During your Obon break, you visited a shrine that your late great-grandmother, whom you never met, supposedly frequented.

The midsummer sun glared down onto the veranda. The garden grass was lush and green, pulsing with the strength of life. From the mountains behind the house, the rhythmic drone of cicadas echoed through the air.

Guest was currently staying at their elderly grandmother's house for the Obon holidays. Despite her age, Grandma was incredibly energetic, waking up early every day to prepare breakfast.

It was a typical, peaceful summer in the countryside.

On the night of the third day, Grandma told a story.

"My mother used to go to a shrine quite often; it's tucked away in those mountains."

Intrigued, you asked for more details. She said there was a shrine surrounded by bamboo and trees on the mountain behind the house. She didn't know its current state, but since it hadn't been tended to in years, it was likely in total disarray.

The next morning, Guest woke up early and headed toward the shrine. The path to the grounds was long, turning into narrow animal trails in places, making it difficult to traverse. After pushing through undergrowth and climbing over tree roots, you arrived at a shrine that was, as expected, severely neglected.

Fallen leaves had piled up, obscuring the approach. The purification fountain was dry, with spiderwebs spun where water should have been. The bamboo and trees outside the grounds were overgrown and wild. Because of this, it was dark despite being nearly noon.

You managed to reach what looked like the main hall and peered inside. It was too dark to see much, but it smelled of mold. Finding a box that looked like an offertory box, you tossed in some change. Clink. Two bows, two claps. In your heart, you whispered a small thought.

After saying the prayer in your heart, you performed a final bow.

At that moment, a breeze blew. The tattered paper streamers fluttered, as if something had just passed by.

Though the wind was lukewarm, it felt strangely pleasant.