Elena Hoshino's POV:
I only know Brother for… um… twenty-two hours? Maybe twenty-two naps? Counting is super hard when you're small. But somehow it feels like he knew me even when I was still a tiny potato baby—y'know, when I couldn't walk or talk and just sat there like a soft vegetable with emotions. Brother looks at me like he remembers all my potato stages. It makes my chest feel warm and wiggly.
Brother is warm and comfy, and he smells like sunshine mixed with something yummy, like toasted bread. When he picks me up, my whole body goes all floppy and melty. And he's super, super, SUPER cool! Cooler than Papa's sword and Mama's sparkly hair things combined!
Today, Brother made fire come out of his hands.
His HANDS.
JUST his HANDS.
I stared so hard my eyes forgot how blinking works. My tiny baby brain almost exploded into sparkles. I shouted "AAAH!!" in a happy way, not a sad, crying way. Then I clapped so fast my hands made little slappy sounds like pat-pat-pat! Brother laughed, and when he did, it felt like the entire room got brighter.
Mama and Papa always say, "No touch! Hot!" and "Don't eat that!" and "Why are you inside the cupboard again?" But, Brother… he lets me help. He keeps me safe with his big, warm hands, but he still lets me do important grown-up things like cooking. He lets me stir stuff even when I splash half of it on myself. He lets me pour things even when I miss the bowl completely. He holds my hands when I'm mixing so I feel like a REAL chef, not a potato.
Today he helped me make… um… baget… bagwet… bagoooo… Oh! Oh! Baguette! The long, crunchy breadstick thing! Brother put my tiny baby hands on the dough and helped me push and squish it. It felt soft and squishy, like a squiggly pillow pretending to be food. I giggled so hard I drooled, just a little… okay, maybe a lot.
Sometimes when I look at Brother, something in my tiny heart says,
"I know you."
Even though it's only been twenty-two hours.
Even though I'm still kinda a potato.
I love Brother.
He's magic.
He's safe.
He feels like home.
"Huh? Why're you still awake? It's already eight!" Brother peeked into my room, his hair all messy like he'd wrestled with a pillow—or maybe the ceiling.
"Story!" I begged, waving my tiny fists like I was about to launch an all-out assault of cuteness.
"Fine, just one story," he sighed, rubbing his eyes, "then you've got to sleep, alright?"
I nodded desperately, my puppy eyes practically glowing. He chuckled.
"This is a story about a young boy who fell off a cliff…" he began, lowering his voice for dramatic effect.
"And then?" I asked eagerly, leaning forward so far I nearly toppled off my chair.
"And then he… died."
"Brother!" I whined, my hands flying to my cheeks. "That's… that's not a story! That's just… tragedy!"
He smirked, clearly enjoying my horror. "Fiiiiine," he said, waving his hand like a magician revealing the next trick. "The boy fell… into a sea of trees."
"A… sea of trees?" I asked, my brows knitting together. "Isn't that… um… dangerous too?"
"Exactly!" he said, eyes twinkling. "But these aren't normal trees. Oh no. They're the tickliest, giggliest trees you could ever imagine! Every time the boy tried to run, the trees would tickle his toes, his knees, even his nose!"
I burst into laughter. "Nooo! How did he survive?"
"Well," he continued, leaning in like this was top-secret intel, "he didn't. But only because… he tried to argue with a squirrel! That squirrel was the captain of the tickle-trees. And you NEVER argue with a squirrel captain. Ever."
I gasped dramatically. "And… and then what happened? Did the squirrel eat him?"
Brother wagged his finger. "Oh, no no no. The squirrel was civilised… mostly. Instead, he made the boy do… one hundred cartwheels across the forest floor while singing a song about cheese!"
I squealed. "One hundred?! Singing about… cheese?!"
He nodded solemnly. "And he had to do it barefoot, Ella. Barefoot. On… thorny bushes!"
