The morning sunlight slipped through the curtains like it had every day since Akitsu Shouga arrived here.

  That alone still felt strange.

  He woke slowly, not from pain, not from falling, not from screaming—but from the sound of Aki humming off-key in the kitchen. The smell of bread followed soon after, warm and real.

  “…Morning already,” Akitsu murmured.

  He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stared at his hands. No blood. No trembling. Just hands.

  “Big brother!” Aki called. “If you don’t come eat, I’m stealing your portion!”

  “I’m coming,” he replied automatically.

  At the table, his mother placed plates down with a practiced rhythm. “You’re up early today.”

  Akitsu shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  Aki squinted at him. “You say that every day.”

  He smiled faintly. “Do I?”

  “Yep.”

  Breakfast passed with easy chatter. His mother talked about errands, Aki complained about lessons, and Akitsu listened more than he spoke, absorbing the normalcy like it might disappear if he blinked too hard.

  After eating, there was a knock at the door.

  Rhen Calder didn’t wait to be invited in.

  “Morning!” he said brightly, leaning halfway through the doorway. “You ready or what?”

  “For…?” Akitsu asked.

  “For today,” Rhen said as if it were obvious. “We’re playing with Lemon. And before you ask—yes, he’s still alive.”

  “That implies something happened,” Akitsu said.

  “Barely,” Rhen replied. “He tried to fight my pillow last night.”

  From behind him, Lemon’s small voice piped up. “It attacked first.”

  Akitsu snorted before he could stop himself.

  “Oh, you’re smiling,” Rhen said, pointing accusingly. “Miracle confirmed.”

  They left together, Lemon riding in Rhen’s pocket with only his head sticking out. The streets buzzed with life—vendors calling out, carts rolling by, children chasing each other.

  “So,” Rhen said, stretching his arms. “Forest again? Or market?”

  “Forest,” Akitsu said after a moment. “It’s quieter.”

  “Agreed.”

  They passed through the gate, guards nodding casually, and entered the greenery once more. The forest greeted them like an old friend—birds chirping, leaves rustling, light dancing between branches.

  Lemon hopped down and scurried ahead. “Race you!”

  “You have tiny legs!” Rhen protested.

  “Skill issue.”

  They laughed and followed, slower but amused.

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  They reached the tree house and climbed up, sitting on the uneven floorboards. Rhen kicked his legs over the edge.

  “You know,” he said casually, “I like it when you’re like this.”

  “…Like what?” Akitsu asked.

  “Here. Not staring into space like you’re about to vanish.”

  Akitsu looked at his hands. “I’m trying.”

  “I know.”

  Lemon sat between them. “Humans are strange.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Rhen said. “You’re a talking forest potato.”

  “I am offended.”

  They spent the morning doing nothing important—throwing pebbles, watching clouds, arguing about whether dragons existed or not.

  “They absolutely do,” Rhen insisted.

  “If they did, we’d know,” Akitsu replied.

  “That’s what they want you to think.”

  Lemon nodded solemnly. “I have never seen a dragon.”

  “See?” Akitsu said.

  “However,” Lemon added, “I have never seen the inside of a bakery until yesterday.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything!”

  By noon, they were hungry. They headed back toward the kingdom, stopping at a small stall selling skewered meat.

  “My treat,” Rhen said.

  “You paid last time,” Akitsu replied.

  “And I’ll pay this time too.”

  Akitsu hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you.”

  They ate sitting on the steps near the plaza, Lemon nibbling crumbs happily.

  “This is good,” Lemon said. “Much better than wet rocks.”

  “I told you,” Rhen said smugly.

  After lunch, they wandered through the market. Aki spotted Akitsu and ran over, dragging him to a booth selling ribbons.

  “Which one looks better?” she demanded.

  “Blue,” Akitsu said without hesitation.

  Rhen leaned in. “Careful. She’ll make you carry things.”

  Too late.

  By afternoon, they were tired but content. They lay on the grass outside the walls, staring at the sky.

  “This is nice,” Rhen said quietly.

  “…Yeah,” Akitsu agreed.

  For once, his thoughts didn’t spiral. No counting deaths. No searching for doors. Just the sound of wind through grass and distant laughter.

  As the sun began to set, Rhen sat up. “Same time tomorrow?”

  Akitsu nodded. “Same time.”

  They parted at the gate. Akitsu walked home alone, basket empty, heart strangely full.

  At home, dinner was simple. Laughter filled the room again.

  Later, Akitsu stood by his window, watching the sky turn orange, then purple.

  “…I’ll stay,” he whispered to no one.

  And for now—

  Nothing answered.

  The night passed quietly.