The morning air greeted the siblings like an old friend, brushing their cheeks with a gentle breeze as they dashed out the door, the warmth of home still clinging to them like a second skin.
Aya, barely keeping pace with Ethan's longer strides, puffed out her cheeks.
"Slow down, big bro! My legs aren't as long as yours!"
Ethan slowed just enough for her to catch up.
"I thought you were the one protecting me, remember?"
Aya grinned. "Tch. I still am. Just... at a smaller pace!"
They laughed together, feet tapping the cobbled path that wound through the quiet heart of Takeshiro Town—a place nestled between green hills and bordered by sleepy woods. A town where everyone knew your name, and every stone had a story.
The cobblestone road shimmered faintly under the early sunlight. The town's houses stood close-knit, their wooden frames and tiled roofs aged by time yet lovingly maintained. Lanterns hung from porches, swaying softly in the breeze. Flowerpots overflowed with color, whispering tales of care and tradition.
They passed Ms. Suki's Florist, a quaint little shop wrapped in vines of blooming morning glories. Its white-painted fence curled slightly at the corners like a smile long held. Ms. Suki stood by the gate—a small, elderly woman with a back slightly bent, skin creased with time, and kind eyes that sparkled behind rounded glasses. Her gray hair was tied back with a pink ribbon, matching her apron. A smudge of soil streaked one cheek.
But when her gaze landed on Ethan, the warmth dimmed.
Her smile faltered—only for a heartbeat—then returned.
"Well, if it isn't the Takahara children!" she called, waving a gloved hand. "Aya, I've got new tulips blooming. Come by after school!"
"I will, Ms. Suki!" Aya beamed, waving both hands.
Ethan gave a small nod. "Morning, Ms. Suki."
She chuckled. "Good boy. You take care of your sister now."
Aya puffed her chest. "I'm the one who takes care of him!"
Ms. Suki laughed, but as the siblings continued on, Ethan caught the brief glance she gave his back—a hesitant, searching gaze, held just a second too long.
Next came Ren's Bakery, its windows fogged with the warmth of fresh bread. The comforting scent wrapped around them like a blanket. Ren stood out front as always, sleeves rolled up and apron dusted with flour. A burly man with a crooked nose, thick white brows, and a permanent smirk etched into his face.
"Oi, Ethan!" he called. "Tell your father he still owes me a rematch at shogi! And this time, no pretending he forgot the rules!"
Ethan smirked. "He says you cheat."
Ren gasped dramatically. "Me? A cheat? That rascal! Next time I'm bringing my own board!"
Aya giggled. "Ren's the best."
But Ethan noticed it—just like with Ms. Suki.
When Ren looked at him, there was a moment… brief, restrained.
Not anger. Not disgust.
Fear.
They moved on. The town stirred with life.
A paperboy cycled past, wobbling under the weight of his stack. A woman sweeping her porch paused to ruffle Aya's hair—then saw Ethan, and her smile dulled. Her hand quickly brushed her apron, as if wiping away something unseen.
Even a black-and-white cat perched on a windowsill bolted the moment Ethan's eyes met its own.
Aya didn't notice. She never did.
She was too full of life, too busy soaking in the world like sunshine.
And Ethan? He noticed everything.
Every glance. Every breath. Every unspoken tension.
He just never let it show.
The road sloped gently uphill. Aya huffed with effort, yet her small hand reached out and clasped Ethan's.
"I love our town," she said softly. "I want it to stay like this forever."
Ethan looked down at her—black hair bouncing with every step, wide brown eyes full of dreams.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Yeah. Me too."
A soft breeze blew past them. A pink petal fluttered down and landed on Ethan's shoulder. Aya plucked it off like it was the most precious thing in the world.
"Careful," she said dramatically. "This one might be magic."
Ethan laughed. "Then you better keep it safe."
They dashed across the final stretch of stone, Aya's laughter dancing in the wind.
Then—everything stopped.
Perched on the rusted frame of a streetlamp above, a lone crow watched.
But this was no ordinary crow.
Its feathers were blacker than black—like a shadow born from night itself, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. The very air around it was still, thick with tension.
Its eyes—twin voids of endless depth—pierced into Ethan's soul.
A low pressure settled in the air.
Not loud. Not violent.
Just... wrong.
Ethan froze mid-step.
His heart began to pound.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A cold chill surged down his spine, spreading like frost beneath his skin.
His body tensed.
Goosebumps prickled across his arms.
His breath caught in his throat.
His crimson eyes lit up—unnaturally bright—scanning the rooftops, the streetlamps, the wires strung between poles.
Searching. Hunting. Sensing.
But there was nothing.
No crow.
No silhouette.
Just the town again.
Alive. Warm.
Ordinary.
Aya tugged at his hand. "You okay?"
Ethan blinked. Swallowed. Forced a chuckle.
"Yeah… just thought I saw something."
He shook his head, brushing it off like always.
"Let's hurry. We'll be late."
And together, they ran toward the school gates.
Unaware.
Of something watching.
Something that had always been there.
Waiting.
Ancient.
Patient.