Mikoto hadn’t slept in days. Every time she closed her eyes, the images from Shizukawa returned, haunting her dreams. The blood-soaked village, the twisted smiles of the dead, and the man’s hollow eyes—all of it played out in vivid detail, as if it had happened just moments ago. The terror was inescapable, seeping into her thoughts, her memories, her very soul.

After fleeing the village, she had managed to find her way back to the city, to the place she had once called home. But the city was different now—alien, unfamiliar. The people moved through the streets like shadows, their faces blurred and indistinct. The buildings loomed overhead, their windows like empty, soulless eyes. Everywhere she went, Mikoto felt like she was being watched, followed. The curse that had plagued Shizukawa was still with her, clinging to her like a dark stain that couldn’t be washed away.

She had taken refuge in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, far from the memories of her old life. The apartment was sparsely furnished, the walls bare and the rooms dimly lit. It was a place to hide, to try to forget, but no matter how hard she tried, the memories wouldn’t leave her.

Mikoto sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor, her mind numb with exhaustion. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, the sound loud and oppressive in the silence. She hadn’t eaten in days, hadn’t spoken to anyone. She had cut herself off from the world, retreating into the safety of her apartment, but even here, she couldn’t escape the shadows that haunted her.

A loud knock on the door broke the silence, jolting Mikoto from her thoughts. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t expecting anyone—she hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone since she arrived in the city. The knock came again, more insistent this time, echoing through the small apartment.

Mikoto stood up slowly, her body trembling with a fear she couldn’t quite place. She approached the door cautiously, her hand reaching for the doorknob. Her breath caught in her throat as she hesitated, a part of her terrified of what she might find on the other side.

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

A woman stood in the hallway, her face obscured by the shadows. She was tall and thin, with long, dark hair that hung in loose waves around her shoulders. Her clothes were simple, but elegant—a dark coat buttoned up to her neck, and a pair of black gloves that covered her hands. She looked up at Mikoto, her eyes sharp and piercing, and for a moment, Mikoto was struck by a strange sense of familiarity, as if she had seen this woman before.

“Are you Mikoto Tsukiyama?” the woman asked, her voice low and calm.

Mikoto nodded slowly, her throat dry. “Yes… Who are you?”

The woman smiled slightly, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “My name is Haruka. I’m… an investigator, you might say. I’ve been looking for you.”

Mikoto’s heart skipped a beat. “Why?”

Haruka stepped closer, her gaze never leaving Mikoto’s. “I’ve been following your case, Mikoto. The incident in Shizukawa—there’s more to it than you realize. And I believe you may hold the key to uncovering the truth.”

Mikoto’s blood ran cold. The memories of Shizukawa flooded back, the horrors she had witnessed, the darkness that had consumed the village. She had hoped to leave it all behind, to forget, but now, standing in front of this stranger, she knew that escape was impossible.

“I don’t want anything to do with it,” Mikoto said, her voice trembling. “I just want to forget.”

Haruka’s expression softened slightly, but there was a hardness in her eyes that made Mikoto uneasy. “I understand, Mikoto. But I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. The curse that took hold of Shizukawa… it’s not just confined to that village. It’s spreading, and if we don’t stop it, more people will suffer.”

Mikoto shook her head, her mind reeling. “What are you talking about? The curse… I thought it was over. I thought I broke it.”

Haruka sighed, her gaze shifting to the floor. “You may have severed its hold on Shizukawa, but the curse is far older, far more powerful than you realize. It’s been waiting, festering, and now that it’s been awakened, it’s reaching out, seeking new victims.”

Mikoto’s heart pounded in her chest, her fear rising. “What do you want from me?”

Haruka looked up, her eyes locking onto Mikoto’s. “I want you to help me stop it. Together, we can find the source of the curse and destroy it for good. But I need your help, Mikoto. You’re the only one who can do this.”

