Some days don't start loud.
They start quiet—too quiet—like the world is holding its breath.
That was how this day felt.
Kristina and I sat on the front steps, watching the sunlight stretch across the yard. The breeze was gentle, almost careful, like it didn't want to disturb anything. Birds chirped, but even they sounded hesitant.
Kristina leaned back on her hands. "Kris," she said, squinting at the sky, "does it ever feel like the world is… waiting?"
I frowned. "Waiting for what?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Something big. Or something bad. Or maybe lunch."
I snorted. "It's always lunch with you."
She laughed. "Don't act like you're different. You're the one who cries if you miss a snack."
"I do not cry."
"You cried last week."
"That was emotional hunger."
She grinned, satisfied with herself.
For a moment, everything felt normal again.
Almost.
Training Without Warning
Grandma's voice broke the calm. "Enough sitting. The world doesn't pause just because you feel uneasy."
Kristina groaned. "Grandmaaaa, it's a peaceful day."
"That's when danger likes to show up," Grandma replied, already walking toward the woods.
Mom leaned out the door. "Be careful, both of you. And Kristina—if you feel tired, say something."
Kristina waved her off. "I'm fine, Mom!"
I noticed how quickly she said it.
Too quickly.
We followed Grandma into the forest, where the air immediately felt heavier. The shadows weren't attacking today—but they were there. Watching. Lurking between trees, stretching just a little longer than they should.
"This isn't a battle," Grandma said. "This is awareness training."
Kristina crossed her arms. "That sounds boring."
"It means learning to listen before the danger arrives."
I closed my eyes, reaching outward with my imagination. The forest responded slowly, like it was thinking before answering. Roots shifted. Leaves whispered.
Kristina did the same, her reflective energy shimmering faintly around her.
Then she stopped.
Just for a second.
"Kris?" she said softly.
I opened my eyes. "What?"
"…Did you already move the trees?"
"No."
She blinked. "Oh. I thought I saw—never mind."
She laughed it off, but my stomach tightened.
A Small Fracture
The shadows didn't attack—but they tested.
A ripple moved through the ground, like a question being asked.
Kristina raised her hands to respond—and hesitated.
It wasn't dramatic. No collapse. No obvious sign.
Just a half-second delay.
I stepped in without thinking, shaping the terrain, answering the ripple before it could grow.
Grandma's eyes sharpened.
Kristina shook her hands. "Okay, that was weird. My brain just… lagged."
I tried to smile. "Maybe your imagination needs an update."
She laughed. "Wow. That was bad."
"I'm under pressure."
Grandma spoke quietly. "Pressure reveals cracks."
Kristina looked at her. "Are you saying I'm cracked?"
"No," Grandma said gently. "I'm saying something is testing you from the inside."
The forest grew still.
Kristina's smile faded—but only for a moment. "Well, whatever it is, it picked the wrong Bouie."
She punched my arm lightly. "Right, Knight Kris?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Wrong family."
That Night
Later, as the house settled into sleep, I couldn't rest.
I found Kristina sitting on her bed, staring at the wall.
"You okay?" I asked.
She looked at me, confused for half a second—just a flicker—then smiled. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About?"
She paused. "…I forgot."
The word hit harder than it should have.
She laughed quickly. "It'll come back."
I sat beside her. "You don't have to pretend with me."
She leaned against my shoulder. "I'm not scared. Just… tired."
I wanted to say something comforting. Something strong.
Instead, I said the truth.
"If anything ever tries to take you from me—your memories, your strength, anything—I'll fight it."
She smiled softly. "I know."
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time, I wondered—
What if knowing… wasn't enough?
Elsewhere
Far away, where the world bent into something darker, Malachor watched.
"The curse is taking root," a voice whispered.
Malachor smiled slowly.
"Good," he said. "Let her remain strong. Let her remain loved."
He turned his gaze toward another presence—brighter, sharper.
"The boy is the danger," he murmured. "And he doesn't even know it yet."
The shadows shifted.
The world exhaled.
And the countdown—silent and cruel—continued.