The grain storage sat at the far end of Rivershade, a cluster of wide barns beside a slow-moving creek. Crickets filled the night, and the smell of damp hay hung heavy.
Kaito drew the short knife from his belt—nothing special, but sharp enough. His Tactical Awareness spread outward, painting shapes in the dark. Five small forms moving under the floorboards, erratic but quick.
"Figures," he whispered. "Critters with cardio."
He eased open the barn door. Something squeaked, then scurried. Moonlight glinted off beady eyes—rats, the size of small dogs, patches of dark fur slick with grime. One hissed and lunged.
Kaito stepped aside and kicked it mid-air, sending it tumbling into a barrel.
"Dang, y'all ugly."
Two more charged. He ducked the first, slashed the second across its snout. His reflexes carried him smooth as breath—every move precise, clean. It wasn't graceful; it was trained efficiency.
One rat scrambled up a sack stack and leapt for his shoulder. He caught it mid-flight, slammed it down, then pinned it with his boot.
"Sorry, pal. Nothin' personal."
A final thrust ended it. The rest scattered into the fields, squealing. He waited a moment, listening. Only the wind answered.
"Five down. Barn's clear."
He dragged the carcasses outside, stacked them by the road for proof, and wiped his knife on the grass. His heart was steady, breath calm. For the first time since waking here, he felt a sliver of satisfaction.
He glanced at the quiet town in the distance, lanterns twinkling like fireflies.
"Ain't the battlefield I'm used to," he murmured, "but it'll do."
As he walked back, he spotted a shimmer along the creek—a faint thread of light rippling above the water, like heat haze. Curious, he crouched and reached toward it. The glow flickered, then pulsed at his touch.
A soft hum filled the air, followed by a warmth that seeped into his skin. It vanished as quickly as it came, leaving a faint tingle in his fingertips.
"What in tarnation was that?"
He shook his hand out and straightened. Somewhere deep inside, something had stirred—tiny, unfamiliar, like the echo of distant thunder.
"Huh," he muttered, smirking faintly. "Maybe this world's finally startin' to rub off on me."
He turned back toward town, moonlight catching the faint crimson undertones of his hair. Tomorrow, he'd collect his pay, maybe find a blade worth swingin'.
But for tonight, the Secretary of Defense turned rat-catcher walked the empty road with a half-smile and a mind already planning the next move.