Year X771 —
Location: Rosemary Village
Age: Ren (6) | Erza (6)
---
Shadows arrived before the people who cast them.
Ren noticed that first.
It wasn't fear—fear had a shape, a rhythm he could feel in his breath when it came. This was subtler. Like the air itself had learned to listen.
He felt it while helping Mrs. Halwen hang laundry. The sun was warm, the breeze light. Everything looked right.
But the wind didn't move the sheets the way it should have.
> Too careful.
Ren's fingers stilled.
"…Ren?" Mrs. Halwen asked. "Did I miss a clothespin?"
"…No," he said gently. "I was just… counting."
She laughed softly. "…You and your habits."
He smiled back—but his eyes tracked the line of rooftops, the edges of the village where paths met trees.
> Someone is watching. Not like before.
This wasn't curiosity.
It was patience.
---
Erza felt it later, during training.
She misstepped—not badly, just enough to scuff dirt instead of landing clean. She froze, annoyed with herself.
"…That never happens," she muttered.
Ren stood across from her, breathing steady.
"…It happens when you're distracted."
She frowned. "…I wasn't—"
Then she stopped.
"…I was," she admitted quietly.
They stood back-to-back, listening.
Children laughed somewhere near the well. A hammer rang against wood. Life went on.
And beneath it—
> Something waits.
"…You feel it too," Erza said.
Ren nodded. "…Yes."
"…Is it the travelers again."
"…No."
That answer chilled her more than the pause before it.
---
The first sign wasn't violent.
It was polite.
A man arrived near dusk—robes travel-worn but clean, posture respectful, smile soft enough to disarm suspicion. He spoke kindly to the elders, asked about trade routes, donations for distant causes.
Ren watched from the shadow of the storehouse.
> That smile doesn't reach his eyes.
The man's gaze moved often—not lingering, never obvious—but always measuring. When it passed over Ren, there was a flicker. Interest. Recognition.
> [Great Sage: Correlation detected — Behavioral markers consistent with cult-associated operatives.]
Ren's stomach tightened.
> Tower of Heaven. Not yet destroyed. Not loud anymore— quiet.
The man left before nightfall, bowing graciously.
The village sighed in relief.
Ren did not.
---
That night, the dreams returned.
Stone. Chains. The sound of chanting echoing through impossible halls. Faces blurred by hoods, voices layered until they became one.
Ren woke with a sharp inhale.
In.
Out.
Erza stirred. "…Bad dream?"
"…No," he said automatically.
Then corrected himself. "…Yes."
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "…About what."
Ren hesitated.
> If I tell her everything— will it make it real?
"…About people who believe suffering is holy," he said carefully. "…And children are tools."
Her hands clenched the blanket.
"…They won't touch us," she said fiercely.
Ren met her gaze.
"…Not if we're careful."
She leaned closer. "…Tell me what you're not saying."
He exhaled slowly.
"…I think someone is looking for… potential," he said. "…Magic that grows through pain."
Silence followed.
Then Erza spoke, voice low.
"…If they come here—"
"…We don't let them take anyone," Ren said.
"…Anyone?"
"…Anyone."
Her expression hardened—not with anger, but resolve.
"…Good."
---
The next day, the shadows deepened.
A symbol appeared carved into a tree near the old road. Rough. Half-hidden. Gone by evening—but Ren had seen it.
A child went missing for three hours. Found later, unharmed, crying and confused, swearing a "kind man" had helped her find her way home.
Ren held her hand until she stopped shaking.
> Too close.
That night, Ren made a decision.
Not spoken.
Just… set.
---
Training changed.
They moved deeper into the forest, to places even the hunters avoided. Ren taught Erza how to listen—not with ears, but with breath. How to sense disturbances in magic, intent pressed too tightly into human form.
"…This feels wrong," she muttered during one exercise.
"…That's the point," Ren said. "…Wrong stands out."
"…I still don't like it."
"…You don't have to."
"…I want to."
That surprised him.
He smiled faintly. "…Then keep breathing."
---
On the fourth day, the cultists showed themselves.
Not openly.
Ren sensed them at dusk—three presences skirting the village perimeter. Cloaked. Quiet. Skilled enough not to trip alarms, not skilled enough to fool him.
> [Great Sage: Threat confirmation — Tower of Heaven-affiliated cult. Objective: Identification and acquisition.]
Ren swallowed.
> They're scouting. They won't strike today.
He found Erza near the fence.
"…We're not sleeping in the house tonight," he said calmly.
Her eyes widened. "…Is it that bad."
"…Yes."
"…Then we tell the adults."
Ren shook his head. "…They'll panic. Panic makes noise."
"…So what do we do."
He met her gaze.
"…We become boring."
She blinked. "…What."
"…No training tonight. No wandering. No heroics." He smiled faintly. "…We act like children who know nothing."
She scowled. "…I hate that plan."
"…I know."
"…But it's smart."
"…Unfortunately."
They slept in the communal hall that night, surrounded by others. Ren kept his breathing shallow, alert.
At some point, he felt it—
A presence pressing against the edge of the room.
Watching.
Measuring.
Then retreating.
> Not yet.
Morning came.
The shadows withdrew—but they didn't leave.
Ren stood by the well, watching the sun rise, hands clenched at his sides.
> Tower of Heaven casts long shadows. Even here.
Erza joined him silently.
"…They're coming back," she said.
"…Yes."
"…Soon."
"…Yes."
She took a breath. "…Then what."
Ren looked at Rosemary Village—its quiet paths, its kind people, its fragile peace.
> First real enemy. Not bandits. Not fate.
Belief.
"…Then," he said softly, "…we protect this place long enough to choose our next step."
She nodded.
No fear.
Only fire.
Far away, unseen—
—the cult marked Rosemary Village on a mental map.
And for the first time since his rebirth—
Ren felt truly hunted.
---
End of Chapter 27 🌑🔗