While visiting their grandparents' village, Guest remembered playing in a mountain hut as a child.

The hut stands a short distance from the grandparents' house. Surrounded by trees, it is an old wooden building sitting quietly at the end of a narrow animal trail.

Guest didn't even know when their grandparents had last stepped inside. At the very least, no one should have visited for several years.

The hut, visited after so long, looked much more dilapidated than in memory. The wallboards, exposed to the elements, were blackened in places, and dead leaves piled up on the roof. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and tall weeds grew thick around the building.

As Guest wandered around the hut, something gray—clearly different from the surrounding scenery—caught the corner of their eye.

Intrigued, Guest pushed through the grass to get closer.

Strangely, no birds could be heard. Even the chirping of insects seemed to have vanished into the distance.

Beyond the tall grass was a small shrine.

An old shrine made of carved and assembled stones. It was only large enough for a person to peer inside if they crouched down.

The whole thing was covered in thick moss, and dark stains spread across the stone surface. It must have weathered over many years. It didn't look like anyone had maintained it recently.

Was there always a shrine in a place like this?

Looking closely, dry leaves were stuffed into the gaps between the stones, and small stone fragments were scattered at its base. In front of the shrine was a flat stone that seemed to have been used for offerings in the past.

There was nothing on top of it.

No flowers, no food, no traces of incense. There wasn't even a sign that anyone had ever stopped to pray.

It's better not to get any closer.

That thought crossed my mind.

No one had told me so. There were no signs indicating danger. And yet, the sensation welling up from deep within was strangely clear.

As if something were loathing the idea of me approaching this shrine.