Hawk and Rye arrived at school just before the bell rang, slipping inside by the skin of their teeth.
"Welp, I guess that's it. See ya later, Hawk." Rye said, brushing past the crowd.
"See ya," Hawk replied with a grin.
A few hours passed, and the streets slowly emptied as the festival's chaos faded into distant echoes of laughter and fireworks.
The school alarm rang, signaling the end of the day. Rye and Hawk stepped outside together, walking through the quieting grounds.
"That was kinda insane earlier this morning, right?" Hawk said, nudging Rye lightly.
"Yeah… I know. I almost died. For real," Rye replied, shaking his head.
As they walked, Rye kept hearing faint whispers tickling at the edges of his ears. He ignored them, thinking it was just the leftover noise from the festival crowd.
Eventually, they reached Rye's house and parted ways with a quick farewell.
Once inside, Rye dropped his bag onto the bed with a soft plop!
The whispers were still there, low and indistinct, curling around the edges of his hearing. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake them off.
As he cleaned through his bag, Rye's fingers brushed against something familiar: the old leather-bound book from earlier in the alley.
"Huh… isn't this the book from this morning?" he muttered.
He immediately tried to open it, but the cover refused to budge.
"Huh…?"
He tugged again. Nothing.
"Why is it so tight…!" he exclaimed, frustration building.
He put every ounce of his strength into a final pull. The book didn't move.
"Argh!" Rye shouted, throwing it across the room. It slammed against the wall with a thud! and slid onto his bookshelf with a muted clatter.
"Fuuck…" he muttered, sinking onto his bed, utterly exhausted. The events of the day, the horde, the chaos, the festival, everything crashed into his mind at once.
He noticed the whispers were gone, replaced by a silence that felt almost unnatural.
By the time he drifted to sleep, Rye had completely forgotten about the book's strange weight and presence.
The next morning was no different. His alarm blared, his daily routine marched on, and school beckoned like it always did. The book, and the whispers, were pushed to the back of his mind.
Years passed in the same way: routines, classes, small moments of distraction but nothing ever touching the strange weight of the book, nothing yet breaking the calm of ordinary life.
Somewhere, quietly, the book waited.