Ren stood in the narrow changing chamber, tugging off the sweat-stained training gear and slipping into warmer clothes—a black thermal shirt, a fitted tactical jacket, and thick cargo pants. The ship vibrated gently beneath his feet, the engines humming in descent. As he zipped up his jacket, he caught his reflection in the steel-paneled wall—eyes tired, chest still marked by the long scar that cut across his sternum like a silent reminder.
Behind him, the door slid open with a soft hiss. Andre leaned on the frame, arms crossed.
"Didn't wanna say nothin' while you were still fryin' yourself in the gravity cage," Andre said casually, "but I saw that scar when you were in the pod."
Ren paused, fingers hovering near the zipper. He didn't turn around.
Andre continued, voice low but not prying. "Wasn't sure if it was a wound or a story."
Ren exhaled slowly. "Surgery. About a year ago." He finally glanced over his shoulder. "Heart issue. Real nasty one. They had to cut me open to fix it."
Andre's brow furrowed, just a bit. "Ain't many folks who walk away from that.You know you are really lucky."
"Or unlucky," Ren said simply, pulling the zipper the rest of the way up. "Depending on how you look at it."
Andre gave a slow nod. "I guess scars like that never truly disappear."
Ren didn't reply. But his hands clenched a little tighter as he stepped past Andre toward the ship's main cabin.
Later — Narai-juku, Japan
The dropship Rook groaned as it settled on a narrow ridge above the village. Mist curled around the landing struts like reaching fingers, and the hull hissed as pressure released with a mechanical sigh. Inside, overhead lights dimmed as the hatch unlocked with a low thunk.
Before stepping out, Andre reached into a side compartment and pulled out a long, cloth-wrapped object. He turned to Ren and held it out with a flick of his wrist.
"Catch."
Ren snatched it midair and unraveled the cloth, revealing a sleek blade dark as vacuum-forged glass. Veins of deep violet pulsed faintly along the edge, glowing with restrained energy. The metal hummed in his grip, heavier than it looked.
"What is this?" Ren asked, eyebrows knitting.
"Nephrite Alloy," Andre said, stepping down onto the gravel path. "Forged in the magnetic forges orbitin' Lycaon V. Rare as decency on a pirate ship. Slices through most monster hides like butter through steam. Drinks Essence, too—real greedy-like. You swing this right, it won't just cut. It'll wound."
Ren tested the weight, giving the blade a shallow arc. It moved like a whisper through the air.
"Only downside?" Andre added, eyes gleaming. "It hums louder when a monster's near. Gets real loud when they're real close."
Behind them, Celia stepped out onto the ramp, hugging her hoodie tighter against the cold. Her breath fogged instantly.
"Jeez…" she muttered, peering down the sloped path that led into the heart of Narai-juku. "This place is… empty."
The village lay still and untouched, lined with old wooden homes whose dark roofs sagged beneath layers of age. The Edo-period charm was intact, but the life was gone. The air was still, too still, and the only thing moving was the mist that slithered between alleys like it had a mind of its own.
Celia's voice dropped. "It's cold. And weird. Like the buildings are watching us."
She wasn't wrong. The wood looked too dry, sun-bleached signs cracked at the edges. All the windows were shut tight, their glass panes reflecting nothing at all. No people. No music. Not even the clatter of wind chimes. Just silence and the slow drip of something unseen.
Andre clicked his tongue and adjusted his coat collar. "Well damn," he muttered with a low whistle. "Ain't even a dog barkin'. Town like this oughta smell like grilled fish and fresh dirt. All I'm gettin' is mildew and dead air."
Celia slowed, gaze flicking between shadows. "Creepy…"
Ren trailed behind them, silent. He scanned the road, taking in the hollow homes, the half-buried shrine on the slope, a tea shop with its chairs stacked and locked inside. Above a long-closed storefront, a weather-worn festival banner flapped weakly, colors faded to near-gray.
It didn't look abandoned. It looked paused. Like the village had been caught mid-breath, mid-moment.
A prayer tag fluttered from a nearby gate, the paper half-torn but still clinging.
Andre's boots thudded to a stop on the damp stone path. He lifted his wrist and stared at the faint pulse glowing from his watch. "Y'all feel that?"
Ren did. A pressure in the air—like static before a storm. Andre narrowed his eyes.
"She's definitely here."
Celia rubbed her arms, breath trembling. "It's cold. Too cold."
Andre rose, wrapping his coat tighter. "We'll have to sweep the whole area. Harder to get a fix with this much residual Essence clingin' to the walls. She left a trail… but it's smeared."
Ren didn't answer. His eyes had locked onto something ahead—a single house near the end of the path, its door hanging just barely ajar. Mud streaked the steps. A small, lone sandal sat crooked near the threshold.
His feet stopped without him realizing.
Andre noticed first. "Hey. Ren."
Ren didn't react.
Andre's voice came again, sharp. "Ren."
Ren blinked and snapped upright, like surfacing from a dream. "Huh? Yeah—sorry."
Andre tilted his head, voice low. "Don't go floatin' off now. We ain't done."
Ren nodded and fell back into step. But his eyes kept drifting toward that house, and the sandal in the mud.
As they moved deeper into Narai-juku, the mist curled tighter around them.
They began knocking.
House to house. Door to door.