Mikoto took a step back, her mind spinning. She wanted to scream, to run, to shut the door and lock herself away from the world. But something in Haruka’s voice, in her eyes, stopped her. There was a desperation there, a sincerity that cut through her fear.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Haruka said gently. “But please, think about it. The curse won’t stop, Mikoto. It will keep coming, keep taking, until there’s nothing left.”

Mikoto stared at Haruka, her thoughts a jumbled mess. The idea of facing the curse again, of diving back into the darkness, terrified her. But the thought of doing nothing, of letting the curse continue to spread, was even worse.

“I’ll… I’ll think about it,” Mikoto said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Haruka nodded, her expression unreadable. “That’s all I ask. I’ll be in touch.”

With that, Haruka turned and walked away, disappearing down the hallway and leaving Mikoto standing alone in the doorway. The silence of the apartment closed in around her, heavy and oppressive, but the fear that had gripped her heart was now tinged with something else—an unsettling sense of inevitability.

Mikoto closed the door and leaned against it, her mind racing. She had escaped Shizukawa, but the darkness had followed her. The curse was still out there, still reaching for her, and no matter how far she ran, she couldn’t outrun it.

As she stood there, the shadows in the apartment seemed to grow deeper, the air colder. The fear she had tried to bury surged up again, overwhelming her senses.

The curse wasn’t over.

It was only just beginning.

Days passed in a blur of sleepless nights and restless days. Mikoto’s mind was consumed by thoughts of the curse, of Haruka’s words, and the memories of Shizukawa that refused to leave her. The walls of her apartment seemed to close in on her, the shadows growing darker with each passing day.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, of something lurking just out of sight, waiting for her to let her guard down. The fear that had gripped her heart since Shizukawa now had a name—a curse that spread beyond the village, a darkness that reached into her very soul.

Mikoto tried to push the thoughts away, tried to focus on anything else, but it was impossible. The curse was in her blood, in her mind, and she couldn’t escape it.

One night, as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Mikoto felt a strange compulsion to leave her apartment. The urge was strong, pulling at her like a magnetic force, and despite the fear that gnawed at her insides, she found herself getting out of bed, her movements almost automatic.

She didn’t know where she was going, but she felt that if she followed the urge, she would find something—some clue, some answer to the questions that had been plaguing her since Haruka’s visit.

The city streets were quiet, the buildings towering above her like silent sentinels. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows across the pavement, and Mikoto felt the familiar sense of unease settle over her as she walked.

As she wandered through the city, her mind was drawn back to Shizukawa. She remembered the oppressive silence of the village, the suffocating darkness, the twisted, blood-soaked streets. She remembered the man’s hollow eyes, his cold smile, and the fear that had nearly consumed her.

But there was something else—something she hadn’t remembered until now. A memory, buried deep within her mind, that resurfaced with startling clarity.

It was a face, half-obscured by the shadows—a woman’s face, familiar and yet strange, her eyes filled with sadness and pain. Mikoto couldn’t place where she had seen the face before, but the memory sent a shiver down her spine.

She continued to walk, her mind lost in thought, until she found herself standing in front of an old, decrepit building. The windows were boarded up, the walls covered in graffiti and grime. The building was abandoned, forgotten, and yet there was something about it that drew Mikoto in.

Without thinking, she pushed open the rusted gate and stepped inside.

The interior of the building was dark and musty, the air thick with the scent of mold and decay. Mikoto’s footsteps echoed in the empty halls as she made her way through the building, her heart pounding in her chest.

The building felt familiar, as if she had been here before, but Mikoto couldn’t remember when or why. The walls were lined with old, peeling wallpaper, the floors covered in a thick layer of dust. The silence was oppressive, the darkness suffocating.

As she wandered through the building, her mind was drawn back to the memory of the woman’s face. The image was so vivid, so clear, that it felt like the woman was standing right in front of her.

Mikoto turned a corner and stopped in her tracks.

There, at the end of the hallway, stood a woman—a woman with long, dark hair and sad, piercing eyes. The same woman from her memory.

