Dust floated through the air, carried by the cold wind that slipped between the cracks of broken walls. The abandoned village was silent—houses half-collapsed, doors creaking with every breeze. A young boy ran through the rubble, his breathing sharp and uneven. Strapped to his back with a torn piece of cloth was a small baby, wrapped in a thin blanket.The boy's small sandals scraped against the ground as he turned a corner and pressed himself against a cracked wall. His chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat dripping from his forehead. He slowly peeked out from behind the wall, scanning the open street. No one.He exhaled. "Phew... I managed to escape."He looked over his shoulder. The baby was still asleep, tiny fingers gripping the cloth around him. A faint smile appeared on the boy's face, but it faded quickly. He knew he couldn't rest here for long.Looking around, he spotted an old wooden crate beside a fallen roof beam—broken but deep enough to hide something small. He gently untied the cloth from his chest and lifted the baby into his arms."Just a little longer, Enruto," he whispered. His voice was soft but filled with resolve. "I'll come back soon. I promise."He leaned down and kissed Enruto's forehead. The baby stirred slightly but didn't cry. Carefully, the boy placed him inside the crate, laying some pieces of fabric beneath to make it softer. He adjusted the wooden planks so air could flow through but the baby wouldn't be seen from outside.Then he stepped back, checking twice that it looked untouched. The wind rustled through his messy hair as he turned away. His small hand tightened into a fist.I have to see what's going on. If I run now, they'll find him.He took one last look at the hidden spot, eyes narrowing with determination. Then he darted off into the shadows between two ruined houses, his steps light and fast despite his exhaustion.The camera would linger on the crate for a moment—the baby's soft breathing the only sound in the silence. Then a single leaf fell onto the wooden lid, carried by the wind.
The alleyways of the abandoned village were narrow and twisted, broken stone underfoot, wind whistling through cracked walls. The boy darted between shadows, small feet slapping lightly against the debris-strewn ground. His tiny frame carried a weight—both from exhaustion and the small bundle strapped to his back—but his focus was unwavering.
Ahead, a thin rope, barely visible against the cracked stone, snagged his foot, and before he could react, he tumbled forward. The world spun, dust and small stones scattering as he dangled upside down, his tiny body caught awkwardly by the loose rope trap.
"Phew…" he muttered under his breath, dangling precariously. "This… this isn't exactly how I planned it."
Above him, a group of hunters—older children, twelve years of age—gathered, circling and laughing. "Got you now!" one shouted. "No escape this time!"
The boy squirmed slightly, hanging from the rope, and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. "Wait… before you try anything," he called, voice echoing. "I have a question."
The hunters exchanged confused glances. "A question? Now?" one asked.
"Yeah," the boy said, twisting slightly so he could see all of them. "If you were trapped upside down like me, what would you do first? Rub your head? Check your shoes? Or just scream?"
The hunters blinked, uncertain whether to be annoyed or confused. The boy grinned under the rope, dangling by his legs. "I mean… seriously, what's the protocol? Asking for… research purposes."
A brave hunter growled, stepping forward with a small blade. "Stop stalling and die already!"
The boy's eyes widened for a second, then he smirked. "Oh, going straight for the dramatic exit, huh? Bold move!"
The hunter swung the blade with a swift arc, aiming directly at him. The boy's heart raced—but just as the blade cut through the air toward him, he tumbled forward, hitting the dusty ground hard and rubbing his head as if nothing had happened.
The hunters froze, mouths agape.
"You—you didn't die?!" one shouted.
The boy laughed, loud and sharp. "Guess I'm just too small to break! Or maybe your aim needs work." He jumped to his feet, brushing off dust and grinning. "Your turn now!"
He darted between shadows, nimble despite his small frame. One by one, he set up small traps—thin wires strung across narrow alleys, tiny pouches of smoke and paper bombs hidden under rubble, and makeshift alarms using broken wood and scraps. Each trap was simple but effective, relying on surprise rather than brute strength.
The hunters, initially confident, began tripping over wires, coughing from smoke, and shouting in frustration. The boy darted in and out of sight, grabbing small weapons and tools from fallen pouches, taunting them as he went.
