Mornings in Mizunami Village always began with soft sunlight filtering through the gaps in the thatched roof. After helping his mother arrange the Gerbera flowers on the kitchen table, Shigeru stepped outside, down a stone path lined with worn wooden fences and vines. The village was quiet—the only sounds of birds and the rustle of wind in the leaves were his only witnesses.

  Not far from his house, he passed a small bookstore called Buku Usang Mizunami, whose door was always tightly closed. But this morning, the door was half open. Curiosity drew him in, even though he was not an avid reader. Inside, piles of books and papers were scattered, and in the corner of the room sat a young man on a wooden bench, his head buried in a sheet of paper.

  The young man was writing diligently, his brow furrowed to the rhythm of each word. Shigeru looked at the open page; the writing in dark ink was emblazoned:

  “If Kagami is the voice of the soul, why are only a few able to speak?”

  Shigeru frowned, swallowing hard. He nodded slowly at the young man, then was about to leave, but the young man suddenly turned his head. His gaze was dull, no words were spoken, only eyes that gave off anxiety. Shigeru replied with a small smile and whispered, “Morning.”

  Then he stepped out, the shop door closing by itself as if ending the silent conversation. The sound of creaking wood echoed, leaving behind a thicker silence.

  Outside, Shigeru took a deep breath. Thoughts of the book and the questions within it continued to spin. He muttered softly, “The voice of the soul… what does that mean to me?”

  He continued his steps towards the market, leaving the bookstore that was once again tightly closed, as if no one had ever been there.

  Shigeru’s thoughts were still adrift with the words of the young writer as he entered the path to the market. Every sound of gravel kicked under his shoes seemed to confirm his question: “If Kagami is the voice of the soul, why are only a few able to speak?” He tightly clutched the bag containing Gerbera seeds, a small inheritance from Levia that had not yet been planted.

  On the corner of the street, the cheerful laughter of children could be heard calling him from afar—they were racing to climb an old tree whose roots were crawling over the sidewalk. He remembered the incident last night, when a small child who was crying because he fell, looked at him with innocent eyes and said, “You’re not bad, are you?” Shigeru smiled faintly, then turned into the increasingly crowded market.

  Traders shouted offering their wares: vegetables, fresh fish, and sweet cakes. The murmur of residents’ conversations created a daily symphony. A tofu seller greeted Shigeru in a friendly manner, offering him free slices of tofu. He just nodded, his body leaving a space for indifference—but his heart was a little warm.

  When he reached the middle of the crowd, Shigeru stopped in front of a small stall where Levia usually bought candied ginger. He chose two packs, then stood while watching the rhythm of the market. There was an old poster about a village festival hanging crookedly, warning against playing with fireworks at night. The word “resonance” was written faintly in the corner of the poster—a warning for those who understood.

  Before paying, Shigeru was seen staring intently at a young man in a straw hat who was chopping vegetables at the next stall. The young man opened his eyes brightly, then gave a light wave. Shigeru nodded in recognition, then turned away. He was surprised himself—his days in Mizunami were filled with small but sincere greetings; as if this village had called him as one of its own, not as “a person without Kagami.”

  After paying, he allowed himself to stand for a moment, looking at the sea of ??familiar faces. Some were smiling, some were busy bargaining, and some looked upset because of the scarcity of certain spices. But no one chased him away or looked down on him. Only simple friendliness continued to flow.

  With shopping bags in hand, Shigeru sighed, feeling that this morning was different. There was no thunder, no thunder, only silence filled with greetings and warmth. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the wind carry the aroma of the market to his nose, then opened his eyes and stepped back on the road home—greeting a day that, for some reason, felt too calm.

  Shigeru continued to walk, leaving the hustle and bustle of the market behind him, but the echoes of laughter and warm greetings still accompanied his every footprint. He walked past a row of wooden houses with sliding doors, where paper lanterns still swayed gently, casting a dim light on the terrace.

  Beside the road, a middle-aged woman was drying freshly washed batik cloth. She looked at Shigeru and greeted him, “Son, are those seeds for flowers? Don’t forget to plant them in the yard, okay?”

  Shigeru paused for a moment, smiled thinly, then answered, “Yes, Mom. I’ll plant them this afternoon.” He squeezed the bag containing Gerbera seeds lightly, as if feeling a small vibration of hope inside.

