Whispers of the Salt Wind: Shadows of Port Solemn
There's a law in Port Solemn: no one laughs after dark. Even children don't forget this. They say laughter draws the Callers. Yuto was born and raised here. He never believed those tales. Or he acted like he didn't. Now he works at his uncle's fish market and cares for his younger sister, Mayu.
Yuto wants more for her, so he plans to save up, leave the city, break free. Some say he's restless. He mocks the old stories. "It's just fog and fish guts here. The worst thing is the rotting dock."
That is, until the pale fog rolls in early one morning, thicker than any in years. By noon, a boat washes ashore. Nobody is aboard. Only wet footprints—or squelching tracks—lead off the dock and into the forgotten quarter.
His best friend Jin, stubborn and careful, wants to do nothing. "You haven't seen what happens. My uncle vanished last autumn. No one talks much about what they see in the fog."
Still, Yuto can't sit still. He leaves Mayu with Jin's strict matron and slips off. The smell of salt is sharp, iron in the air. Can you blame him for wanting answers? Aren't you curious why so many people from these towns don't come back?
He crosses cracked paving stones, following clues—frayed bits of net, salt-crusted radio on the steps, coin sat in a puddle. Voices mutter in corners. Someone is crying nearby. A shape slips through the alleyways. Feels almost like the wind whispers his name.
He finds himself at the old river mouth. Crows circle. Beyond the sandbar, the fog twists and bends as if it's alive. There's a figure barely seen, swathed in robes made from what looks like torn sails. She beckons—her lips thin and pale.
Her words are corroded, wind-like. "You're Yuto. You know this city. Why do new veins spark in dead fish each year? Why do we catch things with fingers not scales? Why do children forget their mothers' names before dawn?"
Yuto bites back a nervous grin.
"This town isn't cursed. It's just poor, and old, like any port. Right?"
"You think your mock joy stops them feeding. You brought a laugh to the shore last dusk, didn't you?"
His smile drops.
It grows clear: the Callers fate the city. Sadness draws them. Laughter is a spark, a sudden taste—and they track it, drifting through keyholes, seeking out warmth.
She sets a task: "Carry the iron ring tomorrow. Walk the docks and hear whose laughter has not faded yet. Save one person—you choose. The rest sink with the tide at dusk."
He fights her orders, but she vanishes, ripped by sudden wind.
The next day, the city mourns. Doors are nailed shut, windows packed. The fog smells thick as raw meat some places, and even Yuto fears walking alleys. Jin watches the wharf, his knuckles white.
Mayu finds him late. "Onii-chan, were you out after dark? Grandpa says we heard you laugh. The others heard too." She stares, hopeful, clutching something in her fist—maybe a twist of black hair that isn't hers. 
Does he trust the pale woman's threat, or run? He waits, ring pressed hard to his palm. Night quickly comes. From under the gaps in walls across Port Solemn, a thousand thin voices whisper. Crows scatter and don't return.
A final question: If only one person can be saved, who matters most? Herculean fights mean nothing here. What would you do? Would you pick yourself, or walk the docks for one last try at hope?
The fog moves in and time breaks as the city chooses, shaking to its roots. Fade to black.
