Chapter 10: Embers in the Rain

The rain returned in the early hours of the morning, a soft patter that grew steadily heavier until it became a relentless drumbeat on the rooftops. By the time the sun had risen—hidden behind an impenetrable wall of gray clouds—the village was slick with mud, its narrow paths transformed into rivulets of brown water. Atsushi stood under the eaves of the infirmary, watching as villagers moved through the downpour, their cloaks drawn tightly around them.

He sipped from a cup of bitter herbal tea, its heat a fleeting comfort against the chill that seeped into his bones. Sleep had been elusive, his mind restless with thoughts of the injured boy and the precarious balance the village seemed to cling to. Each day brought new trials, new questions he couldn’t answer.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention. Ana emerged from the rain, her hood pulled low over her face, droplets clinging to the strands of hair that escaped its confines. She looked unbothered by the weather, as if the rain were an old adversary she had long since learned to tolerate.

“You’re up early,” she said, her voice cutting through the steady hiss of the downpour.

“So are you,” Atsushi replied, setting his cup aside. “What’s going on?”

“We found something,” Ana said, her tone clipped. “By the western edge of the forest. The elder wants you to see it.”

Atsushi frowned. “Why me?”

Ana shrugged. “He didn’t say. Just hurry. It’s not something we can leave alone for long.”

The western edge of the forest was a stark contrast to the village. The towering trees, their leaves heavy with rain, formed a dense canopy that turned the world beneath them into a twilight realm. The ground was soft and uneven, every step sinking slightly into the wet earth. Atsushi followed Ana closely, his breath visible in the damp, chilly air.

When they reached the clearing, a small group of villagers was already gathered. They stood in a loose circle, their faces tense as they stared at something on the ground. The elder was among them, his staff planted firmly in the mud. He glanced up as Atsushi approached, his expression unreadable.

“What is it?” Atsushi asked, stepping into the circle.

The answer lay at his feet. It was a crude marker, made of stacked stones and bound with strips of animal hide. Tied to the marker was a bundle of black feathers, their edges frayed by the rain. The sight of it sent a shiver down Atsushi’s spine, though he couldn’t explain why.

“It’s a warning,” the elder said, his voice low. “A sign from the other tribe. They claim this land as theirs.”

“Should we move it?” one of the villagers asked.

“No,” the elder replied firmly. “To move it would be to challenge their claim. We are not ready for that.”

Atsushi crouched to examine the marker more closely. The stones were dark and smooth, clearly taken from the riverbank. The feathers were tied with strips of hide that had been dyed red, the color leaching into the water that pooled beneath the marker.

“It’s primitive,” Atsushi said. “But deliberate. They want us to see it.”

“That’s how it starts,” Ana said, her voice quiet but sharp. “A warning today, an attack tomorrow.”

The elder nodded. “Which is why we must tread carefully. These people do not speak with words. They speak with action. We must be prepared.”

The marker was left untouched, a silent promise that neither side was yet ready to cross the line into open conflict. But its presence hung over the village like a storm cloud, turning every glance toward the western forest into one of unease.

Atsushi returned to his work in the infirmary, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The marker felt like a crack in the fragile peace the village had managed to hold onto. And cracks, he knew, had a way of spreading.

In the late afternoon, he was visited by one of the older villagers, a woman named Kiyomi who often helped with gathering herbs and tending to the injured. She carried a basket of roots and leaves, setting it down on the table with a faint smile.

“These should help,” she said. “The fever in the young one hasn’t broken yet, has it?”

“No,” Atsushi said, shaking his head. “But he’s strong. I think he’ll pull through.”

Kiyomi nodded, her hands busy sorting through the herbs. “You’ve done well here, you know. The villagers trust you.”

Atsushi looked up, surprised by her words. “I’m not sure they should. I’m still learning how to live in this world.”

“We’re all still learning,” Kiyomi said. “But you’ve brought something we haven’t seen in a long time—hope. That matters.”

Her words stayed with him long after she left, a quiet echo that lingered as he worked. Hope. It wasn’t something he had thought about in a long time. In Tokyo, his work had been about results, about precision and success. Here, it was something else entirely. Something messier, but perhaps more important.

The rain eased as night fell, leaving the village cloaked in a heavy mist. Atsushi sat outside the infirmary, staring at the fractured device in his hands. He had spent weeks trying to understand its inner workings, to find a way to repair the cracks that ran through it like veins. But the answers eluded him, as did the question of whether returning to his world was even the right choice.

“You’re doing it again,” Ana’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Atsushi looked up to see her standing a few feet away, her arms crossed. “Doing what?”

“Getting lost in your head,” Ana said, sitting down beside him. “You think too much.”

“And you don’t think enough,” Atsushi countered, though his tone lacked bite.

Ana smirked. “Fair.”

They sat in silence for a while, the mist curling around them like ghostly tendrils. The faint glow of the firelight from the center of the village illuminated Ana’s face, softening her sharp features.

“What’s it like?” she asked suddenly. “Your world.”

Atsushi hesitated, the question catching him off guard. “It’s… different. Bigger. Louder. Everything moves so fast, and there’s always something new.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Ana said.

“It is,” Atsushi admitted. “But it’s also… I don’t know. Familiar.”

Ana nodded, her gaze distant. “Familiar isn’t always better.”

“No,” Atsushi said quietly. “It isn’t.”

The conversation lingered in Atsushi’s mind long after Ana left. As the fire burned low and the mist thickened, he found himself thinking about what it meant to belong. The village wasn’t his home—not really—but it was becoming something close. And for the first time in years, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave.

The marker in the forest, the device in his hands, the people around him—they were pieces of a puzzle he didn’t yet know how to solve. But for now, he could only move forward, one uncertain step at a time.