  Not far ahead, Levia waited on the edge of a small wooden bridge that crossed a clear river. The grass on the riverbank rustled gently, and the surface of the water reflected the morning sunlight, creating a mosaic of silver sparkles. Levia turned her head when she saw Shigeru approaching and waved cheerfully.

  “Hey, you took so long,” Levia teased as she stood up, brushing back her flowing black hair. “It looks like the market is about to end.”

  Shigeru chuckled. “They were friendly, so I felt at home,” he said casually, then handed over the bag of seeds. “This was a deposit from the seed shop.”

  Levia accepted the bag with sparkling eyes. “Wow, who’s this from?”

  Shigeru shrugged. “I heard it was from the person who first planted the Gerbera flowers with you.”

  Levia blushed, looking down for a moment before looking at Shigeru again. “Thanks, okay. I’ll plant them near the lake.”

  They then went towards the lake and started planting the seeds.

  After planting the remaining Gerbera seeds on the edge of the lake, Shigeru and Levia sat together on a flat rock. The afternoon wind blew gently, caressing the surface of the water until it created small ripples that echoed in rhythm with the rustling of the leaves. They were silent for a moment, enjoying the tranquility that they had rarely felt since the end of the rainy season.

  Levia broke the silence with a soft voice, "You know, when I was little I was always afraid that the flowers would wither before they could bloom." She turned to Shigeru, her lips forming a small smile. "But now... it seems like they know, I will take care of them."

  Shigeru smiled thinly, staring at the water. "I used to be afraid too... afraid that everyone would leave me before I could say anything." He turned his head, looking at Levia. "But you're still here."

  Levia turned her gaze to the lake, watching the ripples that were getting further away from the edge of the rock. "That... is very hard, huh." She took a breath, then added in a softer voice, "That's why I promised... I would protect you."

  Shigeru shrugged lightly. “Then you have to promise me one thing.” He looked at Levia with a serious look, but his tone remained flat. “Don’t tell anyone about me… I like to be anonymous.”

  Levia laughed softly, then nodded. “Deal. Our secret.”

  They shared a small laugh, and in that laughter, something flowed—a small bond that would only grow thicker over time. Amidst the ripples of water and the roar of air, the two friends found solace in the emptiness they shared.

  -————-　■　-————-

  A few days after planting the Gerbera seeds on the edge of the lake, Shigeru and Levia returned to the same spot. However, what they saw was not just flowers growing; instead, there was an old tree on the edge of the lake, with dry branches and leaves that had fallen before they had a chance to grow green. The tree’s roots were embedded in the muddy soil, as if bearing the weight of countless years.

  Levia stood beneath the tree, her arms folded in front of her chest. Her face stared blankly at the branch that had broken before it had a chance to sprout. “Why won’t this tree grow again?” she muttered softly, her voice almost drowned out by the wind.

  Shigeru walked closer, tracing the intertwined roots on the surface of the ground. He tapped the tree trunk with his index finger, trying to feel the vibrations of life that might remain. “Maybe… the soil isn’t fertile enough,” he said, looking at the pile of dry leaves around it. “Or there’s been too much rain lately.”

  Levia shook her head slowly. “I often see other trees around this lake growing well. It’s just this tree that… died prematurely.”

  Shigeru sat on a rock near the base of the tree. “Even trees can give up, let alone humans.”

  Levia turned her head, her brow furrowed slightly. “Don’t tell me you’re going to give up too, huh?”

  Shigeru stared at the lake that was glistening slowly. “It’s not giving up, it’s just… sometimes people fight for something that can’t be saved.”

  Levia sighed softly, then sat down beside him. “That sounds so hopeless.”

  She turned her head, looking at Shigeru with soft eyes. “But you shouldn’t give up. If this tree can grow again, who knows, one day.”

  Shigeru smiled lopsidedly. “You’re so optimistic.”

  Levia shrugged. “Optimism is a choice. Like me choosing to protect you.”

  Amidst the peace of the afternoon, those words hung—like a seed of hope that had yet to bloom, but was ready to grow.

  -————-　■　-————-

  In the weeks leading up to autumn, Mizunami Village would normally be filled with the excitement of preparing for the harvest festival. But this year, the streets were deserted. The few stalls selling baked sweet potatoes and cocoa powder that used to be bustling were now just empty poles. Red lanterns hung bare, and the worn banners that had been hung high in the village square were beginning to fray at the edges.