"C'mon! Is that all you got?" he yelled, narrowly avoiding a swinging stick. "I thought older kids were supposed to be scary!"
One of the braver hunters lunged toward him with a sharp blade, aiming to catch him at the far end of the alley. The boy ran past, eyes focused, and the hunter swung—but the boy disappeared from sight. Every hunter gasped.
When the hunter turned, expecting to strike again, he froze in shock. The boy was already on the ground a few steps away, rubbing his head and chuckling. "Missed me!" he called, laughter echoing through the broken walls.
Seizing the moment, he darted into another alley, triggering traps that sent several hunters sprawling into smoke and debris. He snatched up weapons and pouches from those who had fallen, tucking them into his own small belt.
But even the cleverest traps have limits. As he tried to cross a narrow street, two hunters cornered him. No traps, no quick escapes—just him, small and exhausted, facing them.
"Gotcha now," one hissed, blocking his path.
The boy's grin faltered for the first time, and he pressed himself against the wall, clutching the stolen tools. The alley was tight; every exit was covered. His mind raced, thinking of another plan, but this time, the hunters were ready.
He took a deep breath, realizing the playful chase had become serious. And yet, even caught, his eyes sparkled—not with fear, but with determination.
From the edge of the shadows, three tall figures watched silently, waiting for the right moment. Their presence was calm, commanding, enough to make the hunters hesitate.
"Step back," one of the figures called, voice low but sharp.
The hunters froze, unsure whether to fight or retreat. The small boy, panting, glanced at the shadows—hope flickering in his chest. And far away, the hidden baby in the crate stirred, safe for the moment.
The two hunters who had cornered him froze, turning back toward the sound of the boy's laugh. "Where… where did that come from?" one muttered, scanning the shadows. Their eyes darted around, trying to locate him, but there was nothing.
Before they could react further, Sas swooped in. With a swift, practiced motion, he grabbed the boy by the arm and swung him away using a sturdy rope. The small body sailed through the air a few meters, landing safely on solid ground.
"Hold tight!" Sas called, sprinting with the boy in his grasp. The hunters shouted in frustration, weapons raised, but could not keep up.
Ahead, Captain and Ren waited in a narrow alley, the perfect spot for a trap they had set. As Sas ran with the boy, they signaled, and the hidden trap—a network of ropes, weighted debris, and small mechanisms—was ready.
The hunters, hot on their trail, charged into the alley, unaware of what lay in wait. With a sharp tug, Captain and Ren triggered the trap. Ropes snapped taut, debris fell, and dust and smoke filled the air. The hunters yelled in surprise and scrambled, blinded and tangled.
Sas slowed only briefly to adjust the boy's balance before darting further into the shadows, guiding him past the chaos. The boy's small hands clutched Sas tightly, heart racing, adrenaline mixing with awe at the sudden rescue.
Through the dust and confusion, the four of them—Sas, the boy, Captain, and Ren—melted into the ruined streets, leaving the hunters disoriented and unable to pursue.
Sas glanced at the boy, steadying his stride. "Good. We've bought some time. But we need to move quickly. The others won't give up so easily."
Captain and Ren crouched in the alley, checking the trap. "They won't find us here," Ren whispered. "We'll wait for the right moment before we move again."
The boy's chest heaved, eyes wide with a mix of fear and relief. Sas shot him a reassuring look. "Don't worry. You're safe—for now. But we need to keep moving."
The four crouched behind the wall, hearts pounding, breaths uneven. For the first time since the chaos began, things were quiet.
Ren broke the silence first. "In our reports… it said you weren't alone," she said, turning toward the boy. "You had a little brother, right? Where is he?"
Captain's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah," he added, his tone firm but not harsh. "Where's the baby?"
The boy froze for a moment, then pointed toward a small, half-broken house nearby. "He's… he's there. I hid him before they caught me."
Without wasting a second, Sas darted ahead, moving like a shadow through the debris. Captain followed close, signaling Ren to cover their back. When they reached the crumbling house, the boy hurried to a corner and lifted a loose plank.
There, wrapped in a soft blue cloth, was baby Enruto—sleeping peacefully despite the chaos around him.
