For one terrible moment, no one spoke. Not a cough. Not a footstep. Just the hissing pop of the fire spitting sparks into the windless air.
Then panic cracked the silence like a dropped plate.
A woman gasped, backing away from the square's center so quickly she nearly tripped. "What do you mean six eyes?"
Another man shouted, "Where's the body? Where is Goro? We need to search again—!"
"We already searched!" someone else yelled. "They said the trail just vanished!"
"People don't just vanish!" a young man cried, voice rising with hysteria. "Not Goro. Not him."
"But his hammer was broken."
That silenced a few, but not for long.
Several villagers began shouting at once. A cluster of older men argued whether it was a rogue ninja, a yokai, or something from the mountains that had wandered too far. Others called for more guards. A few demanded the children be taken home, and someone shouted for Daichi, though the old man had already slipped away quietly into the dark.
The panic spread like smoke. No one had control anymore. Even Jiro, standing near Masato, was struggling to be heard over the noise.
Shinji couldn't move. He stood rooted just outside the ring of firelight, heart thudding in his ears. He couldn't stop staring at the cloth-wrapped pieces of Goro's hammer, now resting at Masato's feet.
He heard someone sobbing. Then another voice, desperate, calling, "Ren? Where's Ren?"
He turned just in time to see Hana pushing her way back into the square, face pale, hair clinging to her neck from sweat.
"He wouldn't let me follow him," she said breathlessly, heading straight for Shinji. "He ran into the trees behind the smithy. I called for him, but…"
She didn't finish.
Shinji grabbed her arm. "You don't think he went looking for it?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "He wouldn't talk to me."
The flames popped louder as a strong gust of wind rushed through the square—sudden, sharp, and biting cold. Several lanterns blew out. People screamed.
Masato turned toward the forest immediately, hand reaching for the short blade on his belt. Others followed suit, eyes darting to the edge of the square.
"Everyone quiet!" Jiro shouted, raising his arms. "Back to your homes. Get your children inside and bar your doors. Now!"
His voice cut through the fear enough to make people move. Dozens scattered in all directions, dragging children behind them, tripping over roots and baskets. A group of men tried to relight the lanterns while others whispered rapidly about doubling the watch.
Masato bent to pick up the hammer again, his hands slow and deliberate.
"He didn't scream," he said to no one in particular. "If it took him, he didn't have time to scream."
Shinji felt the breath leave his lungs.
"He's still out there," Hana whispered beside him. "Ren. Alone."
He turned to her. "We have to find him."
"You can't," Jiro's voice barked as he approached them, his tone stern but not unkind. "You'll stay here. Both of you."
"But Ren—" Shinji tried.
"Ren is stronger than both of you put together," Jiro said. "And Goro's son. He'll know how to hide. What you'll do is go home and stay quiet. Do you understand?"
Shinji wanted to argue. He wanted to shout. But the look on his father's face—the tightly controlled panic buried behind tired eyes—stopped him.
"Yes, sir," Hana said, barely above a whisper.
"Go," Jiro said, turning back toward the crowd. "And lock the door behind you."
The siblings hurried home in silence. No one spoke on the path. Even the frogs had gone still.
When they reached their porch, Hana's hands shook as she fumbled with the door bolt. Shinji stepped past her and pushed it closed, driving the bar across with a hard clack. The sound echoed too loudly in the quiet house.
Inside, their mother was lighting another candle, face tense. She looked up when they entered, eyes softening only slightly.
"I heard the bell," she said. "What happened?"
Jiro appeared behind them a moment later and closed the door without a word.
He pulled the curtain shut over the front window and knelt by the fire. Only then did he answer.
"Goro's gone."
Their mother pressed a hand to her mouth. "Gone how?"
Masato's voice seemed to linger in Shinji's ears: Six eyes. Too fast to track. Like smoke.
Shinji didn't sit. He paced the small room while Hana curled onto her mat with her back to the fire. Jiro said little else, only that they would take turns keeping watch through the night.
Before sleep, their mother placed her hand on Shinji's cheek and whispered, "Don't open the door tonight. Even if you hear something. Especially if you hear something."
They didn't speak after the door shut.
Their mother's footsteps faded quickly into the dark, swallowed by the wet hush of mist clinging to the roofs. From the window, Shinji watched the distant bob of her lantern until it vanished behind the corner of the grain house.
Their father sat by the door, back straight, the short blade across his knees. He hadn't said a word since she left. His gaze was locked on the shadows between the window slats, waiting for something—footsteps, maybe, or just a sound to make the silence feel less thin.
Shinji lay under his blanket near the hearth, still dressed. He hadn't even tried to sleep. The warmth of the fire did little to settle him.
Across the room, Hana sat cross-legged on her mat with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her face was turned toward the wall, but she wasn't asleep either. The ribbon in her hair had come loose. She hadn't bothered to fix it.
"She'll be careful," Jiro said suddenly. Not to either of them, just out loud.
Hana didn't respond.
Shinji swallowed. "It's not right. She shouldn't be out there."
"She's not far," Jiro said. "She's with the others."
Shinji wanted to say, that doesn't matter, but didn't. Instead, he sat up.
His legs were sore. His back hurt from lying still too long.
"I don't think I can sleep," he mumbled.
"No one's asking you to," Jiro replied.
Hana shifted slightly. Her face came into view. She looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. Her cheeks were pink from the fire, but her eyes were glassy.
"You don't think Uncle Goro's alive, do you?" she asked. Her voice cracked a little at the end.
Jiro exhaled through his nose but didn't answer.
"I keep thinking," she continued, "if he'd been hurt, someone would have heard it. He's so loud. Remember the time he dropped that beam and swore for a full minute?"