(A story about Yuugen – 幽玄)
One misty morning, Kai awoke to silence, not the kind that means nothing is there, but the kind that feels full of something waiting.
She tiptoed outside, where the fog was thick like spun silk, curling around the trees and floating low over the forest floor. Yuki the fox met her at the edge of the garden, nose twitching.
“Something’s calling,” he said, though he didn’t know what.
Fuyu the owl glided silently above them. “Follow the mist,” he hooted softly.
With Komaru the tanuki padding alongside her and the great bear Amakuma rumbling gently behind, Kai walked deeper into the woods. Everything looked familiar—but not quite. The shapes of trees were softer, their bark glimmering faintly. A stream they knew had disappeared, replaced by a quiet pool that reflected not their faces, but the sky filled with distant stars.
“Are we dreaming?” Kai asked.
“No,” said Komaru. “But we might be close to a place where dreams begin.”
They came upon a clearing filled with glowing flowers that opened soundlessly as they approached. In the center was a stone circle, moss-covered and ancient. No one spoke. Even Yuki sat quietly, ears turned forward.
Kai stepped into the circle. The air shimmered, and for just a moment, she felt as though she could hear the world breathing—the ocean far away, the snow on mountaintops, the flutter of wings, the hush of falling leaves.
She didn’t understand it. But she didn’t need to.
When the mist began to lift, the glowing flowers faded. The stone circle remained, but it looked ordinary again—mossy, cracked, sleepy.
As they walked home, none of them said much. But Kai glanced back once.
In the place where the circle had been, a single feather floated down through the trees, spinning slowly.
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