The warmth of the tea lingered in my chest, long after the taste had faded. Granny's voice still echoed through the room, even though her lips had stopped moving. The bowl she used now sat still, my blood and the petals inside swirling as if stirred by invisible winds.
I blinked once.
And the world changed.
The room melted away into nothing—into mist and soundless wind. There was no floor beneath me, no ceiling above. Only an endless sky smeared with ash-colored clouds and a pale blue sun that barely gave off any light.
I wasn't cold. I wasn't warm.
I just was.
"Hanabi?" I called, my voice swallowed by the empty silence.
A faint flutter of wind answered me. I turned.
And saw the path.
It was narrow—more like a thread than a road. Made of white sand, the same holy sand from Granny's temple, stretching into a distant horizon where the world twisted in impossible shapes.
I stepped onto the path.
Each step felt like walking through memories. My mother's voice on rainy mornings. My father's laugh at the dinner table. Hanabi's tiny fingers gripping mine when we were children and afraid of the dark. It was like the world wanted me to remember who I was.
Because maybe forgetting meant being lost forever.
"Hanabi!" I shouted again.
This time, I heard something.
Not a voice—but crying.
Somewhere far ahead.
I ran. The sand never shifted beneath my feet. The sky grew darker the farther I went. And soon, the air changed—thicker, heavier, colder.
The sand path ended at a black river.
The water didn't ripple. It didn't move. It was still and deep, like a mirror turned upside-down. I looked into it and saw a thousand reflections—not of myself, but of others. People with no faces. Children laughing and then screaming. Women crying with their mouths sewn shut.
I knew this place wasn't meant for the living.
But I wasn't here as a person.
I was here as a sister.
Across the river, I saw her.
Hanabi stood barefoot on the other side, her white dress soaked in something darker. Her face was blank. Her eyes—completely white.
"Hanabi!" I screamed. She didn't flinch.
I looked around, desperate. There was no boat. No bridge. Just a river of souls and the silence of the forgotten.
Then a voice spoke behind me.
"She's almost gone."
I turned.
It was the witch.
Her form shimmered like a heatwave, tall and twisted, her black robes dripping into the sand and turning it gray. Her mouth was too wide, her teeth too long.
"She called to us, you know," she whispered. "The little girl who wanted to be loved. Wanted to be seen. So we saw her."
"Leave her alone!" I shouted. My hands curled into fists, though I had nothing to fight with.
"She fed us willingly. In secret. At night. Her anger, her loneliness—it made her delicious." The witch smiled, stroking the river's surface. "And now, she belongs to us."
"No," I said, stepping closer to the edge. "She belongs to me. She's my sister."
The witch's grin curled even wider. "Then jump."
I looked at the river again.
Would it swallow me too?
I thought of Granny's words: You can walk between worlds.
So I jumped.
The cold hit me like a wall. But I didn't sink. My feet touched something solid beneath the water's surface, like glass. I walked across, trembling, until I reached the other side.
"Hanabi," I whispered. "Come back. Please."
Her eyes flickered.
"You left me," she said quietly.
My heart broke.
"No," I said. "I didn't leave. I tried to give you space. I didn't realize you were hurting so badly."
Tears filled her eyes.
"They said I was special."
"They lied," I said, kneeling before her. "You're not special because of your pain. You're special because of your heart. Come home. Please."
The witch shrieked behind me. The air cracked like thunder.
"Enough!" she screamed. "She is ours!"
"No," I whispered. "She is mine."
I reached out and took Hanabi's hand.
The river roared.
The sky split open.
And everything collapsed into white light.
I gasped awake, breathless.
Back in Granny's room.
Aoi held my shoulders, steadying me. "You're back!"
"Hanabi!" I cried, sitting up.
"She's breathing normally," Kimura said, walking into the room. "The fever broke."
I rushed to her side.
Hanabi lay still, pale—but her chest rose and fell. Her lips trembled, and her eyes fluttered open.
"…Onee-chan?" she whispered.
I collapsed into her arms.
She was back.