  Shigeru walked through the square with Levia, his eyes fixed on the banners that swayed gently in the wind. “I guess the festival is canceled this year?” he asked quietly.

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  Levia nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes. The imperial government said it was because of a ‘resonance curse’—the danger of too many people gathering.” She stopped and looked at Shigeru. “It feels strange, doesn’t it? We haven’t really seen the curse yet.”

  Shigeru glanced at the villagers passing by—their faces looked normal, except for a few people standing in groups whispering. He sensed a deeper silence than usual, as if the square had lost its life. “I don’t know… maybe they’re scared.”

  They stopped in front of an empty tent, a former bake sale. Levia touched the dusty tarp. “I miss the noise. The Nadeshiko dance. The gerbera decorating contest. Even the little firecrackers.”

  Shigeru smiled faintly. “Me too. Everyone here must miss it.”

  Levia pulled a gerbera petal from her bag and held it in front of the empty banner. “Maybe we could have a little festival, just for ourselves,” she suggested.

  Shigeru looked at Levia, then at the gerbera in her hand. Once again he felt the simple warmth that made their world feel complete, even though the country outside was gripped by fear. “That’s okay,” he replied simply, but sincerely.

  Levia smiled and reached into her bag, pulling out some paper and markers. “Okay, let’s draw our own banner. Theme: ‘New Hopes Under the Same Sky.’”

  Shigeru pulled a small paintbrush from his bag, something he had carried with him since he was a child. Together, they painted on the scraps of white cloth lying around, creating bright sketches of gerbera flowers and words of hope. Though simple, their laughter echoed through the empty square, bringing a little life back to it.

  When they were done, Levia hung their handmade banner on a string between two wooden poles. “Ready,” she said proudly.

  Shigeru looked at their work and nodded. “The festival begins now,” he said.

  And in the middle of the deserted square, two figures stood beneath their handmade banner—fighting the silence with color and laughter, trying to rekindle the almost-faded vibrancy.

  They enjoyed each moment with peace and joy.

  Night began to creep in as Shigeru and Levia left the square with lighter hearts. The darkness was reflected by the light of paper lanterns in every yard, creating a warm, dim path. They walked down a narrow alley, until they reached an old stone wall at the end of the street—a ruin from the Tsuyukusa Clan era.

  The wall was nearly two meters high, with a rough surface covered in moss and fine cracks. In some places, the Kagami symbols were worn away by time—but one symbol near the center was still clear: a black animal patterned with blue flames, a rare sign in this village.

  Levia stared at the symbol thoughtfully, then took a deep breath. “They say this symbol used to be reserved for clan leaders. If the crack widens, it means our connection to the outside world is broken.”

  Shigeru touched the surface of the wall with his fingertips, feeling the roughness of the stone. “I’ve heard…” he said softly. “Back in the first generation after the tragedy, they used this to trap the Kagami Fragments.”

  Levia nodded slowly, her eyes dark. “Do you think they were really trapping or were they holding back the balance of nature?”

  Shigeru frowned. “I don’t know. History is often written by the victors.” He looked at Levia, then added, “It’s like we write our own stories, not someone else’s.”

  Levia turned, smiling faintly. “That’s right. We get to decide what this symbol means now.”

  They stood side by side, looking at the cracked symbol, feeling the silence that told of a past full of wounds. But between the cracks, they chose to carve out new hope—even if only with their thoughts.

  The sky above the wall was pitch black, but the stars twinkled slowly, as if agreeing with their small steps in challenging the silence.

  Finally they returned to their respective homes And the night crept quickly across Mizunami Village, like a mist creeping slowly from the mountains, enveloping the wooden houses with a suddenly silent, cold air. Shigeru sat alone on the porch of his house, leaning against a wooden pole while looking at the dark, moonless sky. Usually, at hours like this, the sound of night birds or crickets could still be heard faintly. But tonight, there was nothing—only silence.

  He held a cup of warm tea that was starting to cool, his fingers still. There was no Levia by his side tonight. They had agreed to go home early, without many words, after standing for a long time in front of the old wall. And for some reason, the loneliness that he usually didn't care about, now seemed to stick tightly to his shoulders.

