The morning sun filtered through the orphanage windows, gently waking the children. Shin stirred from his bed, blinking as the light kissed his face. He felt... strange. Not bad, not good. Just different. The remnants of the dream had vanished from memory, leaving only a faint warmth lingering in his chest.
He stood up, stretched, and began his usual routine. Wake early. Light exercise. Stretch. Prepare for the day. Yet, something was different. His steps were no longer mechanical, and the once-lifeless glint in his crimson ruby eyes now carried a flicker of light—subtle, but undeniably there.
As always, he headed to the kitchen.
Akiha arrived early, expecting silence and solitude in the kitchen—except, as always, there was Shin, already standing by the counter, waiting.
"Morning," she greeted out of habit.
To her surprise, Shin replied softly, "Good morning."
She froze for a moment. Shin never spoke unless prompted. Never initiated. And certainly never smiled.
Yet there he was, a faint but genuine smile curling his lips.
"My, look who's found his voice," Akiha muttered, chuckling warmly.
Breakfast preparations began. Shin, as always, offered his help. But unlike before, there was a confidence in his movements. His once-blank expression was now touched by focus and a subtle joy.
The two older orphan assistants exchanged glances.
"Did Shin always talk this much?" one whispered.
"He's... different today," the other replied.
Shin quietly worked, responding clearly when spoken to, offering help before being asked. Under his silver hair and crimson eyes, a faint glimmer of life shone through.
With swift and careful hands, he prepared breakfast—porridge with a few modest additions. The cook, observing from the side, gave no instruction. She simply nodded and told the older orphans to assist Shin instead.
"I knew it," Akiha thought. "This kid's a hidden genius."
She watched as Shin moved with focus and an almost blissful expression on his face.
Breakfast was soon served. The porridge, once bland and functional, now carried warmth, flavor, and depth.
It was simple. It was good.
The orphans devoured their bowls enthusiastically, exclaiming between bites. Even Yamagishi, the manager, joined in, surprised by the flavor that reminded her of last night's feast.
Across the table, Shin ate silently—his usual manner—but a soft smile remained on his face.
After breakfast, Shin left for kindergarten, walking quietly with the other orphans. Yamagishi and Akiha stood by the doorway, watching them go.
"You were right," Yamagishi murmured.
"About what?" Akiha smirked, sipping her coffee.
"That boy's something else."
"Told you," Akiha chuckled. "Kids grow fast these days."
They both laughed softly.
Yamagishi sighed, remembering. "Just last winter, he was that quiet little thing... until he told me, 'Why are we eating garbage?'"
"Well that's Shin's for you," Akiha said proudly.
Together, they sat at the table, enjoying a rare moment of calm and warm coffee.
At the kindergarten, Shin retained his usual quiet demeanor. However, unlike before, he no longer ignored greetings.
"Morning, Shin!" a classmate called.
"Morning," Shin replied softly.
He still declined most invitations to play, but he did so politely now. As days past , Shin's quiet presence was becoming something familiar—accepted.
In the classroom, Shizuku occasionally glanced in Shin's direction. Her young eyes lingered, curious.
There was something new about him. Something she couldn't quite name. A quiet light behind his crimson eyes, barely visible beneath his silver bangs.
Not quite the same as that moment in the kitchen days ago—but a spark, a shift.
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In the distant reaches of Shin's dreamscape—where no memory lingered and no thought echoed—a void stretched endlessly.
The abyss that had swallowed all remnants of the broken reflection now lay still. Nothing stirred. No whispers echoed.
Yet in that endless dark, a few shards remained—untouched, uncorrupted, pure.
Among them, one shard began to shimmer.
A gentle gleam flickered across its surface. Dim at first. Then again. A rhythm like a heartbeat. As if something buried deep was trying to be remembered.
The shard pulsed, a silent beat resonating in the stillness.
No sound. No voice.
Only light—soft and persistent.
It was waiting.
And with its shimmer, a promise was made.
One day... it would be unraveled.
Then all was still again.
But not the same.