Akitsu Shouga no longer questioned the days.

  At first, every morning had felt wrong—too warm, too ordinary, too alive. He would wake with his breath caught in his chest, expecting pain, mist, blood, or the endless black water that swallowed sound and memory alike. His body would tense, waiting for screams or steel or the pull of something unseen.

  Instead, there were birds outside his window.

  Their calls came soft and careless, drifting through the open air. From somewhere down the street came the familiar clatter of merchants setting up stalls—wood against stone, metal hooks clinking, voices raised in casual argument over prices and space. From the next room, his sister’s voice rang out sharp and annoyed as she argued with their mother about chores she definitely claimed she had already done.

  Life continued.

  Slowly—quietly—he adapted.

  He learned the rhythm of the Fiester Kingdom again: how the streets curved just enough to hide the market until you were nearly upon it, how the guards spoke with practiced boredom, how the sun dipped behind the walls at dusk in a way that felt familiar… yet not entirely right. Like a melody played in the wrong key.

  No one hunted him.

  No one feared him.

  No one knew what he had endured.

  Here, Akitsu Shouga was just Akitsu Shouga.

  And that, more than anything else, unsettled him.

  “Hey! You spacing out again?”

  Akitsu blinked, the world snapping back into focus. He turned his head to see Rhen Calder standing just outside the gate, hands laced behind his head. Sunlight caught in Rhen’s messy orange hair, turning it almost copper-bright.

  “…Sorry,” Akitsu said, straightening. “Ready.”

  Rhen grinned. “Good. If we don’t leave now, you’ll start acting weird again.”

  “I’ve always acted weird.”

  “Yeah,” Rhen said easily, pushing off the gate. “But today it’s extra weird.”

  They slipped past the outer edge of the kingdom and onto the dirt path leading toward the forest. The change was immediate. The air cooled, carrying the scent of damp earth and leaves, and the distant noise of the city softened into something far away and unimportant.

  The forest was alive.

  Sunlight filtered through thick, overlapping branches, breaking into scattered gold across moss-covered ground. Flowers of strange shapes and colors bloomed between roots—some closed tightly, others open as if listening. Faint motes of light drifted lazily through the air, like fireflies that had forgotten it wasn’t night.

  “It still looks like something out of a fairy tale,” Rhen said, stretching his arms wide. “Never gets old.”

  Akitsu nodded. “It’s… peaceful.”

  Without another word, they broke into a run.

  Their feet pounded over roots and soft soil, laughter echoing between trees. The wind rushed past Akitsu’s ears, tugging at his clothes, and for a brief moment the weight in his chest loosened. The world felt lighter when he ran—like his body remembered joy even if his mind struggled to follow.

  They stopped at a familiar tree with a rough ladder nailed into its trunk.

  The tree house.

  Wooden planks, uneven but sturdy, tied together with rope and care. A place built with scraped knees, splinters, and stolen afternoons—something made not for purpose, but for being.

  Rhen climbed up first and leaned over the edge. “So? What’re we playing today?”

  Akitsu didn’t answer right away. He stared up through the leaves, watching them sway gently, sunlight flickering like distant memories.

  “…Can we just walk around instead?”

  Rhen blinked, surprised—then shrugged. “Sure. Works for me.”

  They climbed back down and wandered deeper into the forest, their pace slower now. Leaves crunched softly beneath their boots, and somewhere nearby, water trickled over stone.

  Rhen glanced at him sideways. “You’ve been… off lately.”

  Akitsu stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Off?”

  “Yeah. You keep staring at stuff like it’s going to disappear. You forget things you shouldn’t.” Rhen hesitated. “Sometimes it feels like you’re about to say something important and then just… stop.”

  Akitsu looked away. “Sorry.”

  Rhen waved it off quickly. “Hey, I’m not mad. Just worried.”

  They walked in silence for a while. Then Rhen spoke again, deliberately casual.

  “So. If you could eat only one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “…What?”

  Rhen grinned. “See? Normal conversation. Helps.”

  Akitsu thought for a moment. “Soup.”

  “Soup?” Rhen scoffed. “That’s your answer?”

  “It’s warm,” Akitsu said quietly. “And it keeps you alive.”

