The mountain path descended like a pale scar etched into the earth, narrow and uneven, flanked by jagged stones and tall, whispering grass that bent beneath the gentle breath of the wind. Below, the village lay partially engulfed in mist, its wooden roofs and slanted chimneys barely discernible through drifting veils of fog.
From this vantage point, Reigen could make out the slender ribbon of the river glimmering faintly between the slopes, reflecting the scant sunlight that penetrated the overcast sky. They had traversed this path countless times.
From dawn funerals to burials beneath falling snow; from silent processions to days when grieving families wept loudly enough for their sorrow to echo through the valley, this trail had always led them home.
Reigen balanced an empty water jug against his hip while worn tools clinked softly from his shoulder. His boots were still caked with mud, each step releasing a faint squelch as he followed in his father's wake.
His father walked with his usual steady rhythm, neither hurried nor slow, his coat swaying lightly against his tall frame, absorbing rather than reflecting the pale light.
For a time, silence enveloped them. The mountain seemed content to fill the void on its own. The wind stirred through the grass, rippling it like the surface of a dark lake. Somewhere higher up the slope, a bird called once, a thin cry that faded into the fog.
The faint scent of earth and pine clung to both air and Reigen's clothes alike.
Eventually, Reigen shifted his tools on his shoulder and exhaled deeply.
"You know," he said, breaking the quiet, "normal kids my age spend their mornings chasing goats or helping in fields."
His father responded with a soft hum of acknowledgment.
"I spend mine digging holes for people who don't complain when they're late for dinner."
This elicited a slight twitch at his father's lips. "That is because they are very understanding guests."
Reigen snorted despite himself. "Understanding? The last one looked at me like I'd offended him by taking too long to lower him."
"You imagined that."
"Did I?" Reigen glanced sideways at him. "Because his expression was quite judgmental."
His father allowed a faint smile that softened the stern lines of his face, a rare sight that always drew Reigen's gaze as if afraid it might vanish if he looked away.
"They all appear judgmental," his father replied calmly. "Death does that to people."
"That doesn't help."
They continued walking until the path curved slightly, revealing more of the village, clustered houses with thin lines of smoke rising from chimneys and distant sounds of metal striking wood.
Reigen hesitated before speaking again. "Sometimes I think people only remember I exist because I show up when someone stops breathing."
"That is an important reason," came his father's measured response.
"For them," Reigen muttered. "Not for me."
His father slowed slightly, glancing back.
"And what would you prefer they remember?"
Reigen opened his mouth but hesitated; he hadn't considered that question before.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Something… better, something alive."
His father regarded him quietly for a moment before turning his gaze forward again. "People rarely remember what is alive," he said. "They remember what changes them."
Reigen frowned. "That sounds like something you say when you don't have an answer either."
This time, his father chuckled, a low, brief sound, almost surprising, as if it had been a long time since he'd made such a noise.
"Perhaps."
They continued their descent, the wind picking up just enough to tug at their clothes. After a moment of silence, Reigen spoke again. "Do you ever regret it?"
"Regret?"
"Being an undertaker," he clarified. "You were strong when you were younger. You still are. You could've chosen another path, guard work, maybe."
His father's footsteps remained steady as he replied, "Strength is not a direction; it is merely a tool."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"No," his father conceded. "It avoids it."
Reigen huffed in frustration. "You always do that."
"Yes."
"On purpose."
"Yes."
They walked on for several more steps before his father finally said, "I chose this life because it keeps me close to where things end."
"And why would anyone want that?" Reigen asked.
His father regarded him sidelong. "Because beginnings lie there as well."
Reigen grimaced in confusion. "That makes absolutely no sense."
His father's smile returned, faint and unreadable. "It doesn't have to make sense yet."
Reigen shook his head in exasperation. "You talk like that and then wonder why the villagers think you're strange."
"They think that because I am."
"That's not comforting."
"It is honest."
As they descended another bend in the path, the fog thinned briefly to reveal a broader stretch of ground scattered with small white stones that caught the light.
Reigen adjusted the strap on his shoulder and said, "When I'm old enough, I want to go to the city."
His father did not respond immediately.
"They say there are entire streets where buildings touch the clouds," Reigen continued eagerly. "And lights that never go out, and people who've never even seen a real grave."
"Mm." His father's noncommittal response prompted Reigen to press on.
"I want to see that," Reigen insisted. "Just once, before I rot away in these mountains with you."
"You will rot better than most," his father replied dryly.