Ren smiled softly. "He's safe."
Captain gave a small nod. "Good work, kid," he said, and Sas gently picked the baby up, holding him close.
The boy—eyes still wet with relief—looked at them. "Thank you," he whispered.
But Captain quickly turned back to him. "No," he said simply, his voice carrying warmth beneath its rough tone. "No sorry. No thank you."
The boy blinked in confusion. "Huh? What do you mean?"
Captain smiled faintly. "We're friends now. Friends don't need 'thank yous.'"
For a moment, the boy said nothing. His eyes trembled, and then tears finally spilled down his cheeks. He ran forward and hugged all three of them at once—Captain, Sas, and Ren.
"Friends…" he whispered, his voice cracking but full of joy.
The three stood there in the quiet ruins, holding onto that one small moment of peace before the storm would return.
Kaito and Ayame stepped quietly into the hospital room, their small hands still linked. The faint scent of antiseptic mingled with the soft hum of monitors, filling the quiet space. They slid carefully onto the chairs beside Mikasa's bed, careful not to disturb anything.
Kaito adjusted his seat and accidentally nudged the edge of the bedside table. A soft clatter echoed through the room. Startled, he froze—and then Mikasa's eyes slowly opened, meeting theirs.
"I… I'm sorry for waking you, aunty," Ayame whispered quickly.
Mikasa's lips curved into a gentle, quiet smile. "I wasn't sleeping," she said softly. "I was waiting for you two."
Relief washed over the twins, and they leaned a little closer. Mikasa's gaze softened as she studied them. "How have you both been?" she asked, her voice calm, almost soothing.
"We're… fine," Kaito replied quietly, listening intently as she spoke.
Ayame, unable to contain her curiosity, leaned forward. "Aunty… how are you feeling? What did the doctor say? Is everything okay?"
Mikasa chuckled lightly, her eyes flicking between the two. "I'm stable… for now. The doctors are monitoring me carefully. Don't worry too much. I just need rest and patience."
Kaito nodded silently, absorbing her words, while Ayame's barrage of questions continued—she wanted to understand everything, to be prepared.
Then Mikasa's expression grew serious. "Promise me something," she said, her voice firmer. "If anything happens to me… you both must take care of Mimi. Especially if… I… die."
The word struck Kaito like a bolt. Tears welled up in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. "Don't say that, aunty!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Everything will be fine! Nothing will happen to you. And we promise—we'll take care of Mimi, even if you're here in the hospital. I promise, right Ayame?"
Ayame nodded, her eyes wide but determined. "Yes, aunty. We promise."
Mikasa gave them a small, reassured smile, squeezing their hands gently. "Thank you… my brave ones."
The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of her words lingering in the air—but so too did the warmth of their promise, unspoken yet firmly understood.
Mikasa's eyes softened as she looked at Kaito. "Kaito… come closer," she said quietly.
He hesitated for a moment, then shuffled forward, sitting on the edge of her bed. She reached out weakly, letting her fingers brush his hand.
"Why didn't you both come to see me earlier?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "I… I thought I'd lost you both in the war as well."
Kaito swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Because… I've already lost so much," he said, his voice cracking. "I lost Mom and Dad… and Enruto, my little brother. Losing them… it broke me."
He paused, shoulders tense. "And then… the kids on the streets…" His voice faltered. "They called me a monster. Every day. Every single word cut deeper than I can explain. I didn't want to face that kind of rejection again… not from the people I care about. From you, from my friends, from the big sisters and brothers who always looked after me."
Kaito's hands clenched into fists. "That's why I didn't come. I was scared… scared that I'd be rejected again by the people I love and trust."
Mikasa squeezed his hand gently, her eyes glistening. "I understand… you carried all of that pain alone."
Ayame leaned forward, resting her chin lightly on the bed. "Aunty… what did you mean by 'I thought I'd lost you both as well'? Where's Uncle? And Kazuki… is he okay?"
Mikasa's gaze shifted, shadows flickering across her face. She took a slow, deep breath. "Your uncle… he went to the frontlines during the war. We were separated. There were days… days when I didn't know if either of you had survived. I feared the worst. That's why I said those words, Ayame. Losing you after everything else… it haunted me."