  The back door of the house opened slowly. His mother appeared carrying a thin blanket and placed it on Shigeru's shoulder, then sat beside him without saying anything for a while. Only the sound of the wood creaking softly as they leaned together, and the steam from the tea that disappeared with the wind.

  “Your father used to sit here at night too,” his mother finally said, her voice soft. “Especially when the sky is like this… empty.”

  Shigeru turned his head slightly. He rarely heard his mother talk about his father. The man who had left… and never returned.

  “Why did he leave, Mother?” he asked, not because he wanted an answer, but because the night was too calm not to ask.

  His mother didn’t answer right away. She took a deep breath, then said softly, “There are things in this world… that should not be touched. But your father believed there was something wrong with the system—with the way they called it ‘balance.’”

  He stared up at the dark sky, his lips trembling slightly. “He didn’t disappear because he was afraid. But because he knew that if he stayed… he would be eliminated.”

  Shigeru fell silent. The night wind touched the back of his neck, cold but not freezing. He looked down at the tea that was starting to taste bland, then said, “So he chose to leave?”

  His mother nodded slowly. “Yes. But not to run. He… is looking for a way so that no one has to choose anymore.”

  The words hung in the air, too deep to be answered with laughter or sarcasm.

  Shigeru just nodded slightly. Then, in the distance, the sound of water could be heard… from the direction of the old well that should have been dry.

  -————-　■　-————-

  he day came as usual—silent, gentle, without any promise. The sunlight filtered through the window panes of Shigeru’s house, bouncing softly on the cold wooden floor. The morning breeze carried the scent of wet wood and dew, but also something vague… like the smell of recently dug soil.

  Shigeru sat in front of the house, holding a bag of seeds that he had saved to plant in the side yard. The rest of the Gerbera seeds he had gotten from an old shop. He had originally wanted to plant them with Levia by the lake, but for some reason, he wanted to do it alone.

  He dug into the soil with his bare hands, letting the cold penetrate his skin. Black grains of soil stuck between his fingers, and as he dropped the small seed into the hole, a strange feeling settled in his chest. Not sadness. Not emotion. But like… burying hope, hoping it would grow again in another form.

  “Flowers are stubborn, you know?” Levia’s voice came from behind the fence, surprising him.

  Shigeru turned his head. Levia stood in her regular uniform, her hair tied up haphazardly, and her face half-asleep.

  “What do you mean?” Shigeru asked while dusting his hands.

  Levia entered slowly through the side fence, then squatted beside the hole in the ground. “That gerbera. It can grow even if the place is wrong. The season is wrong. And no one is taking care of it.” She tilted her head. “But it will grow crooked. Maybe it will break. But it will still bloom.”

  Shigeru nodded slightly. “Like you, huh.”

  Levia smiled thinly. “Or like you. Who is always quiet but always there.”

  They were silent for a moment. There was nothing to add.

  Shigeru closed the hole slowly, then sat on the ground while looking at the results of his plants—which were still nothing visible, just slightly looser soil. But for the two of them, that was enough of a sign.

  A sign that something would grow. Who knows when. Who knows how.

  The important thing was, they chose to plant it.

  After planting the seeds, Shigeru and Levia walked together down a small path toward the market. Their initial goal was simple—to buy salt and tea for their mother. But as usual, their steps slowed down whenever they passed places that brought back memories.

  Around a bend in the street, the strong scent of spices greeted them. The Haruno family’s spice shop stood on the corner, with an old tiled roof and a faded sign. There, small bottles of colorful powders were neatly displayed, and the scent of dried ginger mixed with cinnamon teased the noses of anyone who passed by.

  “I like this shop,” Levia murmured. “Always fragrant… like the world has never been broken.”

  Shigeru just nodded. He knew what Levia meant. This place seemed to remain intact, even as everything else in the world slowly began to change.

  As they entered, the small bell above the door jingled. The shop was deserted. There were no other customers, except for the owner, Mrs. Haruno—an elderly woman with neatly tied silver hair and warm, narrow eyes. She looked at them with a friendly smile.

  “Morning, children. What are you looking for?”

  “Green tea and coarse salt,” Shigeru replied.

  Levia browsed the glass shelves of rare herbs, then her eyes fell on a small bottle in the corner of the shelf. Inside was a pale blue powder—the color of a frozen cloudy sky.

  “What is this?” she asked, pointing at the bottle.

