The first light had not yet touched the village of Sunhill when Ayron's eyes snapped open. His bed, a nest of worn blankets and straw-stuffed pillows, creaked as he sat up. The clock on the wall ticked mockingly 4:21 AM. Too early for any sane person.
But today wasn't a sane day. Today was the day.
He rolled off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor, and tiptoed across the hall. Myori's door was slightly ajar, as always she hated the dark but refused to admit it. Inside, his little sister was curled into a ball, her chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. One small hand clutched her most prized possession: a wooden dragonfly, its wings chipped from years of love.
Ayron crouched beside her and poked her cheek.
"Myori," he whispered.
She groaned, burying her face deeper into the pillow. "Ayronnnn… I'm sleeping."
He grinned. "Did you forget the plan?"
Her eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, she stared at him, bleary-eyed then realization struck. Her pupils dilated, her tiny fingers tightening around the dragonfly. "Oh."
"Oh," Ayron echoed.
Five minutes later, they were in the kitchen, pilfering a bottle of honey-glazed cookies from the highest shelf (where their mother *thought* they couldn't reach). Myori stuffed two into her mouth immediately, crumbs dusting her nightshirt.
"Slow down," Ayron hissed, though he pocketed three for himself. "We're not being chased."
"Yet," Myori mumbled through a full mouth.
They slipped out the front door, the village still drowned in blue-black shadows. The air smelled of damp earth and distant pine. Ayron darted to the back store, where his father's handiwork waited a wooden spear, polished smooth by years of use. The memory flashed: his tenth birthday, his father's calloused hands pressing the weapon into his grip. "For protection," he'd said. "And adventure."
Ayron ran a thumb over the carvings a serpent coiling around the shaft. "Still sharp," he murmured.
Myori's voice cut through the dark. "Have you done?"
"Yeah, done."
Together, they crept toward Sunhill Woods, where the trees stood like silent sentinels. The underbrush crunched underfoot, the world still half-asleep. Myori hummed a tuneless song, her dragonfly toy now tucked into her belt.
Their hideout was a treehous if one could call it that. More like a few planks hammered between branches, draped with moth-eaten blankets and stolen lanterns. But to them? A fortress. A kingdom.
Myori scaled the ladder with the ease of a squirrel. By the time Ayron climbed up, she was already sprawled on her back, arms outstretched like a starfish. "I'm sleeping," she announced.
Ayron snorted. He grabbed his knife from a rusted tin box and nudged her with his foot. "What do you want to eat, my sweetheart?"
She cracked one eye open. "Just like a normal day, brother."
"Fish it is."
Deep in the woods, where the mountains kissed, a stream glittered under the creeping dawn. The water was alive with golden fish, their scales flashing like coins tossed into the current.
Ayron crouched on a mossy rock, spear poised.
One breath.
Two.
He struck.
The spear pierced the water with a thunk, and when he yanked it back, a fat yellow fish wriggled at the tip. Myori's cheers echoed from the bank. Two more followed, then a pouch of wild berries, their skins bursting with juice.
When he returned, Myori wasn't napping. Instead, she sat cross-legged in the grass, a family of snowfinch rabbits nibbling crumbs from her palm. Their tiny noses twitched as Ayron approached.
"Hey," he called, holding up his bounty. "What do you want? I got three this time."
Myori gasped. "Are we gonna eat all?"
Ayron tilted his head. "Do you have another plan?"
"AYRON!"
The voice came from nowhereloud, sudden, and right behind him. Ayron yelped, nearly dropping the fish as he spun around.
Yuo stood there, grinning like a fox who'd stolen the henhouse. His dark hair was a mess of twigs, his shirt inside-out (as usual). Without ceremony, he snatched a fish from Ayron's grip.
"This one might be good," Yuo declared, inspecting it like a jeweler with a dubious gem. Then, puffing his chest, he raised his fists. "Are you ready for the Chief Yuo?
Myori leapt up, cookie crumbs flying. "YES!"
Ayron sighed. "Unfortunately."
They built a fire in the pit they'd dug months ago a ring of blackened stones. Yuo skewered the fish on sticks, while Myori arranged berries into "fancy plates" (read: flat leaves).
The fish sizzled, skin crisping golden. The smell curled into the air, rich and smoky. Myori blew on hers like it was a royal banquet. "I'm so good at cooking," she lied.
Yuo snorted. "You set a leaf on fire last time."
"It was a *sacrifice* to the cooking gods,"Myori shot back.
Ayron watched them, the firelight painting their faces in flickering gold. This—this was worth waking at 4 AM for.
After eating, they ventured deeper than ever before into the western thicket, where the trees grew gnarled and the air hummed with something… odd.
"Look!" Myori dashed ahead, pointing at a cluster of glowmoss, its bioluminescent tendrils pulsing faintly.
Yuo poked it. "Do you think it's alive?"
"Everything's alive," Ayron said, though he couldn't explain the prickle on his neck. Like something watched them.
They found a crumbling stone archway, half-buried in ivy. Ancient, maybe. Or just forgotten. Myori traced the carvingsa serpent, just like Ayron's spear.
"We should come back tomorrow," Yuo whispered.
Ayron nodded. But the woods seemed to hold its breath around the arch.
The sun bled into the horizon as they trudged home, the old river road guiding them. The stars woke one by one, the moon a pale eye overhead.
At the village edge, Yuo waved. "See you tomorrow. I'll bring my candies."
Myori brandished her dragonfly. "Youbetter!"
Then it was just Ayron and Myori, hand in small hand, stepping into the warmth of home. Their parents greeted them with a table of roasted vegetables and fresh bread. Myori stole a carrot from Ayron's plate. He retaliated by flicking a pea at her forehead.
Later, when the house was quiet, Ayron carried a drowsy Myori to bed. She mumbled something about dragons and cookies, her fingers still curled around her toy.
"I'm lucky," he whispered, tucking the blanket under her chin. "To have a sister like you."
He didn't mean to wake.
But at 1 AM, a scream tore through the woods.
Ayron bolted upright, sweat cold on his skin. His window gaped open—but he didn't remember opening it. The scream had vanished, leaving only silence.
And the clock, which now read 2:30 AM.
"Sleepwalking" he told himself. Just a bad dream.
But as he lay back down, the wind carried a new scent through the windon burnt sugar and something rotting.
Tomorrow, he decided, they'd avoid the western woods.