The rain did not stop for three days.
By the second dawn, the river beside their cottage had turned clear as glass, running faster than it should, carrying flecks of light like drifting fireflies.
By the third night, even the birds had gone silent.
Sakura stood by the window, watching the water twist in strange spirals. "It's singing again," she murmured.
The spiritwalker listened — at first hearing only rain, then, faintly, a rhythm beneath it: a pulse that seemed to echo his own heartbeat.
> "If the world is remembering," he said quietly, "what is it trying to remember?"
Sakura didn't answer. Her hand pressed against the wooden frame; the wood was warm, as if something beneath the roots was breathing.
---
At dawn they went into the forest.
Mist hung low, curling around their legs, carrying the scent of wet earth and old blossoms. The deeper they walked, the more the world changed — leaves shimmered faintly, petals that should have fallen weeks ago still clung to their branches.
At the base of an ancient hill, they found a hollow. Water pooled there, clear and perfectly still despite the rain.
In its center grew a single sapling — pale gold bark, blossoms of both pink and black.
Sakura knelt beside it. The air around the tree hummed with the same tone that had haunted the rain.
> "It's from the dream," she whispered. "A seed from the world we left behind."
The spiritwalker crouched beside her. "Then the dream followed us."
Sakura reached out, fingers trembling. The moment she touched one of the blossoms, the water mirrored their faces — and for an instant, he saw three reflections: himself, Sakura, and a faint silhouette behind her made of shadow and flame.
Kurozakura.
The spiritwalker's breath caught.
But before he could speak, the image rippled and vanished.
Sakura drew her hand back. "She's still part of me," she said softly. "I thought we were one, but maybe we only learned to share the same heart."
> "Does she want out?"
> "I don't know. Maybe she's dreaming too."
The sapling's blossoms trembled, releasing a single petal that floated onto Sakura's palm. It shimmered — neither pink nor black, but the deep purple of twilight.
---
That night, lightning split the sky.
Sakura woke to the sound of the forest whispering — voices overlapping, murmuring in forgotten tongues. She stepped outside, barefoot in the wet grass.
The sapling on the hill glowed faintly through the storm, its light steady even as the wind tore at the trees.
The spiritwalker appeared beside her, soaked but calm. "It's calling again."
> "Yes," she whispered. "And this time, it's not just to me."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
> "Listen."
Through the rain, faint and far away, came another sound — soft singing. Human voices.
The same melody the roots had been humming.
Sakura's eyes widened. "Others are hearing it too."
They looked at each other — and somewhere beyond the hills, a flicker of gold light rose into the storm.
The world had begun to awaken.