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 town nestled between green hills and bordered by sleepy woods, Takeshiro pulsed with a peaceful rhythm—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 by the porches swayed softly in the breeze, while flowerpots overflowed with color.
They passed by Ms. Suki's Florist, its white-painted fence wrapped in vines of morning glory. Ms. Suki herself stood by the gate, a small, elderly woman with a back slightly bent but eyes that sparkled with kindness. Her gray hair was always tied with a pink ribbon that matched her apron, and a smudge of dirt streaked one cheek.
"Well, if it isn't the Takahara children!" she called out, 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 offered a polite nod. "Morning, Ms. Suki."
She chuckled. "Good boy. You take care of your sister, now."
Aya stuck her tongue out. "I'm the one who takes care of him!"
Ms. Suki's laughter followed them as they continued.
As they passed the familiar stone steps of Ren's Bakery, the comforting aroma of fresh bread lingered in the morning air. The old man stood out front as always, sleeves rolled to his elbows and a dusting of flour clinging to his apron. His hunched frame didn't hide the spark of humor in his sharp eyes.
"Oi, Ethan!" Ren called out, raising a hand. "Tell your father he still owes me a rematch at shogi! And this time, no pretending he forgot the rules!"
Ethan chuckled. "He says you cheat."
Ren let out a theatrical gasp. "Me? A cheat? That rascal! Next time, I'm bringing my own board."
Aya giggled as the siblings waved goodbye. "Ren's the best," she whispered.
Ethan smirked. "He just likes the challenge."
The town came alive around them. A paperboy cycled past, struggling to balance his stack while waving. A middle-aged woman swept her porch, pausing to ruffle Aya's hair as they passed. A black-and-white cat lounged on a windowsill, tail flicking lazily.
The path sloped slightly uphill toward the school. Aya's breathing grew heavier, but her smile never wavered. She reached out and held Ethan's hand without a word.
He glanced down at her—messy black hair bouncing with each step, brown eyes bright with wonder—and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"I love our town," she said softly. "I want it to stay like this forever."
Ethan nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
A petal from a nearby tree drifted past them. It landed on Ethan's shoulder. Aya plucked it off with exaggerated care, as if it were some treasure.
"Careful," she said dramatically. "This one might be magic."
Ethan laughed. "Then you better keep it safe."
They dashed through the last stretch of the street, shoes tapping stone in perfect rhythm, Aya's laughter carrying into the morning breeze.
Just as they reached the edge of the school grounds—
—far above, perched atop the rusted frame of an old streetlamp, a lone crow observed them.
It was no ordinary crow. Its feathers glistened like polished obsidian, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. The air around it felt unnaturally still, as if time hesitated in its presence. And its eyes—deep pools of infinite darkness—held a gaze that pierced through flesh and bone.
A suffocating aura radiated from it. Not loud, not violent—just present. Quietly, deeply wrong.
Ethan's steps faltered.
A chill ran down his spine like a drop of ice water.
He turned to glance behind him.
But nothing was there.
No crow. No streetlamp.
Just the town.
Alive. Warm. Ordinary.
Aya tugged at his hand. "You okay?"
Ethan blinked. "Yeah… just thought I saw something."
He shook his head and brushed it off with a shrug.
"Let's hurry. We'll be late."
And together, the siblings rushed toward the school gate, unaware that something had already begun to watch.
Something waiting.
Something ancient.
And patient.