The world after the gold crane shimmered felt thinner. Every sound Sayo heard walking home echoed twice, as if reality had acquired a soft, reverent echo. Even the wind, brushing through the cherry trees lining the road back to her neighborhood, seemed slower, more deliberate.
Ren had left her with a single sentence: "We need to go back. Tonight."
She hadn't agreed, but she hadn't said no. In truth, she didn't know what to say. Her hands still trembled from the vision—the village, the fire, the boy calling out to her from across the burning shrine.
Hotaru.
That name pulsed in her like a second heartbeat.
At home, she retreated to her room without bothering with dinner. Her mother, already used to Sayo's mercurial moods, simply gave her a knowing look and didn't press. As she closed the door and pulled out her journal, she realized that writing might be the only way to preserve the whirlwind of memory trying to escape her mind.
She scribbled for an hour, trying to draw the shrine's altar from memory, trying to replicate the cranes she'd seen—the white one, the red one, the gold. Each time she tried to replicate the folds, something felt off. She couldn't quite manage the precision of the cranes from the shrine. They weren't just art. They were… messages. Keys.
By ten o'clock, her phone buzzed.
REN: "Meet me in Maruyama Park. The back trail. I have something to show you."
She didn't ask questions. She threw on her hoodie, slipped the wrapped gold crane into her bag, and snuck out through the back window.
---
The park was nearly empty under the rising moon. Shadows stretched long beneath the trees, and the lanterns lining the paths glowed with soft, flickering light. Sayo found Ren near the old stone fox statue, holding a flashlight and wearing a thick jacket over his school uniform.
"You brought it?" he asked.
She nodded. "What is this about?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he gestured for her to follow. They moved deeper into the trees, away from the public paths. The deeper they went, the more distorted the air seemed to become—like walking underwater. The sounds of the city vanished. Even the cicadas stopped.
At last, they reached it again.
The shrine.
But something had changed. It had grown. The bamboo no longer bent protectively over it—it had receded, as if in reverence. And the torii gate that had been cracked now stood whole. New paper shide tassels fluttered from the beams. It was no longer a forgotten place.
It was awakening.
"What did we do?" Sayo whispered.
"I don't know," Ren said. "But I think the cranes aren't just memories. They're... markers. Anchors. Like coordinates across lifetimes."
They stepped through the torii.
The instant their feet crossed the threshold, the world shifted.
---
This was not the shrine.
Not exactly.
It looked similar—the altar, the forest, the red banners swaying in a wind that didn't exist. But everything glowed. Not with brightness, but with clarity. Every leaf shimmered with detail too sharp for the human eye. Every sound carried a hidden harmony.
They had crossed into the Between.
From the trees emerged a figure.
Tall. Male. His robes shimmered like sunrise on still water. His hair, long and silver-white, floated as though in water. His eyes—piercing gold—looked directly into Sayo.
"Izanagi," she whispered.
He nodded once. "You have entered the threshold between memory and truth. You stand in the In-Between, where souls remember what flesh forgets."
Ren stepped protectively beside her. "Why are we here?"
"To awaken," Izanagi said. "To decide. All things unfold across lifetimes, but you are rare. You and she,"—he looked at Sayo—"are dreamers. The kind who fracture time by remembering."
He gestured, and the air shimmered. Dozens of paper cranes unfolded midair. Each transformed into a scene:
A battlefield. Sayo, dressed as a healer, bent over a dying Ren.
A forest. Sayo hiding a wounded Ren in a cave as soldiers marched past.
A festival. Their hands brushing as they passed under lanterns. A kiss stolen beneath fireworks.
A pyre. A promise. A goodbye.
Life after life.
Love and loss.
Always the same two souls. Always pulled apart before they could reach peace.
"Izanami has offered you memory," Izanagi said. "I offer you choice."
"What kind of choice?" Sayo asked.
"To walk the path again, one last time. With full knowledge. To mend what once broke. Or to release your bond and be reborn anew, unburdened."
Ren's jaw tightened. "What happens if we walk it again?"
"You must find the remaining cranes. Only then can you reach the final shrine."
Sayo stepped forward. "And if we fail?"
"You will not be reborn again. Your souls will dissolve. The cycle ends."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Sayo spoke. "We'll do it."
Ren looked at her. "Are you sure?"
"I want to know who I was. Who we were. I want to know why we keep finding each other."
Izanagi raised his hand. "Then begin where it ended."
The world cracked like glass.
---
They were back in the shrine.
But something was left behind—a burn mark beneath their feet, in the shape of a crane.
Ren crouched beside it. "The next one is near. I can feel it."
Sayo nodded. "Let's start with the dreams. The village. The fire."
"Mount Aso," Ren said. "That was the volcano in the background. I saw it."
Sayo pulled out her phone. "Then that's where we go."
"Now?"
"Tomorrow. First train. If this is our last lifetime… I want to remember all of it."