The chorus of cicadas echoed through the warm evening air, wrapping the island in that familiar sleepy hum of late summer. The sky had turned gold, the sun lazily dipping behind the hills.
Akaru stood outside the hospital gates, holding two cups of chilled ramune. He checked the label on the second one — melon flavor. Himari’s favorite, apparently.
When he stepped into the garden, she was already there, parked under the wisteria tree with her suitcase resting against the bench.
"You came prepared," she said, smiling faintly as he handed her the bottle.
"I figured you’d guilt-trip me if I didn’t."
They both sat, letting the soft wind cool their skin. The sky had begun shifting — orange melting into lavender, hints of indigo creeping in.
“It’s the middle of summer break,” she said suddenly. “You should be doing something more exciting than babysitting a girl in a wheelchair.”
He looked at her sideways. “Nah. I’ve always preferred quiet vacations.”
She chuckled. “Liar.”
He shrugged. “Okay, maybe not always. But lately… this feels right.”
She went quiet, her fingers tracing the edge of her hand luggage again.
The first butterfly appeared just as the sky turned fully blue.
It shimmered past them like a living prism — glowing softly, its wings casting faint trails of color as it danced through the twilight.
“…That again,” Himari whispered, staring.
Then another joined. And another.
Dozens.
They weren’t fireflies. They were brighter. Their wings looked almost like stained glass again — each flap left behind a whisper of something that made the air thrum, like a piano note too quiet to hear but too deep to ignore.
The butterflies circled them — gentle, silent, slow.
And then…
Time paused.
Not literally. But the world shifted again.
The wind stopped. The cicadas quieted. The garden lost its background noise — replaced with something colder. Still.
The grass below them seemed softer. The moon above seemed closer. And then the butterflies all moved — in one silent, unified motion — toward a grove of trees beyond the hospital wall.
Akaru stood. “Do you see that?”
Himari nodded slowly. “They’re… leading us.”
Without thinking, he pushed her wheelchair gently along the garden path. The gate had been left open.
Beyond the hospital perimeter, a narrow gravel trail wound down toward an old overgrown shrine. The butterflies shimmered in and out of the trees like ghosts.
“It’s like they’re showing us something,” she murmured.
When they reached the shrine, everything went still again.
In the center of the clearing stood a weathered stone altar. It was cracked, vines climbing its sides, and on top rested something… odd.
A feather.
Pure white, but softly glowing — faint like the butterflies.
Himari reached toward it, almost in a trance.
But before she could touch it, the butterflies scattered. The sound returned — wind, insects, distant waves.
The light was gone.
The feather remained — now dull and ordinary.
"...What just happened?" Akaru muttered.
Himari blinked. Her voice was soft.
"I don’t think this island is normal."
Akaru looked at the feather.
Neither did he.
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