Mikoto’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at the woman, her mind racing. The woman’s face was pale, almost ghostly, her expression filled with sorrow. She looked at Mikoto with a mixture of sadness and recognition, as if she knew her, as if she had been waiting for her.

“Who… who are you?” Mikoto whispered, her voice trembling.

The woman didn’t respond. She simply stood there, watching Mikoto with those sad, haunted eyes. The air around her seemed to shimmer, as if she were made of mist, as if she could disappear at any moment.

Mikoto took a step forward, her heart pounding in her chest. “Please… tell me who you are.”

The woman’s expression softened slightly, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes that sent a chill down Mikoto’s spine. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

Mikoto felt a strange connection to this woman, a connection she couldn’t explain. It was as if they had met before, as if they were bound together by some unseen force. The fear that had gripped her heart since Shizukawa was still there, but now it was mixed with something else—an overwhelming sense of loss, of grief.

The woman took a step forward, her movements slow and deliberate. She reached out a hand toward Mikoto, her fingers trembling slightly. Mikoto’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the woman approach, her mind spinning with questions.

But before the woman could reach her, she suddenly stopped, her body tensing. Her eyes widened in fear, and she looked past Mikoto, as if she had seen something terrifying.

Mikoto turned, her heart racing, but there was nothing there—only the empty hallway, the darkness pressing in from all sides.

When she turned back, the woman was gone.

Mikoto’s heart pounded in her chest as she stood alone in the hallway, the oppressive silence closing in around her. The woman’s sudden disappearance left her with a sense of dread, as if something terrible was about to happen.

She backed away slowly, her mind reeling. Who was that woman? Why did she seem so familiar? And why did Mikoto feel like she had seen her before, in another time, another place?

As she turned to leave the building, Mikoto caught sight of something on the floor—a small, folded piece of paper, lying in the dust. She hesitated for a moment before picking it up, her hands trembling slightly.

The paper was old and yellowed, the edges frayed and torn. As Mikoto unfolded it, she felt a chill run down her spine.

The paper was a photograph—an old, faded photograph of the woman she had just seen. She was standing in front of a building that looked eerily similar to the one Mikoto was in now, her expression sad and distant. But it was the writing on the back of the photograph that made Mikoto’s blood run cold.

It was a name—written in a neat, flowing script.

“Yukiko Tsukiyama.”

Mikoto’s breath caught in her throat, her mind spinning. Tsukiyama… her family name. The woman in the photograph… could she be a relative? Someone from her past, someone she had forgotten?

The questions raced through her mind, each one more unsettling than the last. But as she stood there, clutching the photograph in her trembling hands, Mikoto knew one thing for certain.

The curse wasn’t just about Shizukawa. It was connected to her, to her family, to a past she didn’t remember.

And now, the shadows of the lost were reaching out to her, pulling her deeper into the darkness.

Mikoto spent the next few days in a state of confusion and fear, the photograph of Yukiko Tsukiyama never leaving her side. The name haunted her thoughts, filling her with a deep sense of unease. Who was Yukiko? Why did she share Mikoto’s family name? And why did the woman seem so familiar, as if she had known her all her life?

The memories of Shizukawa, of the curse, were still fresh in Mikoto’s mind, but now they were mixed with the strange visions of Yukiko. The woman’s sad, haunted eyes, her ghostly presence, the old photograph—it was all too much for Mikoto to process.

She tried to find information about Yukiko Tsukiyama, but there was nothing in her family records, nothing in the few belongings she had brought with her from Shizukawa. It was as if Yukiko had never existed, as if she were a ghost, a figment of Mikoto’s imagination.

But Mikoto knew better. The photograph was real, the woman was real, and she was connected to the curse in a way that Mikoto couldn’t yet understand.

One evening, as the sun set and the city was bathed in the soft, orange glow of twilight, Mikoto sat on her bed, staring at the photograph. The image of Yukiko’s sad, distant expression filled her with a deep sense of loss, a grief that she couldn’t explain.

