Chapter 8: [Vol.1] Chapter 5: Yurei Village

The siblings walked behind Obaa-san in silence as she led them through the worn stone paths of the small village. A slow wind brushed past the siblings; everywhere they looked felt abandoned. People sat on old boxes, glaring into their shadows below. It’s so quiet here, Ritzo thought to himself. They followed the old woman, who moved with incredible calmness. Behind them, a handful of villagers trailed at a distance, just far enough not to be part of the group, but close enough to remind them that they were still being watched. The elderly woman turned slightly, gesturing to the cracked hills and uneven fields around them.

“You see, this village has been cut off from the rest of Sector 9 for nearly two centuries now,” she said in a soft voice.

Her hand extended toward a slanted field, where dry stalks clung to brittle life under the cold sun.

“We grow what we can,” she added, almost apologetically.

In that field, a lone farmer stood ankle-deep in fading crops, swinging a blade that had long since lost its edge. His movements were slow and mechanical, almost as if they had been rehearsed. The farmer never looked up. Each strike landed too hard, as though the soil itself had betrayed him. Then he stopped, turned to face them, and waved. No smile, no curiosity, only the muscle memory of a man who had waved too many times without meaning it. The old woman did not pause. She simply continued walking.

Aurora walked slightly behind her brother, her eyes never leaving his form. She watched the way he looked at everything, every glance, every twitch of curiosity. Then the house came into view; small and crooked with age, yet somehow still alive, like old trees that bend but never break. Its roof sagged under the weight of time. The front porch was softened by use, the wood carried the scent of a hundred winters.

The old woman opened the door with a quiet creak.

“Come in,” she said with a faint smile.

Aurora stepped inside cautiously, her eyes moving across every detail. A simple place, but it was too clean and too preserved. Photos lined the walls, dozens of them, perfectly arranged. Ritzo had wandered slightly ahead, his gaze caught on something in the far corner, a patch of darkness. Suddenly, the shadows shifted, slithering like a snake, then a shape emerged. It was the boy, the same one from before. He stepped forward slowly, now dressed in loose brown clothes. His hair was still tangled, but no longer wild. He stared at Ritzo for a moment, and Ritzo stared back.

“Name’s Ken,” the boy said.

“Ritzo,” he replied. “That is Aurora, my older sister.”

Ken glanced her way. Aurora’s gaze was fixed on the pictures plastered around the wall, then she turned to face Ken with a faint smile, a smile so faint that her lips had barely moved. A moment had passed before Obaa-san returned, carrying a tray stacked with steaming bowls.

“Come, children,” she said brightly. “Dig in.”

They gathered around Obaa-san’s worn, round table. The scent of root vegetables and miso broth rose into the flickering candlelight. Shadows danced against the wooden walls. They ate slowly and quietly until Obaa-san’s voice tore the silence apart.

“Hunters,” she said, her gaze drifting far beyond the room. “They came when the mist was thick. No warning, no mercy.”

She reached for her tea, her hand trembling slightly.

“They plundered our homes like wild dogs. Took our food, clothes and…” A pause.

“Life.” Her voice cracked briefly.

“The savages murdered my grandchildren.”

Aurora’s chopsticks froze mid-air. The warmth of the room had vanished.

“They took everything,” Obaa-san continued. “Everything that made this village ours.”

Her smile had long since faded, leaving in its place an emptiness weathered and thin. Obaa-san then looked up, her gaze turning to the shuttered window, as though something lingered just beyond it.

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Aurora’s expression sharpened. “Are they still out there?”

“One night, we saw a distant flame. Smoke rose like a giant pillar. So we sent men to scout the area, to see if they were still close by. None returned.”

A hush settled between them. Aurora leaned forward, her voice low. “These hunters, they aren’t normal people, are they?”

The old woman closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they carried a weight older than stone.

“They are not. Some moved faster than we could see. Others tore doors from the hinges with their bare hands,” she said.

Aurora exhaled slowly. Her shoulders eased. “Void Walkers. We’ll find them for you, Obaa-san.”

The elderly woman paused as her gaze bounced between the two siblings, then she spoke. “Thank you, truly.”

