Chapter 1: The Horn of Fate
The distant sound of a ship’s horn, long forgotten, echoed through the harbor, signaling the beginning of my journey. I stood on the edge of the pier, staring out at the mist-covered sea, my heart a swirling storm of doubt and longing. It was the kind of morning that held its breath before something significant. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater, and the gray sky seemed to press down on me, urging me to move, to leave everything behind.
But what was there to leave? I had nothing left. Not really.
The weight of my decisions hung over me like the fog—heavy and unyielding. My family, once so close, had drifted apart, and it was my fault. I had been impulsive, reckless even. I told myself it was for the best, but deep down, I knew I had only succeeded in tearing things further apart. Now, standing here, I wondered if there was still a way to make things right.
It was a whim that brought me to my family’s ancestral home in Kyoto, a place I hadn’t visited since childhood. I wasn’t sure what I hoped to find—answers, maybe, or at least some peace. The house was an old one, tucked away in a quiet part of the city. It had belonged to my grandmother, a woman I only knew from stories. They said she had been wise, but also a little eccentric. The house reflected that, with its maze of dusty rooms and forgotten corners.
I spent the better part of the afternoon wandering through the house, the silence pressing in on me like a living thing. Old paintings lined the walls, their eyes following me as I passed. My fingers brushed over the smooth wood of a chest, tucked into a corner of the attic. That’s when I found it—a fan, delicate and beautiful, embroidered with pale pink sakura blossoms. It felt fragile in my hands, yet there was something about it, something that stirred a strange sense of recognition deep within me.
Without thinking, I opened the fan, and a soft glow emanated from the fabric. It pulsed once, twice, and then everything shifted.
The floor beneath me seemed to vanish, the walls around me melted away, and I was falling—not fast, but slowly, like drifting on a soft current of air. My stomach lurched, but it wasn’t fear I felt —it was curiosity, a sense of stepping into the unknown.
The fog that had enveloped me lifted, and when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the attic anymore. The air smelled different, fresher, like rain on stone and the faintest hint of incense. I stood in the middle of a bustling street, the sound of wooden sandals clacking against the cobblestones all around me. People dressed in the layered silk of kimono hurried past, their parasols bobbing in the soft drizzle. A red lantern swayed gently above a shop entrance, its glow warm against the dull sky.
I blinked, trying to make sense of it. The world felt softer here, more fluid, like a dream I hadn’t woken from. But it wasn’t a dream. I could feel the cobblestones beneath my feet, the cool mist on my skin. And then I saw him.
He stood just beyond the crowd, watching me with dark, enigmatic eyes. He was tall and dressed in the simple but elegant clothing of a man from another era—his hakama rustling softly in the breeze, a katana at his side. There was something about him, something magnetic that made it impossible to look away.
I didn’t know how long I stared at him, but he must have sensed my confusion, because he stepped toward me, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Are you lost?” His voice was deep, quiet, the kind that seeped into your bones and lingered.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. How could I explain this? That I had just traveled through time? That I didn’t even know how I had gotten here, or why?
“I…” I finally managed, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I think so.”
He studied me for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to read something in my expression. Then, without a word, he reached out his hand. Hesitant, I took it, his fingers warm and steady around mine. The world seemed to blur at the edges as he led me through the busy street, the noise of the city dimming until all I could hear was the sound of our footsteps, slow and purposeful.
We walked in silence for what felt like an eternity, though it could have been only minutes. My mind raced with questions, but I didn’t ask any of them. Somehow, it felt like this wasn’t the time for words.
He stopped when we reached a small garden hidden behind a teahouse, its entrance marked by a simple wooden gate. The air was different here, calmer, filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft trickle of a nearby stream. Cherry blossoms drifted through the air, landing softly at our feet.
I turned to him, unsure of what to say. There was something about this man, something familiar and yet utterly mysterious. His presence was calming, and for the first time since I had arrived in this strange place, I felt a little less afraid.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice barely more than a murmur.
“Where is ‘here’?” I asked.
His gaze shifted to the blossoms falling around us. “You’ve crossed time.”
The words were so simple, yet they sent a shiver down my spine. Could it really be true? Had I somehow traveled back to the Meiji era?
I wanted to ask more, but he stepped closer, his hand still holding mine. The warmth of his fingers sent a strange flutter through my chest, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow, the air thickening with something unspoken. His eyes were dark and deep, filled with a thousand untold stories, and I couldn’t look away.
“You should leave before it’s too late,” he said softly, his voice barely audible above the wind. But even as he spoke, his thumb brushed lightly against my hand, sending a spark of warmth through my skin.
“Why do I feel like I’ve met you before?” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
His lips curved into a faint, almost sad smile. “Perhaps you have.”
We stood there for what felt like hours, the silence between us filled with the soft fall of sakura petals. I didn’t know what was happening, didn’t understand why I felt so drawn to him, but in that moment, I didn’t care. All that mattered was the warmth of his hand in mine, the way his presence seemed to chase away the fear that had gripped me since I arrived.
But just as I felt myself beginning to relax, a cold gust of wind swept through the garden, rustling the trees and making the blossoms swirl violently. A shadow moved in the corner of my vision— quick, almost imperceptible. I turned sharply, but there was nothing there.
When I looked back at the man, his expression had darkened, the softness in his eyes replaced with something sharp and dangerous.
“You need to go,” he said, his voice urgent now. He released my hand, stepping back. “Go, before it’s too late.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could speak, the world around me began to spin. The garden, the blossoms, the man—they all blurred together in a whirl of color and light. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, I was back in the attic of my family’s house, the fan still clutched tightly in my hands. My heart raced, and the air felt thick with electricity, as if something—or someone—was still there with me.
I wasn’t alone.