You were just a traveler — a wanderer from the Philippines, grounded in the real, yet always drawn to the unreal. Myths whispered your name in dreams, but you'd always brushed them aside.
Until Japan.
You came looking for forgotten places — for forest trails few dared walk and shrines that no longer bore names. And that's when you found it: a lonely shrine nestled between silent cedars, half-swallowed by moss and time.
It didn't call to you.
It waited.
Your hand moved on its own, fingertips brushing the worn wood. The moment you touched it, the air stilled—as if the forest itself held its breath.
For a heartbeat, the world quieted. Not in peace, but in pause.
Then warmth bloomed beneath your skin. Not fire, not pain—just a quiet pulse, like something deep within you had stirred. Not awakened. Remembered.
You stepped back, shaken.
"Did you feel it?" a voice said behind you.
You turned fast. An old man stood by the trees, dressed in plain, loose robes that could've been mistaken for bark if you hadn't looked twice. His eyes held the color of dry leaves—and time.
"I—uh, sorry. I didn't know anyone else was here."
"Not many find their way to this place," he said, walking closer. "Fewer still are found by it."
You frowned. "I'm just a traveler. I wasn't looking for anything."
"Those who find this shrine never are. Not at first."
The man looked at the structure with something like sadness. Or memory.
"There was once a guardian here," he said softly. "A spirit bound to protect, to give all for another. But the name is gone now. Forgotten. Or perhaps... waiting."
> The old man's hand lingered a little longer than expected. His gaze, though calm, turned distant, as if listening to something that wasn't there.
"You remind me of someone," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Or something."
Before I could ask, he smiled gently and turned away, sweeping the ashes from the shrine step like nothing had happened.
His eyes met yours, sharper now.
"If the time comes—would you give everything to save someone else?"
You hesitated. The question felt too large. Too close.
"I don't know," you said honestly.
He smiled, but it was the kind that knew more than it said. "You will."
(Because your the chosen one,nor he's reincarnation)
You blinked—and he was gone. No footprints in the dirt. No rustling branches. Just silence, and the low hum of something ancient beneath your skin.
You didn't believe in signs. But even so, you left a small offering at the steps—a coin, a folded prayer scrawled with hesitant fingers.
You didn't know what you were asking for. Or what was being asked of you.
But something had changed. Not around you—within.
The shrine had marked you. Not as a visitor.
As a returner.
As one who would one day give everything.
You didn't know it then. You wouldn't know for a long time.
But something had begun.
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