The stare sent a shiver through Kenji's spine.
And then he noticed something unusual.
Around the owl's neck hung a chain, rusted and thin, swaying in the storm. At its end, a pendant—no, a locket—gleamed faintly gold, though dulled with age.
"What the…"
BAAM!
A bolt of lightning slammed down. The streetlamp exploded in sparks, fire licking its base. People screamed, scattering, their umbrellas spinning in the wind like torn wings.
The street was plunged into darkness.
Kenji's eyes darted upward—
The owl was gone.
He stood frozen, breath shallow, while voices echoed around him:
"Run, kid!"
"Get inside, quick!"
"It's dangerous out here!"
But Kenji barely heard them. His ears rang, his heart pounding as if trying to escape his chest.
That owl, is not there now.
– – –
The door slid open.
"Kenji? Is that you?"
The familiar warmth of his mother's voice pulled him back from his thoughts.
Kenji stepped into the small but tidy house.
Kozue Takahashi—his mother—peeked out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She was still in her apron, her dark hair tied back in a bun, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Her expression softened at the sight of him.
"Ah, I thought so. You got soaked again."
Kenji took off his shoes sheepishly. "Sorry. I didn't expect rain today."
Kozue shook her head, amused. "You've loved playing in the rain since you were little. It never fails. But go change before you catch a cold, alright?"
"Yeah," Kenji murmured. He started upstairs, then paused. "Mom…"
She looked up, her expression curious. "Yes?"
"I'm a bit tired. I'll… take a nap for a while. Please don't disturb me."
Kozue's eyes softened. "Of course. Do you want me to bring you anything? Tea?"
"No, thanks."
"Alright, then. Rest well."
Kenji gave a faint nod and went up to his room.
He locked the door, peeled off his damp clothes, and threw on a dry shirt. Collapsing onto his bed, he stared at the ceiling.
"What's happening today?" His voice was barely a whisper. "First that man in the suit… then the incident of library… and now that owl on the way. What am I even supposed to think?"
His gaze drifted toward his backpack. A knot tightened in his stomach.
"That book…"
He sat up quickly, unzipped the bag, and pulled it free.
The heavy volume slid into his hands with unsettling weight. Its cover was cracked, yellowed, with strange rust-brown stains clinging to its edges like dried blood.
The leather binding was rough, uneven, as though patched together from scraps. No title blazed across the front—only a faint sigil burned into the leather, almost invisible in the lamplight. But the side read clearly, in faded gold:
CARCOSA: KINGDOM OF THE LOST ONES.
By Lucas Romanno.
Kenji's pulse quickened.
"It looks… so old… rusty, and broken. Like it was dug out of a grave," he muttered.
He ran his fingertips across the binding. The book felt colder than the room, as though it carried the chill of a long-forgotten crypt.
"Let's see what you're hiding."
He tried to open it. The cover wouldn't budge. He frowned, tugging harder.
"…What?"
The book didn't so much as twitch. He pressed his thumb against the crack, straining to pry it open, but the pages stayed locked together, unyielding.
"Is it… sealed or what?"
Kenji tried again. And again. He even braced it against the edge of his desk and pushed down, muscles tensing.
Nothing.
"Dammit," he hissed, his palms sweating. "What kind of book doesn't even get opened?"
He dropped it onto the desk with a dull thud. The sound lingered, echoing longer than it should have, as though the book itself had a hollow voice hidden inside.
Kenji stared at it, unease crawling in his chest.
"What in the hell are you" he whispered.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to slow his breathing. His heart wouldn't stop pounding.
That was when it came—low, smooth, and cold as if whispered directly into his ear:
"It won't get open… without it."
Kenji's eyes snapped open. He jerked upright so fast his chair scraped against the floor.
"Wh–who's there?!" His voice cracked.
Silence.
The room was still, save for the steady rhythm of rain against the window. He spun around, scanning every corner—the desk, the bed, the closet.
Nothing.
Then—
Scratch, Scratch, Scratch.
The sound crawled across the glass.
Kenji froze. Slowly, he turned toward the window, where a thin curtain swayed with the draft. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and edged forward. His hand trembled as he pinched the curtain's edge and pulled it aside.
At first, he saw only a pointed beak, tapping and scraping against the glass. Then, as lightning cracked across the sky, the shape was revealed.
The owl.
Its sooty-black feathers clung to its body, slick and glistening as if no rain could touch it. Horn-like tufts jutted from its head like the crown of some devilish king. And its eyes—two glowing orbs of molten red—bored straight into him.
Kenji's breath hitched. His body went cold. Every instinct screamed to run, yet his legs refused to move.The creature tilted its head slowly, deliberately, and then its beak parted.
"Why are you staring at me like that… hm?"
The voice was not natural. It wasn't the echoing hoot of a bird but something disturbingly human, calm, playful, laced with mockery.
"W–wyaaahhh!"
Kenji's scream tore free.
He stumbled backwards, crashing into his chair. Both toppled, slamming against the floor as he sprawled with his arms flailing. His pulse thundered in his ears. His eyes never left the window.
The Devil's Owl simply watched him, unblinking.
Kenji lay sprawled on the floor, his chest heaving, eyes fixed on the window. The owl perched on the sill wasn't just an ordinary bird. No—it couldn't be, not after what he had seen on the street earlier, and now in his own room.
Its black, soot-dark feathers seemed to drink in the pale light from outside, and when its orange-yellow eyes glowed red in the faint flashes of lightning, his skin crawled.
"What's the meaning of being so surprised, huh?" the owl asked, its voice calm yet unnervingly sharp.