CHAPTER 5 — THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE
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Night descended gently upon Rimba Village, enveloping Edon's inn in a comfortable silence. The oil lamps inside had been dimmed, leaving a faint orange glow dancing on the wooden walls. The atmosphere was warm and peaceful, yet felt fragile—like a beautiful soap bubble that could burst with the slightest breath of wind.
After they finished their simple yet filling dinner, Kyoichiiro lifted his gaze to Edon, who was clearing the table.
Kyoichiiro: "Uncle Edon, are there still two empty rooms upstairs that we could use?"
Edon paused for a moment. His hand, holding a plate, stopped in mid-air. He scratched his head with the back of his hand—a gesture that seemed natural, but to Kyoichiiro, who was used to observing, the pause was a little too long. Like someone pretending to remember something they had known all along.
A smile—slightly mischievous, slightly awkward—appeared on Edon's face.
Edon: "Hmm... it seems there's only one room left available. The other rooms happen to be occupied by other guests."
His tone was too casual. Too deliberate. Kyoichiiro caught it in an instant. Edon was clearly lying. Perhaps to save space, or perhaps because he felt that two young children who had just lost everything shouldn't sleep apart on their first night in a strange place. Or perhaps there was another reason—one he didn't want to reveal.
But rather than question it or ask for an extra room that might not exist, Kyoichiiro simply nodded in resignation. His light blue eyes—too calm for his age—briefly met Edon's, then shifted to his sister. In a situation like this, separating from Claire would be even more dangerous.
Kyoichiiro: (Turning to Claire, his voice soft but clear) "Alright. Let's go up, Sis."
Claire nodded without a word. She was too tired to argue. After the long day—after fleeing the burning palace, after being found by strangers, after eating their first warm meal in what felt like forever—she just wanted to lie down and close her eyes. But in her weary eyes, Kyoichiiro could still see the shadow of fear lurking. Claire probably wouldn't sleep well tonight.
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THE ROOM UPSTAIRS
The room on the second floor turned out to be simple but clean. No wall decorations, no luxurious carpets, no crystal chandeliers like at the manor. Only cream-painted wooden walls, a creaking wooden floor, and a small window overlooking the back garden—where an old rambutan tree stood and a few chickens were already roosting on their wooden coop.
There was only one medium-sized bed, with a straw mattress covered in thick cloth. Beside it, a small table of old teak wood, with a nearly spent candle on a brass holder. In the corner of the room, an empty wardrobe—its door slightly crooked, perhaps from loose hinges.
Kyoichiiro observed the room in silence. His eyes moved quickly, noting every detail: the window's position (could it serve as an emergency exit?), the wall's thickness (could outside sounds be heard?), the door's placement (could it be locked securely?). Habits from his previous life that he couldn't abandon.
Claire observed nothing. She just stood in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the bed. Her small body looked even smaller in this unfamiliar room. Her long black hair—usually neatly tied—now hung tangled, a few strands sticking to her pale cheeks.
Kyoichiiro walked to the wardrobe, opened it, and took an extra blanket folded neatly on the bottom shelf. The blanket was made of thin cotton cloth—not as warm as the wool blankets at the manor, but enough to ward off the chill of a not-too-cold night.
He spread the blanket on the floor, beside the bed, close to the wall. The wooden floor was hard and cold, but he was used to it. In his previous life, he had slept in places far harder than this. On train station floors, in dry drainage ditches, on stacks of cardboard in back-alley restaurant kitchens.
Kyoichiiro: (Arranging the blanket, without turning) "You sleep on the bed, Sis. I'll sleep on the floor. It's fine."
Silence.
Then the sound of footsteps—Claire walked closer. Kyoichiiro had just turned when a hand grabbed the collar of his shirt from behind. Not roughly, but firmly. Claire pulled him—forcing him to stand.
Claire: (Her dark blue eyes glaring sharply at her brother, her voice flat but with a hiss beneath it) "Why would you sleep on the floor? That's stupid."
