In Kyoto:

  The sound of the shrine bells was still ringing in my ears as we pulled into the driveway at 3:00 p.m. The winter sun was already beginning its slow, golden descent.

  "Mei, let’s get you out of those heavy clothes," I said, crouching to help my little sister with her buttons. In these small moments—watching her run to the TV or the rhythmic sound of my knife hitting the cutting board as I made dinner—I felt a sense of purpose. My family was my world.

  After the dishes were done, I sat in the dim glow of my room. I picked up my sketchbook, but my hand felt restless. lying down at 10:00 p.m. as soon as I closed my eyes, expecting the void, but instead, I was met with a blinding, endless white mist.

  In Nara :

  The Aoyama estate was silent—a heavy, cold silence that stifled any sound of joy. My father and brother wouldn't return until January 10th, leaving me alone with the ghosts of expectations. I sat in my room.

  To escape the quiet, I opened a book: “We dream of what we think about; we see what our souls desire.” What did my soul desire? I wondered, my eyes growing heavy at 10:10 p.m. Suddenly, I wasn't in my room. I was standing on a floor of soft vapor, suspended between the clouds. The sky above was a deep, bruised purple.

  Aiko perspective:

  An ancient, resonant voice echoed through both the Mist and the Clouds: "The path is blocked. You must guide the Lost Souls."

  Yoshito’s perspective:

  The mist tasted of cold iron and salt. At my feet, pale blue wisps—spirits like flickering candle flames—huddled together, shivering. I could feel their sadness.

  "It's okay," I whispered. I scooped them up, shielding them against my chest to protect them from the biting dream-wind. The journey was hard; the ground felt like it was pulling at my boots, trying to lead me in circles. But every time I faltered, I felt a strange "push" from behind, as if an invisible hand was steadying me. I carried them to the Stone Lanterns at the forest's edge. As I placed them inside, the blue light turned a brilliant gold. The souls transformed into small birds, soaring upward and out of the fog.

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  Aiko’s Perspective:

  In the silent clouds, I found the spirits drifting aimlessly. They were beautiful but fragile. I didn't use strength; instead, I began to hum a melody—the one my mother used to sing. One by one, the wisps followed me like fireflies. I led them to the Crystal Altars floating in the sky. As I touched each soul to the crystal, their shivering stopped. Their pale blue faded into a warm, glowing amber. They took flight, their wings brushing my cheeks as they headed toward a Great Shrine shimmering in the distance.

  (Reader’s Note: To free a soul, Yoshito and Aiko must collect the flickering blue wisps—souls burdened by earthly regrets—and bring them to the sacred light sources of their respective realms. Only when the spirits are "warmed" by the guides' presence can they transform into golden birds and move on to the afterlife.)

  The night was nearing its end. Yoshito and Aiko had each guided only four souls—small, flickering flickers of blue that required all of their focus to keep from fading in the dream-winds.

  Yoshito’s Perspective:

  As the fourth soul I guided turned into a golden bird and spiraled upward, it didn't disappear. Instead, it hovered for a second, chirping a low, crystalline note before flying toward a specific point in the deep mist. Instinctively, I followed. The further I walked, the thinner the fog became, until I reached a place where the silver mist met a ceiling of white, fluffy clouds.

  I stopped. My heart hammered against my ribs. There, standing just out of reach where the clouds descended to touch the earth, was a silhouette. I couldn't see her face, but I saw the shimmer of golden hair . She looked like she was made of starlight. I took a step forward, reaching out. "Wait!" I called, but the mist swallowed my voice.

  Aiko’s Perspective:

  The fourth spirit I sang to finally warmed, its pale blue turning to a soft amber. Instead of flying toward the Great Shrine, it circled me once and began to descend toward the floor of the clouds. I followed the golden trail, my heart racing with a strange anticipation.

  Suddenly, the clouds parted. Below me, a silver mist was rising, and standing within it was a shadow. It was a boy. He felt strong and grounded, like a mountain standing firm against the wind. A violent jolt of deja vu washed over me—I felt like I had known him for a thousand years. I reached back, my fingers piercing the silver haze toward his. I felt a phantom warmth, as if our skin was a hair's breadth apart.

  Just as the gap was about to close—just as the shadows were about to become people—the dream shattered.

  The morning sun of January 2nd broke through their separate curtains and their memory of the dream started disappear.