The evening air was cool and heavy with the faint scent of smoke drifting from Ram City's countless chimneys. Dusk finally reached the crooked little house he now called home, after nearly losing his way in the labyrinth of twisted backstreets. His boots scuffed against uneven stones as he paused before the door, catching his breath. For all the exhaustion of the day, a thin smile tugged at his lips.
The door creaked open, and a cheerful blur of fur and warmth leapt at him.
"Brother!" Dawn's rabbit ears flopped wildly as she pounced, clinging to him like she hadn't seen him in years.
"Hahaha!" Dusk laughed, half-stumbling backward with her weight. "Look, Dawn—I brought some leftovers. We can eat them tonight. And tomorrow I'll bring you to the church. You can play near the courtyard, and at noon we'll eat there together. In the evening, we'll even bring back more food." His tone brimmed with excitement, the kind only a boy who had tasted hope for the first time in years could muster.
Dawn's bright eyes sparkled as she nodded. She wasn't sad her brother had left her alone for the day—after all, that was something he often had to do. He always found ways to provide. Today he'd even thought ahead, buying bread for her lunch so she wouldn't go hungry despite missing the free afternoon meal at the church.
With her worries eased and her stomach full, she followed him happily inside.
Neither noticed the silent predator watching from the tree across the narrow street.
Perched on a crooked branch was an owl, its feathers blending perfectly with the shadows. Its amber eyes locked on the siblings, unblinking, cold, and calculating. The bird did not stir, only observed—like a statue carved by the night itself. Then, as if a hidden command was given, it spread its wings with a whisper of feathers and glided off into the sky.
The owl circled above the rooftops, then wheeled toward the towering cathedral in the city's heart. Its graceful wings carried it further still, until it descended upon the balcony of a distant building. There it landed lightly on the shoulder of a cloaked figure.
"Some random kids are living in that house now," the owl spoke, its voice low and strange, as though filtered through the echo of another realm.
The figure tapped a finger rhythmically against the balcony rail, deep in thought, gaze fixed on the sleeping city below. The owl fell silent, awaiting orders.
Unaware of the unseen eyes that had marked them, Dusk and Dawn settled into their new life.
Inside the small house, the remnants of another time still lingered. The furniture—plain but sturdy—remained, abandoned when the previous tenant had met her grim fate at the stake. Dusk tried not to dwell on that thought; imagining the accused witch's screams in the city square only made the bed beneath him feel colder. Best to forget it. Best to think of the house only as theirs now.
The siblings curled beneath worn blankets. Dawn quickly drifted into the peaceful breathing of sleep, her small hand clutching her brother's arm even in her dreams. Dusk lay awake longer, staring into the ceiling's shadows. His heart was lighter than it had been in months—they finally had a roof, food, and even the promise of a stable job. But with comfort came unease. Too much had changed too quickly.
He carefully disentangled Dawn's hand, shifting her closer to the warm side of the bed. Then he reached for the oil lamp on the nightstand, struck a match, and lit its wick. The faint golden glow softened the room, chasing away the edges of the dark. Carrying it in hand, he stepped into the hallway, his bare feet padding against the creaking wood.
The night was silent, save for the distant murmur of city sounds outside the window. He headed toward the small washroom at the back of the house.
Whoosh.
A soft sound brushed past his ear.
Dusk froze. The hairs on his neck prickled as he swung the lamp quickly, its light flaring against the walls. His breath caught in his chest. Nothing. Just empty corners and flickering shadows.
"Must've been the wind," he muttered under his breath, forcing his legs to keep moving. The words steadied him, though the weight in his stomach lingered.
Finishing his "nature debt," as he called it, Dusk made his way back. The lamp cast a narrow cone of light before him, but behind—behind was only swallowing blackness. He could feel it pressing against his back, the unseen eyes of something just out of reach.
Another faint rustle echoed. His throat tightened. Slowly, he turned, holding the lamp high.
The hallway stretched empty. Nothing moved. No shapes. No shadows but his own.
He let out a shaky sigh of relief. "Just my imagination."
Turning once more, he continued toward the bedroom—
"Brother."
The whisper cut the silence like a knife.
"Aaahhh!"
"Aaahhh"
Dusk yelped, stumbling so hard the lamp nearly slipped from his grasp. His heart thudded violently. He spun around, wide-eye—
Dawn who also yelped stood there, rubbing her sleepy eyes, her long ears drooping.
"Dawn! By the Radiant!" Dusk groaned, his shoulders sagging. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Why are you shouting? I got scared too…" Dawn puffed her cheeks in indignation and swatted his chest lightly with her floppy rabbit ears. The attack did no damage whatsoever, but the extreme cuteness nearly disarmed him completely.
Dusk chuckled breathlessly, setting the lamp back down. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to yell." He patted her head gently, smoothing her messy hair.
"Hmph…" Dawn pouted but allowed him to guide her back to the bed.
The two climbed beneath the blankets again. This time, Dusk blew out the lamp, surrendering the room once more to darkness. But with Dawn pressed against his side, her warmth radiating comfort, the tension finally bled out of him.
"Goodnight, brother," she murmured sleepily.
"Goodnight, Dawn."
Within minutes, both slipped into slumber, their breaths mingling with the quiet of the night.
But outside the house, the wind shifted. Shadows gathered just a little too long around the eaves. And somewhere in the city, a cloaked figure's finger stopped tapping as a decision was made.
The night did not end in silence —it ended with eyes watching, waiting.