Kyoichiiro: (Slightly startled—he hadn't expected Claire to still have the energy for anger) "But—"
Claire: (Cutting in, her voice rising slightly) "No buts. You're still small. You could get sick sleeping on the floor. While I—" She paused for a moment, swallowing. "I'm already big enough. I won't get sick."
The lie was so obvious that Kyoichiiro almost smiled. Claire was only eight years old. She was still small too. But he didn't argue. He just let Claire pull him toward the bed and push him onto the side closest to the wall—the side more sheltered from the door, from the window, from potential danger they couldn't see.
Claire: (Lying on the outer side, facing away from her brother, her voice soft) "Stay there. Don't move anywhere."
Kyoichiiro didn't answer. He just lay there, staring at the dark wooden ceiling. Inside his heart, he sighed.
Honestly… he thought, feeling the warmth of his sister's body—though small, still noticeable on the other side of the mattress. She's still traumatized, but still wants to control the situation. Maybe that's her way of staying sane. Maybe that's her way of not feeling like everything is out of control.
He didn't know. But he decided not to ask.
Not long after, Claire's breathing became steady—deep, slow, slightly uneven at first, then gradually smoother. She had fallen asleep. Perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps because her young body couldn't fight sleep any longer. Or perhaps because, for the first time in hours, she felt a little safe.
Kyoichiiro couldn't sleep. He lay there, listening to the sound of crickets from the back garden, the gentle breeze rustling through the rambutan tree's leaves, the occasional clucking of chickens in their sleep. And among those sounds, he heard another—a softer, fainter sound, like a whisper he couldn't quite catch.
This village isn't as simple as it seems, he thought, his eyes wide open in the darkness. There's something hidden. And I need to find out what.
He closed his eyes. But sleep didn't come. What came were shadows from the past—Cellia crying over his body, Hiyori smiling for the last time, his mother in this world lying on the floor with blood everywhere.
He bit his lower lip. Hard. Until it hurt. That small, sharp, real pain helped keep him awake.
Don't sleep, he thought. Don't let them into your dreams again.
But his small body—still weak, still needing more rest than an adult—finally gave in. Slowly, without him realizing it, his eyelids grew heavy. The sounds around him began to fade, like a radio being turned down gradually.
And Kyoichiiro fell asleep.
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A NEARLY FORGOTTEN MORNING
Pale morning light began to slip through the gaps in the window curtains when Kyoichiiro awoke.
He didn't remember when he had fallen asleep. Didn't remember if he had dreamed. All he remembered was the cold from the wooden floor creeping up through his thin blanket—but then he realized he wasn't sleeping on the floor. He was on the bed, beside his sister, with a thick blanket covering his body.
Claire, he thought, turning to the side. She must have pulled me onto the bed after I fell asleep.
Claire was still fast asleep on the other side of the mattress. Her face—usually firm, sometimes appearing older than her age—now looked very young. Innocent. Fragile. There were dried tear tracks on her cheeks, and her brow was slightly furrowed, as if she were having a nightmare.
Kyoichiiro rose carefully. His movements were slow, silent, not disturbing the mattress. He was already used to moving without sound—from his previous life, from months of watching the night guards at the manor.
He walked to the door, opened it slowly, and stepped out.
The second-floor hallway was still silent. All the guests were probably still asleep. The air here was cold—a different kind of cold from inside the room, fresher, cleaner, like air after rain. Kyoichiiro descended the creaking wooden stairs, passed through the empty living room, and left the inn through the front door.
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FOOTPRINTS IN THE EARTH
The morning air in Rimba Village felt cold and fresh, carrying the scent of damp earth and evaporating dew. The village was still quiet, with only a few roosters crowing in the distance. On the eastern horizon, a golden-orange hue began to appear between the gaps in the trees—a sign that the sun would soon rise.
