There were more reasons why one wouldn’t take the apartment than take it, which is precisely why Emiko ended up there. It was old. Often buildings of that era would be refurbished, but not this one, which appeared destined for destruction rather than the magic wand of renovation. The elevator clanked, the paint was flaked, and the water pressure to the top floor was barely adequate. There was little doubt that if a sizeable quake, the long-predicted big one, were to hit the Kanto region, the place would collapse like the proverbial house of cards. It was also a good distance from central Tokyo, which in the pursuit of convenience, suited few people. However, rent was cheap. It had to be. Also, access to the roof was unrestricted.

  In all the other apartments Emiko had inspected, access to the roof was forbidden, building managers seemingly worried about tenants leaping off. But if that was the concern, shouldn’t all balconies be barred like a prison cell? There would be little difference in the swift arrival of death between a fall from Emiko’s 8th-floor window, and the 9th-floor roof up above her. Some tenants had little gardens up there, and some males would go up in the daytime to bake their bodies, but Emiko was the only one who went up at night. That was her time, a few nights a week, for a handful of minutes.

  When she’d first moved to Tokyo, away from her jobless small island at the base of Kyushu, she’d lived in a guest house, in a dormitory with six other females. It wasn’t a bad start to city life, providing her with a few friends, with whom she remained in contact. But, being so removed from the natural world of her upbringing was a hard adjustment to make. She had anticipated the lack of greenery, but hadn’t expected the loss of the night sky, the stars all but vanquished by the megacity’s light pollution. Even the full moon, on a cloudless evening, could be rendered obscure, paling alongside the strobing neons.

  She soon realised that others had no interest in star gazing, so the light pollution was of no concern to anyone. But she wasn’t anyone. She was an island girl, born under the stars and still in need of that connection. She relocated out to Kanagawa, where the light pollution was less ubiquitous, to the old building where she could access the roof. She took a south-facing one-room apartment, which the low-travelling summer full moon would illuminate all night long. The summer sun was intense, and the apartment’s old AC unit struggled to cut through it. However, she worked two low-wage part-time jobs—a family restaurant and a convenience store—so she was seldom at home in the daytime, and sleeping with the balcony door open took the edge off the summer heat.

  Tokyo’s winter night sky was better than summer, but it was still nothing to write home about. She could make out the major star constellations, the Little Dipper to the north, Orion’s Belt to the south, best seen during the new moon, but it was the full moon that she most craved. It was this familiar sight, the valleys, the flats, the shades of dark and light, that could return her, if only momentarily, from the concrete jungle to the forests and beaches of home. It grounded her, slipping sand between her toes and lifting her spirit. Her unfaltering god of the nocturnal sky. Unfaltering, so long as the weather played along, which recently it hadn’t.

  Due to the light pollution, it was difficult to assess the quality of Tokyo’s night sky. It was only from up on the rooftop of her building that she could judge the sky’s true clarity, and in the summer of 2022, visibility was poor. Night after night the moon was obscured by clouds, especially so in the summer months, and Emiko had, as yet, not once been able to see the moon in its fullness. By the time August rolled around, the hottest month, her expectations of seeing the moon were low, as was her mood. Covid had everyone masked up, social gatherings were reduced and people were cautious and drifting apart like underpowered yachts in different currents. Oh, to be back on her island now.

  With her hair still damp from a cool shower, Emiko left her apartment, walked to the stairwell and ascended to the roof, pushing out through the heavy steel door. After ensuring she was alone, she walked over to the rooftop park bench, her usual spot, sat and gazed up. Nothing. She looked around. To her left she could see the towers of Kawasaki, and further behind those she could vaguely make out Landmark Tower in Yokohama. To her rear, she could see Shinjuku, red lights flashing on the corners or the highest towers. Beyond that, there was no sign of Roppongi or Tokyo Skytree, and above her nothing. She returned to her apartment. Without a glance at her phone, let alone the television, she lay down on her mattress. With damp hair and the balcony screen door open, she would be cool enough to sleep through the night. To regroup and recharge, to face another day of masks, muffled voices and creeping isolation.

