At the far end of the village, where the sun was slowly sinking.

  At the end of a narrow path choked with tangled vines, an old stone house came into view.

  The fence had collapsed, and the windows were boarded over with planks.

  The door hung half-open, but inside there was only silence.

  The three of them stopped in front of it for a moment.

  “Looks like this is the last house.”

  Aira spoke quietly.

  Rynel stared at the doorway, then tilted his head.

  “It feels like it’s been empty for a really long time.”

  Ivela carefully set her hand on the door.

  “Then we go in.”

  That was when footsteps approached from behind.

  The village chief came up beside them, slow and unhurried.

  He stared at the house for a while before speaking.

  “A couple used to live there.

  Stopped being seen a few years back, and in the end, they left.

  At the very end··· they only left behind nonsense.”

  “What kind of nonsense?”

  Rynel asked.

  “They said a child disappeared from this house too···

  but the other two houses didn’t have children to begin with.”

  The chief let out a small, bitter laugh.

  “No matter who you asked in the village, this house always had just the two of them.

  So when they suddenly said, ‘We lost our child’···

  I figured something happened, and they’d finally lost their minds.”

  A short silence passed.

  The three looked into the house again.

  Then Ivela quietly pushed the door.

  Creeeak···

  The old door opened slowly, revealing the space inside.

  The house was dead quiet.

  A dust-layered wooden floor, a worn coat rack on the wall, ash left as-is in the fireplace.

  “Doesn’t it feel like someone was living here until recently?”

  Aira asked carefully.

  Ivela scanned the place, then headed toward a small room where a desk sat.

  The moment she opened an old drawer, a stale paper smell rose—and an aged notebook popped out with a soft thump.

  “A diary?”

  She opened it carefully.

  The handwriting was faint, but the dried ink marks were clear.

  ‘That night, the child kept looking out the window.

  Like they were waiting for someone.

  “Today too, they’ll come.” They said that, and fell asleep.’

  Beside her, Rynel pulled out another thick book.

  “This is a record file. Looks like they organized disappearance cases.”

  He flipped a few pages, then stopped.

  ‘Three years ago, three children went missing in a northern village.

  Commonality: each had possessed a “doll” for a period of time,

  and is presumed to have slept under a “white cloth” before disappearance.

  Afterward, the memories of family and nearby individuals were subtly distorted.’

  “······This matches the current case.”

  Rynel’s voice sank low.

  Aira swallowed a small breath.

  “Then this isn’t··· just this time.”

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  In that moment—

  With no wind at all, the page turned.

  Sss—.

  All three watched it in silence.

  That day, the windows had been shut, and the door locked.

  There were no signs of an intruder.

  And yet··· the child was gone.

  At first, I thought it was hide-and-seek.

  The room, the wardrobe, under the bed, the kitchen, even the attic.

  I searched everywhere.

  But nowhere—there wasn’t even a trace.

  In the end, I opened the door and stepped out.

  Only then did I realize something was wrong···

  At the end of the hallway, the door to a small room was half-open.

  The three of them stepped inside carefully.

  The room was small and plain.

  Only the necessary furniture remained, and the walls held no decorations.

  Dust lay thick across the bed, but··· at its center, only one spot.

  A square patch where no dust had settled.

  And on it, neatly folded, a white cloth.

  “······That.”

  Rynel walked up and lifted the cloth.

  In an instant, the density of the air trembled—just slightly.

  Rynel spread his fingers, sensing.

  “There’s faint mana residue. It’s old, but··· it’s definite.”

  Aira slowly looked around the room.

  Something··· was off.

  It was just an empty room, but her thoughts kept slipping.

  “······It’s different from my memory.”

  She murmured quietly.

  “What is?”

  Ivela asked.

  “The furniture position I saw a moment ago, and what it is now··· it’s slightly different.

  And this door too··· I think it was on the left··· was it not?”

  She stopped mid-sentence.

  She could feel it—she wasn’t even sure herself.

  Rynel sensed the currents in the air, then spoke low.

  “······It’s shifting. The space.”

  “The crack hasn’t fully closed?”

  Ivela asked, her voice low.

  Rynel nodded, continuing.

  “Most likely.

  The structure itself here··· isn’t fixed yet.

  Either whatever was here hasn’t fully vanished···

  or it’s still here.”

  As his voice trailed, there was a small *click*—

  and the wallpaper in one corner twitched.

  Something.

  Invisible, but present. Something was there.

  Aira stared toward the wall, then suddenly··· tilted her head as if she’d forgotten what she was looking for.

  “···What was our job again?”

  At that, Ivela and Rynel both looked at her at the same time.

  “···Aira?”

  Ivela called quietly.

  Aira shook her head again, mumbling like she was talking to herself.

  “No··· I just got confused for a second.”

  Rynel’s brow creased.

  “Your memory is wobbling.

  This crack··· it’s still pulling at us.”

  Hearing that, Ivela immediately began to gather their things.

  “This place is dangerous. We can’t stay long.

  We’ve confirmed enough of the trace—now we leave.”

  Aira looked around the room one last time.

  And in that moment, a whisper slid into her ear.

  “···You came.”

  A cold sensation ran down her spine.

  The room was quiet, but that quiet··· was too perfect.

  As if even sound was being swallowed by the crack itself.

  “It’s opening, right now.”

  “Opening what?”

  Ivela’s hand closed on her dagger hilt.

  “The crack.

  The one that never fully closed··· it’s opening again.”

  That was when it happened.

  Aira stopped.

  Her eyes were fixed—somehow—on empty air in the middle of the room.

  “···There.”

  She said it like a whisper.

  “Someone’s there.”

