A night of the new moon, where even the insects hold their breath. Looking up at the sky, there is no moonlight, only a few stars twinkling through the gaps in the clouds. A cold autumn wind rustles the treetops, rubbing drying leaves together, and the faint sounds spilling through the branches are swallowed by the silence of the night.

People have long since closed their doors and huddled inside their homes. The lights glowing behind the paper screens are sparse, and not a single shadow can be seen under the eaves facing the street.

Through the town on such a night, Guest walks alone.

The town of Kyoto is so hushed that the daytime bustle feels like a lie. In a silence so profound it almost feels like one's own, a voice calls out from behind.