  She fell to sleep quickly, and slept soundly, her thoughts meandering between unmemorable scenes, until, in the depths of her dreams she sensed someone enter her room. She opened her eyes in her sleeping mind to see a figure approaching, a man. He walked soundlessly across the room, coming to a halt at the side of her mattress. He was clothed and yet there was a nakedness to him, his body perfectly formed, like a Roman statue breathed into life. His hair was untamed, his body radiating a silver light which illuminated the room. He crouched before her, bringing his face into view, a scared, blemished face, the face of a warrior who’d lain down his life for his loved ones. And it was love that poured forth from his features, his deep-set piercing eyes, his parted lips, his bold cheekbones and forehead. He was beautiful, despite the wounds. Staggeringly beautiful.

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered.

  “You’re beautiful,” she replied, finding her voice.

  “I have always seen you, my dear woman,” he said, his voice low but clear, his eyes unblinking.

  “Who, who are you?” she stammered.

  “I am the one you seek. I am here, here for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Will you come? Are you coming?” he asked, rising to his feet, his mighty calves pushing him off the floor.

  “I’m coming,” she said.

  “Come,” he said, lowering a hand to her.

  She raised her arm, and as it brushed across the emptiness in front of her face, she awoke. Her eyes blinked open, shut and open, and then darted around the empty room. A dream? Was it all a dream? Her room was empty, besides her sparsely placed pieces of furniture, the shadows of which ran in bold lines across the floor, illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through the window. The moon? She crawled over to the balcony window, pulled apart the lace curtains and gazed out, beholding the radiant moon, low in the southern sky. It was almost full. Maybe three days out. But its light was intense, bright enough to read a novel under its light, flooding her room with silver light. Had she dreamed of the moon? That was mad. And yet the dream was still fresh in her mind, her body still tingling with excitement. She wanted to hold the image, to keep it fresh and not let it fade. But how to stop a dream from slipping through her fingers? Eventually, as her exuberance subsided, she crawled back to her mattress and fell into a deep sleep.

  She awoke feeling fresh the following morning. So fresh that she wondered if she had, in fact, been awoken by a dream the previous night. Of course, the man in her room had been a dream, but perhaps the waking was also a dream. A dream within a dream? The more she pondered it, the blurrier the memory became. So, choosing to accept the uncertainty, she left the apartment. The sky was clear and the temperature was rising, the heat seemingly reflecting up onto her out of the pavement.

  She returned home late that same day, exhausted. Face masks and hand sanitizing every second second. The world had gone crazy. She held little hope of a moon viewing, having watched clouds roll across the horizon at dusk, from the restaurant’s windows. Still, she trudged up to the roof, staying long enough to confirm what she had expected, before returning to her apartment. She was soon asleep, alone on her mattress, thoughtless, her mind empty, until deep behind her eyes she sensed the return of the previous night’s visitor. He walked toward her from a distance, as though her flooring extended out well beyond the apartment’s walls, his muscular silver arms swinging at his side, his eyes smiling, focused only on her.

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  “I’ve come for you,” he said, lowering himself before her.

  “For me? You’ve returned?”

  “Will you come with me, my love?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then rise, raise yourself off the floor, and accompany me.”

  “With you?”

  “You and I.”

  “I will,” she replied.

  She rolled out from under a thin bed sheet and climbed to her feet, standing before him. He was over a head taller than her, his shoulders broad, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “My love, follow me,” he instructed.

  He turned and led her across the endless room, looking back and nodding for her to continue. It was safe, he told her so, but where to? She followed across the flooring, the wood veneer extending into the hazy distance. She walked until the floor texture abruptly changed, cooling and hardening, its cold temperature striking the soles of her bare feet sending chills up her calves. And about her the air changed, as a web-like material enveloped her. She stopped moving forward and blinked her eyes open, then shut, opened and shut. Where was she? Where? She tried to drag her thoughts back, to awaken herself. She opened her eyes and gasped, grasping the lace curtain spread across her face as her buckling knees gave way.

