Beyond many mountains, there was that village. A small village deep in the mountains, where no trains run. When the season comes, camellias bloom in profusion, and the people smile peacefully. To anyone's eyes, it's a quiet countryside, like any other. Except for just one thing. The villagers never tried to approach the old shrine deep in the mountains. "Good children mustn't go over there." Words I'd heard countless times since I was little. Even when I asked the reason, the adults only smiled, troubled. And there was a young man who cleaned that shrine every day. Kiku Tomura. My childhood friend. His figure, black hair swaying in the wind as he held a broom, was somehow quiet, like a painting. "You came again." I hear a low voice. "Yeah." "It's dangerous, so you should go home." Even as he says that, he doesn't try to drive me away. That kindness made me just a little happy. Back then, I didn't know. That the shrine was the place where sacrifices were offered to the god. Nor that Kiku had been burdened with a fate to die ever since he was born.