The wind had always moved in the Hill District, but today... it slowed. Like something forgot how to exhale.
A low shift in the air pressure sent the prayer flags stiffening. Not flapping—frozen. The sound around the district grew strange, as if the wind caught pieces of noise and spun them the wrong way.
Even the birds had stopped chirping.
From the rooftop of an abandoned bathhouse, Leoran sat cross-legged, eyes closed, hands resting lightly on his knees. He wasn't meditating.
He was listening.
To the breath inside his chest. To the silence between that breath. To the space where air became sound, and sound became force.
Each inhale was shallow, deliberate. Each exhale pushed more than air—it pushed weight into the space around him. If someone walked by, they'd see nothing. But if someone possessed Reality Chakra, they'd witness it.
Tiny pulses of red and blue aura danced off Leoran's skin as he breathed. Not glowing, not flickering—just... shifting. Like his body was refracting something invisible, vibrating slightly with each breath.
Kenren once told him, "The wind will respond to your voice when you learn to shape sound into pressure. Breathing is step one. But intention is everything."
He was trying. But it wasn't coming easily.
Sometimes, when he whispered words into the air—nothing happened. Other times, the roof tiles would shake.
Today, the wind felt... off.
Leoran's next breath caught slightly. The air had become thick, like pressing through fog that wasn't there. He opened his eyes slowly.
A subtle mark pulsed on his neck—a scar, almost invisible unless the light hit it just right. Every time he released breath, the aura behind him shimmered faintly—a whip of blue-red waves that curled behind his shoulders like ribbons. Kenren never mentioned it. Maybe he couldn't see it. No one had. Not even Leoran's mother.
But Leoran could feel it. He wasn't just breathing anymore. He was speaking to the wind—and something had finally started to whisper back.
Then, a bend in the wind. A punch.
His ribs screamed. His breath caught mid-wave. Something thick, hot, acidic slid into his chest like poison wind. He staggered, dropping his stance. His hand hit the tiles. They cracked beneath him.
Then—a voice. Calm. Familiar.
"You're too focused on the sound, not the silence."
Kenren.
Leoran didn't turn. "The silence is too loud today."
Kenren stepped beside him, placed a hand on the rooftop. The wind curled around his fingers. "Do you feel it?"
"Yeah. It's... breathing the wrong way."
Another pulse. Sharper.
A gust of wind pressed down, not across. The tiles cracked again.
"That wasn't the wind," Kenren said. "That was something inside it."
A shadow appeared. Not crawling. Not standing. Just... existing.
A silhouette—small, cloaked, face hidden behind what looked like a stitched doll mask. A child's voice. Gentle.
Then the song:
"Momma boy, momma boy, Fire, fire wanna play, Lights are flickering in their heart, I'm gonna rip it apart..."
A pause.
Laughter followed. Hysterical. Echoing like someone laughing through broken ribs.
Leoran's chest tightened. His airway tripped. He reached for wind—no response.
Then—the whisper. Inside his ears.
"L...e...o...r...a...n."
Each syllable scraped through his mind.
Out of instinct, he activated Basic Wind Wave. The tiles cracked. Kenren raised his staff.
Nothing.
No shadow. No body.
Only a breeze. A hum.
Then the voice again, softer now, fading into wind:
"Sleep tight, little flame, I'll find you in the dark again... Your breath is loud, your fear is sweet, I'll hum again when next we meet..."
And one last whisper, like silk drawn across bone:
"Sing me back... if you remember me."
The wind moved again. The silence left. But Leoran didn't feel relief.
He finally spoke, voice low, hollow:
"What the hell
A sence shifted to next day a yesterdays reality became today's nightmare..
Leoran stood barefoot on cold stone.
The house looked just like it did when he was five — warm fire, paper lanterns, chipped floor. Outside the window, fireflies blinked like little ghosts.
He giggled as he chased one with a toy sword. Then turned and ran into open arms.
"Mama!" he laughed.
She caught him, robe loose, hair braided, skin soft from soap.
"Sing me a lullaby," he whispered.
"No, Leo... it's late," she said gently.
He pouted. She sighed.
"Okay, okay... you little rascal."
She leaned back and began to sing—
But it wasn't her voice. It wasn't her song.
"Momma boy, momma boy... Fire fire wanna play..."
