The forest was different in the mornings.
Dew dripped from leaves in glittering beads, mist clung low to the undergrowth, and shafts of sunlight pierced through the canopy like the fingers of a god. Yuzuriha Mori walked carefully, her basket swinging lightly at her side, her notebook tucked against her chest.
She was alone today—or as alone as anyone could be in a forest that never seemed to sleep. Birds shrieked from above, unseen insects buzzed in the shadows, and something larger rustled just out of sight. But Yuzuriha wasn't afraid.
Her eyes scanned the ground until she found it—a cluster of glowing vines curling around the roots of an ancient cedar. She knelt, brushing her fingers against the faintly luminous leaves. The glow was weak in daylight but still visible, like veins of moonlight trapped in living tissue.
She pulled a small knife from her satchel, slicing carefully at the stem. The liquid that oozed out wasn't green but pale silver, shimmering faintly as it slid down the blade. Yuzuriha held it up to the light, her breath catching.
"Not sap," she murmured, jotting notes with her free hand. "Mineral content? Energy residue? …Alive?"
Her handwriting was neat but quick, the page filling with sketches of the vine's structure.
A twig snapped behind her.
"Don't tell me you're harvesting glowing weeds again."
Yuzuriha glanced back to find Hikaru Hayashi trudging toward her, his wooden practice sword slung lazily over his shoulder. His hair was messy, his expression equal parts annoyance and fatigue.
"You followed me," Yuzuriha said plainly.
"You vanish at dawn and expect me not to?" Hikaru grumbled, though his eyes flicked nervously toward the glowing vine. "Seriously, Mori… doesn't that stuff freak you out? What if it's poisonous? Or cursed?"
"If it were poisonous, I'd already be dead."
"That's not exactly comforting."
Yuzuriha ignored him, capping a small vial of the glowing liquid before sliding it into her satchel. "Fear is wasted energy, Hikaru. Observation is better."
"Observation won't save you if that thing sprouts fangs," Hikaru muttered.
Yuzuriha allowed herself a small smile. His sarcasm was predictable, almost comforting in its own way. But beneath it, she heard the unease—the same unease she herself felt but refused to admit.
Before she could reply, another presence approached.
"Training without me?"
Yoshiki Takahiro stepped into the clearing, sweat already dripping from his brow. He carried two practice swords, his stance sharp even at rest. His dark eyes immediately settled on the glowing vine, then on the vial Yuzuriha had tucked away.
"You're risking too much, Yuzuriha," he said flatly. "That stuff isn't safe."
"It's knowledge," she corrected, standing to face him. "And knowledge is safer than ignorance."
For a moment, their gazes locked—Yoshiki's fiery intensity against Yuzuriha's calm precision. Two sides of the same conviction.
Hikaru groaned, waving his hands between them. "Here we go again. He thinks everything is a threat. You think everything is an experiment. And I'm stuck between the paranoid and the curious."
"Better than being stuck between the blind and the blind," Yoshiki shot back, earning a sharp glare from Hikaru.
Before the argument could escalate, the forest interrupted.
A sudden wind swept through the clearing, sharp and unnatural. The vines shivered violently, their glow intensifying, casting eerie patterns across the cedar's bark. The air grew thick, heavy, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Yuzuriha froze.
She could feel it—something deeper than wind. A pulse, faint but steady, echoing beneath her feet. Not just sound, not just vibration. Something alive.
Her eyes widened, but when she glanced at Yoshiki, she saw the same recognition burning in his gaze.
"You feel it too," he said quietly. Not a question—an affirmation.
"I…" Yuzuriha's voice caught in her throat. She steadied herself. "Yes. A rhythm. Like—" She hesitated. "—like the earth is breathing."
Hikaru looked between them, his expression caught between confusion and irritation. "Oh great, now you're both hearing ghost-heartbeats. Wonderful. Maybe I should just start talking to trees and join the madness."
Neither Yoshiki nor Yuzuriha answered. Their focus remained locked on the pulsing glow of the vines, the rhythm thrumming through the soil.
The wind stilled. The glow dimmed. The heartbeat faded.
Just like that, the forest returned to its ordinary chorus of birds and insects.
But the silence that followed was heavier than before.
Yuzuriha pressed her notebook against her chest, her knuckles white. The scientist in her screamed for more data, for explanation, for something measurable. But another part of her—the part she rarely admitted existed—felt something else.
Awe.
Fear.
And a quiet certainty that Yoshiki was right.
The island was alive. And it was waiting.