The morning after Envelon's tale, Hurukoya's air felt heavier. The villagers laughed, argued, worked as always, but something in the square had shifted. The children didn't chase each other as far from the firepit, and the grown men spoke in quieter tones, as if wary of waking something.
Rei wandered through the bustle, hands jammed into his sleeves. Every time he met someone's eyes, he caught a flicker… hesitation, curiosity, or in some cases, suspicion. Envelon's words had left their mark.
Awakening.
It rolled in his head like a stone in a jar, too big to ignore, too heavy to grasp.
Kaien, ever unbothered, had slung his bow across his shoulder. "You're overthinking again," he muttered, nudging Rei with an elbow. "If Envelon says the sky is falling, he just means he wants softer firewood."
Rei smirked faintly, but the unease didn't leave.
That was when Mira called to them, her arms heavy with bundles of herbs. "Kaien, stop filling his head with nonsense. Rei, if you're not busy sulking, make yourself useful. Take this to Reganu."
"Reganu?" Rei echoed.
"The healer who never shows his face," Kaien answered for her. "Lives on the far edge of the village. Half the children think he's a ghost."
"He's no ghost," Mira said firmly. Her expression softened. "He's sick. Been sick for years. His son takes care of him." She pressed the bundle into Rei's hands. "Go. Maybe meeting someone new will teach you something you can't learn at the forge."
The hut at the farthest edge looked nothing like the others. Its roof sagged, moss grown thick across the stones. Smoke curled thin and uneven from the chimney, as though the fire inside struggled to breathe.
Rei hesitated at the door, knuckles brushing the wood before he finally knocked.
It opened not to an elder, but to a boy his own age.
Enid.
His hair fell into his eyes, his hands still wet from the basin he had been scrubbing. The smell of herbs clung to him, sharper and stranger than Mira's familiar blends.
"You're… Rei," Enid said, voice flat but not unkind. "Come in."
Rei blinked. "You know me?"
"Everyone knows you," Enid replied simply. "You're the one who can't hold your Enso steady."
Rei's chest tightened, but before he could snap back, Enid added, "That doesn't matter." He pushed the door wider. "Inside."
Reganu lay on a low cot, skin pale, breaths shallow. His eyes opened briefly as Rei entered, and though clouded, they carried a strange weight.
"Herbs?" His voice was brittle.
Rei nodded, placing them at his bedside.
Reganu smiled faintly, then turned his gaze to Rei, not piercing, not judging, simply seeing. "You carry a fire too loud for your body. Don't waste time trying to silence it. Learn its song."
Before Rei could answer, Reganu coughed, a harsh, wet sound. Enid hurried to his side, steadying him with practiced hands. When it passed, Reganu whispered something that sent a shiver down Rei's spine:
"The world is already listening."
Enid adjusted the blankets and looked at Rei with an expression both weary and unbothered. "Don't take it too seriously. He says things like that when the fever runs high."
But Rei couldn't shake it.
After helping grind the herbs, Rei stepped outside with Enid. For the first time, he noticed the edge of the forest beyond the hut, where the mist curled thicker than anywhere else. The air felt different there. Denser.
Enid caught his stare. "You feel it, too."
"What is it?" Rei asked.
Enid shrugged. "A boundary. Father says this village is tied to something old. That's why Shira never leaves the river gate. She's not guarding us from the world. She's guarding the world from us."
Rei frowned. "That doesn't make sense."
"Does anything?" Enid's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Besides, I don't care. Let the seal break, let it hold, whatever. My job's here." He gestured back toward the hut.
Rei studied him. There was no fear in his voice. No bitterness. Only a calm that felt alien in Hurukoya.
"You're… strange," Rei muttered.
"You're one to talk," Enid shot back. Then, softer: "But strange isn't bad."
Rei didn't know how to answer.
For the first time in a long while, someone had said the words without laughing, without pity, without fear.
Strange isn't bad.
The two boys stood in silence, the fog shifting just beyond the trees, like something listening.