Ayame's eyes widened, and she reached out to touch Mikasa's hand. "So… you were scared too?" she asked softly.
Mikasa gave a faint smile. "Yes… even I was scared. But seeing you here now…" Her voice cracked slightly. "…that's what matters most. That's why I'm relieved."
Kaito swallowed hard, his hands still trembling. "Aunty… will Uncle come back? And Kazuki?"
Mikasa's eyes darkened slightly, and she didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pulled both twins closer into a weak embrace, holding them for a moment.
"There are things… I cannot answer right now," she whispered. "But you are safe here, and that is enough for now."
The twins stayed close, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Each of them was lost in thought—the fear, the past, the uncertainty of the war—and the fragile hope that the future might still hold them together.
Ayame sat cross-legged near the edge of Mikasa's bed, quietly reading through the medical report. Kaito lingered close to Mikasa, his eyes flicking between her frail form and the papers Ayame held.
He leaned forward, grinning mischievously. "Aunty… do you want to hear something funny we did this morning?"
Mikasa blinked, curiosity piqued. "Funny? What do you mean?"
Kaito's eyes lit up. "We built a tower with blocks at home! It was so tall—I swear it almost touched the ceiling. But then… I had to go pee in the middle of it, and I put my shoes on the wrong feet!"
He flopped back slightly, laughing at the memory. "I almost tripped, but Ayame—of course she put hers on wrong too—just laughed at me. And then we ran to the restaurant, and when I got there, Ayame had already finished in the toilet before I even reached! Can you believe that?!"
Mikasa's lips twitched, trying not to smile. "You two… really got into everything, didn't you?"
Kaito chuckled, pointing at her gently. "Even with shoes on wrong, towers about to fall—we always managed to have fun. You never knew, did you?"
Mikasa shook her head softly, smiling faintly. "No… I didn't know."
Kaito leaned closer, a shadow of seriousness crossing his face. "Aunty… where is Kazuki? Do you know if he…?"
Mikasa's eyes glistened, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She swallowed hard, forcing a shaky breath. Before she could answer, a sudden fit of coughing shook her fragile body.
The sterile hum of the hospital corridor was broken as the medical team rushed in. Ayame instinctively grabbed Kaito's arm. "We need to go out," she whispered urgently, guiding him toward the door.
As they tried to slip away quietly, peeking from behind the mirror, one of the nurses hastily pulled the curtain across the room, blocking their view. Ayame's expression hardened.
Kaito frowned. "Why… why'd they do that?"
Ayame's voice was firm, though tinged with worry. "The report… it said not to upset Aunty, not to make her cry."
Kaito's lower lip trembled. "Did I… did I make it worse?"
Ayame hesitated, biting her lip. "I… I don't know."
Inside the room, the medical team spoke quietly. "She wasn't crying, just tears. She'll be fine," one murmured, adjusting her oxygen mask. "Keep monitoring her, but don't panic."
Outside, Kaito sank to the ground, burying his face in his hands. Soft, helpless sobs escaped him as he whispered, "It's all my fault… I shouldn't have asked… I can't let anything happen to her…"
Ayame knelt beside him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Kaito… it's not your fault. Aunty will be okay."
But Kaito shook her off, tears streaming down his cheeks. "No… I can't just sit here! I have to… I have to do something!"
Before Ayame could stop him, he bolted, running through the hospital, past the streets of the village, and out into the open fields. His legs carried him faster than thought, his breath ragged, until finally he reached the cliff at the edge of the village.
He sank beneath a gnarled tree, chest heaving—not just from running, but from the fear and guilt that clung to him. His eyes scanned the horizon, the wind tugging at his hair. Alone, he whispered, "I shouldn't have asked… I should've… I should've…"
As he sat there, trying to calm himself, his gaze lifted and he saw a lone figure standing silently at the very edge of the cliff, staring out into the distance. The sight made him pause, his racing thoughts faltering as he tried to take in the presence of the figure.
The wind howled softly around him, carrying with it the weight of worry, fear, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't entirely alone.