Two weeks passed like a gentle lie.

  Nothing hunted Akitsu Shouga.

  Nothing watched him from the corners of mirrors or the edges of sleep.

  Nothing demanded blood, sacrifice, or remembrance.

  The days folded neatly into one another—soft mornings filled with idle chatter, afternoons wandering the market stalls or tracing the quiet edge of the forest, evenings soaked in warm light and shared meals that lingered longer than necessary. There were no doors waiting to open. No drifting petals. No black water reflecting a broken sky.

  For the first time in a long while, the world behaved.

  That morning, Akitsu stepped outside to find Rhen Calder already waiting, leaning against the fence with practiced impatience. Lemon poked his head out of Rhen’s pocket, whiskers twitching.

  “You’re late,” Rhen said, arms crossed. “We were about to leave you behind.”

  “You say that every time,” Akitsu replied calmly, adjusting the strap of his bag.

  “And one day I’ll mean it.”

  Lemon perked up. “Tree house today?”

  “Obviously,” Rhen said, tapping the side of his pack. “I brought snacks.”

  Akitsu nodded once. “Let’s go.”

  They headed toward the great gates of the kingdom, feet falling into an easy rhythm as they talked about nothing important—about a merchant who always overcharged, about a bird Lemon insisted was watching him, about absolutely nothing at all. The streets were alive with morning movement, sunlight spilling between rooftops, voices overlapping in familiar harmony.

  Then the gates came into view.

  They were closed.

  Heavy iron bars sealed them shut, thick and absolute. More guards than usual stood watch, armor polished to a cold gleam, hands resting too close to their weapons.

  Rhen slowed first. “…That’s new.”

  Akitsu frowned. “They’re never closed during the day.”

  They approached cautiously. One of the guards noticed them and stepped forward—it was a familiar face, a man who had waved them through dozens of times without a second glance.

  “Hey,” Rhen said, trying for casual. “What’s going on?”

  The guard’s jaw tightened. “You kids shouldn’t be here. Go back.”

  “…What?” Rhen blinked. “Why?”

  “It’s dangerous outside the walls today.”

  Akitsu tilted his head slightly. “Dangerous how?”

  The guard hesitated, eyes flicking to his comrades. “…I can’t say. Orders.”

  Rhen scoffed, forcing a laugh. “So when can we go out again?”

  The guard looked away. His voice dropped. “…We don’t know. Could be months. Maybe years.”

  “What?” Rhen snapped. “That’s insane.”

  “I know,” the guard said quietly. “Just… go home.”

  They turned back, steps slower now, the weight of the sealed gates pressing against their backs. The city already felt different—quieter, tighter, like it was holding its breath and afraid to exhale.

  As they passed through the market, Lemon tried to lighten the mood, voice bright and unbothered.

  “Maybe there’s a dragon outside,” Lemon said. “Huge one. Breathing fire everywhere.”

  Rhen’s eyes lit up. “That would explain it.”

  Akitsu shook his head. “No. That wouldn’t close the gates.”

  “Oh?” Rhen smirked. “And what would you know?”

  “…Just a feeling.”

  The murmurs around them grew hushed. Civilians whispered behind hands, glancing toward the walls as if expecting them to move.

  Then—

  A thunderous boom ripped through the air.

  A house far down the street exploded outward, stone and timber tearing apart as flames clawed skyward.

  Rhen froze. “What—?!”

  Another boom.

  Then another.

  “Cannons!” someone screamed.

  High above the walls, dark shapes arced through the sky—iron spheres trailing smoke like dying stars.

  They fell.

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  And exploded.

  Panic erupted instantly.

  “Fire!”

  “Get the children!”

  “Run!”

  The market dissolved into chaos. Stalls overturned. People screamed and surged in every direction. Knights shouted orders, forming ragged lines, trying desperately to herd civilians away from the destruction.

  Rhen grabbed Akitsu’s arm hard. “Stay close!”

  Lemon clung to Rhen’s collar, eyes wide. “This is not a dragon!”

  More explosions rocked the city. Buildings cracked. Smoke swallowed the sunlight, choking the air.

  A fleeing crowd slammed into them. Someone screamed. Someone fell.

  “Rhen!” Akitsu shouted.

  “I’m here!” Rhen yelled back—but his voice was swallowed by the chaos.

  A blast struck nearby. The force hurled Akitsu sideways. He hit the ground hard, the impact driving the breath from his lungs as his ears rang violently.

  Coughing, vision swimming, he pushed himself up.

  He saw them—Rhen and Lemon—only a few steps away, but already being dragged in the opposite direction by the panicked tide of civilians.

  “Rhen!” Akitsu shouted, forcing his way forward.

  A knight shoved him back. “This way! MOVE!”

  “I’m trying to get to them!”

  Another explosion shook the street.

  The ground trembled.

  “…Wait,” Akitsu whispered.

  This wasn’t just impact.

  The earth itself groaned.

  A deep, violent 裂裂裂裂裂 tore through the air.

  The kingdom screamed.

  The street split open like fragile paper. Stone shattered. Buildings tilted at impossible angles. People fell—some vanished instantly into darkness.

  Akitsu stumbled backward as the ground beneath him dropped away.

  “AKITSU!” Rhen screamed.

  Akitsu turned.

  Rhen and Lemon stood on the other side of the widening chasm, untouched ground beneath their feet.

  “Rhen!” Akitsu reached out.

  The ground beneath him lurched.

  And began to sink.

  “NO!” Rhen shouted, trying to run forward, but guards grabbed him, dragging him back.

  The city on Akitsu’s side descended rapidly, collapsing into a swallowing void.

  Akitsu lost his footing.

  He fell—hard.

  His head struck stone.

  Everything blurred.

  When the shaking finally stopped, silence followed.

  Not peace—

  but an unnatural, hollow silence.

  Akitsu groaned and pushed himself up. Blood ran down his face, warm and thick, dripping onto the shattered ground below.

  “…Rhen,” he whispered.

  He looked around.

  The world was wrong.

  Screams filled the air—real screams, desperate screams. Civilians were being cut down in the streets.

  Figures in unfamiliar armor rode through the city—tall, sharp-featured beings with pointed ears.

  Elves.

  They moved with terrifying precision. Some rode horses. Others soared overhead on massive birds, their shadows sweeping across the ruins. Blades flashed. Arrows sang.

  An elf cut down a fleeing man nearby.

  Another loosed an arrow into a woman shielding her child.

  “…No,” Akitsu breathed.

  He turned and ran.

  His vision swam. Blood blurred his sight. His legs barely obeyed him as arrows struck stone near his feet.

  “Rhen… Lemon…” he whispered between ragged breaths.

  He ducked into an alley, collapsing against the wall as his strength failed. His chest burned. His head pounded.

  Slowly, he slid down to the ground.

  “…So that’s it,” he murmured.

  The sounds of slaughter echoed through the streets.

  He closed his eyes.

  Not blood.

  Not death.

  Sunlight through leaves.

  A tree house swaying gently.

  Laughter.

  A small lemming arguing with a pillow.

  A friend complaining about soup.

  “…It was good,” Akitsu whispered. “I was… happy.”

  His breathing slowed.

  The screams faded.

  And the world—once again—slipped away.