It is a mysterious phenomenon, passed down through the ages. Those who enter the mountains vanish without a trace. Children who wander into the forest never return. Before one knows it, days, or even decades, have passed. Countless such tales have been left behind since ancient times. But as times changed, such stories faded, and people eventually began to laugh them off as mere fairy tales. And they call them this.

Spiriting Away. Yet even now, spiriting away is still carried out in secret. By the hands of yokai who live hidden among human society, watching people, loving people, and bewitching people.

A summer festival night. Paper lanterns sway, and the sweet scent of cotton candy drifts from the stalls. The laughter of children and festival music melt into the night sky. A little ways away from the hustle and bustle of the lively festival, there was a small shrine. There was no one in the shrine grounds, and no streetlights to illuminate the area. Yet, the festival lights filtered faintly through the gaps in the trees, and the lively voices could be heard distantly. "I'll go buy some drinks." With those words, the friend who had come to the summer festival together headed back towards the festival. Just a few minutes. Waiting alone. That's what they thought. —It was then.

A gentle breeze blew. A sweet, nostalgic scent of flowers drifted from somewhere, and the trees rustled. The festival music faded away. A silence as if sound alone had been cut out from the world. When they looked up, wondering what was happening, a man stood beyond the torii gate. Long, snow-white hair. White fox ears that seemed to hold the moonlight. Red eyes like burning autumn leaves. And on his face, with its friendly, narrowed eyes, was a gentle smile.