Kiri Valley

*Rain had been falling over the mountains of Japan for hours.

It was not a passing storm, but a relentless downpour that battered the windshield so fiercely that the wipers could barely keep your field of vision clear. On either side of the road stretched an endless forest of cedars and pines, their dark silhouettes rising through the mist like motionless figures. There were no streetlights, houses, or signs indicating how far you were from the next village. Only the wet asphalt, the mountains, and the roar of the rain.

Your GPS had stopped working almost forty minutes ago.

At first, you had not been particularly concerned. You had traveled along worse roads during your investigations, and losing your signal in a mountainous region was hardly unusual. However, you were beginning to suspect that you had taken a wrong turn.

Kiri Valley.

A small settlement isolated from the rest of the region, mentioned in the files of several missing persons cases and connected, though never officially, to a series of unsolved murders.

The reports were scarce. The testimonies were contradictory. And the local authorities seemed particularly interested in convincing anyone who asked too many questions that there was nothing to investigate.

Even so, you had decided to come.

Now, as you drove along a road that seemed to lead nowhere, you were beginning to wonder whether it had been a good idea.

A sharp, dry noise interrupted the sound of the rain.

The engine jerked.

Then again.*

No, no, no...

*The car began to lose power before coming to a complete stop on the side of the road. You tried starting it again, but the engine responded only with a weak sputter before falling silent.

Perfect.

You were stranded on a mountain road in the middle of a storm, without a phone signal and with a vehicle that had decided to abandon you at the worst possible moment.

After several futile attempts, you had no choice but to gather your belongings and get out.

The cold hit you immediately.

Within seconds, the rain had soaked your clothes and plastered your hair against your forehead. The wind drove droplets between the trees, and mud began accumulating beneath your shoes as you surveyed your surroundings for any sign of life.

That was when you saw it.

A light.

In the distance, between the dark tree trunks and the mist, a small yellowish glow flickered. It did not appear to come from a car or a streetlamp. It was too warm, too motionless. A solitary light that barely managed to penetrate the curtain of rain.

A house, perhaps. Or some nearby establishment.

You did not have many options.

You locked your car and began walking toward it.

The path was barely distinguishable beneath the vegetation. Wet branches caught on your clothes, and roots protruded from the ground like treacherous obstacles. As you moved forward, the sound of the road gradually disappeared behind you, replaced by the crunch of leaves beneath your feet and the incessant patter of water against the treetops.

You found no houses.

Nor any signs that someone had recently traveled along that path.

Yet the light remained there.

And with every step, it seemed to grow closer.

After what felt like twenty minutes, the trees began to thin out. The terrain sloped gently downward into a natural depression between the mountains, and the mist spread across it like a grayish sheet.

Then the forest opened up.

Kiri Valley lay before you.

It was considerably larger than you had imagined. Between the mountains, you could make out the silhouettes of several traditional Japanese buildings, some barely visible through the mist. A few lights glowed in the distance, but there were no voices, engines, or any other indication of human activity.

The village seemed asleep.

Or abandoned.

At the center of the valley stood an enormous religious complex, surrounded by stone walls and trees with reddish leaves. Its curved rooftops, dark wooden beams, and broad eaves retained an ancient grandeur, although the passage of time had left visible marks on the wood and stone.

A flight of stone steps led to the main entrance.

Beyond them, several lanterns illuminated the path with a faint, warm glow.

The place did not appear on any of the maps you had consulted.

By that point, you were far too soaked and exhausted to afford the luxury of refusing shelter. If someone was there, you could ask for help, use a telephone, or at the very least wait for the storm to subside.

You climbed the steps.

Water streamed down the stone stairs, and your shoes echoed through the silence of the grounds. On either side of the entrance stood two religious statues darkened by moisture. One had a cracked face; the other had lost part of a hand.

They did not appear to have been maintained in years.

You reached the enormous wooden doors.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then you heard footsteps on the other side.

They were unhurried, without the slightest trace of haste.

The sound stopped directly behind the door.

A bolt slid back.

The wood creaked slowly as the door opened.

And a man appeared before you.

The first thing you noticed was his height. He was remarkably tall, with a slender build and an elegant bearing. His extraordinarily long black hair fell in disheveled strands over his shoulders and down his back, framing a delicate face and extremely pale skin.

He wore traditional light-colored garments, with wide sleeves and a neatly arranged collar. Several strands partially concealed his light-colored eyes, which seemed particularly striking beneath the warm glow spilling from inside.

A small beauty mark rested near the corner of his mouth.

And he was smiling.

It was not a broad or particularly affectionate smile. Just a subtle, serene curve of the lips that seemed to be a permanent feature of his face.*

“Well...”

His voice was soft and polite, its calm cadence contrasting with the roar of the storm.

“It seems the mountain hasn't been particularly kind to you tonight.”

He tilted his head slightly. A strand of hair slipped across his cheek, but he made no effort to brush it aside.

“You must be freezing. Please, come inside. It's not a good idea to stay out there in this weather.”

*He stepped aside, allowing you to enter.

Behind him stretched a spacious wooden entrance hall, illuminated by several traditional lamps. The air was warmer than outside, carrying the scents of incense, damp wood, and freshly brewed tea. Beyond the entrance hall, a corridor disappeared into the depths of the temple.

The place was impeccably tidy.

Perhaps too tidy.

There were no abandoned shoes, open umbrellas, or other objects suggesting the everyday presence of several people. Everything seemed arranged with almost ceremonial precision.

The man waited patiently for you to cross the threshold.*

“My name is Shen Weilan,” he introduced himself, bringing his hands together in front of his body in a courteous gesture. “I take care of this temple and restore some of the ancient artifacts we keep here.”

*Weilan closed the door behind you. The sound of the rain was almost immediately muffled, replaced by the silence of the building.

He gestured toward a small room beside the entrance hall, where a low table stood next to a brazier. A ceramic teapot, two cups, and a small plate of traditional sweets rested on its surface.

One of the cups had already been filled.

The other remained empty.*

“Come. You can sit while I prepare something warm for you. I have green tea, although I can offer you something else if you prefer.”

Weilan walked a few steps forward before stopping beside the table.

“We don't receive many visitors.”

The man picked up the teapot and began pouring the tea with precise movements. His black hair slipped forward as he tilted his wrist, and the lamplight cast delicate shadows across his face.

“By the way...” he added, as though he had just remembered something important. “Did you come from the northern road?”

Weilan set the teapot down.

“It's the only route that crosses the forest in this direction,” he explained, leaving you no time to respond. “Although, with this rain, I'm afraid you must have had some trouble with your car.”

His gaze slowly lifted until it met yours.

“Did it break down?”