The silence stretched on, thick and unnerving. My senses were on high alert, my grip tightening around Yuna as I pulled her deeper into the bush. We stayed low, crouched, but neither of us dared to speak. The stillness was deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the wind.
My eyes never left the orphanage, scanning every inch of the building with a focused intensity. The tension in the air seemed to grow heavier with each passing second.
Suddenly, a tall silhouette appeared through one of the windows of the orphanage. The figure was impossibly tall, its outline looming over the familiar forms of Sister Mari and the children, casting an eerie shadow across the room. The figure's presence was overwhelming, dominating the space in a way that made my stomach tighten.
I instinctively pulled Yuna closer, my breath shallow as my focus zeroed in on the mysterious figure. I couldn't make out any details from a distance, but the sheer height of the figure was enough to send a chill down my spine. Something about the way it moved, or perhaps the way it towered over everyone inside, felt wrong.
"Do you see that?" I whispered, my voice barely audible, as though speaking too loudly might alert the figure.
Yuna nodded slowly, her eyes wide with unease.
"Who… who is that?"
I didn't respond immediately, my gaze fixed on the silhouette. It was standing near the center of the room, towering over Sister Mari and the children. I could make out the faint motion of its arms, as if it were saying something, its voice too faint for us to hear from our hiding spot.
The figure seemed to be speaking to the others, but what was most unsettling was the way the children and Sister Mari were reacting. They didn't seem frightened, but neither did they seem entirely comfortable. It was as though they were either too intimidated or too mesmerized to respond properly.
My mind raced. Whoever, or whatever, this figure was, it had to be the cause of the unnatural silence that had settled over the orphanage. It didn't feel like a simple visitor. No, this felt like an intrusion. The figure's presence was an anomaly, and I could sense the danger creeping closer.
Yuna shifted nervously, but I gently kept her still, not allowing her to make any sudden movements. The last thing we needed was to be discovered.
My mind was already working, formulating possible escape routes, but the more I watched, the more my instincts screamed that confronting this threat head-on was the only option. There were too many unknowns right now. I couldn't afford to let this figure linger.
"I don't know who they are," I muttered quietly, my eyes never leaving the figure.
"But we need to be careful. This isn't normal."
Yuna looked up at me, her face pale, though she nodded in agreement. She trusted me more than she trusted anyone else. The way I had acted before, pulling her into the bush, had shown her that what I was doing this to protect her. But now, she could see the seriousness in my eyes. Whatever was happening, it was bigger than just the two of them.
The silhouette in the window turned slightly, as if aware of our gaze, but it didn't seem to notice us hiding in the bushes. My heart skipped a beat. Had it sensed something? Or was it merely turning toward the shadows, its attention fixed on something else?
Either way, the moment of tension stretched, and I kept my arm around Yuna, holding her close as we watched in silence, waiting for the figure to make its next move.
Time felt like it slowed, each second stretching longer than the last.
Then, without warning, the figure stepped back into the shadows, disappearing from view. The window was empty again, and the sounds of the orphanage returned, though there was still an eerie undertone to the usual bustle.
I exhaled, though my body remained tense.
"Stay here. I'm going to investigate."
Yuna reached for my arm, her fingers trembling slightly.
"Tatsuo, wait. What if it's dangerous? We shouldn't..."
"I'll be fine," I said, my voice firm but reassuring. I gave her a look, one that spoke volumes, I'm doing this to protect you, Yuna. Trust me.
Reluctantly, Yuna let go of me. She knew I had to do this, but her heart was heavy with worry. I was always so sure of myself, so confident in my actions, but the unknown dangers ahead left me feeling vulnerable.
"Be careful," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
I gave her a quick nod before moving toward the back of the orphanage, staying low to avoid detection. I had no idea who, or what, that figure was, but I would find out. This eerie calm had only one meaning: something dark was approaching, and I wasn't going to wait for it to make the first move.
As I disappeared into the shadows, Yuna stayed hidden in the bush, her heart racing. The peace we had known was quickly unraveling, and she couldn't shake the feeling that whatever came next would change everything.
My heart pounded in my chest as I crouched low, moving carefully through the underbrush. The wooden training sword in my hand felt heavier than it should, its presence a reminder that my instincts were sharper now than ever before, yet still untested against whatever lay inside the orphanage. I kept to the shadows, my movements calculated and quick as I skirted around the back of the church. I needed to stay out of sight but get close enough to see what was going on.
The air around me felt suffocatingly still. The silence was too much, it was unnatural, an ominous stillness that gnawed at my nerves. I paused, crouching behind a thick bush to assess the building. From where I was, I could see several windows along the orphanage walls. The shadows in the building seemed to shift ever so slightly, but it wasn't enough to reveal anything about what was truly going on inside.
With my breath steadying, I moved closer to one of the windows. My feet were light against the ground, barely a sound, as I approached, staying just low enough to remain out of view from anyone inside. I positioned myself carefully and slowly peeked through the glass, my eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the sight beyond.
Inside, everything seemed... normal. Sister Mari was at the front, writing something on the chalkboard, explaining a lesson to the children sitting at their desks. The kids were listening, their heads bent in concentration, scribbling in notebooks, looking like any typical day. But the unease that gnawed at me only grew stronger.