Kyoichiiro walked without a clear destination. Or rather, he let his feet take him wherever they wanted to go. He wanted to understand this village. Wanted to feel its pulse, wanted to hear its whispers, wanted to know if this place was truly safe—or just an illusion of safety that would burst like a soap bubble.
He passed wooden houses still tightly shut. Some windows remained dark, others were already bright—perhaps their occupants were already awake, preparing breakfast. From the small chimneys on the roofs, thin smoke began to curl upward, signaling that kitchen fires had been lit.
As he passed through a narrow gap between two houses that seemed rarely used—perhaps a path to the garden behind—something caught his attention.
Kyoichiiro stopped.
The ground here was more damp than on the main road. Perhaps because it didn't receive direct sunlight, or perhaps because water from somewhere seeped into this area. On that damp earth, footprints were visible.
Not human footprints.
Kyoichiiro crouched down. His light blue eyes narrowed, studying the print pattern carefully. The prints were large—much larger than an adult human's foot. The width was perhaps twice the size of an adult's palm, the length nearly as long as his forearm. The pattern was strange: three long claws in front, with one smaller one behind—like a giant bird's print, but also like a lizard's, or perhaps a monster's.
He reached out his index finger, touching the edge of the print. The surrounding earth was still damp, but the depression of the print had already dried slightly. Still fresh, he thought. Perhaps a few hours ago. Perhaps last night.
Carefully, he took a little earth from the bottom of the depression, brought it to his nose, and smelled it.
The smell of damp earth—that was normal. But beneath it, there was another scent. A fishy scent, like raw meat left too long. A musky scent, like the sweat of a wild beast. And among those scents, something he couldn't identify—like the smell of burnt metal, or sulfur, or something not from this world.
Residual magical energy, he thought, recalling the books he had read in the manor's library. Amonia, they called it. Or something similar. This footprint was left by a creature with magic.
He stood. His eyes swept the surroundings—searching for other prints, signs of destruction, anything that could tell him where the creature had gone and what it had been doing here.
No other prints. Only a single line of tracks entering and leaving this narrow gap. As if the creature had only passed through, not intending to stay long. Or as if the creature deliberately didn't want to leave a trail that was too obvious.
A magical beast, Kyoichiiro concluded, his eyes returning to the print. Its level probably isn't too high—the print isn't too deep, not too wide. But it would be enough to kill one or two adults if they weren't careful.
He bit his lower lip.
The prints are still fresh. The creature might still be around here. Or it might have already returned to its lair. But what's clear is that this village is not safe. A magical beast wandering so close to a settlement. That's not normal.
He sighed. The morning air, which had felt fresh, now felt cold—an unpleasant cold, creeping up his back like an invisible hand.
We have to leave. Quickly. But where? We have no money, no destination, no one to rely on.
He clenched his fist.
No. I can't rush. We need time to recover. At least a few weeks. Or a few months. During that time, I'll observe. I'll protect Claire. And if there's danger... I'll face it.
He turned and walked back to the inn. His steps were quick, but not rushed. His eyes still moved left and right, observing every corner of the village as it began to wake.
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A SISTER'S CONCERN
As his hand touched the inn's door handle, the door opened from the inside before he could push it.
Claire stood behind the door.
Her face was still pale. Her hair was still tangled. Her dark blue eyes—usually sharp, usually confident—were now weary and slightly red at the corners. Perhaps she had cried after Kyoichiiro left. Perhaps she hadn't been able to sleep well without her brother beside her.
Claire: (Her voice flat, but with an undertone she couldn't hide—relief mixed with annoyance) "Where have you been? I woke up and you were gone."
Kyoichiiro: (Stepping inside, closing the door behind him, his voice calm) "Just getting some fresh air. The morning air felt nice."
Claire didn't believe him immediately. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her brother's face carefully—searching for sweat, looking for dirt on his clothes, signs that he had gone far.
Claire: "Where exactly did you go? I looked out the window and didn't see you in front."
