Morning came with birdsong.
Arai Masaki sat quietly in the barn, watching dust drift through beams of golden sunlight. His hoodie, still damp from the previous day, clung uncomfortably to his skin. His stomach twisted with hunger, but he ignored it. There were more important things to consider.
He had spent the night in hiding.
Now… he had to make a choice.
Do I stay in the shadows? Or step into the light?
His body ached from the cold floor. His muscles were tight, but his breath was steady.
He listened.
The village beyond the barn was beginning to wake. Wooden doors creaked open. Hooves clicked on stone paths. A rooster crowed.
He took one last breath and stood up.
Time to move.
He emerged slowly from the barn.
No dramatic entrance. No raised hands.
Just slow, deliberate steps toward the nearest path.
The first person who noticed him was a girl—no older than twelve—carrying a basket of vegetables. She froze mid-step when she saw him.
Arai met her gaze and gently raised a hand.
"...Good morning."
His voice was calm, not too loud, not too soft.
The girl blinked. Her eyes darted to the basket, then back to him. Without a word, she turned and ran.
Okay.Not a great start, but expected.
Within moments, murmurs rippled through the village. Doors cracked open. Faces peeked from behind curtains. A few men stepped forward, wary, cautious.
One of them carried a farming tool.
Another had a sword.
I can't blame them.
Arai stood his ground, arms lowered, posture relaxed.
A middle-aged woman approached from the back of the group. Her clothes were simple, but clean. Her presence was... firm.
"You're not from around here," she said, her accent slightly strange.
Arai shook his head. "No."
"You come from the capital?"
"I don't know where that is."
She squinted. "You're lost?"
He paused. Then nodded. "You could say that."
There was silence. A stare. Judging.
Then, to his surprise—she sighed.
"You don't look like a thief," she muttered. "But you don't look like a traveler either."
Arai didn't respond.
"Name?"
"Arai Masaki."
That gave her pause.
"…That's not a name I've heard before."
Obviously, he thought. It's from a world you've never seen.
Eventually, she signaled the others to lower their guard.
"You're lucky," she said. "We don't usually welcome strangers. But we've had a good harvest. The spirits seem calm."
She pointed to a small cottage near the edge of the village.
"You can rest there for now. It's an old storage shed. Don't cause trouble."
Arai bowed slightly.
"…Thank you."
He meant it.
The shed was small. Dusty. Cobwebbed. But it had a roof, a blanket, and a basin for water.
For now, it was enough.
Arai placed his hoodie near the window to dry. He sat down, back against the wall, and finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He was... safe.
At least for now.
A knock on the door made him glance up.
It was the girl from earlier.
She held out a piece of flat bread and a small cup of what looked like soup.
She didn't speak.
Just stared.
Then ran away.
Arai stared at the food.
Warm. Fragrant.
Real.
He sat quietly and ate—slowly, respectfully.
That night, he didn't sleep in the forest.He didn't lie on mud.He didn't fight the cold.
He lay on a thin blanket, under a wooden roof, and listened to the quiet hum of a peaceful village.
No ticking clock.No train horns.No glowing screens.
Just the sound of distant insects, the rustle of wind in grass…
…and a faint flicker of something new in his chest.
Not hope.
Not yet.
But the start of something.