The village looked the same at first glance—smoke rising from hearths, farmers tending to their plots, children darting through the narrow streets. But the soldiers had changed everything. Their presence was constant, a shadow over every gesture, every breath. Even laughter seemed quieter now.
Yoshiki walked slowly through the market square, a bundle of firewood balanced over his shoulder. To anyone watching, he was just another villager running errands. But his eyes scanned more than stalls and baskets. He watched people—faces, expressions, the way they stiffened when soldiers passed.
Who can I trust?
That was the question gnawing at him since Yuzuriha's warning. The wrong word to the wrong person, and they'd all be dragged into the camp.
He spotted Haruto, the young smith's apprentice, hammering nails into a crate. Loyal. Strong. But too hot-headed—one wrong push and he'd fight openly. Risky.
He saw Ayame, the farmer's daughter, exchanging nervous glances with her family as soldiers inspected their harvest. Too frightened. She would break if pressed.
And then his gaze landed on Daichi, his childhood friend, hauling sacks of grain with steady patience. Daichi's eyes flicked toward the soldiers, narrowing ever so slightly before settling back into his work. Controlled. Careful.
Yoshiki felt the warmth in his chest stir. Maybe him.
Meanwhile, Hikaru moved along the rooftops, silent as a shadow. He crouched behind the slanted tiles of a carpenter's home, eyes sharp, memorizing every soldier's route. He whispered under his breath, committing patterns to memory: "Four guards east… six by the well… rotations every twelve minutes." His mind wove the map, piece by piece, until the entire village was a net of boots and rifles.
Elsewhere, Yuzuriha sat cross-legged in her home, papers spread before her like an altar. Her eyes traced every line, every graph. The resonance diagrams flickered in her mind, whispering truths the government had yet to uncover. She tapped her pen against the lantern light.
Energy… emotion… stress. The triggers are not random. They're patterns waiting to be solved.
She paused, staring at her own silhouette on the page. Her nervous system drawn like rivers of light. Fainter than Yoshiki's, less defined.
"…Then why do his lines burn brighter?" she murmured.
Back in the square, Yoshiki finally set down his bundle of firewood, wiping sweat from his brow. Daichi passed by, nodding in greeting. For a moment, their eyes met. Yoshiki's throat tightened with words unsaid. Do I tell him? Do I risk it?
But before he could decide, a shrill whistle cut the air. Soldiers barked orders, driving villagers into neat rows. A "random inspection."
Yoshiki's chest burned hotter. Hikaru, from above, clenched his jaw. Yuzuriha froze, the lanternlight flickering across her papers.
The hunt had begun in earnest.