The forest had a strange stillness that evening, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The small cottage at the edge of the woods sat quietly under the winter sky, its chimney releasing a thin, gentle trail of smoke that faded into the cold air.
Vernon stood on the balcony, adjusting the old brass telescope his father had given him. At nine years old, he looked far too serious for a boy his age eyes sharp, movements purposeful, as if he was always listening for something no one else could hear.
Beside him, his younger brother Bruce leaned against the railing, chin propped on his folded arms. His breath fogged in the cold.
"Vernon... the stars look colder tonight," Bruce murmured.
Vernon didn't look up from the telescope. "They're not colder." He paused, then added, "We're just closer to the dark than usual."
Bruce tilted his head. "Closer to the dark? What does that even mean?"
Vernon didn't answer. Instead, he motioned toward the telescope. "Here. Look through the lens. You'll like this one."
Bruce pressed his eye to the scope. His face lit up. "Oh! I found the Hunter Star! But... he's missing one arm."
Vernon stiffened, a tiny reaction Bruce didn't catch. That constellation was wrapped in old folklore, most of it unsettling.
"Yeah," Vernon said quietly. "A reminder that even heroes bleed."
Bruce looked away from the telescope. "Do you think people hate us because Father made something bad?"
Vernon turned sharply, more forceful than he intended. "They hate us because they fear what they don't understand. That's different."
"But we didn't do anything wrong."
"I know," Vernon said softly. "That's why it hurts."
A faint vibration rippled through the balcony railing, so subtle it could've been imagination. Bruce frowned at it. Vernon felt it too- an uneasy sensation in the air, heaviness pressing against the night.
Inside, their mother watched them from the doorway. Alice's smile was warm, but her eyes held the kind of sorrow parents only wear when their children can't understand the weight they carry.
"If only these quiet nights could last," she whispered to herself.
When they finally came inside, the warmth of the cottage wrapped around them. The fireplace crackled, casting flickering glows across the room.
"You two will catch a cold," Alice scolded softly, wrapping Bruce in a hug that was tighter, longer, and more desperate than usual.
"Mom! I can't breathe!"
Their father sat at the dining table, papers spread before him was strange diagrams, runes, lines of text that looked like formulas. Derek covered them quickly the moment Bruce approached.
"What are those?" Bruce asked.
"Just old work," Derek said. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Vernon didn't believe him.
His eyes drifted toward a stack of notes half hidden beneath a cloth. The symbols on the corners were familiar; he had seen them glow faintly on nights when his parents thought he slept.
Alice noticed his stare. She placed a gentle hand over the papers.
"You're curious. That's good," she said, forcing a smile. "But some things are… too heavy for young eyes."
"Are they dangerous?" Vernon asked.
Alice hesitated. "Only if they fall into the wrong hands."
A sudden metallic hum cut through the quiet, distant and low. The kind of sound that sinks into the bones.
Bruce jumped.
"What was that?"
"Wind," Derek replied calmly.
But outside, the branches didn't move. And there was no wind at all.
Derek locked the windows. Alice traced glowing runes across the doorframe. Vernon watched the faint shimmer in the air- something like dust, but brighter.
"That's not wind," Vernon whispered to himself.
In the kitchen, when they thought the boys weren't listening, their parents spoke in low voices.
"They're closer than last time," Alice whispered, voice trembling.
"We'll leave before dawn," Derek replied.
Alice shut her eyes tightly. "Do you think... they'll ever forgive us?"
Derek rested his forehead against hers.
"We didn't create monsters. They did.
"We only tried to heal the world."
A faint boom echoed somewhere deep in the forest, so distant it could have been thunder... or something coming.
Alice's next breath shuddered. "They found us... didn't they?"
"...Not yet," Derek said, though his voice was far from certain. "But soon."
Night came heavy.
The boys drew pictures by candlelight, Bruce sketching wobbly stars while Vernon quietly flipped through one of his mother's notebooks, hidden behind his knee.
Alice caught him. "Vernon..."
He lowered his head, embarrassed.
"You want to understand everything," she said softly. "That's your father's stubbornness… and my pride."
She brushed his hair from his eyes. Her smile didn't reach her heart.
Hours later, after the boys had fallen into bed, the house finally fell silent.
And then Alice's eyes snapped open.
She shook Derek awake.
Without speaking, they lifted the loose floorboards beneath the bed.
Two hidden compartments.
Together, they packed their life's work research pages, diagrams, runes, maps into two small leather bags.
Alice's hands trembled as she divided her personal research into one bag.
'If they must inherit a cursed world,' she thought, 'then at least give them something to survive it.'
Derek placed Qi techniques, combat notes, and a folded drawing from their sons into the other bag. He hesitated, his thumb brushing the drawing before he forced himself to close the flap.
Alice suddenly stiffened, eyes widening with alarm.
Derek met her gaze.
"...Stay with the boys."
Vernon lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know why but something felt wrong. The air felt heavier. The night felt deeper.
Beside him, Bruce slept peacefully, unaware of the world shifting around them.
Outside, the forest was silent.
Completely silent.
And at the edge of the trees, barely visible in the darkness, a faint glowing silhouette stood motionless among the branches.
Watching.
Unblinking.
Waiting.
Vernon's chest tightened.
Even the stars outside the window seemed afraid to shine.
"That night," his distant future self would whisper,
"even the stars refused to blink."