  The balcony. She’d found herself one step outside the sliding door, on the balcony. Sleep-walking? That was a first. An unwelcome development. She crouched in a tight bundle, arms wrapped around her knees. From there she glanced up, face to face with the moon. Almost full, stunningly bright and unusually clear. But what was going on? She desired to look at the moon, to feel a connection to things beyond the city’s limits but didn’t want to be led out onto the balcony, asleep, in the dead of night. She returned to her mattress, lay still, and waited for her nerves to uncoil themselves.

  She awoke the following morning, aroused by the ringing of her mobile phone’s alarm. She felt fresh, immediately wide awake. She gazed about the room and walked to the balcony. There was nothing there that could act as evidence of the night before. Hadn’t she yanked on the lace curtain? But as she looked at it now, it was perfectly hung, not torn or bunched together. Madness, but there was no time to dwell on it. She exited to another clear morning, as she made her way to the station.

  She returned home exhausted, briefly ventured to the roof, and on seeing nothing above her, returned to her apartment. What a maddening summer. Clear days, followed by cloudy evenings to trap the heat in. Friends isolated, some paranoid of sickness, others paranoid of authority. She opened her phone as she lay on her mattress and flicked through photos of her island. Why not return there? Admit she couldn’t make it in the city. Swallow her pride and return to her parents? But for what? There was no work there. No possibility of advancement. Is that what she wanted in life? Advancement? She set the phone alarm, cast it aside and lay back.

  She slept restlessly, her mind unsettled, her body unable to find a cool area on the mattress, until, from the far reaches of her mind she heard a voice, cool but clear, drenched in silver.

  “Sleep,” it called to her. “Fear not, release your troubles. Sleep now, sleep deep, my beautiful bride.”

  “You want me to sleep?” she murmured.

  “Sleep, and then come with me. I’ve returned for you.”

  “You want me to go with you?” she asked in a monotonal voice.

  “Is that not what you want?” he replied. His eyes resting on her, inviting her to gaze at him.

  “It’s what I want.”

  “Then rise my darling, follow.”

  She stood to her feet. The t-shirt she was wearing had bunched up around her chest due to her restlessness, but it now fell back down to cover her midriff.

  “Will you follow where I lead?”

  “I will.”

  “You are wonderful. Now come, lift your arm and wipe all doubt from before you.”

  She obeyed his words, her left hand rising and removing a hanging object hindering her progress.

  “Look at me, look into me, as I’m looking at you,” he said, as her feet touched a cold surface, her body refreshed by a wave of chilled air. “Now reach out, take my hands, let us leave this place,” he whispered, nodding to her reassuringly.

  She stretched forth her hands, placing them over the silver warrior’s. His hands were solid, a man of steel, and cold, so cold that she shuddered.

  “Look at me, trust me,” he said, but the cold had unsettled her, his hands sending a chill that ran up to her shoulders. And from afar another voice called out across the air. A shrill cry. Something was amiss. She needed to think. Was she asleep?

  “Wake,” she told herself. “Wake!” She opened her eyes, gasped and collapsed to her knees, her hands still gripping the cold steel balcony railing that stood above waist height. She’d sleepwalked out onto the edge of the balcony. Without another thought, she turned and stumbled back inside, drew the sliding door across, locked it and then threw herself down on her moonlit mattress. What was happening to her? Was she going insane? Turning as mad as everyone else in the partially locked-down city? Was living alone, both day and night, driving her crazy?

  She fell asleep and awoke to her alarm, covered in sweat, her hair sticking to her face. Why? Then it came back to her. She’d shut the balcony door. It was still closed and locked, which is why her room was sweltering. She stunk. She raced into the shower to freshen up and left the house in a mad panic to catch her train.