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PART 2

Hours later, Ritzo lay quietly on the futon the old woman had prepared, his gaze drawn to the small window to his right as his thoughts drifted to Obaa-san’s words after their meal. For tonight, you two must rest. The night is a dangerous place for people so young. Her voice had carried the warmth of a mother, gentle, tender and undeserved. Though they were strangers, she had treated them with warm food and a bed for the night, a kindness rare in these broken lands. And yet Aurora felt something uneasy curling beneath it all. Void Walkers… hunters… murderers? The words echoed through her like distant thunder. They weren’t just heavy, they were contradictory. Something doesn’t add up. Rogue Void Walkers are a thing, but they shouldn’t last this long under the D.S.O’s surveillance.

A candle flickered near the edge of the room, its light slowly devoured by the surrounding darkness. Ritzo turned his eyes towards Aurora.

“Do you think it’s true, Aurora? The hunters?”

She turned to face him. Ritzo’s face was calm and thoughtful. He’s still awake, huh. She crossed the room and knelt beside his bed.

“Ritzo, if there are people out there, hurting the locals, do you think we should help?” she asked softly.

She reached out, brushing his hair with quiet affection.

Ritzo quickly replied, “Yeah.”

Aurora asked another question this time. “Hmm, what if these hunters are stronger and faster than us?”

He did not hesitate to respond. “We have to try, right? We can’t just leave them like that.”

Aurora’s gaze bounced around the room as she let out a breath. We can’t leave them like that, huh?

“You’re right, Ritzo. Which is why we are still here.” She stood up and turned to face the open window behind her. “I’ll be back soon, ok?” Ritzo nodded.

And with that, she was gone, slipping into the night to find the so-called hunters. Ritzo was left in silence, a stranger among strangers. The room felt colder now as he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Why are they called that anyway? Void Walkers.

As night dragged on, Ritzo stirred beneath the thin blankets, restless and coiled in thought. He kept glancing towards the window in hopes that Aurora would return. Within the small room, a single candle dared to burn. However, its flame was thinning as time passed, flickering like a dying memory. Beyond its frail light, the shadows on the walls deepened; they moved like small critters in the night. Ritzo had locked his gaze onto the ceiling as he tried to fall asleep.

“Eh, how does this go again? Hmm, one sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four sheep, six sheep…”

“Wait no, four sheep, five…”

He continued to count, unaware of the shadows and the eyes that watched him from within the darkness.

“…ok I give up. Oh, maybe Obaa-san is still awake.”

He rose quietly and made his way across the dim room. Each step weighed heavier than the last, as if the air itself had thickened.

The door stood only a few paces ahead. He reached out, his fingers brushed the cold iron handle, then he paused. His shoulders tensed and his eyes widened.

“Something’s wrong… I can feel it.”

The thought rooted him where he stood. A shiver crept up his spine. What is this? He staggered back. Something was wrong, not just wrong but unnaturally wrong. The air twisted and thickened; it was not only heavy, it was almost like it resisted him. Around him, the room warped under the silence. Tables cracked and collapsed in on themselves, bottles crumpled as if crushed by invisible hands, and the walls groaned. A pressure with no source or sound filled the space. A deep, pulsing weight pressed against his chest, against his thoughts, and against the space behind his eyes.

He dropped to his knees. Suddenly, the lone candle went out. It did not flicker, it did not blow away. It simply ceased, and darkness poured in like liquid, swallowing the room whole. Yet something brighter pressed at the edges of his vision; there was a presence above. He didn’t look up, mostly because he physically couldn’t, but he felt it. It was as though light bent around a shape he knew existed but couldn’t see.

His skin prickled, and the floor beneath him shuddered. Something stood above the house. It was not walking or flying, but existing, forcing the world to make space for it. The earth trembled quietly under that presence. High above the rooftop, a figure stood against the moon. It was wrapped in flowing purple cloth, its shape shifting without wind. It had a strange symbol on its right hand. Its face was hidden, but two eyes burned through the void, purple with a yellow glow within.

Behind it, the moon hung like a halo, cold and reverent. Ritzo remained on his knees far below. And then it faded; the pressure, the groaning walls, the figure far above. Everything vanished, as if they had never been there to begin with.