"That's not exactly my dream."
A heavy silence descended, more oppressive than before. The fog shifted unnaturally, coalescing into elongated streams that slithered across the slope instead of dissipating.
Reigen noticed this change absently at first, but soon realized the wind had ceased entirely. The grass no longer swayed, and the distant sounds of the village were muted, as if muffled by a thick cloth. He slowed his pace and lifted his gaze.
The path ahead appeared unchanged; yet, an unsettling stillness enveloped it, too quiet, too serene.
He swallowed hard. "Father?"
His father had already halted, one hand raised slightly.
"Do you hear something?" Reigen inquired.
His father did not respond.
"Father?"
A faint pressure brushed against Reigen's senses, subtle yet undeniable, akin to stepping into deeper water without awareness.
"Something feels..."
"Stay behind me," his father instructed quietly. The tone was different now.
Reigen complied instinctively, unable to grasp why he felt compelled to do so. They remained like that for several seconds.
Then Reigen saw it, a shape emerging from the fog. It was indistinct at first; only the way the mist thinned around solid forms indicated their presence. Figures began to materialize from the haze, all clad in black.
They stood motionless across the path. One by one, they emerged, not advancing or stepping forward but simply appearing. Five figures positioned themselves at the front, evenly spaced and tall in cloaks that absorbed light as if woven from shadow itself. Their faces were obscured beneath smooth dark coverings, masks or hoods; Reigen could not discern which.
Behind them loomed more shapes, dozens then hundreds, filling the path and spilling between trees lining the slope in silent unison.
Each figure was dressed in black.
On the chest of each leading figure was etched a symbol in dark crimson: a cracked red eye encircled by nine small dots forming a broken halo.
Reigen's breath caught in his throat. "What… is this?" he whispered.
No one answered. The pressure intensified.
He became acutely aware of his heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears, of the weight of tools resting on his shoulder, and of the cold dampness clinging to his skin.
His father took a slow step forward, positioning himself fully between Reigen and those ominous figures. Reigen had never seen him adopt such a stance before, there was no hesitation in his posture nor any sign of fatigue.
"Turn around," his father commanded firmly.
Reigen blinked in confusion. "What?"
"Go back the way we came."
"Father..."
"Now."
Reigen stared at him incredulously. "What is this? Who are they?"
His father did not look back. "You don't need to know."
"But..."
"Run."
The word struck with greater force than any shout could convey.
Reigen felt a tightening in his chest. "Run? Why would I..."
"Because if you don't," his father replied, revealing a raw edge beneath his usual composure, "you will die here."
A chill coursed through Reigen's veins. "You're joking."
His father remained silent.
The figures stood still, waiting.
The fog advanced ominously.
Reigen instinctively took a step back. "Father, come with me."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because they are not here for you."
Reigen's breath hitched. "Then what are they here for?"
His father's hand slowly formed a fist. "For what I buried."
Confusion clouded Reigen's mind. "I don't understand. You can't just..."
His father turned his head slightly, enough for Reigen to catch a glimpse of his profile.
The calmness had vanished, replaced by something sharper and heavier.
"Reigen," he said, his voice dropping to an authoritative tone that brooked no argument, "this is not up for discussion."
The air pulsed with tension as one of the five figures took a step forward.
Just one step, but the ground beneath it darkened ominously.
Reigen's heart raced as he sensed a shift in his father's presence; the atmosphere around them felt denser.
"Run," his father urged again.
Reigen shook his head defiantly. "I'm not leaving you."
This time, his father turned fully to face him.
Reigen froze at the sight of an expression he had never witnessed before, one devoid of anger but filled with urgency and something terrifyingly resolute.
"You will," his father said quietly, "because if you stay… everything I have protected will end here."
Tears blurred Reigen's vision.
"Father..."
His father stepped closer and gripped Reigen's shoulder firmly once.
"Go home," he instructed. "And wait."
"For what?"
His father released him and turned back toward the figures looming ahead.
"For me to come back."
Another figure advanced from the black line, followed by another. The silence shattered like glass.
Reigen stood paralyzed between instinct and disbelief.
"Run," his father commanded again.
Finally compelled into action, Reigen turned away. The path behind him twisted upward into the encroaching fog.As he began to run, he glanced back once more.From the corner of his eye, he saw his father standing alone before an expanse of darkness.
And for the first time in his life… he did not resemble an undertaker; instead, he appeared as something poised to be unleashed.