  She didn’t always visit the rooftop after work. Not when the weather was poor, not when she’d been out with friends and not when she was utterly exhausted, but during a full moon she almost always did, which made this day an exception. But she was shaken. Covid was supposedly a respiratory illness, but it wasn’t her chest that was suffering; it was her mind, her dreams.

  The day had been blisteringly hot. In her morning job, she’d observed people stepping into the convenience store just to get out of the heat. Similarly, in the family restaurant, people lingered for longer, walking back and forth from the drink bar to their tables, seemingly keen for anything but a return to the street-level heat. But despite that, tonight she would sleep with the balcony door shut and the AC on. It would grind away in the corner of the ceiling, maybe keeping her awake, but there was no way she was willing to open the door.

  She lay down, couldn’t sleep, glanced at her phone, couldn’t sleep, the antiquated AC rasping like a tractor engine. She took a chilled shower, then scrolled through old photos, but still couldn’t sleep. It was past midnight when her will finally relented. She needed rest. Tomorrow would be her day off, but she needed sleep now. She crawled over to the balcony door and slid it open, glancing at the clouded-over sky. She returned to her mattress, her anxiety slowly dropping as the cool night breeze permeated the room.

  “Awake, my darling,” called a voice above her.

  Emiko opened her dreaming eyes and rolled onto her side to behold the silver warrior kneeling at her side.

  “You returned?”

  “For you. Tonight, my darling, be mine. Join me.”

  His face was beaming, a silver light so full that Emiko struggled to behold him. His beautifully pocked cheeks beneath his burning eyes, gazing down on her.

  “We must go?”

  “Do you like it here?”

  She took a moment to reply. “No.”

  “Then let’s away. Together we can elope.”

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  “Stand, my darling.”

  She stood, her long black hair falling past her rounded face, over her chest and down her back.

  “You are perfect,” he whispered, gazing down at her. “This time you are ready. Let’s depart.”

  “Yes,” she replied, falling in behind him.

  She followed, refreshed by the cool breeze, the chill on her feet like the lapping of winter waves, her hands cooled inside his strong grip.

  “You must step now.”

  “Step?”

  “Raise your leg.”

  “Like this?”

  “Higher, to my hand,” he replied coolie. “Ignore that,” he added.

  “Ignore what?” she replied, but then she too heard it. A maddened voice, screaming from across the void.

  “It is nothing. Now raise your leg” the silver warrior said, but even as he spoke, his voice cracked. And the maddened voice called again. She needed to raise her leg. Did she? She intended to, one more lift, one more-

  At the same time as her right leg lifted, an object hit her, beneath her right shoulder, knocking her back. She clattered into the window and then crashed to the balcony’s cold surface. She opened her eyes, suddenly fully awake, releasing a scream that she quickly stifled. What had hit her, and why was she back on the balcony? She clambered to her feet and stumbled inside her apartment’s main room, shut the door and started to blub, thick tears rolling down her cheeks. What had she been doing out there? Climbing the railing? That’s insane. She was going insane.

  Her shoulder stung. She walked into the bathroom, lowered the t-shirt off her right shoulder and stood before the mirror. It wasn’t a dream. A red circular bruise was forming on her tanned skin. It stung. Definitely not a dream. She straightened her t-shirt, wiped her cheeks and eyed herself. It was her face that she saw; Emiko looking back at her. Her rounded, regular face. Not the face of madness, and yet was she crazy. What had hit her? What had knocked her back from the railing? She returned to the main room and tentatively walked to the balcony door. Should she go out and find what had hit her? No. If the object was out there, it could wait until morning. The full moon hung before her through the lace curtain, its light intense, bright enough for cars to run with headlights off. The work day could commence here and now, and no one would be none the wiser, such was the moon’s strength. Distant and impersonal, but not impersonal to Emiko. Was the moon haunting her? Begging her to fly off her balcony? Was this bewitching silver warrior the man in the moon? Madness! She locked the door, drew the curtains shut, turned on the AC and sat down forlornly on her mattress.