"Peace is the quiet between two screams." – Old Harama Saying
Shinganatsu Station sat like a sentinel between Tilbara's mountains and lakes. Its round walls were smaller than Durama's, but its position made it vital. Traders who passed through claimed the lakes here reflected more than the sky. They whispered that when the world shifted, the water showed not just what was—but what would be.
On this morning, however, the reflections were wrong. The clouds above were steady, yet in the lake, shadows shifted as though the sky itself was breathing. The station commander, a weary man in iron-gray armor, stood at the gates waiting for his reinforcements.
That reinforcement was a small shinobi squad led by Harama Academy mentors. At the front walked two brothers, still young but already carrying weight beyond their years.
Ken Hiroki, restless and sharp-eyed, tapped the hilt of his short blade against his leg as if daring something to attack. "Quiet," he muttered. "Too quiet."
Beside him, Kabe Hiroki scanned the trees with calm precision. His hand never left the strap of his weapon. "You always want noise. Sometimes silence means safety."
Ken gave a short laugh. "Or it means something's waiting."
Behind them followed their mentors: Tina-sensei, serious and strict, Reka-sensei with her calm poise, Azuma-sensei whose humor lightened the air, and Ayumi-sensei, whose sharp gaze saw more than anyone admitted. They brought the boys not only to guard Shinganatsu but to learn what true danger felt like beyond Harama's walls.
The commander bowed shallowly. "I'm grateful Harama answered so quickly. Something's wrong here. Caravans vanish on the road. At night, lights flicker over the lakes. And the water…" He trailed off, his eyes lowering toward the still surface behind him.
Ken stepped closer to the lakeside. At first, he saw only his reflection—his dark hair, his impatient scowl. Then the reflection shifted. His face was older now, marked by scars, eyes dulled with exhaustion. Blood trickled down his cheek though no wound touched him.
Ken's breath caught. He stumbled back.
On the other side, Kabe stared at his own reflection. He saw himself standing tall, sword in hand—but no Ken at his side. He was alone, and the silence pressed down like a weight.
Kabe clenched his jaw and looked away before Ken noticed.
The station bells tolled suddenly, their clangs echoing across the water. Shadows rippled outward, rising from the mirrored surface. Figures clawed their way out—half-human, half-beast, stitched by blackened ash. Their jaws snapped and twisted, voices whispering names that were not their own.
"Positions!" Tina-sensei's voice cut like steel.
The shinobi squad formed a line. Ken leapt forward, blade flashing. The creature met him with a shriek, and the force rattled his arms. He gritted his teeth and drove the blade into its shoulder, ash spilling like smoke.
Kabe flanked another, his movements precise, every strike measured. He severed limbs, his face unreadable even as the creature's whispers clung to him.
The air thickened with battle cries and shadow. But through the chaos, one figure stood unmoving on the opposite bank.
A woman cloaked in swirling ash. Her hair drifted as though underwater, and her pale eyes glowed faintly. She did not fight. She only watched.
Leisha. The Ash-Witch.
Her lips curved into a smile that never touched her eyes. Then the wind shifted, and her form scattered into ash, leaving only the silence.
The last creature fell, its body dissolving back into the lake. The water stilled, as though nothing had happened.
Ken's shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths. He looked back at the surface of the lake, searching for that scarred reflection. Nothing remained. Only his own face stared back.
"It's like the world itself was holding its breath," he muttered, voice low. "And now it's waiting for something worse."
The silence returned, heavier than before.
The bodies of the creatures left no trace behind, only streaks of gray ash that the wind carried across the water. The shinobi regrouped at the station gates, their armor scuffed, their breathing sharp.
The commander's hands shook as he bowed deeply. "If you hadn't come…" He swallowed hard. "We would've been devoured like the caravans."
Tina-sensei's eyes narrowed. "These weren't random attackers. They were pulled through—summoned."
Reka-sensei crouched at the water's edge, dipping her fingers into the lake. Ripples spread outward, distorting the reflections. "The seal-lines here are weakening. Whoever controls them wants us to see what's coming."
Ken kicked a pebble into the water. "I saw myself—older. Bleeding. Like I'd already lost."
Kabe didn't speak. His mind lingered on the vision of standing alone. He felt it like a weight pressing against his ribs.
Azuma-sensei clapped him lightly on the shoulder, forcing a grin. "Visions are tricks. Meant to scare you into stumbling. Don't let them."
But Ayumi-sensei's voice cut in sharply. "Not tricks. Warnings. Lakes have long memory. They show what might be. What can be prevented… or fulfilled."
The brothers exchanged a glance. Neither wanted to admit how much the visions rattled them.
The council convened in the commander's quarters that night. The air was thick with incense meant to ward off ash-spirits, but it did little to settle nerves.
"The Ash-Witch," Tina said plainly, breaking the silence. "She was watching."
The commander paled. "Then this isn't just a border raid. This is a message."
Ken leaned against the wall, fists clenched. "If she wants to scare us, it's working. But it also means she's afraid of something. Or someone."
Prince Qinglua's messenger, a hawk-eyed young shinobi, rose from his seat. "The Prince commands that you return to Evalia at once. He will hear of this himself."
The mentors nodded. The decision was clear.
Later, as the group prepared to leave, Ken lingered by the lake once more. Moonlight scattered across its surface, silver and sharp. For a moment, he saw nothing but his reflection. Then, faintly, like a ghost beneath the water, the scarred version of himself returned.
This time, the reflection whispered.
"Not yet. But soon."