly.
Yuki walked over and examined it closely. "It's so old, but… it's still working."
"Almost like it's waiting for something," Taro murmured.
They looked around the room, taking in the details. Faded pictures hung crookedly on the walls, their images blurred by time. Most were too worn to recognize, but one photograph on the table caught Yuki's eye. It depicted a young woman with long, flowing hair, standing in a field, her eyes filled with warmth and hope. She held a bouquet of wildflowers, and beside her, a man stood, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, his face hidden in shadow.
Yuki picked up the photo, feeling an inexplicable sadness as he gazed at it. "Who do you think they were?"
Taro shrugged, though his eyes lingered on the photograph. "Another story, lost to time, I suppose."
Just then, the melody from the music box faltered, sputtering before falling silent. The house grew eerily quiet, and a sudden chill filled the air.
"I don't like this," Taro said, his hand moving instinctively to his weapon.
Before Yuki could respond, they heard a faint voice, soft and trembling, as if it came from somewhere far away. "Is… someone there?"
The two of them froze, glancing around. The voice was low and weak, yet it held a strange yearning.
"Yes, we're here," Yuki called out, unsure of who or what might answer.
A shadow shifted in the corner of the room, and slowly, a ghostly figure began to materialize. It was the woman from the photograph, her form translucent, her eyes filled with an ancient sorrow. She looked at Yuki and Taro, her gaze passing through them as if seeing into their very souls.
"You… heard my song," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread.
Yuki nodded, finding his voice. "We heard it from the fields. It led us here."
The woman's face softened, and for a moment, a flicker of hope crossed her features. "Thank you… It has been so long since anyone listened."
"What happened to you?" Taro asked, his tone respectful.
She looked down, her expression becoming distant. "I waited… for him. He promised he would return, but he never did. I sang our song every day, hoping he would hear it, hoping he would remember. But as the years passed, I became… forgotten."
Yuki felt a pang of sadness as he looked at her. "You were in love?"
She smiled faintly. "Yes. We met under the summer skies, in fields of wildflowers. He was a traveler, like you. But when he left… I stayed here, waiting. And the years turned to decades, and still, he did not come back."
Taro frowned. "If he never came back, maybe… something happened to him."
The woman's gaze shifted to Taro, and she shook her head slowly. "Perhaps. But my heart could not let go. I kept hoping, kept singing our song… until I, too, faded away."
Yuki glanced at the music box, understanding its significance. "Your song… it's been playing all this time, waiting for someone to listen?"
The woman nodded, her form shimmering faintly. "Yes. This song is all that remains of my love… and my sorrow."
A thought occurred to Yuki. He reached into his bag, pulling out a small crystal pendant he'd picked up in Hoshida. It was clear and beautiful, reflecting the dim light. He held it out to her.
"Maybe… this can hold your song," he offered. "Something that can carry your memory forward."
The woman looked at the pendant, her eyes filling with gratitude. She touched it lightly, and as she did, a soft glow enveloped her hand. The melody from the music box began again, slow and sweet, as if infused with her essence. She closed her eyes, and the crystal pendant absorbed the melody, pulsing faintly with each note.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Now… I can rest."
Her figure began to fade, her sorrow melting into the soft glow of the pendant. She looked at Yuki one last time, her gaze full of peace.
"May you find the happiness I could not," she said, her voice a gentle breeze. And then, like a shadow in the twilight, she was gone.
Yuki and Taro stood in silence, holding the pendant that now held the song of a love lost to time. The melody continued to echo faintly within it, a reminder of a life that had waited and hoped, even when forgotten.
Taro let out a breath, shaking his head. "This journey of ours… it never fails to surprise."
Yuki smiled softly, tucking the pendant into his bag. "Some stories need someone to remember them. Maybe that's part of what we're meant to do."
As they stepped out of the house and back into the open fields, the last light of sunset bathed the world in a gentle glow. The pendant felt warm against Yuki's chest, a silent promise to carry forward the song of the forgotten woman.
And as the stars began to emerge in the vast sky above, Yuki and Taro continued their journey, each step a testament to the stories they carried with them, both seen and unseen, remembered and forgotten.