The sound of rain had faded hours ago, leaving behind the soft hiss of water dripping from the roof onto the old clay bowls outside. The smell of wet earth filled our home, faint and familiar. I liked that smell. It reminded me that the world still breathed, even when everything else felt still.
Renjiro's voice broke the quiet first."Airi," he said gently, his tone always carrying that patient warmth that made the world feel a little less dark. "Hold your bowl steady, little one. I'll pour you some rice."
I nodded and felt the wooden bowl pressed into my palms. The rough edge told me it was cracked again. I smiled faintly. "O-okay, onii–chan," I murmured, my words small and broken by the stutter that often betrayed me.
The rice trickled into my bowl with a sound like sand falling through fingers. We didn't have much — just rice cooked too long, sticky and plain. But to me, it was enough. It was always enough if we shared it together.
Renjiro sat across from me on the tatami mat. I could feel the faint vibration of his movement through the floor, the way his weight shifted as he placed his bowl down. I could tell he was tired — his movements slower tonight, his breath heavier. He had been out training again, though he never said much about it. The villagers called him a swordsman, maybe the strongest in our small region, but to me, he was just my brother — the man who taught me how to listen to the world instead of seeing it.
"Do you think… w-we'll have fish again?" I asked, a small smile tugging at my lips. The memory of the last time he caught one made me giggle. "You said the river s-s-spirit would bless you next time."
He laughed softly — that warm, rumbling sound that always made me imagine sunlight. "Maybe she'll have mercy on me this time," he said. "But if she doesn't, I'll just ask her to bless you instead."
I lowered my head, shy. "I d-don't need anything, brother."
He paused, and I could hear him smile in his voice when he answered, "You deserve the world, Airi."
We ate in silence for a while. The wind brushed through the small cracks in our wooden walls, whispering like distant ghosts. Sometimes, when I sat very still, I could hear the forest breathing — the rustle of leaves, the chirp of night insects, the pulse of life that stretched beyond the edges of our poor little home. The world spoke to me in ways others couldn't hear. Renjiro said I had a gift, though I never believed him. It didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a burden I didn't understand.
After dinner, he began to hum softly, an old lullaby our mother used to sing before she and Father died in the fever. I still remembered the warmth of her hands, though I never remembered her face. Sometimes, I wondered if I had ever truly seen it before the blindness came.
I was about to ask Renjiro to tell me a story when something changed.
The air shifted.
It was subtle at first — a weight pressing into the room, as if the night itself had grown heavier. I frowned and tilted my head. Outside, the usual sounds of crickets faded, replaced by silence so deep it felt wrong.
"Onii-chan?" I whispered.
Renjiro stopped humming. "Stay quiet, Airi."
His voice had lost its calm. It was sharper now — alert. I could hear him stand, the creak of wood under his feet. He moved to the door, and the floor trembled faintly beneath his steps. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but the words stuck in my throat. My fingers clenched around the edge of my bowl, heart hammering against my ribs.
Then I heard it — a sound like the sky splitting open.A distant roar.Screams.
The smell of smoke drifted in through the thin walls.
The village.
Renjiro cursed under his breath and turned back toward me. "Airi, listen to me," he said, kneeling quickly beside me. "Hide under the floorboards. Do not move, no matter what happens."
My chest tightened. "B-but—"
"No." His hands gripped my shoulders. They were trembling, just slightly. "You stay silent, do you understand? Promise me, Airi."
I nodded, though my body trembled. "I p-promise."
He helped me lift the wooden plank beneath the tatami. The smell of dirt and old dust filled my nose. I crawled in, clutching the edge of the floor as he lowered it back over me. Through the cracks, I could still sense him moving — hear the faint clink of his sword being unsheathed.
Outside, the screams grew louder. The crackling of fire followed — wood snapping, roofs collapsing. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
Then there was a heavy thud.
Renjiro's voice shouted something — I couldn't make it out — and then… silence.
My fingers dug into the dirt. "Onii-chan?" I whispered.
No answer.
The vibrations in the floor changed. Something else was moving now — heavy, uneven steps. The air grew colder, so cold it hurt to breathe. I smelled blood. It was thick, metallic, clinging to the air like fog.
A shadow passed over me, though I couldn't see it. I felt it — like the world itself had gone still. My lungs froze.
Then came a whisper, low and distorted. "How pitiful… even the strong fall."
Renjiro's voice burst through it, hoarse and desperate. "Airi… run!"
His last word broke into a wet gasp. And then —thump.
Something heavy hit the floor.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear through the floorboards, to find him. But I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.
"Let… go…" His voice, faint now, echoed one last time in my mind. Then, nothing.
Tears streamed down my face as silence filled the room. My brother's warmth, gone. The air turned foul — smoke thickening, choking the breath from my lungs. I crawled out from the hiding space, calling his name softly through my tears.
"O-oniichan… Renjiro?"
My fingers brushed against something wet. I froze. Then, slowly, I reached out again. My hand trembled as it met the edge of a blade… and something soft beside it.
It wasn't moving.
I didn't understand. I didn't want to.
The air behind me shifted again — that same heavy presence. Footsteps. A low growl, like a beast wearing human skin.
"So the blind one still breathes," the voice said, cruel amusement twisting every word. "How sad. You won't even see your own end."
I backed away, hands shaking. I could barely speak. "P-please… d-don't—"
Flames roared suddenly. The sound was deafening, and heat rushed over me like a wave. The monster — whoever it was — had set the house ablaze.
I coughed, stumbling backward, feeling the wood burn beneath my feet. The walls crackled. Smoke filled my lungs, my eyes stinging even though they could not see.
I tried to crawl toward the door, but something collapsed behind me. The heat bit into my skin. My breaths came faster — short and sharp.
"Renjiro!" I screamed. "R-Renjiro!"
The fire answered with a hiss.
I didn't know how long I crawled. Every breath burned. My hair caught fire; I beat it out with trembling hands. The ceiling groaned. Somewhere in the haze, I thought I heard his voice again — calm, distant, like an echo from another world.
Let go…
I reached for it, reaching through the pain, through the darkness that began to swallow me. My hand met nothing but smoke.
Then, all sound faded. The roar of the fire, the collapsing beams, even my own heartbeat — gone.
And for the first time, the world truly went silent.
When I woke, I couldn't tell if it was hours or days later. The air was cold, and the scent of ash clung to everything. My body ached, my skin blistered in places, but somehow… I was alive.
I reached out and touched the earth around me — soft, damp, covered in soot. The house was gone. The village was gone.
Renjiro was gone.
The silence felt endless, pressing against my ears. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Instead, I pressed my palms together and whispered through cracked lips, "Th-thank you… for saving me," though I didn't know who I was thanking — the gods, the spirits, or my brother's lingering warmth.
The wind stirred, carrying with it faint whispers — like voices too soft to understand. I turned my head slightly, listening. For the first time, the forest seemed to call to me, far away but patient.
And so, barefoot and trembling, I began to walk toward it.
Toward the unknown.
Toward the beginning of the end.