The paper lanterns in the corner of the room cast warm gold across carved wooden shelves lined with polished bones, dried herbs, and glass vessels that caught the light like captured stars. Eight-year-old Nogare Mirai had crept into his mother's divination chamber again—drawn as always to the quiet mystery that lived within its walls.
Keiko was outside, hanging laundry in the courtyard, her voice carrying on the afternoon breeze as she hummed an old folk song. Nogare's throat was dry from playing in the sun, and his eyes scanned the cluttered table for anything that might hold water. Most of the jars held thick oils or crushed petals, but one small vial glimmered different: clear as spring rain, with silver threads swirling inside like tiny snakes.
He climbed onto a stool, his small fingers wrapping around the cool glass. There was no label—his mother usually marked her potions with red wax seals or painted symbols—but it looked clean. He pulled the cork free. The liquid smelled of rain and burnt sugar. Without thinking, he tilted it back and drank every drop.
It didn't taste like water. It was sharp, almost bitter, and left a cool tingle that spread from his tongue down to his fingertips. He set the vial back just as he heard the sliding door creak open.
"Nogare? What are you doing in here?" Keiko's voice was gentle, but her eyes sharpened when she saw the vial in his hand. She rushed forward, turning it over in her palm. Her face drained of color, leaving her skin as pale as the moonflower petals she used for her readings.
"Did you… did you drink this?"
He nodded, his throat still tingling. "I was thirsty. Is it bad?"
Keiko pulled him into her arms, holding him so tight he could barely breathe. "It's not poison, little one. But it was meant for something else—a ritual to see what lies ahead. We will have to wait and see what comes of this."
The next morning, Nogare woke with a headache that felt like tiny stones grinding behind his eyes. He sat up, rubbing at them, and when he opened them again, the world was wrong.
Everything was overlaid with thin, wavering colors. The walls of his room had a faint blue tint. His mother, sitting at his bedside with dark circles under her eyes, was wrapped in a gray haze that seemed to seep into the air around her—heavy, slow, like smoke from damp wood.
"Are you feeling well, my love?" Keiko asked, reaching out to touch his forehead. The gray mist curled around her fingers.
Nogare swung his legs out of bed and followed her to the kitchen. When they passed the butcher shop on the way to buy rice, Kenji was unloading crates at the door. Around him pulsed a bright, angry red that flickered like fire, making Nogare's eyes ache. Kenji shouted at a stray dog that had wandered too close, his voice matching the harsh color that clung to him.
"Mother," Nogare said as they walked away, "why is Mr. Kenji glowing red? And why are you gray?"
Keiko stopped walking. She looked around to make sure no one was listening, then knelt down so her face was level with his. Her gray aura seemed to thicken with worry.
"What you are seeing… these are not just colors, Nogare. They are glimpses—fragments of how things will end for each person. The gray around me… it speaks of weariness, of a long, slow fade. The red around Kenji… it warns of anger that will lead to pain."
She took his small hands in hers. Her grip was tight, urgent. "Never tell anyone what you see. They won't believe you. They will think you are cursed, or mad. They will fear you. You will understand more as you grow older—but for now, you must keep this to yourself. Can you promise me that?"
Nogare's eyes drifted past her shoulder. His best friend Taro was running down the street toward them, waving a wooden toy sword. Around Taro, wrapped so tightly it seemed to squeeze the air from him, was a color Nogare had never seen before—a deep, endless black that had no light at all.
He looked back at his mother's pale face, at the gray mist that held her close, and nodded. "I promise, Mother. I won't tell anyone."
As Taro reached them, laughing and asking if Nogare wanted to play, Nogare forced a smile. He already knew his first secret was not the colors themselves—it was the lie he had just told to protect the one person who might have understood.