Something felt off.
I shifted my gaze from Sister Mari to the children. At first glance, everything appeared to be as it should be. But then I noticed it. Several of the desks were empty. Empty seats that should have been occupied by the children, children who, by all rights, should have been there. My breath hitched as I counted the missing spaces, my mind running through the names of the children who were supposed to be there.
There should have been no empty desks in the middle of the lesson.
Where were they?
I strained my eyes, searching for any clues. The other children seemed to be going about their business, oblivious to anything unusual. Sister Mari was still teaching, as if everything was perfectly fine. Her voice carried in the air, cheerful and warm, as though nothing was out of place.
My grip tightened around the wooden sword as the fear slowly began to creep into my chest.
What happened to the missing children?
I shifted my position, trying to get a better look inside, but the shadows inside were playing tricks on me. Was I imagining things? I wanted to believe that this was just a result of my anxiety, the result of the tension from earlier, but deep down, I knew better.
The truth was, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Sister Mari and the others were acting like nothing had changed, as if those empty desks didn't matter. But they did. Everything in me screamed that something was off, that something was being hidden.
The wooden sword feels cold in my grip, but I don't let go. I can't afford to. Not now.
I slowly back away from the window, retreating further into the shadows. My mind is racing with possibilities, my instincts screaming at me to act. I need to find out more, and fast.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure Yuna is still hidden safely, her worried eyes watching me from the bush. I motion for her to stay where she is, hoping she understands, before turning my attention back to the orphanage.
Whatever is happening here, I'm not going to let it continue unchecked. But first, I need to know more; I have to be certain.
Crouching low, ready to move again, my thoughts echo with one haunting question:
What happened to the children who were missing from the class?
I keep my grip tight on the wooden sword, trying to calm my racing thoughts. The empty desks, the missing children, still weigh heavily on me. I scan the orphanage, trying to find any more clues. But then another unsettling thought hits me like a bolt of lightning.
Where did the tall figure go?
I turn my head sharply, scanning the area around me. The silhouette I saw towering inside the orphanage has disappeared. I've been so focused on the empty desks and the eerie silence that I hadn't noticed when it left. Had it gone when I wasn't looking? Or had it been inside, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?
The thought makes my stomach churn.
My mind, already brimming with suspicion, digs deeper. The strange occurrences, the way my instincts are screaming at me, the sense of danger hanging over the orphanage remind me of something from my past life. A memory that had been buried deep within me, yet now resurfaced with terrifying clarity.
In the previous timeline, there were countless reports of missing children, young children who seemed to vanish without a trace. At the time, it had seemed like a series of isolated incidents, one family after another losing their youngest. The authorities could never pinpoint a pattern, and the disappearances were chalked up to random kidnappings or, in some cases, just unfortunate accidents. But I knew the truth. In my past life, I saw the connection, though I didn't fully understand it at the time.
Now, the missing children aren't just from families. They're coming from orphanages too, places where children have no family to speak of, places where they should be safe. It's becoming all too clear. What I saw just moments ago in the orphanage wasn't a coincidence.
Who's taking them?
The thought lingers in my mind, gnawing at me. I know that something much darker than simple abductions is at play.
There was an organized force behind these disappearances, but who were they? And why were they targeting children, especially orphans?
The tall figure, the missing children, the silence... it's all adding up, but the pieces are still scattered, just out of reach.
I tighten my grip on the sword again. My muscles are tense, ready for whatever comes next. The feeling of being watched, the sense that something dangerous is lurking just out of sight, grows stronger. I can't let this go unnoticed any longer. The children at the orphanage, including Yuna, are in danger. I have to protect them. But how can I when I don't even know who the enemy is or what their goal is?
I need to know more.
My mind races again as I survey the orphanage. I need to act quickly, before whatever's happening here escalates. But there are too many questions, too many unknowns. All I have are fragments of a past life that don't fit this current timeline.
The missing children. The figure in the orphanage. The empty desks. The chilling silence that now clings to the air. My gut twists with the overwhelming sense that something terrible is about to happen.
"What if I'm too late?" I whisper softly to myself, my voice barely audible.
A rustle in the bush behind me broke my thoughts. I turned quickly, my body on edge. Yuna had silently crept up behind me, her expression tense, yet her eyes searching my face for some kind of explanation.
"I… I need to know what's happening, Yuna," I said, my voice lower than usual, a quiet resolve settling over me.
"I can't let them take any more children."
Yuna nodded, understanding the urgency in my voice. She knew I wasn't one to panic, but something in my gaze told her that this time, the situation was different. Something dark and dangerous was unfolding, and I wasn't going to let it slip by unnoticed.
"We'll figure it out, Tatsuo," she said, her voice steady, though a flicker of concern was evident in her eyes.
I gave a small nod, but the doubt still lingered in the pit of my stomach. I was fighting an unknown enemy, one that seemed to be far more cunning than I had anticipated. But I couldn't just wait and see what happened. I had to act, and I had to act fast.
