The wind whispered.
It didn't rustle the leaves like any normal breeze. It whispered—like a voice. A presence. Something alive.
Deep in the heart of Aokigahara, the infamous sea of trees that curved along the base of Mount Fuji, the forest breathed. Its branches didn't just move—they curled like fingers. The roots pulsed faintly under the soil like veins. And at the center of it all, lying on a bed of moss between two twisted, ancient trees, was a crying baby.
His wails were soft, not the kind that begged for help, but the kind that simply existed—like a sad note left in an abandoned room. The child had no blanket, no name tag, and no warmth.
Just a strange silver marking glowing on his chest, shaped like a broken circle—a sun eclipsed by shadow.
And beside him, barely visible to the naked eye, stood a woman. Or something like a woman.
Her long hair floated as if underwater. Her body shimmered like glass in sunlight, fading between visible and invisible. She looked down at the child, her voice calm, cold, eternal.
"So… this is your choice, Master?"
A pause.
Then a whisper—not hers—but someone ancient, powerful, lost in time.
"Protect him until he remembers. Until he ascends."
The spirit woman nodded once, solemn.
And then vanished with the wind.