The cicadas screamed in the trees again. It was the kind of sound that seeped into your bones, so loud and steady you stopped noticing it after a while. Ren Ito leaned against the warped doorframe of his grandmother's shop, arms folded, squinting at the dusty road that cut through the heart of Meiling town.
The town never changed. It was the sort of place stuck in time wooden homes with sagging roofs, crooked fences patched too many times to count, the cracked river bridge that still held together out of stubbornness more than structure. The farmers still woke before dawn, the fishermen still cursed at the same spots in the river, and the same gossipy women sat in front of the bakery every morning pretending not to stare at passersby.
To most people, Meiling was boring. To Ren, it was suffocating.
"Kai!"
The voice snapped him out of his haze. He turned to see a stooped old woman shuffling through the shop door, a bundle of dried herbs in her arms. Her back was bent but her eyes glittered sharply beneath strands of silver hair.
"You're standing around again," she scolded. "The shop doesn't run itself, boy."
Ren sighed, stepping inside as the bell above the door gave its weak, off-key jangle. "It's not like anyone's coming in today anyway, Grandma."
"That's because you scare them off with that sulking face of yours."
"I don't sulk."
"You sulk," she said firmly, dumping the herbs on the counter. Dust puffed into the air. "If you don't stop sulking, the shadows will cling to you."
Ren rolled his eyes. Here we go again. "Grandma…"
"What? You think I'm just muttering nonsense again?" Her voice rose, sharp as the snap of a twig. "The world isn't as solid as these villagers think. Cracks are everywhere. If you know how to look, you can see the truth leaking through."
Ren rubbed the back of his neck. He'd heard these words before, more times than he could count. Old Lady Rihanna, with her ghost stories and doomsday mutterings, had been the butt of town gossip for decades. Everyone humored her, but nobody believed her. Nobody except Ren not really. But that didn't mean he liked hearing it.
"You keep telling me this," Ren said, dropping behind the counter. He began half-heartedly wiping it down with a rag. "And every time I ask what it means, you never give me a straight answer."
"Because some truths aren't meant to be spoon-fed," she replied, lowering herself into a chair with a grunt. "You have to earn them. See them with your own eyes. Only then will you understand."
Ren looked up at her, annoyance fading a little as he caught the glint in her gaze. She wasn't mocking. She wasn't senile. She believed every word.
And the strangest part? Sometimes,Ren almost believed her too.
The day drifted on. A few customers came in for dried herbs, oil lamps, or small charms his grandmother still crafted despite few believing in them. The shop was always half-empty, shelves cluttered with strange jars and scrolls, some so old the ink had faded to ghosts.
By afternoon, Ren was sent to fetch supplies from the market. He trudged down the street, weaving through the bustle of vendors and children chasing one another with sticks. The air was thick with the scent of fried dumplings and horse dung, an odd combination that somehow defined the town.
"Ah, if it isn't Old Rihanna's grandson."
Ren stiffened. A group of men lounging near the well smirked at him.
"Did she tell you today's the day the sky falls?" one jeered.
"Or maybe the rivers turn to blood?" another added, snickering.
Ren kept walking, fists tightening at his sides. He'd learned not to respond.
"They say madness skips a generation," one called after him. "Best be careful, boy. Don't catch her sickness."
Ren exhaled slowly, forcing himself not to turn around. He hated them. Hated how easily they dismissed her, how quick they were to laugh. They didn't know what it was like to sit across from her at night, hearing her voice grow quiet and serious as she spoke of monsters, of shadows, of a sky that would one day break open like glass.
They didn't know that sometimes, Ren believed she was right.
By the time he returned, clouds had gathered overhead. Not the heavy gray of storms, but high, thin streaks that pulsed faintly with light. It was subtle, but Kai froze when he saw it.
Threads. Cracks.
They stretched faintly across the sky, thin as spiderwebs, shimmering just enough to make his eyes ache if he stared too long.
His grandmother stepped out of the shop as if she had been waiting.
"You see it, don't you?" she said softly.
Ren swallowed. "What is it?"
Her lips curved in a sad smile. "Proof."
"Grandma, stop. It's just"
"Not clouds," she cut in. "Not tricks of the eye. The first sign. The skin of the world is wearing thin."
Ren's throat tightened. He wanted to laugh it off, say it was just his imagination. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something in the air had changed. Even the cicadas were quiet.
The birds, too.
They clustered on the wires, wings restless, heads twitching. Their calls were short, sharp, like alarms.
Ren shivered.
"Come inside," his grandmother said. "It will begin sooner than you think."
That night, Ren couldn't sleep.
He lay awake on his narrow bed above the shop, staring at the ceiling while the wind creaked against the shutters. Every whisper of sound made his heart jolt. He kept replaying the sight of those faint cracks, the restless birds, the way the air itself had seemed to vibrate.
Maybe she was right. Maybe the villagers were blind.
The skin of the world is wearing thin…
He turned on his side, willing his eyes to close. But just as the edges of sleep began to take him, a sharp noise split the silence.
Crack.
Ren shot upright, pulse pounding.
The sound came again, louder this time, like glass splintering under pressure. He scrambled to the window, yanking the shutters open
And froze.
The sky was breaking.
Lines of light split the heavens, spreading like veins across dark glass. Birds shrieked, scattering in frenzied clouds. The air itself roared, thick with a pressure that pushed against his chest until he struggled to breathe.
Ren gripped the windowsill, eyes wide.
His grandmother's words echoed in his mind.
When the sky shatters and shadows walk the earth, you'll wish you listened.
And for the first time in his life, he wasn't sure she was crazy.
He was sure she was right.