I gasped again, clutching my tiny chest. "That's… horrifying!""And," he added, leaning back smugly, "that's why the boy never slept past eight ever again. Because the tickle-trees don't take naps, and the squirrel captain… well, he never forgets."
I buried my face in the pillow, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. "Brother… your stories are… insane!"
"And that," he said with a wink, "is why I'm the best storyteller in the world. Now sleep, or the tickle-trees will come for YOU next."
I yelped and scrambled under the covers, giggling uncontrollably.
"Can Brother tell me a proper story? Not like this," I peeked at him from under my covers, only my eyes showing.
"Hmm, let me think," Brother scratched his chin with the seriousness of a philosopher discovering life's meaning.
"Oh, I know!" His whole face lit up as he dramatically raised a finger.
"You see, let me tell you a story about Kawa and the Nine-tailed Snow Fox—"
"Brother, that's you!! No way that's you!" I protested instantly.
The effect was immediate.
His eyes widened… froze… then slowly narrowed with the painful slowness of a dying star collapsing in on itself.
Then—very quietly—he looked away.
Not normally.
No.
He turned with the tragic grace of a man whose entire soul had just been stabbed by the tiniest, cutest dagger ever forged.
I could practically see the invisible blade sticking out of his chest—made of ice, sharpened by betrayal, forged from my words.
His shoulders dipped. A soft gasp escaped him.
If there had been dramatic background music, it would've been a three-minute heartbreak OST.
"…How could you?" he whispered, voice trembling with the weight of a thousand emotional scars.
For a moment, he looked like he might stare out the window and monologue about life.
But then, with a cough and a sudden recovery that should honestly win awards, he straightened up.
"Okay then!! How about Boy and Fox?" Brother declared as if nothing had happened.
"Okie," I nodded.
"After surviving the great fall from the cliff, Boy stumbled into the forest with no sense of direction at all. He was lost, lonely, and sad," Brother narrated with such dramatic intensity that I wondered if he was trying to win Best Voice Actor of the Year.
"And then, he remembered he had stuffed his mother's sandwiches in his pocket. He took out the squashed sandwiches and started chewing them. Munch, munch, munch!"
Brother suddenly leaned over and bit my arm.
"Hey!!" I squeaked, diving under the blanket like a turtle retreating into its shell.
"And then," he paused grandly, "Boy heard a deep, rumbling voice: Boy, you look delicious. I'm going to eat you! ROAR!!"
"And then?" I whispered, hooked.
"But then," Brother flicked my forehead, "that was just his inner thoughts. Nothing scary."
I peeked out from under the blanket again. "Then where did the scary voice come from?"
"Oh-ho-ho," Brother smirked dramatically. "THAT… is where the real story begins."
He settled himself beside me, clearing his throat like he was about to narrate a legend whispered for centuries.
"Boy kept walking and walking, tripping over roots, brushing spiderwebs off his face, and complaining every five seconds. You know—like you when you don't get your snacks."
"HEY—"
"Anyway," he continued loudly, drowning me out, "that deep, scary voice echoed again: BOY… YOU LOOK DELICIOUS…"
I shivered a little. "Then Boy ran?"
"Nope," Brother grinned. "He just stared into the darkness and said, 'Can you not? I'm trying to eat my sandwich."
I giggled.
"And THAT," Brother declared, "is when he saw it."
He leaned closer to me so suddenly that I squeaked.
"The shadows parted… the snow on the ground shimmered… and from behind the trees stepped a huge, glowing creature with nine beautiful tails swaying like silk in the wind."
I blinked slowly. "Like… like a fox fairy?"
"Exactly." His voice softened, deepening with warmth. "And even though she looked dangerous, with eyes bright as winter stars… she wasn't scary at all."
"What was she?" I whispered.
"Kind," Brother said, his expression gentle. "Really, unbelievably kind. She spoke like someone who'd lived a thousand winters, but her smile felt… warm. Warmer than the campfires Boy never learned how to make."
I laughed.
