Heroca had fallen asleep the night before as soon as his head hit the pillow. The long boat ride, the return to the island, and the small welcome party had drained every bit of energy from him.
By the time he woke, the soft orange light of morning was already slipping through the cracks in the wooden shutters. He got dressed slowly, still adjusting to the familiar scent of ocean air mixed with warm, worn wood.
After his parents disappeared, Chiko's family began looking after the house next door — the one Heroca grew up in. A few years back, they knocked down part of the wall between the two homes and connected them. Since then, they'd lived more like one big family, sharing meals and space. It made things easier, and for Heroca, it still felt like home.
Downstairs, the quiet hum of voices floated up — but something about it felt… off.
He made his way down and joined Chiko's family at the table. Breakfast had already been laid out — fresh fish, rice, and miso soup — yet nobody spoke. There were no greetings, no smiles. Just silence.
Heroca glanced around. Everyone looked strangely serious — like they were forcing themselves to appear normal. He noticed it, but brushed it off. Maybe they're just tired, he thought. Maybe it's nothing.
After eating quietly, he stepped outside to explore.
The village looked almost exactly as he remembered it — small, scattered homes with worn walls and overgrown gardens. But as he walked through the streets, he felt it: the way people looked at him. The way they stared.
Children played like normal, chasing each other and laughing. But the adults… They barely made eye contact. Their expressions were tired. Hollow. Like they were carrying something too heavy to speak about.
Trying to ignore the strange atmosphere, Heroca wandered toward the edge of town where an old wooden board displayed a faded map of the island. He studied it closely.
A thick jungle surrounded everything — completely enclosing the island. At the very center sat the small village he was standing in. Toward the south, a narrow path led to a beach. But beyond that, nothing else was labeled. No hills, no ruins, no landmarks. Just green.
The map felt deliberately empty.
Pushing the thought aside, Heroca followed a narrow dirt path to the old park where he used to play. The rusty swings still creaked in the wind, and the paint on the slide had peeled away almost completely. He sat on a broken bench for a while, just letting memories come and go. Then he returned home.
Inside, the atmosphere hadn't changed. Everyone was still unusually quiet.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.
"Why is everyone acting so weird?" Heroca asked, frustrated. "Is something going on or not?"
Silence. No one answered.
He clenched his jaw and stormed back upstairs. When he reached his room, he noticed something strange — his bed was made. Not sloppily thrown together like before. Neatly tucked. Folded edges. Someone had come in while he was out.
Too drained to care, he dropped onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling. Thoughts started to spiral. His stomach twisted — sharp, uncomfortable.
Maybe it's stress. Or too much thinking. Or… something else.
He got up, took a long shower to calm himself, and by the time he came back down, dinner had been prepared. He sat at the table again, surrounded by quiet faces. Even Chiko wasn't smiling anymore. She didn't speak. Her eyes didn't meet his.
Then — finally — someone spoke.
"Heroca," Chiko's mother began softly, "we need to tell you something."
Everyone looked tense, like they'd been dreading this conversation for years.
"We didn't want to say anything yesterday… But after what happened to your parents, this island hasn't been the same."
Heroca stayed silent, his stomach tightening again.
"At first it only happened to a few. Now… it's happening to anyone. You can come to this island… but you can't leave."
The room grew colder somehow. The words hung in the air like fog.
"Anyone who tries to leave disappears," she said. "We've seen it with our own eyes. A black line forms near the edge of the island — in the ocean, along the cliff paths, even past the jungle. If you try to cross it, you vanish. No blood. No screams. Nothing."
Heroca's eyes narrowed, trying to process.
"It didn't used to be this way. But ever since your parents disappeared… it started. At first, we thought it was just a coincidence. Then more people vanished. Tourists. Sailors. Some ignored our warnings. Some tried to escape. All gone."
No one dared to move. The only sound was the faint clink of a spoon against a bowl.
"We don't know what it is. We don't know why it's happening. But something… something is trapping us here. We've tried to figure it out. People have searched, tried to map the edges, find a break in the line. But no one came back."
Heroca stared at them. At Chiko. At his grandmother, whose eyes glistened with fear she wasn't saying out loud.
He felt that strange, burning twist in his stomach again.
He didn't speak.
Didn't argue.
Didn't panic.
He just nodded once — and quietly went back to his room.
He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling again.
But this time, the silence felt heavier.
As if something was listening.