The village slept uneasily that night.
Lanterns still burned in doorways long after the festival should have ended, their warm glow now a ward against fear instead of celebration. The air held a taut silence—broken only by the restless cries of children and the soft murmur of elders offering prayers to the unseen spirits of the island.
But Yoshiki Takahiro was not among the sleepers.
He stood at the edge of the cracked earth in the square, where the faint glow had long since dimmed but not disappeared. His hand brushed the wooden hilt of his practice sword, knuckles pale as he stared at the jagged seam in the ground. The echo of the tremor still lived inside him—not just as fear, but as a call.
"You'll stare a hole into the dirt at this rate," Hikaru Hayashi muttered, dropping a satchel onto the ground beside him. His voice was light, but his eyes flicked warily toward the fissure. "Honestly, Yoshiki, you look more haunted than the elders."
"I don't like how it feels," Yoshiki said, his voice low. "Like the island was… speaking. Like it wanted us to notice."
Hikaru snorted, pulling out three bamboo swords from the satchel. "Or maybe it was just rocks doing what rocks do. Don't tell me you're turning into one of those old men muttering about gods under the earth."
Before Yoshiki could reply, footsteps approached. Yuzuriha Mori emerged from the shadows, her hair tied back and her satchel bulging with notes, scraps of cloth stained faintly blue, and a small jar filled with the luminous sap from the vines. Her eyes were sharp despite the late hour.
"I thought I'd find you two here," she said quietly. "Neither of you are the type to let this go."
"Great," Hikaru said with mock exasperation, handing her a bamboo sword. "Now it's officially a sleepless trio. Tell me you've brought food at least."
Yuzuriha ignored him, crouching by the fissure instead. She set down her jar and opened her notebook, running her fingers across the faint glow pulsing below. "It's weaker now," she observed. "But it hasn't faded completely. That means it's not a random flare—it's consistent. Sustained."
"Like a heartbeat," Yoshiki murmured.
Her gaze flicked to him, and for once, she didn't write. She just nodded.
Hikaru groaned, throwing his hands up. "Wonderful. You two are giving the dirt a personality. Meanwhile, I'm trying to make sure none of us lose our heads when the ground decides to do that again. Which, by the way, is why I brought these."
He tossed the bamboo swords at them. Yuzuriha caught hers clumsily, while Yoshiki's grip was instinctive, practiced.
"We're training?" she asked, surprised.
"You think?" Hikaru said."If the island's going to throw earthquakes at us, we might as well get stronger. Yoshiki's already half convinced we're going to be invaded by ghost armies or something. At least if we train, we'll be ready for… whatever."
Yoshiki's lips quirked, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Finally, you're starting to see it my way."
"I'm not," Hikaru said quickly, planting his sword into the dirt. "I just know I'd rather face something scary with calloused hands than empty ones."
The three stood in silence for a moment, the weight of his words lingering. Then Yoshiki raised his bamboo sword.
"Alright. Let's begin."
The first swings were clumsy.
Yuzuriha's grip was too stiff, her swings wild and unbalanced. Hikaru mocked her form until she smacked his shoulder with the flat of her sword, leaving him sputtering. Yoshiki, on the other hand, moved with a focus that silenced even Hikaru's jokes. Each strike was sharp, precise, his movements honed from years of stubborn training.
"Show-off," Hikaru muttered, though there was admiration hidden beneath his words.
"Discipline," Yoshiki corrected.
But soon the banter gave way to sweat and effort. The moonlight gleamed on their foreheads as they sparred, stumbled, and laughed through mistakes. Their laughter wasn't loud—it carried the nervous edge of people trying to make light of something heavier—but it was real.
By the time dawn tinted the horizon pink, the three of them collapsed in the grass, breathing hard, bamboo swords abandoned at their sides.
Yuzuriha stared up at the fading stars. "Do you think the island meant to warn us? Or was it just… being itself?"
Yoshiki didn't answer right away. He closed his eyes, hearing again his grandfather's voice in his dreams. Be ready, Yoshiki.
Finally, he said, "It was a warning. I can feel it."
Hikaru turned his head, meeting Yoshiki's gaze. "If it was, then fine. We'll be ready. Together."
Yuzuriha smiled faintly at that, her notebook forgotten beside her.
For the first time since the ground had split, none of them felt entirely alone.
And though they didn't know it yet, this night—this choice to train, to stand together—would be the first step toward a bond that would shape not just their lives, but the future of the entire island.