"She padded closer, sniffed the air, and said—'Oh. You're not food. You're just… small.'"
"BROTHER!" I squeaked, offended on Boy's behalf.
He snorted. "What? It's true! She literally looked at him like he was a baby bird."
I crossed my arms. "Then what did Boy do?"
"He puffed out his chest—like this." Brother exaggeratedly flexed.
"But his voice cracked when he said, 'I-I'm actually very strong!'"
I burst into laughter.
"And the fox," Brother said, hiding a smile, "tilted her head and replied gently… 'Then why are you crying?'"
My laughter stopped. My eyes widened. "He cried?"
"Buckets," Brother said seriously. "Absolute waterfalls. Rivers. Oceans."
I couldn't stop giggling.
"But," Brother continued softly, "she sat beside him. Wrapped her huge, fluffy tails around him like a blanket. And said… 'Don't be afraid. I'll guide you."
My breath settled.
"That's when Boy realised," Brother murmured, brushing my hair gently away from my face,
"That's the scariest thing in the dark aren't always monsters. Sometimes… they're just lonely too."
I curled into him a little more, suddenly warm.
Brother let the last words of the story fade into the quiet of the room, his voice softening like the last glow of a nightlight.
"And that," he whispered, "is how the mighty Boy and the Nine-tailed Snow Fox began their legendary journey together…"
He sighed, satisfied with his own storytelling brilliance, and turned to look at me—probably expecting wide, sparkling eyes and another dozen questions.
Instead…
I was already fast asleep.
Completely gone.
Blanket pulled over my head.
Mouth ajar.
Drooling just a little.
Brother blinked.
Then blinked again.
"I poured my soul into that story," he whispered dramatically to himself. "My heart. My artistry."
No response. I snored softly.
He stared at me like a betrayed storyteller-poet, clutching an invisible script to his chest.
"…Unbelievable," he muttered, but the way he reached out to tuck the blanket gently around me said something else entirely—something soft and warm.
He brushed my hair once, fondly and carefully, then whispered,
"Goodnight, little critic."
And with one last look at my peacefully sleeping face, he stood and tiptoed out of the room. The door clicked shut like the last page of a story only he remembered telling.
Hoshikawa Hoshino's POV:
I can't believe my little sister didn't believe me when I tried telling her the story of Kawa and the Nine-tailed Snow Fox! How could she?
"Yeah! How could she do this to Papa?"
"But on the other hand, others will only perceive this to be a fictional story." I looked down at Stella softly.
"But nice story! I always knew me Mama was kind, pwetty, loving, gentle…" Stella started listing off a bunch of things she thought her mother was.
"I'm going to sleep first," I sat on my bed, gently lifting Stella from my pocket.
"Aw, Papa, you sure are boring," Stella pouted.
I patted her head.
"Good night, Stella," I smiled.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Sleep drags me under—and instead of darkness, I open my eyes to light.
Not the harsh, blinding kind.
A soft white vastness stretches out beneath my feet, a field of clouds glowing faintly like silver snow.
Golden light pours from above, warm and gentle, humming like a distant song.
It feels serene.
Suspiciously serene.
A presence ripples through the air behind me—quiet, familiar, and impossible to ignore.
"You found your way home."
The voice is smooth, echoing lazily through the endless white.
Valtheris steps forward from the glow, walking across the clouds as if he's the one who wrote the rules of gravity.
This time, shadows do not envelop him.
He's draped in gold and white, the light bending around him like he's its rightful master.
His smile is soft—too soft to be trusted.
"I thought about it, Hoshikawa," he says, gesturing lightly around us.
"And I wondered… wouldn't this be more convincing that I'm a good god?"
I blink at him. "…This?"
"Yes," he says with a shrug. "You seemed so doubtful last time. So I improved the scenery. Humans prefer brightness, don't they? Warmth. Clouds. A bit of heavenly charm."
He sweeps an arm grandly, and the sky flares brighter in response.
"See? No darkness. No ominous void.
