The morning light spilled across the village of Kinoko, brushing its wooden roofs in a soft gold. Thin lines of smoke rose lazily from chimneys, and the smell of rice porridge and grilled fish drifted over the dirt paths where children chased each other, laughter echoing like wind chimes. To anyone who had lived their entire life here, it was ordinary, comforting, safe.
But Yoshiki Takahiro could never see it that way.
He stood at the edge of the forest, a bundle of firewood balanced on one shoulder. His breath came sharp, clouding faintly in the cool dawn. The world looked peaceful—too peaceful. To him, every creak of the wooden houses, every bark of a dog, every laugh from the fields sounded fragile, as though a single strike could shatter it all.
His grandfather's voice lingered in his ears. "They will come for us, boy. Not to save us… but to chain us again. Remember that."
Yoshiki clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the wood. He didn't know when or how, but he knew his grandfather had not been wrong. Somewhere beyond the horizon, the world they had been cut off from was still moving. Watching. Waiting.
"Oi, Yoshiki!"
The voice rang through the forest, loud and unbothered. Hikaru Hayashi stumbled up the path, scratching the back of his messy black hair, his wooden practice sword slung lazily over his shoulder. His loose yukata sleeves flapped as he half-jogged, half-tripped over a root.
"You're the one who said we'd train at dawn, and you're the one already late?" Hikaru groaned. "I could've stayed in bed for another hour."
Yoshiki didn't even turn. "I'm not late. I was preparing."
"Preparing by lugging enough firewood to heat the whole village for winter?"
The dry remark came from Yuzuriha Mori, who walked gracefully behind them, a basket of herbs nestled against her hip. She wore her dark hair tied neatly with a ribbon, her eyes sharp as she scanned the forest floor for plants even as she kept pace. Unlike Hikaru, she never wasted movements.
Yoshiki set down the bundle with a heavy thud. "Fire sharpens steel. We'll need the flames after training."
Hikaru groaned again. "You mean you'll need them, because you train until you collapse. Meanwhile, I—"
"—get beaten every time," Yoshiki cut him off, tossing him a wooden sword.
Hikaru caught it with a scowl. "Someday, I'll win, you know. Don't get cocky."
Yuzuriha gave the faintest smile, but her gaze lingered on Yoshiki. "Still chasing your grandfather's warnings?"
The air went heavy for a moment. Yoshiki's grip tightened on his sword, his eyes flashing with something between anger and conviction.
"They weren't just warnings," he said quietly. "They were truths. No one else listens, but I will."
Hikaru rolled his eyes. "Here we go again. Invisible enemies, secret conspiracies, a war nobody's seen in nearly a century—"
"Not invisible," Yoshiki snapped. "Just waiting."
The silence stretched until Yuzuriha broke it with her usual calm. "Whether Yoshiki's right or wrong, training won't hurt. Better to be ready for nothing than unready for everything."
Her words, as always, eased the tension. Yoshiki gave her a curt nod and raised his sword. Hikaru groaned, but raised his too.
The three moved into the clearing at the top of the hill. From there, the village of Kinoko spread beneath them like a painting—rice fields shimmering with morning dew, the sea glinting in the distance, the forest stretching endlessly around. To most, it was paradise.
To Yoshiki, it was a cage.
The clash of wooden swords rang out, sharp and rhythmic. Yoshiki drove forward, every strike precise, relentless, his movements fueled by an urgency that bordered on desperation. Hikaru blocked clumsily, sweat flying from his brow as he struggled to keep up.
"Damn it, Yoshiki!" Hikaru gasped. "You fight like the world's ending tomorrow!"
"Because it could."
The words slipped out, low and certain. Hikaru faltered at the weight of them, and Yoshiki's strike knocked the sword from his hands. The wooden blade clattered across the ground.
"You see?" Yoshiki said, his chest rising and falling. "You hesitate because you believe peace will last. But it won't. That's why you'll always lose."
Hikaru sat on the grass, panting, while Yuzuriha knelt to pick up the fallen sword. Her fingers brushed the earth, and for a fleeting moment, she felt something—like a faint vibration, pulsing through the soil, almost in rhythm with Yoshiki's heartbeat.
She froze, her eyes narrowing.
But when she looked again, the sensation was gone.
Shaking her head, she handed the sword back to Hikaru. "Again," she said simply.
And so they did.
Unseen by the three, the forest stirred. A breeze rustled the glowing vines hidden deep in the underbrush, their faint light flickering as though answering a rhythm older than memory.
The island was still singing.