Kyoichiiro: (Smiling faintly—a smile he had learned to reassure others with, even though deep down he felt anything but certain) "Just a little walk around. Enjoying the morning view. The sky is beautiful."
Claire stared at him for a few more seconds. Her dark blue eyes—the same color as their father's, but softer—moved from Kyoichiiro's eyes to his lips, to his hands at his sides, to his shoes slightly damp from dew.
She didn't find anything suspicious. But she didn't fully believe him either.
Claire: (Sighing, her shoulders dropping slightly) "Fine then. Don't go alone again without telling me."
She turned and walked into the living room, leaving Kyoichiiro at the door. Kyoichiiro followed, then sat on the wooden sofa near the window. His thoughts were still on the footprints he had found earlier.
If I tell Claire now, he thought, his eyes on his sister's back as she sat across the room, she'll panic. Or worse, she'll want to investigate herself. She'll take unnecessary risks. Information about magical beasts near this village is too dangerous to handle carelessly.
He sighed.
And we don't know who we can trust. Edon? Maybe. But he's hiding something too. I could see it in the way he talked about food distribution. Something is wrong in this village.
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CONVERSATION WITH EDON
Edon: (Emerging from behind the kitchen door, still wearing a slightly dirty apron, his face smiling as usual) "Thinking so seriously about what? You look tense. Like someone calculating debts."
Kyoichiiro looked up. His expression returned to neutral—the mask he had worn ever since he realized he couldn't show everything he was thinking.
Kyoichiiro: "It's nothing. Just remembering something from the past that I shouldn't remember."
He then continued, deliberately changing the subject. His fingers tapped his left thigh—an irregular rhythm, a sign that his mind was working.
Kyoichiiro: "Uncle Edon, are there any other villages around here? I'm curious about... neighboring communities."
Edon nodded. He took off his apron, folded it, and placed it on the table. His movements were slow, relaxed, but his eyes—which had been friendly—now seemed slightly sharper.
Edon: "There is. The nearest village is about a hundred and twenty kilometers east of here. It's called Old Forest Village. But the road is quite difficult—through dense forest, lots of hills and valleys. Not recommended for children your age."
Kyoichiiro: "Thank you for the information."
Secretly, Kyoichiiro observed the inn's surroundings. The shelves in the kitchen, visible through the open door—were fully stocked. Flour, rice, vegetables, fruits. Several cuts of meat hung from the kitchen ceiling, perhaps being smoked. Yet according to his observations, this village wasn't in a bountiful harvest season. The surrounding fields looked ordinary—not very fertile, not very barren.
Something's wrong, Kyoichiiro thought, his eyes moving quickly from one detail to another. The food supply in this inn is too much for a village as small as Rimba. Is Edon wealthy? Or is there an outside supplier?
Kyoichiiro: (In a casual tone, pretending to make small talk) "I'm surprised, this village seems to have quite a lot of food supplies. Though I recall this isn't the peak season for staple crops."
Edon paused for a moment. His hand, wiping the table, stopped moving. He looked at Kyoichiiro—not with suspicion, but with something resembling admiration. Or perhaps caution.
Edon: (Laughing softly—a laugh that sounded different from his previous ones, more... guarded) "Hahaha... you're quite observant. True, the supply usually isn't this much. But recently there's been a... distributor who regularly sends goods. City folk. They buy our produce at good prices, then resell it at the market. In return, they send supplies we can't produce ourselves."
Kyoichiiro: "A distributor? From which city?"
Edon: (Smiling—a smile no longer friendly, but more like... a warning) "Ah, that... I've forgotten the name. What matters is that they pay on time. That's the most important thing."
Something in Edon's tone made Kyoichiiro alert. But he didn't ask further. Not now. Not in front of Claire, who was sitting across the room, her eyes starting to get drowsy again.
Kyoichiiro: (Standing) "If my sister comes looking for me, please tell her I'm just taking a short walk around here."
Edon: (Still smiling, but his eyes didn't blink) "Alright. Be careful, okay? Don't go too far."
