Volume 3 – Chapter 5: The Quiet Between

[August 7 — 3:10 PM]

Outside it was so still, almost as if the air were dead itself; not a single leaf or tree rustled, not even the wind dared to breathe in this kind of silence, bear down upon your head with the stillness; where your heartbeat felt like a disturbance.

"Nothing India could do," Kaito thought, fold back into the house for a while. There was already out on the porch, hands sunk into pockets staring out at the horizon. As soon as he heard that door slam, way too loud for this kind of quiet, immediately-most awfully, in his mind-he knew there was something wrong outside where air suffocated, empty even from the birds. Darkness-up with his dreams melting into reality-was painted in these colors, like, neither belonged to sunset nor dawn.

It has gone eerily still outside-no leaves rustle on trees; not even the wind entertains the breath of air. That kind of stillness, pressed into your head, against your ears, where your heartbeat feels like a disturbance.

That was definitely the very first thing to get him the instant he'd stepped outside: the door closing behind him, every thud echoing far too loudly in the empty quiet.

Standing in there for a while, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed at the horizon. It seemed like the sky will dissolve-it's all hazy and washed in colors that couldn't just decide if dusk or dawn were going to win. For a moment, he almost convinced himself the world had stopped spinning.

Within, people are still talking. Laughing, even. The house—shelter from outside dangers, not outside dangers, but from the thoughts they are all too afraid to speak against the wall. This was nowhere for Kaito to be, though. Not today.

His thoughts had become too noisy.

Walking, slowly, with no destination or anything concrete in mind. Sound of gravel crunching under his shoes could be heard as he walked by the garden and passing a quiet row of trees lining the property. No birds sang. No insects buzzed. Even the sun only offered dim light being partially swallowed by a sheet of gray.

Kaito wouldn't know how much time he kept on walking. It had lately become a blur. But eventually, he drew up near the old stone well at the edge of the estate. This well had been unused for years, and its coverage was so much in vines. He perched himself on the edge and stared down into its hollow dark, wondering why silence inside was louder than everything else.

"We were never supposed to learn the end," he thought. "We were forever only meant to live like we had all the time in the world."

But time was what they had least of.

He heard footsteps. Light, hesitant. Turning around, he stumbled upon Rika with her arms crossed against the wind that finally started to blow. Their eyes met but no words were exchanged. She simply occupied the spot next to him; their bodies nearly brushed against each other, while a lengthy moment ensued with neither saying a word.

Then Rika asked, "Do you ever feel like... the closer we come to the end, the more real everything seems?"

He tilted his head and answered.

"Maybe people see only when forced to. So we spend our lives hiding behind this word 'later' and now there is no 'later' left."

A soft sigh escaped Rika's lips as a smile flickered in and out of existence. "It just makes everything feel precious. Even silence."

They grew quiet again, not really listening, not hearing anything—there were no cars, no chatter, no planes overhead—just the slight sound of the breeze creeping back in, awkward and unsure, as if the world itself wasn't so sure it could carry on.

"Kaito?" she said after what felt like minutes.

"Yeah?"

"What do you think people will remember, if any of this is remembered at all?"

He looked back at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… when it's all said and done, if somewhere, someone survives and casts their mind back on this time—what will they think about us? About humanity? Would they see people that loved? Fought for each other? Or just the other way around, see all the wrongs?"

Kaito frowned because he didn't know. Maybe they would see both; maybe they would see neither. Maybe no one would be left to care. The question hung with him, rooted far down into his chest.

"I want to think...," he said, taking a long pause, "...that if we are remembered, then it should not be for how we died, but how we lived with one another until the very end."

And with the gust come again; this time, a stronger wind picked up. Rika reached out for his hand, not looking, and he relinquished it to her. Their fingers intertwined spontaneously, a gesture of muscle memory matured with so many silent nights as tonight.

And everything felt fine for a split second and fled.

Comforting, that stillness slowly turned. A soft whisper breached the tranquil lull—a far-off sound, metallic. Kaito stiffened. Rika stilled.

They had both heard it. A sharp clang echoed far away, breaking the serenity beneath the trees. Not thunder. Not wind. Human.

Somebody was coming.