  “…You’re weird,” Rhen muttered—but he smiled.

  They reached the river not long after. Clear water flowed gently, sunlight shimmering across its surface. Smooth stones rose from the current like careful stepping markers.

  Rhen hopped across first, arms stretched out dramatically. “Come on. Don’t fall.”

  Akitsu followed, stepping carefully, boots splashing lightly as he crossed.

  On the other side, they approached a large rock with a narrow gap splitting it down the middle.

  Something moved.

  A small cat poked its head out from the shadows, fur damp, eyes bright and alert.

  “Oh!” Rhen crouched immediately. “There you are again.”

  The cat stepped out fully, tail flicking, and Rhen gently scratched behind its ears. It purred loudly, leaning into his hand.

  “See?” Rhen said smugly. “Likes me.”

  The cat walked past him.

  Straight to Akitsu.

  It circled his legs once. Twice.

  “…Uh,” Akitsu muttered.

  The cat bumped its head insistently against his shin.

  Rhen stared. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Akitsu crouched and hesitantly reached out, fingers brushing soft fur. The cat purred even louder.

  “I don’t understand,” Rhen pouted. “I feed it.”

  Akitsu smiled faintly. “Maybe it just likes quiet people.”

  Before Rhen could respond, another head poked out from the gap in the rock.

  Round.

  Brown.

  With beady eyes.

  They froze.

  “…Is that a lemming?” Rhen whispered.

  The creature blinked. “…Yes.”

  Both boys screamed.

  “WAIT!” the lemming shouted. “WAIT, WAIT, DON’T RUN!”

  Akitsu and Rhen stopped mid-panic.

  “…You talked,” Rhen said slowly.

  “yes.”

  “You’re a lemming.”

  “Also yes.”

  Akitsu stared. “…What are you?”

  The lemming sighed. “I’m a spirit.”

  “…Then why do you look like a wood lemming?” Akitsu asked.

  The lemming shrugged. “Dunno. Just woke up like this one day.”

  “What’s your name?” Rhen asked.

  “Lemon.”

  “…Of course it is,” Rhen muttered.

  “I live here,” Lemon continued. “With the cat.”

  Rhen frowned. “This is the cat’s home.”

  “Oh,” Lemon said. “That explains why it’s always damp.”

  “You can stay at my place,” Rhen offered suddenly. “Way better than a wet rock.”

  Lemon’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Accepted.”

  They left the forest together—the cat staying behind, Lemon riding proudly on Rhen’s shoulder. They passed the tree house, crossed the river, and returned toward the kingdom.

  The guards waved them in without question.

  At Rhen’s house, the smell of food greeted them immediately.

  “Oh! Akitsu,” Rhen’s mother called from the kitchen. “You’re staying for dinner?”

  “No, ma’am,” Akitsu replied politely.

  They went to Rhen’s room and gently placed Lemon on the bed.

  “…Where do I sleep?” Lemon asked.

  “On the bed,” Rhen said. “With me. Until I make something better.”

  “Don’t squish me.”

  “I won’t.”

  Akitsu watched them for a moment, then asked quietly, “What type of spirit are you?”

  Lemon blinked. “Type?”

  “There are many,” Akitsu explained. “Vengeful. Boundless. Wandering.”

  Rhen leaned in. “What’s the difference?”

  “Vengeful spirits cling to hatred,” Akitsu said. “Boundless spirits drift without will or self. Wandering spirits have a mind. A soul. Freedom.”

  Lemon thought for a moment. “I can think. And go where I want.”

  “Then you’re a wandering spirit,” Akitsu said.

  “Oh,” Lemon said. “Cool.”

  Rhen grinned. “We should all play together.”

  Lemon nodded eagerly.

  Akitsu stood. “I should head home.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Rhen said.

  As Akitsu left, Rhen’s mother stopped him and pressed a basket of fruit into his hands. “Take this.”

  “…Thank you.”

  Outside, a group of teenagers whispered as he passed. Akitsu ignored them.

  At home, he set the basket down and went to his room. The sun was setting, painting the sky in gold and red, colors bleeding softly into one another.

  He watched quietly.

  For now, this world was calm.

  And for now—

  he allowed himself to breathe.