  Rynel and Ivela turned at the same time—

  but there was nothing.

  And yet, Aira could clearly see it.

  Beyond the pale wallpaper,

  through a crack as thin as thread,

  a small hand was··· slowly scraping across the floor.

  “Come with me.”

  Aira didn’t say anything. She only stared at that hand.

  And her body began to waver, as if it was dissolving into the air.

  Rynel shouted.

  “Aira, stop!”

  But before he could even reach out—

  she was gone.

  No sound. No light. No trace.

  Only one thing remained on the floor.

  A small spirit stone.

  The one Aira always wore like a necklace.

  The room went quiet again.

  So quiet that··· the place where a person had just been felt like a dream.

  Silent darkness.

  ◇

  And···

  Aira slowly opened her eyes.

  Nothing was familiar.

  And yet, strangely, it didn’t feel unfamiliar either.

  A calm field of grass.

  A flat hill where white fog drifted.

  There was no sky, and there was no wind.

  But there were three children there.

  Two sat side by side,

  and one sat a little farther away, quietly alone.

  Aira approached carefully and spoke.

  “···What are you doing here?”

  One of the children, a brown-haired girl, lifted her head.

  “Just··· waiting.”

  The boy beside her smiled and nodded.

  “A friend. They come every day. They ask us to play.”

  The girl added.

  “We wait here. They’ll come today too.”

  “Then do you remember how long you’ve been here?”

  Aira asked again.

  The girl hesitated, then tilted her head.

  “I don’t know.

  It just··· feels like we’ve always been here.”

  “···Your parents?”

  Aira asked more carefully this time.

  The children shook their heads at the same time.

  “What’s that?”

  “Is it something tasty?”

  Their voices were clear, but it felt like they were trying to patch a broken gap with the wrong pieces.

  Then the third child—sitting far off—lifted their head.

  That child was different from the other two.

  Too quiet, and even their movements didn’t feel human.

  Their clothes were neat, but what caught the eye first was··· their skin.

  There was no color to it.

  Too pale, like blood didn’t run at all.

  And most of all, their eyes.

  Too deep for their age.

  The child spoke.

  “You made it here?”

  At that single line, Aira stopped breathing.

  “···Who are you?”

  With those words, the white fog thickened slightly.

  Aira steadied her breath.

  Her body was fine, but something inside her was slowly starting to ring.

  That child—

  the third one, smiling quietly—was still seated in the same spot.

  “You··· what’s your name?”

  Aira asked carefully.

  “Name?”

  The child tilted their head.

  “Do you really need something like that?”

  Then the child let out a short laugh.

  “I’m fine without it.

  Even if you don’t say it, you can feel it.”

  At that, the other two children nodded at the same time.

  “We’re friends.”

  “When we’re together··· we feel safe.”

  Aira turned her head.

  Their eyes were too pure.

  But there was no life inside them.

  Mirror-like eyes.

  Smiles that looked like they were following something.

  They didn’t look like “children”—

  they looked like “things that used to be children.”

  “Where is this place?”

  Aira looked up, but there was no sky.

  Only fog drifting slowly.

  The pale child said,

  “This is a place you don’t have to remember.”

  “···Don’t have to remember?”

  “Yeah. Even the hard things, the exhausting things—forget them···”

  The voice was gentle.

  So warm that, for a moment, she almost believed it.

  Aira lowered her head.

  Her hand reached for her neck on instinct.

  The spirit stone she always wore.

  But··· it wasn’t there.

  “···!”

  The spot where it had been felt cold against her skin.

  ‘You have to remember.’

  Somewhere, a tiny voice whispered.

  ‘Forget it.’

  In front of her, the three children were smiling quietly.

  Aira understood.

  That smile··· wasn’t natural.

  A smile copied exactly as it had been taught.

  A practiced expression, worn like a mask.

  “······I need to get out of here.”

  Before the words could fully spill out, the fog beneath her feet thickened.

  Her fingertips grew cold.

  No— even the feeling of cold was turning faint.

  Aira slowly raised her hand.

  Her arms felt light. Her body felt comfortable.

  But that comfort··· was frightening.

  What was going wrong?

  She tried to think—

  but even that was quickly covered by something else.

  “Are you okay?”

  The brown-haired girl approached.

  In her small hands, she held something.

  A white cloth.

  White, soft—like it would feel warm if it touched her.

  “If you sleep under this, your heart feels calm.”

  The girl said brightly.

  “Everyone does.”

  Aira stared at it without thinking, then shook her head.

  “···I’m fine. Not yet···”

  That was when the pale child spoke quietly.

  “Looks like you have too many memories weighing you down.”

  Aira didn’t answer.

  “If you keep holding something heavy, you’ll break eventually.

  Here··· you can let go.”

  At that, the boy who’d been sitting farther off said,

  “I remembered my name at first too.

  But now it’s fine without it. Here, you don’t need that kind of thing.”

  Aira squeezed her eyes shut.

  But the fog slipped into her mind like whispers.

  You can let go.

  Memory is pain.

  This is a safe place.

  She suddenly thought—

  ‘Who called me?’

  “······Rynel?”

  “Ivela?”

  The moment she spoke them,

  those names felt strangely unfamiliar in her mouth.

  And then—

  “Aira.”

  A voice reached her.

  Faint. Far. Barely audible.

  In that instant, the pale child’s eyes wavered—just slightly.

  “···Who called me?”

  Aira whispered.

  All three lifted their heads at once.

  Their smiles vanished.

  And for the first time, the third child spoke with a voice that held something real.

  “······You can’t say names like that here.”

  The moment those words landed—

  the fog began to swirl.

  The ground tilted slightly,

  and the outline of space twisted—just a fraction.