Echoes of a Dream

"Mirae, darling, it's getting late," Obāchan said softly, pulling the futon gently over her granddaughter's shoulders. Her voice was warm, tinged with the affection only a grandmother could give. "We should get some sleep now. Tomorrow, Obāchan will take you to that famous little ramen shop by the old riverbank—remember? The one with the red paper lanterns and the steaming broth that fills the whole street with its smell."

She smiled, brushing a few loose strands of hair from Mirae's forehead.

"I know you love ramen, don't you?"

Mireyna gave a small nod, her eyelids already beginning to droop. "Yes, Obāchan… I do."

Without another word, she curled up beside her grandmother, her heart a little warmer despite the ache of the past. The old room, filled with the faint scent of tatami and dried flowers, fell into a peaceful silence as the two drifted into sleep—one with memories, the other with dreams.

That night, as Mireyna lay asleep beside her grandmother, the room quiet and wrapped in shadows, a faint sound stirred her from her dreams—a dry cough echoing in the silence. At first, she barely registered it, groggy with sleep. Just Obāchan… old people cough sometimes, she told herself, curling deeper beneath the warm futon.

But the coughing grew louder.

Roungher.

Violent.

Her eyes fluttered open in the dim light of the candle still flickering faintly on the tatami floor. She blinked, disoriented, then turned her head slowly.

"Obāchan…?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

What she saw snapped her fully awake.

Her grandmother was hunched over, shaking violently, her hands clutching the futon. Her skin—once warm and rosy—was now an eerie, bruised shade of blue. Her lips had turned a ghostly violet, and veins bulged beneath her thin skin like black rivers.

Mireyna gasped. "Obāchan?!"

She sat up in panic, reaching out to touch her, but before she could get close—her grandmother let out a final, choking cough and something fell from her lips.

A flower.

A pale, otherworldly bloom with bluish-white petals, glowing faintly like moonlight in the dark.

Mireyna froze.

What is that?!

Heart pounding, she stumbled backward and rushed to the door, intending to call for her grandfather.

But the moment she slid the door open, she stopped cold.

There, standing just a few steps ahead in the dark hallway, was a woman.

She wore a flowing silk hanfu, delicate and regal like an ancient princess. Her hair was long, black as ink, cascading to her waist. Her skin was deathly pale—white as porcelain, but without any trace of warmth. Her eyes were hollow, her lips slightly parted as if whispering secrets to the dead.

Mireyna's breath caught in her throat. A ghost..?

Then, the woman raised her arm slowly, pointing directly at her.

And she spoke.

"Meiran.."

The name echoed like a whisper in the dark. Mireyna stared, confused. Meiran? What did that mean?

Before she could react, the ghostly woman moved—too fast, like a gust of cold wind.

She lunged forward and gripped Mireyna's arms with icy fingers.

Everything went black.

Soft sunlight spilled gently through the shoji windows, brushing the room with a warm golden hue. A breeze stirred the lace curtains ever so slightly.

Mireyna jolted upright in her futon, drenched in sweat.

Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath, disoriented, shaken.

Was it… a dream?

Still panting, she threw the futon aside and looked to her side.

"Obāchan…?"

But the futon beside her was empty.

Her grandmother was gone.

"Mirae dear… are you awake, darling?"

The gentle, melodic voice stirred her from her daze.

Still seated on the futon, Mireyna turned toward the sliding shoji door, which now stood partially open. The golden morning light poured in, and just beyond, she saw a tranquil garden glistening with dew—carefully manicured bonsai trees and flowering plants swaying slightly in the breeze.

Her grandmother knelt on the engawa (veranda), her sleeves rolled up as she examined one of the larger bonsai pots with focused eyes.

"Ah, I forgot to wake you, dear. Forgive me," Obāchan said without turning around, her tone light. "The bonsai needed a little extra love this morning… I got carried away."

Two towering men stepped forward from behind her, both already dressed in traditional montsuki—elegant kimono-like robes for men. Their broad shoulders and disciplined posture made them stand out like silent samurai.

"Come here, you two handsome men," Obāchan called cheerfully. "Help me move this old fellow. He needs to catch the morning sun properly."

The two bodyguards nodded with solemn respect and gently lifted the heavy bonsai pot, placing it where the sunlight would bathe its leaves perfectly.

Inside, Mireyna let out a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her eyes were still wide, her nightclothes damp with sweat. Her heart, which had been thudding since that terrifying dream, finally began to calm.

It was just a dream… thank goodness…

She placed a hand on her chest and closed her eyes for a moment, grounding herself.

By the time she stepped out of the room, dressed in the beautiful yukata that her grandfather had laid out for her earlier, she still felt a lingering chill in her bones—but the warmth of the garden and the scent of morning dew helped her shake it off.

Just then, her grandfather appeared behind her with his usual proud stride and jovial smile.

"Well, well, my precious granddaughter!" he greeted warmly, then turned to the bodyguards. "You two make her look like a porcelain doll next to sumo wrestlers! Hah! Look at those shoulders—your sleeves don't even reach your wrists!"

The three of them laughed, the sound lightening the morning air like birdsong.

The two bodyguards exchanged a brief glance—one of quiet suffering before obediently following Obāchan's detailed and ever-changing instructions. She stood with a hand on her hip, frowning slightly at the ancient bonsai tree that had once won awards in its prime.

"Hmm… No, no. Not there. Try a little more to the left… no, wait, now a bit to the right—hai, hai, just a smidge forward. Not that much! again, to the left!"

The two men moved in near-perfect sync, struggling to carry the heavy stone pot with absolute care. Neither dared complain, though their strained expressions made it clear they were being pulled into a rather unexpected morning workout.

Watching the little spectacle, Mireyna burst into a laugh, cupping her hand over her mouth as her cheeks flushed with joy. Her grandfather, seated beside her on the wooden engawa with a cup of steaming matcha, let out a hearty chuckle of his own.

"Your grandmother could command an army with her bonsai alone," he teased, sipping from his cup.

Mireyna sat beside him, her fingers gently cradling the porcelain teacup her grandmother had prepared earlier that morning. The scent of fresh matcha and the crisp mountain air brought her a sense of peace she hadn't felt in a long time. The laughter, the warmth of the tea, the sunlight painting the leaves in gold—it was all so perfectly serene.

But just as she began to let her heart relax, her thoughts slipped—unbidden—back to that dream.

The woman with the deathly pale skin…

The long black hair like silk soaked in ink…

The whisper that clung to her soul like a curse.

"Meiran…"

Mireyna's smile slowly faded. Her fingers tightened slightly around the teacup.

She didn't know why, but something about that dream clung to her like mist that refused to lift. It wasn't just fear—it was a sense of dread. As though something was coming. Something that had already begun to move.

And she had no idea how to stop it.

Even Mireyna chuckled softly, though her heart still echoed with one name.

Meiran…