The rain had been falling since morning — a steady, cold drizzle that painted the world in dull grays. The sky hung low, the clouds heavy and swollen.
Akari moved along the schoolyard's edge, shoulders hunched, schoolbag clutched tight against his chest. The final bell had rung ten minutes ago, but he waited until the flood of students thinned before heading for the gate.
He didn't make it far.
Bully 1: "Oi, Akari."
He didn't look up. He never did.
A sneaker splashed into a shallow puddle ahead of him, blocking his path. Another boy — taller, with the kind of smirk that always meant trouble — joined in from behind.
Bully 2: "Where you going in such a hurry?"
Akari's grip on his bag tightened.
Bully 1: "Bet his mommy packed him some of that kiddie crap again. Show us."
When he didn't move, the boy behind shoved him hard. His knee hit the wet asphalt with a dull crack, pain blooming instantly.
Bully 2: "Oops." (mock surprise) "Careful, he's fragile."
The laughter felt louder than the rain. He pushed himself up, ignoring the sting, and walked past them without a word.
They didn't follow. They didn't have to. The sound of their voices stuck to him like oil.
---
The walk home was short, but the air felt heavier the closer he got. The front door slid open with its usual quiet creak.
Akari: "…I'm home."
The scent of detergent drifted from the kitchen. His mother stood at the sink, sleeves rolled to her elbows, rinsing plates. She didn't turn.
In the dining room, his father was bent over the low table, reading glasses perched on his nose, pen moving steadily over papers.
Neither of them looked up.
The only sound was the faint buzz of the television in the living room — a game show playing to no one.
Akari stood in the doorway for a moment, half-hoping for even a glance. He got nothing.
He toed off his wet shoes and went upstairs. His socks made faint squelching sounds on the tatami.
---
When he slid his bedroom door open, the light was strange.
The room was dim, but from the far corner came a warm, golden glow — not electric light, but soft, almost alive.
A small wooden shrine sat there, dust clinging to its edges, its surface carved with patterns that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them.
He stepped closer without thinking.
The air was thicker here, as though the room had been holding its breath.
Akari: "…Hello?"
The glow pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
The shadows in the room lengthened, leaning toward the shrine. And then, a voice — deep, ancient, and smooth, like silk stretched over stone.
Izan: "You've come, child."
Akari froze, his breath catching.
Akari: "Who… are you?"
Izan: "Names are wind. They vanish with time. But… if you must call me something, Izan will suffice."
The glow flared once, and for a moment, the walls seemed to fall away. The floor, the ceiling, everything around him dissolved into endless darkness.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
The shrine stood quietly in the corner, as though nothing had happened.
Akari's hands were trembling.
That night, when sleep finally claimed him, the dream began.
---