Together, we would uncover the truth behind the disappearances and stop whatever dark force was behind it. And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to hope that, with Yuna by my side, we might be able to face this darkness and survive.
With every step, my senses were on high alert, my instincts telling me that something wasn't right. Yuna and I moved quietly through the brush, careful not to attract attention, before reaching the entrance of the orphanage church. The quiet of the air pressed down on me, thick with unease. The once comforting church now felt like a maze, its walls hiding something unknown, something sinister.
I glanced at Yuna, who had been silently following me, her expression still unreadable. I could see the concern in her eyes, but there was something more, a quiet determination. She was ready for whatever we might face, just as I was. But that didn't mean I could let my guard down.
I pushed open the door with a creak, stepping cautiously into the entrance hall. Immediately, I took up a defensive position in front of Yuna, keeping my eyes trained on every corner. The faintest sound, footsteps, rustling fabric, the distant creak of wood, kept me on edge. We moved through the dimly lit hallways, checking every shadow, every door. The hallway felt unusually quiet, and the silence itself unnerved me.
As we approached the classroom, my pace slowed, and I put a hand on the door. I steeled myself, then opened it slowly, cautiously peering inside.
The classroom was just as it always had been, bright and cheerful, filled with the buzz of children and the gentle murmur of Sister Mari's voice. The children sat at their desks, working through their lessons, while Sister Mari stood at the front, her back to the door. Everything seemed… normal. Too normal.
I stepped inside, keeping my senses sharp. Yuna followed quietly behind me, her eyes scanning the room over my shoulder. As soon as we entered, Sister Mari and the children looked up, a warm, familiar smile on Sister Mari's face.
"Oh, well, well, look who decided to join us!" Sister Mari said teasingly, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Have you two been spending more time alone together lately? You seem awfully quiet today."
The children around us giggled, a few of them whispering among themselves. I stiffened, still on edge. Sister Mari's teasing only seemed to make the situation more disorienting. The usual warmth of the room felt distant to me now, as though it was a facade. They had no idea what had just happened, what I had witnessed.
I didn't have the luxury of getting comfortable or making small talk.
I took a step forward, my gaze serious as I locked eyes with Sister Mari.
"Sister Mari," I said, my voice low but steady.
"I need to ask you something. There was a tall figure who spoke to you. Who was that? And some of the children, where did they go?"
Sister Mari blinked in surprise at my sudden seriousness, but her smile remained in place, though it faltered slightly.
"A tall figure? Oh, Tatsuo, you must be imagining things. There was no one like that here." She paused, glancing at the children, who were still engrossed in their work, oblivious to the tension in the air. "And missing children? That's quite a strange thing to say. All of the children are here."
My eyes narrowed. I knew what I had seen. I had felt the unease, the hollow emptiness where the children should have been, the same silence that had settled on the entire orphanage. But Sister Mari seemed completely unaffected, even as she spoke of the very thing I knew was false.
"That's not true," I said, my voice quieter, but sharper this time.
"I saw them. I saw the empty tables where there should be children. And I saw someone standing in the window, a tall figure. Who are they? What's going on here, Sister Mari?"
The room grew eerily quiet as my words echoed through the classroom. Yuna, who had been standing behind me, stepped forward, her eyes searching Sister Mari's face. She, too, felt the unease, but her expression was one of confusion rather than certainty.
Sister Mari's smile tightened, her brow furrowing just slightly.
"Tatsuo," she said gently, but there was a firmness in her voice now, one that didn't quite match the playful tone she'd had earlier.
"There's nothing to worry about. You must be tired. Maybe you need some rest, hm?"
The children, still unaware of the tension, resumed their work, completely at ease. The room felt unnervingly calm, as if nothing had happened. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being lied to, that something was being kept from me.
A strange thought flickered in my mind. Was this part of the plan? Had whatever was behind the disappearances somehow taken control of the orphanage's inhabitants? Was this some kind of manipulation, making everyone believe that nothing had changed, that everything was fine?
But I couldn't let my suspicions show. I had to be careful. If I pushed too hard now, there was no telling what would happen.
"I see," I said, my voice colder now.
"Maybe I was wrong. I'll just… head out then."
I turned to leave, but as I did, I caught Yuna's gaze, her expression still uncertain. She, too, was starting to understand that something wasn't right, that Sister Mari's answers didn't quite line up with what we had seen. But Yuna stayed silent, her footsteps soft as she followed me out of the classroom.
Once the door was closed behind us, I slowly sheathed my wooden training sword into the belt at my waist, the same sword I had kept raised and ready when confronting the tall figure earlier. My grip lingered on the hilt for a moment before releasing it. Seeing this, Yuna hesitated before doing the same, quietly sliding her own training sword back into place. Neither of us spoke as we stepped out, but the unspoken truth between us was clear: whatever was happening inside the orphanage, we were now in the middle of it.
I let out a quiet breath, still tense. I had no answers, no clear direction. But one thing was certain: something was happening here, something dark. And we weren't going to get the truth from Sister Mari, not now, not like this.
I glanced at Yuna as we walked down the hallway.
"We need to get to the bottom of this," I said quietly.
"Whatever is going on here, it's not over."