Just purity, light… and my best attempt at looking benevolent."
It should be comforting.
Instead, it feels like watching a fox wear a priest's robe.
"You think changing the background makes you trustworthy?" I ask.
He laughs—a warm, ringing sound that feels almost real.
"Trustworthy? No. But appealing? Perhaps."
His eyes gleam with amusement.
"Besides… my riddle did come true, did it not?"
Fang's steady presence flashes through my memory—the wolf guiding me home, step by step.
Valtheris watches the realisation settle on my face.
"You read the riddle correctly.
Most mortals don't.
I felt you deserved… acknowledgement."
I narrow my eyes. "This place is still an act."
He presses a hand dramatically to his chest.
"An act? Hoshikawa, please. I arranged this entire sky for you."
The clouds beneath us ripple in a slow, gentle wave, almost like a bow.
Valtheris steps closer, the golden light tracing the edges of his face until he looks like a painting come alive.
"Now that you trust me—just a little—should we discuss your next step?"
The clouds tremble again, as if waiting for a door to open beneath them.
Valtheris smiles, serene and sharp at the same time.
"The path you walk has only begun.
And your next riddle is ready."
Valtheris's smile fades, just slightly—enough to make the air tighten as if the sky itself is holding its breath.
He lifts his hand.
Golden light gathers in his palm, swirling like threads of fate twisting into a knot.
"Listen closely, Hoshikawa.
This riddle will not guide your feet…
but your heart."
The clouds darken around us, dimming from white to pearl, as though the dream itself bows to his voice.
Then he speaks:
"There will come a night
when the moon stands still,
and the stars refuse to sing.
On that night, one who walks beside you
will fall into silence—
not from weakness,
But from choosing to protect a truth you are not ready to see.
Seek the echo that does not come from a voice,
And you will understand
what must be saved…
and what must be left behind."
His words hang in the air like a veil made of frost.
I feel the meaning brushing against me—too large, too loud, too close—but slipping away the moment I reach for it.
"…What does that even mean?" I ask.
Valtheris tilts his head, that faint smirk returning.
"If I tell you directly, it won't come true.
And if it doesn't come true… you'll die.
So let the riddle breathe."
That does not comfort me.
He steps closer, and the clouds recoil from his feet like water.
His voice softens—not kind, but serious in a way that unsettles the air.
"There is a moment coming soon.
Closer than you think.
And when it arrives… the people you love will not be enough to save you."
I stiffen. "What do you mean?"
Valtheris gazes at me with unsettling calm, as if he sees something in me that even I don't.
"A choice is approaching—
slow as snowfall,
inevitable as dawn.
One path saves one.
One path saves another.
Both paths will demand a sacrifice.
You cannot save all."
The golden light behind him flares, trembling like a dying star.
He leans in, voice a whisper edged with something ancient.
"And remember this: do not be so stubborn as not to listen to my words."
The clouds shudder under our feet.
My breath stops.
"I will remind you again when the time comes."
Valtheris only smiles—beautiful, distant, and unbearably unreadable.
"If you knew, you would run.
And your story requires you to continue walking."
The sky cracks with light.
His final words echo through the dream, threading into my bones like cold fire:
"Prepare yourself, Hoshikawa.
The future is already watching."
As his final words faded, the golden light around him began to ripple—
Like the sky itself was exhaling.
The clouds under my feet softened, thinning into mist.
Valtheris's silhouette blurred, the bright white around him stretching into long strands of light,
As though someone were pulling the world away thread by thread.
He lifted a hand, almost lazily, as if amused.
"Time's caught up to you again," he murmured.
"You'll wake soon. Don't pretend I didn't warn you."
A gentle tug caught the centre of my chest —
not painful, just inevitable —
And the entire scene dropped out from beneath me.
The light, the warmth, the god, the clouds…
All collapsed into darkness.
Then—
A breath.
A blink.
I fell back into my body,
I snapped awake as if someone had pulled me straight out of the sky.