Our mission was simple.
On paper, anyway.
Meet with the mayor of a nearby town. Investigate. Report back.
No fanfare. No backup. Just us. Just the wind.
They said a local disturbance had stirred unrest—vague phrasing for something that felt more serious than they were letting on. If it were truly "minor," it would've been handled by a Master.
Which meant one thing:
They're testing us.
The carriage slowed as cobblestone turned to uneven dirt. Just beyond the hill, the village came into view—wood smoke curling from half-lit chimneys, its streets far too quiet for this time of morning.
Katsu leaned forward, eyes still on the road.
"Rei. Did you lie to me?"
Rei didn't look up. Just blinked once.
"About what?" he asked, tone even—too even.
Katsu watched him. "When I asked if you've ever felt like you had an internal panic button. Like something buried under the surface. Ready to detonate."
Rei tilted his head slightly, lips twitching. "Hindsight makes that a dangerous question. That's like asking a prince if his father keeps a secret vault beneath the throne."
"Wouldn't that make someone want to dig?" Katsu asked, half-smiling.
"Exactly."
Sydney, half-distracted, chimed in without looking up. "The king would have guards."
Rei gave a slow nod. "And not all of them wear armor."
Katsu laughed—short, sharp, not entirely amused. Juju moved first, leaping down from the carriage with a soft thud. Katsu followed a beat later, boots crunching on gravel.
Sydney and Rei stayed behind, the doors still open.
The wind shifted.
Katsu looked up at the village. No birds. No children playing. Just the faint creak of a broken sign swinging above the inn.
He adjusted the strap of his satchel.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's see what kind of issue needs heirs instead of Masters."
Juju was already walking ahead.
Katsu quickened his pace—not quite a sprint, just enough to catch up. They fell into step beside each other, trailing the carriage by a few strides, boots crunching over loose gravel and damp earth.
The village loomed ahead, quiet in a way that felt unnatural. No dogs. No shopkeepers calling out prices. Just a gray hush stretched too thin across old timber and shuttered windows.
Juju didn't speak at first. She rarely did.
Katsu glanced sideways. Her eyes scanned every rooftop, every shadow between fence posts. Even relaxed, she looked like someone trained to expect traps.
"You've been quiet," he said.
She shrugged. "No point in wasting breath before we know what we're walking into."
"You think this is a trap?"
"No," she said simply. "But I think it's too calm. Like someone cleaned up right before we got here."
Katsu considered that. She wasn't wrong. The place didn't feel abandoned—it felt prepared.
"How do you know what a trap smells like?" he asked after a beat.
"Because I've walked into a lot of them," she said. "Most people only get fooled once."
They passed a crumbling well. Flies buzzed nearby, but no water ran. A single crow sat on the inn's roof, watching them with unnatural stillness.
The wind shifted again. Katsu felt it—cool, wrong. Like the forest around the town was holding its breath.
"We're not gonna find the mayor sitting behind a desk, are we?" he asked.
Juju gave the faintest smirk.
"Not unless we brought a shovel."
The carriage finally came to a stop behind them. Sydney hopped out first, Rei following, eyes already narrowing.
Katsu's hand drifted to his side. No spell yet.
But his fingers were ready.
They moved past the edge of the main road, boots sinking slightly into softer, undisturbed dirt. Juju's pace never slowed.
Katsu took in the scenery. Every building looked intact—no signs of collapse or flame—but there were no footprints, no wheel ruts, no smoke curling from the chimneys anymore. Just stillness.
And the silence wasn't empty.
It felt held.
Preserved.
Like whoever had lived here got up mid-step… and never came back.
A hanging lantern on a wooden post creaked faintly in the breeze, but its candle had long since gone out. A wooden sign labeled "Kestrel Market" dangled from rusted hooks, letters faded and smeared with ash.
Sydney and Rei caught up behind them, but neither spoke. Even Sydney's usual fire felt banked, dimmed by the weight of the air.
They reached the center of town—a circular stone plaza lined with benches and market stalls. At its heart stood a dried-up fountain, once carved with birds and vines. Now, the marble looked scarred, as if something had clawed across its base.
Katsu stepped closer, crouching. He touched one of the grooves.
Too clean.
Too recent.
His eyes flicked upward.
All around them, curtains moved.
But not from wind.
From inside.
He saw a shadow retreat in one window. Then another. Glass shimmered slightly. The curtains swayed... but no footsteps followed.
Juju reached out, stopping him with the lightest tap to his wrist.
"We're being watched," she said.
Not afraid.
Just stating fact.
A creak echoed from one of the far buildings—a long, drawn-out hinge whine that scraped across the stillness like a scream that didn't know how to end.
They all turned.
The door of a small chapel—paint peeling, stained glass cracked—swung open slowly.
No one stood inside.
Just an aisle of pews.
And something red pooled at the altar.
Katsu didn't breathe.
Then—
Laughter.
Soft.
Childlike.
Coming from behind them.
Katsu turned sharply, but there was no one there.
Just empty road, fading mist, and the sound already gone.
Sydney stepped closer, flame licking faintly at her fingertips.
"Did anyone else hear that?" she asked, voice tight.
Rei nodded once, jaw clenched. "Yeah. And it wasn't a bird."
The chapel door creaked wider behind them, hinges moaning like something alive.
Juju took a step forward. Katsu stopped her with a hand.
"Wait," he said, eyes scanning the rooftops again.
The crow was gone.
The fountain started to drip.
And behind them, etched in the dirt where no one had stepped—was a child's footprint.