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ENCOUNTER ON A WOODEN BENCH
Kyoichiiro went outside again, this time sitting on a wooden bench in front of the inn. The bench was made of old teak planks, rotting in some places. Beneath the bench, a hen pecked at the ground, searching for worms.
His eyes observed the village slowly awakening. Some villagers began emerging from their homes—some carrying hoes to the fields, some taking laundry to the backyard, some just sitting on their porches while yawning. An old woman walked with a woven basket in her hands, perhaps heading to the store. Two young boys ran along the dirt road, laughing, throwing small stones at each other.
A normal village life. A life that didn't know that beyond the hills, there was a ruined palace and scattered corpses.
Not long after, a man with curly brown hair and a thin beard approached. The man wasn't young—perhaps mid-thirties—but his steps were light, not like someone his age. His eyes were brown, sharp, and when he sat down beside Kyoichiiro without being invited, Kyoichiiro could sense that this man wasn't just an ordinary villager.
There was something in the way he moved, in the way he scanned his surroundings before sitting. Like a soldier. Or a hunter.
Brown-Haired Man: (Sitting on the bench, a little distance from Kyoichiiro, not too close but close enough to speak without shouting) "You're new here, aren't you? I saw you arrive yesterday with that girl."
Kyoichiiro: (Nodding briefly, not offering more information than necessary) "Yes. We're on a journey."
Brown-Haired Man: "A journey? From where?"
Kyoichiiro: (Silent for a moment, then answering in a flat tone) "From far away."
The man smiled—not a friendly smile, but a smile that said he understood. That he also had secrets.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Brown-Haired Man: "Have you found out yet?"
Kyoichiiro's chest tightened. That sentence was ambiguous. It could mean anything. But in the context of the footprints he had just found in the narrow gap between the two houses, in the context of Edon speaking about a "distributor" in a strange tone, in the context of a village too quiet in the morning—the meaning became clear.
So it's not just me who noticed something's wrong, Kyoichiiro thought. But why is this man asking me? Is he testing me? Or is he looking for an ally?
Kyoichiiro couldn't admit anything. He didn't know who this man was, what his motives were, whether he could be trusted.
Kyoichiiro: (In a flat tone, showing no emotion) "Not yet. I haven't found or discovered anything specific."
The man's expression changed—from serious to relieved, then back to neutral. But his eyes still held anxiety. Anxiety he couldn't hide.
Brown-Haired Man: (Sighing, looking around as if making sure no one was listening) "Good. If you already knew…"
He paused.
"…the situation might be much worse than you imagine. Sometimes, ignorance is the best protection."
After saying that, the man stood. Didn't say goodbye. Didn't look back. Just walked away, leaving Kyoichiiro alone on the wooden bench.
Kyoichiiro sat in silence, staring at the ground beneath his feet. His mind worked quickly—piecing together the scattered puzzle fragments.
So the threat is real. And I'm not the only one who knows about it. But why isn't anyone taking action? Are they afraid? Or is there another reason?
The morning silence suddenly felt heavy, different from the false peace he had felt when he first arrived. The air that had felt cool now felt cold—a strange cold, not matching the season.
And for the first time since fleeing the palace, Kyoichiiro realized one thing clearly: this quiet, friendly Rimba Village might not be as simple and peaceful as it appeared. There was something hidden behind the smiles of its residents, something dangerous, and they—he and Claire—might have stumbled right into the middle of it without realizing.
He stood from the wooden bench, adjusted his slightly rumpled cloak, and walked back inside the inn.
Inside, Claire had fallen asleep again on the sofa—her body curled under the thin blanket, her face turned toward the wall. Perhaps she hadn't slept well on the bed without Kyoichiiro beside her. Perhaps she was just exhausted.
Kyoichiiro took another blanket from the wardrobe in the corner of the room, then carefully covered his sister. He didn't wake Claire. He just sat on the floor near the sofa, leaning against the cold wooden wall, and began planning his next move.