Morning in the Komura house was a quiet thing, woven from simple sounds.
The soft scrape of a knife cutting radishes at the low table. The hiss of damp wood settling in the hearth. The whisper of a broom over packed earth. And beneath it all, the steady song of the river running under the floorboards, a deep, constant hum that was the breath of the house itself.
Ren's mother knelt by the fire, stirring a pot of barley porridge. The steam coiled around her face, softening the tired lines at the corners of her eyes. A cough rattled in her chest. She turned her head into her shoulder, muffling it.
Ren, packing his satchel by the door, paused. "You should rest today."
She shook her head without looking at him. "The radishes won't sell themselves." She lifted the ladle, her hand trembling slightly from the strain of the cough. "The blue sack is by the door. Bargain fairly. Come home before dark."
It was the same thing she said every time. A ritual.
"I will," he said. Another part of the ritual.
The door to the sleeping nook slid open. Savy, who was six, emerged like a small, rumpled sunrise. Her black hair was a storm cloud around her head. She blinked sleep from her eyes, saw Ren, and her whole face lit up.
"Ren-nii! You're going!"
"I am."
"When you come back," she said, padding over to clutch his pants, "you have to tell me a story. A new one. A *true* one from the town."
He smiled down at her. "All my stories are true."
"The one about the fish with a knight's helmet wasn't true."
"You didn't see it. I did."
From the corner, where she was meticulously coiling a length of good hemp rope onto a large spool, Rina spoke without looking up. Her voice was flat, practical. "The only true story you'll get is the price of salt. Don't let Old Man Hato trade you turnips. He'll try."
As she spoke, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear—a quick, habitual motion. But her fingers lingered for a half-second, touching the severe knot at the back of her head. Her eyes flickered to the small, cracked mirror by the door, then away. Just a glance. A silent assessment, immediately dismissed.
Ren watched this. Saw the tiny fracture in her practicality.
"I know," he said, not just about the turnips.
Savy tugged on his pants. "Promise? A story?"
He knelt, bringing himself to her level. Her eyes were wide, the color of dark honey. "I promise. A true story from the town."
She beamed, satisfied, and released him.
Mill was already by the door, dressed, her hair neatly braided. In her small, still hands, she held a river stone. It was dark grey, worn perfectly smooth by the water's endless patience. She offered it without a word.
Ren took it. The stone was warm from her skin. He slipped it into the inner pocket of his tunic, over his heart. She met his eyes for a brief moment—a silent, profound communication—then turned and went to help Rina with the rope.
Ren stood in the doorway. He took one last look.
His mother, stirring the pot, her profile gentle in the firelight.
Rina, her fingers a blur of efficient motion.
Savy, now trying to "help" by attempting to drag the large spool.
Mill, silently guiding Savy's hands, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
The river sang below.
He turned and walked up the mountain path.
***
The forest was a cathedral of green silence. Sunlight fell through the canopy in dusty, slanting pillars. The air was cold and clean, smelling of pine and damp earth.
He passed the Oshiro farm. The twins, Aki and Miko, were already in the goat pen. They saw him and waved, their motions identical. He waved back.
Further on was Old Lady Sato's hut, nestled against a giant, moss-covered boulder. Smoke curled from her chimney. She was on her knees in her small herb garden. She saw him, wiped her hands on her apron, and stood. As he drew near, she reached into her apron pocket and pressed a wrapped rice cake into his hand.
"For the road, Ren-chan," she said. Her eyes, clouded with age, were still kind. She squinted past him, up the mountain path. "It's clear. A good day for walking." Her gaze seemed to settle on something unseen. "Almost too clear. Be sharp."
He thanked her, placed the cake in his satchel, and continued on. He didn't believe in omens, but the oddness of her words settled in him like a small, cold stone.
The walk to Kawa's Landing took three hours. From the highest point, he could see the far-off, gleaming spires of the Capital, a world away. Closer, the blocky, grey silhouette of the nearest Magic Knight outpost hunched on a hill. They were like paintings on a distant screen—present, but having no texture in his life.
The sounds and smells of the town reached him—carts, shouts, the clang of a hammer, baking bread, forge-fires.
He went straight to Old Man Hato's shop. It was a dim, cluttered space that smelled perpetually of dust, dried fish, and the old man's bitter pipe tobacco.
Hato looked up from behind a counter piled with sacks of grain. "Komura. You're later than last week."
"The path was muddy near the creek," Ren said, hefting his sack of radishes onto the counter.
Hato grunted, untied the sack, and pulled out a radish. He inspected it, turned it over in his gnarled hands, then bit into it with a loud crunch. He chewed slowly, his bushy eyebrows drawn together.
"...Acceptable," he pronounced finally. "Small, but the flavor is dense. I'll give you fifteen copper bits for the lot. And a half-sack of barley in trade."
"Twenty copper bits," Ren said, his voice even. "And the barley. The flavor is sweet this season. You won't find better."
They haggled. It was a familiar dance. Ren was patient. Hato complained about the market, about lazy farmers, about the rising price of salt. In the end, they settled at eighteen copper bits and the barley. It was a good trade. Ren carefully counted the coins into his worn leather pouch and tied the sack of barley to the bottom of his satchel.