Leoran froze. His mother's lips were still moving. Still smiling.
"Lights are flickerin' in their heart... I'm gonna rip it apart…"
Her face was changing. Soft skin faded to cracked porcelain.
Her eyes became glass.
Her smile stretched into stitches.
He backed up. The room shrank.
The lullaby kept playing.
"Here we go again..."
He couldn't breathe.
---
He woke up choking.
"Whoa now, easy there, boya."
Leoran blinked. His lungs burned. His forehead was wet.
Kenren sat nearby, petting a cat in his lap like he hadn't just seen death in a dream.
"What did you see that made you choke on your sleep, hmm?
I'm not getting scolded by your mother if you die on me."
One of the cats was licking his nose.
"Oh my guchi muchi—oh llo lo lo!
He looks funny when he's scared!"
Leoran groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Master... please... not the guchi muchi voice again."
Kenren grinned, unbothered. "You underestimate the healing power of a talking cat and a ridiculous old man."
He picked up the fluffiest cat and made it wave one paw. "Say hi to trauma, Momo! Say hiiii, trauma!"
Leoran gave Kenren a deadpan stare.
"That cat has more dramatic timing than half the academy," he muttered.
Kenren raised an eyebrow. "Is that your way of saying you're ready to talk?"
Leoran looked at the window. The wind moved slightly, just enough to lift a paper charm off the sill.
"I couldn't move," he finally whispered. "She... looked like her. Until she didn't."
Kenren's expression turned serious. He nodded. "That's how they get in. Not through fear. Through love first."
He poured tea for both of them, placed the cup next to Leoran. It steamed gently.
"You ever notice how dreams don't scream until you wake up?" he asked.
Leoran looked confused. "That doesn't make any sense."
Kenren took a sip. "Exactly. That's what makes it true."
Leoran frowned. "You just say things and hope they sound deep."
"Sometimes it works," Kenren replied smugly.
The silence between them settled in like a blanket.
Then, gently, Kenren added, "Nightmares fuel our fear... and fear is what feeds demons."
Leoran stood without a word. He reached up, took the maze-shaped pendant from the wall, and left the room.
Kenren sighed. "Don't feed the feed," he muttered.
Then, louder: "AND DON'T FORGET TO EAT SOMETHING, BOYA! NIGHTMARES DON'T COUNT AS BREAKFAST!"
Leoran didn't respond. But from far off, he mumbled, "Old chichua…"
Kenren watched the door, then turned back to the cat. "You think he'll listen, Momo?"
The cat stared blankly.
"Rude," Kenren said.
He stretched, cracked his back loudly, and hummed as he walked out:
"Oh my guchi chuchi muchi oll looo loo loo loo lool loo emhus olo lolo—"
The sound was so loud, birds three trees away took off.
---
The weight of the nightmare hadn't lifted, but something about that ridiculous man and his cats made it feel a little less heavy.
Still... there was no calmness inside.
He didn't know who—or what—that demon was. And that made the silence worse.
Curiosity tugged at him like a thread, pulling him toward the Library of Legends, the regional archive that held countless scrolls and tomes on demons, myths, and creatures that were once only believed to exist.
---
Meanwhile, Kenren had retreated to a quiet clearing, where the stone floor cracked from years of pressure-based training. He sat in meditation, breathing slowly, the air pulsing with rhythmic precision.
And then he felt it. A shift. A ripple in the air.
Something was... there.
A presence—not solid, not shadow—but void. Something drifting lightly through the houses on the edge of the hill district.
Elunir. Wandering slowly, unseen. Not touching anything. Simply observing.
Elunir moved through homes like a breeze — a ghost without footsteps — his attention flickering like a candle, tasting emotions.
"You're the one who entered Leoran's dream… aren't you?"
Kenren's voice cut across the void like a drawn blade.
Elunir stopped. Slowly turned.
There was no body—just a shimmer, a shape that only those attuned to the other side could see.
The mask formed slowly, floating in place.
"You... know... me?" Elunir said, each word lilting upward like a child learning to speak. His voice was soft, almost playful, with a trace of mockery.
Kenren didn't flinch. But the air around him did. His own aura bent from the pressure, reacting to the unnatural weight of what stood across from him.
Elunir's stitched smile widened.
He wasn't surprised.
He was delighted.