The village, if it could still be called that, felt like something time had buried beneath silence.
Moss crept up the walls of old wooden homes. Shutters hung half-loose. Power lines sagged under their own weight, some snapped clean. Nature wasn't waiting for permission anymore—it was already taking everything back.
"Anyone here?" Andre called once, voice echoing into the emptiness. No answer.
Most of the homes stood abandoned—rotting groceries left to ferment on kitchen tables, dusty dolls collapsed in corners, calendars frozen in years long passed. The few doors that did open only did so halfway.
Frantic eyes. Hushed voices. Bitter replies.
"Go away."
"We've got nothin' to say."
One man, face gaunt with sleeplessness, muttered, "You should leave before she comes back again," and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
Another house had a talisman pinned to the lintel, soaked in something brown and long dried. Celia wrinkled her nose and whispered, "That's blood."
Andre squinted at the peeling doors and sagging rooftops, then shook his head with a low whistle. "Man… this place look like a ghost town."
They turned down a narrow alley choked with ivy. Cracked stone lanterns lined the path, their insides dark and hollow.
Just as they were about to move on, Celia spotted smoke rising faintly from a home at the far edge of the village—nestled at the foot of a pine-covered slope, half-shielded by the fog. Weeds and vines clawed up its walls, but the building stood intact—its roof patched with mismatched tiles, its doorway framed by rusted wind chimes and faded paper signs long bleached by sun and rain.
It wasn't just a home.
As they drew closer, "Wait, wait, wait—look!" Celia suddenly darted a few steps ahead, stopping right in front of a weathered wooden building nestled at the base of the slope.
Smoke curled faintly from a crooked chimney, mingling with the mist. Weeds reached hungrily up the walls. A broken sign hung above the doorway, its faded hiragana barely legible: たなかや.
"Was this a… shop?" Celia asked, eyes wide. "Oh my god, is this a toy store?!"
Ren and Andre caught up behind her. The wooden shutters were cracked just enough to spill a wash of warm golden light onto the fog-chilled ground. Inside, shelves sagged under the weight of time—dust-covered snack packages, capsule toys half-crushed in their plastic domes, glass soda bottles with marbles still inside, and a string of plastic pinwheels catching bits of light like dying stars.
Ren stared for a moment, head tilting slightly. "Looks like one of those… dagashi shops, I think. Old-school candy places for kids. Kinda like a 7-Eleven, but with dreams instead of taxes."
He paused, voice thinning. "My parents… mentioned 'em once or twice."
And just like that, he went quiet.
Celia was already pressing her face to the glass. "Wait, wait—shops just for candy and toys?! That's the cutest thing I've ever heard. Look at this one!" She pointed at a dust-covered toy gun, the kind with spinning lights and a cracked plastic trigger. "This is adorable! Did you ever come here as a kid?"
Ren stood a few feet back, hands shoved into his coat pockets, shoulders tucked slightly in from the cold—or maybe from the question.
"Not really. Didn't visit villages much." His eyes shifted away. "Wasn't the type of thing my family did."
"But you're from Japan!" she said, looking genuinely betrayed.
"Yeah, like… technically," he muttered. "Doesn't mean I grew up in every mountain ghost-town."
Celia broke into laughter, giving Ren a playful nudge. "You're so uncultured."
Ren rolled his eyes but said nothing, letting the cold fog hang in the air with him.
Andre stepped up to the door and gave it two solid knocks. "Hope they ain't got a shotgun behind that door, 'cause I ain't tryna die in a candy crypt," he muttered.
The wind chimes above clinked gently, almost too soft to hear. A few seconds passed. Then—
The door creaked open.
No answer.
He leaned in closer. "Hello? Anybody home? We ain't burglars, just loud."
Then—creak.
The door eased open just a few inches.
An elderly woman stood in the doorway, hunched slightly but holding herself with eerie poise. Her silver hair was pulled into a tidy bun, and a heavy shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders. Her eyes swept over each of them—Andre, Celia, Ren—with a level of focus that made the hairs on Celia's neck stand up.
"Yes?" the woman asked, her voice hoarse but sharp.
Andre gave a half-bow and his trademark grin. "Evenin', ma'am. Don't mean no trouble. We saw smoke, figured someone was still breathin'. Just got some questions, if you don't mind."
Celia stepped forward quickly, her voice light and earnest. "We're here to help, really! We're not from around here, but we heard what happened… we just want to understand."
The woman narrowed her eyes.
"You don't look like you're from around here," the old woman said—not a question, more like she already knew the answer.
Andre gave her a calm, respectful nod. "No, ma'am. We're part of a private investigation unit—lookin' into some strange activity in these parts. Real hush-hush." He smiled faintly, but there was steel behind it. "Didn't mean to startle you. Just saw the smoke and figured someone might still be around."
Then she looked again at the trio standing outside, eyes narrowing ever so slightly before softening. With a sigh, she stepped aside, opening the door fully.
"Well… no use lettin' you freeze out there. Come. Come in," she said, voice rough with age, but not unkind. "You'll catch a chill. Young folk shouldn't be wanderin' in this mist."
Celia shot Ren a wide-eyed look—"We're getting in!" He gave a one-shouldered shrug like, "Sure, I guess," and stepped inside. Andre followed, hands in his coat pockets, cool as ever.