As he turned to leave, the deep, resonant tone of the town's warning bell began to ring. It was not the cheerful market chime. This sound was slower, heavier, a note of official gravity that sliced through the street noise.
A hush fell. People stopped. Hato put down his pipe and moved to his doorway, peering out.
A town crier in a crisp grey uniform climbed onto the stone platform by the central well, flanked by two guards in boiled leather armor. He unrolled a short scroll.
"ATTENTION, CITIZENS OF KAWA'S LANDING!" His voice was trained to carry, loud and clear. "A Category One Kaiju signature has been confirmed near Shirogane Pass, twenty miles to the northeast. The Blackhearts Knight Order has been mobilized. The situation is contained. There is no danger to Kawa's Landing or the southern hamlets. You may proceed with your day. Remain calm. Trust your Knights."
A collective sigh seemed to move through the crowd. The tension broke. Conversations resumed, peppered with nervous laughter. The drama was elsewhere. It was a story for the evening fire, not a threat to their afternoon.
Hato turned back into his shop, shaking his head. "See? They handle it. That's what our taxes pay for, boy. So folks like us don't have to think about it." He eyed Ren's satchel. "You got what you needed? Then get on home. Don't dawdle."
Ren stepped out into the street. The sun was past its peak, but he still had plenty of daylight. The official words echoed in his head. No danger to the southern hamlets.
Home was south.
He had done his duty. He had the coins, the barley. He had promised Savy a story, but he could make one up from the sights of the town. He had promised his mother he'd be home before dark.
He stood at the crossroads. The main street continued north, becoming a narrower lane lined with the better shops—the apothecary, the cloth merchant, the confectioner. The southern road was a dirt path that quickly left the town and climbed back into the forest.
He took a step south. Then he stopped.
A flash of color in a shop window to the north caught his eye. It was a cloth merchant's. Among the bolts of sensible brown and grey wool, a single item was displayed on a wooden stand.
A hair ribbon.
It was not the practical linen cord Rina used. This was silk. A color of blue so deep it was nearly black, like the sky an hour after sunset. Woven along its edge was a single, fine thread of silver, catching the light with a subtle, cool fire.
He thought of Rina's fingers touching her severe knot. The glance at the mirror. The silent want she'd immediately dismissed.
His feet moved before his mind could argue with the cost.
The shop bell tinkled. The merchant, a thin man with spectacles, looked up from a ledger.
"The ribbon in the window," Ren said. His voice sounded strange to him. "The blue one. How much?"
"Ah, the Shinagawa silk," the merchant said, adjusting his spectacles. "Fine work. Three copper bits."
Threecopper bits. More than half the profit from his careful bargaining with Hato. He saw the bag of barley. The coins for salt and nails. His mother's tired face.
He saw Rina's face, softened by a surprise.
He placed three coins on the counter. They made a definitive click against the wood. "I'll take it."
The merchant nodded, took the ribbon from the stand, and wrapped it in a piece of thin, translucent paper. The package was small and light in Ren's hand. He placed it deep inside his satchel, burying it beside the rice cake.
He stepped back into the street. A cold droplet struck his forehead.
He looked up.
The bright blue sky was gone. To the north, over the mountains, a wall of bruised, purple-black cloud was advancing with terrifying speed. It wasn't just a storm cloud. It had a greenish, sickly tinge at its edges. The air grew still, then the wind kicked up, cold and smelling of wet stone and something sharp, like the air after a lightning strike.
The rain began. Not a drizzle. A deluge. Cold, hard drops that fell like nails, instantly turning the street to a river of mud. The wind howled, tearing at signs and awnings.
"—bridge is out! South road's flooding!"
"—get inside!"
Panic, held at bay by the crier's announcement, now erupted. People ran. A cart laden with pottery slewed sideways, its rear wheel sinking deep into the muck, the driver shouting.
Ren stood frozen for a moment, the satchel held tight to his chest. The southern road was a churning, treacherous wash. Going now was madness.
A strong hand gripped his arm. It was the public lodge-keeper, a woman with a face perpetually set in a scrum of weary authority, her hair already plastered to her head. "You! Mountain kid! You trying to get yourself killed? Inside! Now!"
She didn't ask. She hauled him through the door of the large, timber-framed lodge beside the stable.
Inside was chaos warmed by a roaring central hearth. Dozens of people, stranded by the sudden storm, crowded the benches and floor. The air was thick with steam, the smell of wet wool, stew, and unwashed bodies.
"Stay put," the lodge-keeper barked at Ren, pointing a finger at a sliver of space on the floor near the fire. "That's not rain. That's a mountain-gulley washer mixed with Kaiju fallout. Nothing's moving south tonight."
Ren sank to the floor, his back against a rough-hewn post. He clutched his satchel to his chest. Inside were the coins, the barley, the ribbon. The things for his family. He was separated from them by a wall of unnatural water.
He listened to the storm scream against the roof. He thought of the river under his house.
Was it still singing?