  Mrs. Haruno approached and stared at it for a long time before answering. “That… is not for sale. It is a remnant from the time before the kingdom was formed. A time when Kagami was still not governed by law.”

  Shigeru and Levia looked at each other.

  “You know about that, right?” the old woman asked Shigeru, her voice soft. “This village has a history longer than the kingdom has written. And you, my boy… even though you have no reflection, sometimes people without shadows can see more clearly than those obscured by light.”

  Shigeru stiffened. Levia stepped closer, but did not speak.

  Mrs. Haruno smiled faintly, then walked back to the counter. “The tea is on the left shelf. The salt is below.”

  As if she had never said anything.

  Levia was still staring at the small bottle from outside the glass, her eyebrows furrowed gently. The pale blue inside gave off a cold impression, not like the sky or the sea, but more like the first snow falling silently. She bent down slightly, looking at the thin label underneath—a nearly faded handwriting: “Yuki-no-za: for unformed souls only.”

  Shigeru glanced at it briefly, then looked away. His heart felt strange—not afraid, not curious. But like his body wanted to move away from the bottle, for no reason he could explain. He took the tea and salt as his mother had requested, leaving Levia standing in front of the glass shelf.

  “Levia,” he called softly.

  Levia hesitated for a moment before finally answering, “Yes… sorry, I felt… like I’ve seen this before.”

  “Have I?” Shigeru raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

  Levia shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe it was just a dream.”

  He stepped away from the shelf, but as his back was to the glass, the liquid in the bottle seemed to vibrate very slightly—even though no one was touching it. Not loud enough to make a sound. But enough to leave an unnatural impression.

  After paying, they stepped out of the shop. The morning air was still fresh, but there was a silence that settled between their steps. Unusual.

  Levia squeezed the handle of her shopping bag. “Earlier… Mrs. Haruno mentioned ‘reflection’, right? You meant Kagami, right?”

  Shigeru paused for a few steps before answering. “Maybe. But… it’s as if she knows I don’t have one.”

  “She knows more than she lets on,” Levia muttered. “The old people in this village… it feels like they’re keeping a secret together.”

  Shigeru turned his head quickly. “Do you feel it too?”

  Levia just nodded. Then, unconsciously, he glanced back—toward the spice shop. But when he looked for Mrs. Haruno behind the window… there was no one there. Even the strong aroma of spices seemed to have disappeared completely.

  It was as if the place had only appeared… to convey something.

  After leaving the spice shop, Shigeru and Levia took a different route home—not via the main road, but a small path behind the houses that children usually took if they wanted to get to the town square quickly. The ground was still wet, full of small stones and roots sticking out from underneath.

  “I used to dream that this road was gone,” Levia said suddenly. “Like… I’d wake up in the morning, and the road was gone. And people forgot this path ever existed.”

  Shigeru stared straight ahead. “It was strange.”

  Levia lowered her head slightly, kicking a small pebble. “Even stranger… the dream felt real. Even when I woke up, I still felt like the road was never there. I only realized a few minutes later that everything was normal.”

  They passed an old tree on the left side of the road—the same tree where children liked to hang paper amulets. But this morning, the amulets were empty. The paper was white, unwritten, as if no one had ever touched it.

  Shigeru slowed down, then looked at one of the amulets hanging lowest. He approached. Not just empty—the edges looked a little burnt. But there was no trace of fire, no smell. Just paper... that had lost a part of itself.

  Levia also stared, then muttered, “It’s like a dream, huh? Suddenly it’s there, suddenly it’s gone... but we’re never sure if it’s a dream or not.”

  Shigeru stood still for a few seconds, then walked again without comment.

  When they finally reached their respective yards, the sky was still the same. Blue, calm, cloudless. But for Shigeru, today was no ordinary morning.

  He went inside the house, sat on the edge of the bed, and closed his eyes for a moment.

  There was no sound.

  There were no shadows.

  But in his mind’s eye, he stood alone in the middle of the deserted Mizunami village. There were no people, no birds, no colors. Only a single Gerbera flower blooming alone on bare ground.

  He wanted to speak, but no sound came out of his mouth.

  And when he turned around, all the roads had disappeared. Even his own house had disappeared.

  But when he opened his eyes again, he was still sitting in his original place. His breathing was steady. His heart was calm.

  As if it was all just a fantasy…

  …or something that had not yet begun.