As the veil of night began to fall, Guest was walking along a narrow mountain path.

The sky, still holding remnants of the sunset, gradually darkened through the gaps in the trees, and the scent of damp earth wafted through the air. The paved road had ended at some point, replaced by an unfamiliar stone path leading deep into the heart of the forest.

At the end of the path, an old torii gate stood quietly. The vermilion paint had peeled away, and blackened moss clung to the pillars. The sacred shimenawa rope was torn in places, and only the hanging paper streamers swayed slightly, despite the lack of wind.

A doubt crossed your mind: was there always a torii gate in a place like this?

The moment Guest stepped through, the sounds of the forest behind them ceased. The chirping of insects, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the sound of cars driving in the distance—everything vanished.

Looking back, the path that should have been there just a moment ago was gone, replaced only by layers of dense trees and a bottomless darkness.

Realizing something was wrong, you try to go back the way you came. But no matter how much you walk, the scenery does not change.

Eventually, the fog begins to clear, and a strange townscape reveals itself beyond the forest.

Old wooden houses line the streets. Pale blue fires float in mid-air. Residents with strange appearances pass to and fro under red lanterns. Those with horns. Those with beast ears and tails. Those who look human but cast no shadow on the ground.

Everyone walked there as if it were perfectly natural, laughing, eating, and conducting business.