Are humans evil? No…

  But what is evil, to begin with?

  That, I believe, is the true question.

  Is it what remains when the light abandons you,

  when you cease to glow with its reflections?

  Or when your heart sings lullabies to the darkness?

  But is there even such a thing as darkness?

  After all, we are speaking of words invented by humans.

  Would they still hold meaning if they collided with a reality—

  more violent…

  more complex…

  heavier?

  Would human consciousness withstand the currents of life he believes he has mastered,

  currents whose gates, once opened, reveal the face of the world beyond the veil…

  Yes. The world is nothing but a coin.

  At times, it hides what you refuse to see and shows you what you desire;

  at others, it turns against fortune and opens its labyrinths.

  We deserve life,

  but we are not special within it… not ever.

  Remember that well before entering this story,

  for flattery is a subtle evasion of truth.

  ...............

  Chapter 1:

  The sea was not raging that evening.

  Yet the breeze had turned suddenly cold despite the steady weather, the air heavy with salt, and the crescent moon hung tilted above the boat. Still, despite all the signs that promised an abundant catch, the old fisherman Jiro and his son Shinji found no fish at all.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Instead, everything felt—somehow—like an ill omen.

  The seasoned fisherman stood with remarkable steadiness, facing the setting sun as the sea’s horizon struggled to swallow it. The dusk sky had always drawn a smile to Jiro’s face, but now his expression held only quiet astonishment.

  Shinji noticed the change. He had been hauling in the boat’s nets, preparing to leave, when he stepped closer and asked,

  “What is it, Father?”

  Jiro raised his index finger and whispered, unsettled,

  “Ask God.”

  Shinji’s gaze followed his father’s finger—until it met a drifting slab of ice, gliding smoothly toward the boat. His fingers trembled.

  “Are those… people?!”

  Jiro recoiled when his eyes met the frozen, lifeless stares.

  Encased within the ice were two young men, preserved in stillness—one lying face down, the other facing the sky, eyes wide open.

  Shinji rushed for the net and cast it, lifting the icy mass onto the boat.

  “What the hell is this?!” he exclaimed.

  His father replied in a calmer tone,

  “They may have come from the polar regions… Siberia, or Alaska. The melting ice isn’t a joke these days.”

  Shinji objected, pointing at the one lying on his back.

  “Maybe this one’s Russian—but the one beside him can’t be. Look at the redness of his skin.”

  “Perhaps an Eskimo,” Jiro answered quietly.

  Then he added, with resolve,

  “It doesn’t matter. We’ll take them home and call the police… I hope they reward us with something worthwhile for this.”

  .............

  "Atakai Rin”—a second-year high school girl.

  Shy and gentle, yet far from weak… at least, as far as girls go.

  The bell rang, signaling the end of English class. Rin was fluent in the language, yet she took no pleasure in the lesson—perhaps because of the teacher’s excessive sweetness, or perhaps because of the students’ reluctance to participate. She stepped out with a bored sigh, swaying along with her friends as they chatted idly.

  They passed by a small shop in the middle of the village when Rin suddenly stopped and called out,

  “Eggs!”

  She bought a carton and resumed walking with her friends. One of them teased,

  “I wonder what would happen to Rin if she didn’t eat tamagoyaki for just one day.”

  Another laughed,

  “She’d faint!”

  Rin replied with a sly glint in her eyes,

  “Then maybe I’ll stop making it.”

  “No!” they all protested at once.

  One of her classmates wrapped an arm around her affectionately.

  “I can’t cook, Rin. If you stop too, I’ll starve at school!”

  Rin laughed softly, her expression innocent. Even as her circle of friends had grown, the warmth of it still surprised her. At a fork in the road, she bade them farewell and headed up the mountain path toward her home at the edge of the village.

  The house was wooden, modestly wedged among the trees. She opened the door and stepped inside, announcing her return,

  “I’m home!”

  No one answered. She moved toward the kitchen, grumbling with childish irritation,

  “No one ever responds… I knew it, I’m not welcome in this ho—”

  She fell silent.

  The kitchen was empty. Her father and brother were fishermen, working six days a week, and they always returned before sunset. Yet today, they were nowhere to be found. She paid it little mind at first—until she froze in the hallway, remembering something.

  Her father’s truck was parked outside.

  Curiosity drew her back out. The truck bed was empty, covered by a long blue plastic tarp she had never seen before. She reached out and pulled it away—then gasped in fright.

  “That scared me!” she muttered angrily, staring at a massive slab of ice beginning to melt atop the truck.

  Then she added mockingly, eyeing the two deep depressions carved into the ice and the dense fractures surrounding them,

  “That must’ve been one hell of a fish.”

  For a brief moment, the lashes of dusk ceased to caress her features. She sensed it then—her body stiffened as the shadow of a tall figure spilled over her. Icy breath brushed against her ear. She swallowed hard and held her breath.

  A voice burst into her ears without warning:

  “Hello!”