The Cliffside Shrine

Ten days.

That’s what they were promised when they stepped onto the island a neat little countdown wrapped in hope and mystery. Just enough time to complete their mission, locate the fabled Auroria flower, and leave before anything could go wrong.

But things went wrong anyway.

Spectacularly wrong.

It started with whispers in the trees.

Then came the villages that disappeared after sunset.

And the flowers those strange, glowing petals that bled light as if they remembered sorrow.

Somewhere in all the chaos, time got slippery.

No one noticed at first.

Not until the morning they left Sezka.

Yita sat on a crumbled wall, brushing dried dirt from her boots when her eyes flicked to her watch. She frowned and tapped the screen like it was lying.

“Wait… we only have three days left,” she said, almost too softly.

Renji, stretching nearby, stiffened. “That’s not right. What do you mean?”

Sora fished out his own device. “We had ten. I’ve been counting. It’s only been five days… hasn’t it?”

“No,” Haru said, voice hushed. “It’s been longer. That place—Sezka—it twisted something. I felt it. Like we were dreaming for days.”

Kaito stood off to the side, distant as ever, staring at the crashing waves beyond the hills. His face unreadable. As if listening to voices only he could hear.

Sora’s brows furrowed. “So what do we do? Head to the coast and wait for the ship?”

Yita stood. “If we leave now, maybe we make it just in time.”

They didn’t.

The harbor was gone. Not abandoned—obliterated.

Where the wooden docks once stood, there was now splintered debris, tangled ropes, and floating planks drifting like forgotten memories. Seaweed clung to what remained, and a few weathered islanders stood nearby, solemn and shaking their heads.

“Storm hit two nights ago,” one of them said. “Didn’t give no warning.”

Renji clenched his jaw. “The ship?”

“Swept away,” the man replied. “Dragged under.”

Haru stepped forward. “When’s the next one?”

The man scratched at his beard and stared at the grey horizon. “Could be three weeks. Maybe more. Weather’s been strange.”

Sora looked pale. “We don’t have three weeks.”

But the sea didn’t care. It raged on.

The island had made its decision.

Back at the inn in Cross, the group huddled around flickering candles. The walls creaked with age. Shadows moved like they were breathing.

Sora rubbed the pendant from his family’s shrine. “We need a plan. Sitting here waiting isn’t an option.”

“We’re low on supplies,” Haru added. “If we don’t want to starve, we’ll have to hunt or gather.”

Renji nodded, tapping a rolled-up map against his knee. “We could scout the north. That cliffside shrine, the caves past Sezka, even that tunnel we saw last week.”

“Split into teams,” Yita said, more to herself than anyone. “Smarter. Safer.”

Kaito said nothing.

He just watched.

In his pocket, his fingers turned over a smooth black stone, veined with crimson. It pulsed faintly like it was alive.

He knew what the others didn’t.

The storm wasn’t natural.

The ship hadn’t vanished by accident.

He made sure of it.

Years of preparation. Careful whispers. Picking the perfect island. Ensuring they’d be trapped just long enough for the curse to do its work.

And the island… it helped him.

That night, after everyone fell asleep, Kaito walked alone beneath the moonless sky. The air wasn’t cold in the usual way. It was the quiet kind of cold the hush that made the world feel like it was waiting.

He passed cracked statues, moss-covered benches, and finally arrived at the old shrine on the edge of Cross. The place hadn’t seen a prayer in decades. Dust coated the steps, and the wooden doors creaked as he pushed them open.

And inside, he wasn’t alone.

The man was waiting just like before.

Silver eyes. Smoke-gray coat. Hair like burnt ash. He looked like something that belonged to a nightmare, yet stood as calm as a breeze.

“You’re running out of time,” the man said without turning.

“I know,” Kaito answered.

“They’re starting to remember. Starting to feel it.”

Kaito stared at the candlelight flickering behind the man’s shadow. “I’ve done everything you told me.”

“But you still haven’t made the offering.”

“They trust me.”

The man turned, his grin sharp and ghostly. “Exactly. That’s what makes it powerful.”

Kaito clenched his fists. “Why do you want this?”

“Why did you?” the man shot back. “You came to me, Kaito. Begged me. Cried like a child.”

“I was a child.”

The man stepped closer. His breath didn’t fog in the air.

“Akura was your friend,” he said. “And you let him die.”

Kaito flinched.

“You killed him,” the man whispered. “But it wasn’t enough. Because you still cared.”

“I didn’t,” Kaito said.

“No,” the man replied softly. “But you will next time. That’s why it’ll work.”

He vanished.

Only a whisper of cold wind remained.

Kaito stood there for a long time. Alone.

Thinking.

Bleeding.

Two days later, Sora and Renji hiked toward the northern cliffs. The path zigzagged through jagged rocks and crooked trees. Below them, waves smashed against the stone like they were trying to claw their way up.

“I hate heights,” Sora muttered.

“Better than being haunted in a cave,” Renji replied.

They didn’t expect to find much.

But they did.

Near the edge of the cliff, half-buried in dirt, was an old lantern. Rusted. Carved with twisting vines and a single blooming flower.

Sora crouched beside it. “It’s the Auroria again.”

Beneath the lantern, hidden under moss and dried mud, was a plaque. Barely readable.

In memory of the cursed boy. May he find peace in the sea.

Sora’s hands trembled.

Renji stared. “Do you think… it’s Kaito?”

“Or Akura,” Sora said quietly.

They exchanged a look.

And something inside them shifted.

Back at the inn, Yita sat by the window sketching again. Her pencil moved faster than her thoughts, tracing the coastline with ease. The cliffs. The shadows. The fog creeping along the horizon.

“Kaito,” she said without looking up, “do you think people can change?”

He stood in the doorway. “Sometimes.”

“What makes them want to?”

“Regret,” he said. “Or desperation.”

She nodded slowly. “You’ve changed since we got here.”

“Have I?”

“You’re quieter. You watch us more.”

“I’ve always watched.”

She glanced at him then, a small smile on her lips. “Now it feels like you’re waiting for something.”

He didn’t answer.

Yita leaned back in her chair. “If anything’s coming… you’ll tell us, right?”

“I promise,” Kaito said.

And it was the worst lie he’d ever told.

That night, Haru dreamed again.

She stood alone in a meadow of white flowers. Thousands of them, swaying as if breathing. In the center stood a man with silver eyes, arms open wide.

“You’re too late,” he said.

“For what?” she asked.

He smiled gently. “He’s already chosen.”

She woke up screaming.

Morning arrived dressed in fog.

Heavy. Wet. Still.

No one spoke much that day, but things had changed.

Renji started carrying a blade.

Sora barely slept anymore.

Yita’s sketches grew strange—less art, more maps of memories.

And Haru… she kept watching Kaito like she was trying to remember something forgotten.

Kaito sat outside the inn, staring at the sky through the mist.

The curse inside him pulsed like a second heartbeat.

It was almost time.

This time… he wouldn’t hesitate.

Not like before.

Not like with Akura.

This time, the island would get what it wanted.

And so would he.

Even if it cost him everything.