She knew she couldn’t ignore this any longer. The curse had followed her from Shizukawa, and now it was pulling her back, deeper into a mystery that threatened to consume her. She needed answers, and she knew she couldn’t find them on her own.

Mikoto picked up her phone and dialed the number Haruka had left her. The phone rang several times before Haruka answered, her voice calm and composed, as if she had been expecting Mikoto’s call.

“Mikoto,” Haruka said, her tone gentle. “I was wondering when you would call.”

Mikoto’s heart pounded in her chest. “Haruka… I need your help. I’ve been having these… visions. And I found something—a photograph. There’s a name on it, Yukiko Tsukiyama. Do you know who she is?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Mikoto could hear the faint sound of papers rustling.

“Yukiko Tsukiyama…” Haruka repeated, her voice thoughtful. “I’ve heard that name before. She was a resident of Shizukawa, many years ago. But her story… it’s a tragic one.”

Mikoto’s breath caught in her throat. “What happened to her?”

Haruka’s voice took on a somber tone. “Yukiko Tsukiyama was a young woman who lived in Shizukawa over a hundred years ago. She was known for her beauty and her kindness, but her life was marked by tragedy. According to the records, she fell in love with a man from the village, but their relationship was forbidden. Her family disapproved, and there were rumors that the man was involved in dark rituals—rituals that were linked to the curse that plagued Shizukawa.”

Mikoto’s heart raced as she listened, her mind spinning with the implications. “What happened to her?”

“Yukiko disappeared one night,” Haruka continued, her voice heavy with sadness. “No one knows what happened to her, but the villagers believed that she was taken by the curse. Her body was never found, but her spirit was said to haunt the village, her sorrowful cries echoing through the night.”

Mikoto’s blood ran cold as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Yukiko Tsukiyama was connected to the curse, to the dark rituals that had consumed Shizukawa. But there was more to it—something deeper, something that tied Mikoto to this forgotten woman.

“Haruka,” Mikoto said, her voice trembling. “Yukiko… she was a Tsukiyama. Could she be… related to me?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Mikoto could hear Haruka’s breath catch.

“It’s possible,” Haruka finally said, her voice cautious. “The Tsukiyama family has a long history in Shizukawa, a history that is deeply intertwined with the village’s curse. If Yukiko is your ancestor, then the curse may have been passed down through your bloodline.”

Mikoto’s heart pounded in her chest, her fear rising. “What does that mean for me?”

Haruka’s voice was firm, but there was a note of concern in her tone. “It means that the curse is more than just a ghost story, Mikoto. It’s something that has been passed down through your family for generations. And now, it’s come for you.”

Mikoto felt a cold shiver run down her spine, the weight of Haruka’s words sinking in. The curse wasn’t just about Shizukawa—it was about her, about her family, about a past that she had no memory of.

“What do I do?” Mikoto whispered, her voice barely audible.

Haruka’s voice was calm, but there was an urgency in her tone. “You need to come with me, Mikoto. We need to dig deeper into your family’s past, into the history of Shizukawa, if we’re going to find a way to break the curse. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be safe, but it’s the only way.”

Mikoto’s mind raced as she considered Haruka’s offer. The thought of facing the curse again, of diving back into the darkness, terrified her. But she knew she couldn’t run from it any longer. The shadows of the lost were reaching out to her, pulling her deeper into the mystery, and she couldn’t escape.

“Okay,” Mikoto said, her voice steady. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

Haruka’s voice softened slightly, a note of relief in her tone. “Thank you, Mikoto. I’ll come to your apartment tomorrow, and we’ll begin. Be ready.”

Mikoto nodded, even though Haruka couldn’t see her. “I will.”

After hanging up the phone, Mikoto sat in silence, her thoughts a jumbled mess of fear and determination. She didn’t know what she would find, what horrors awaited her, but she knew she had to face them.

The curse was part of her now, part of her blood, and she couldn’t escape it. The shadows of the lost had claimed her, and there was no turning back.