Willow tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep. Thoughts of tomorrow's Awakening churned restlessly in his head. He had already reviewed his plan six times, revising every detail until it was, in his mind, foolproof… or at least fool-resistant. If the world behaved itself — just this once — nothing should go wrong.
He blew a stray lock of red hair from his face. If fate really loved me that much, he thought bitterly, it could've just made me a peasant instead of the damn protagonist's brother.
That thought brought him back to the source of all his coming problems.
Elm. His little sister. The future Hero destined to slay the Demon God — at least, according to the game. Her existence was a loaded gun aimed squarely at his life. Every move he made risked altering her path, and that terrified him more than anything.
He rolled over and glanced toward her bed. Empty.
The faint glow of lamplight from the washroom told him where she was.
He sighed quietly. Elm's rapid rise to power was one of the most important events in the story — and also the main reason he couldn't afford to keep her close. Whatever happened tomorrow, he would have to vanish from her life.
He already had a plan for that.
There would be chaos after the ceremony. The kind of chaos that hid anything if one planned well enough. He'd use it to disappear, leaving behind a perfect body double — one he'd prepared for two years. Its face, scent, even the faint traces of his mana were identical to his. Elm's senses were sharp, almost frighteningly so, but even she would have a hard time seeing through it.
"I can't take her with me," Willow muttered to himself, as though saying it aloud might help him believe it.
It wasn't easy to admit, but this world — this bizarre, brutal, beautiful world — had become real to him. He'd spent years trying to prove otherwise. He'd tried to wake up, to test the edges of the dream. But no matter what he did, he always came back here. This was his reality now. These people, their laughter, their pain — all of it was real.
Unable to sleep, Willow rose from his bed and sat at the small vanity in the corner of the room. The wooden stool creaked beneath him. The mirror in front of him, which had seemed so big when he was small, now looked almost tiny. He smiled faintly at his reflection. "Still too pretty for my own good," he murmured.
Moonlight streamed through the narrow window high on the wall, painting silver lines across his scarlet hair. He reached for his old brush and began running it through his curls, each slow stroke calming his nerves. The repetitive motion, the soft rasp of bristles — it always soothed him.
His thoughts drifted, fading into the rhythm. The tension of the day began to melt away. He hummed a song from his old world under his breath, a lullaby his mother used to play through cracked phone speakers. For a moment, everything felt still.
Then a poke to his cheek shattered the peace.
Willow yelped. "Ow—what are you doing?!"
Elm stood behind him, her expression unreadable. She looked from her finger to his flushed face. "Your cheeks are soft," she said flatly.
Willow sighed, setting the brush down. "I was actually relaxing, you know."
Her eyes flickered toward his reflection. "You were thinking about something," she said, not as a question.
"I wasn't," he said quickly, crossing his arms.
"Liar," Elm replied. Her tone didn't change, but her gaze sharpened ever so slightly. "Your eyes always move too much when you lie."
Willow deflated with a groan. "Fine, fine. I was just… thinking about tomorrow."
"The Awakening?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Are you worried?" she asked, stepping closer. Her voice stayed quiet, but there was something patient about it — something that made him feel like a small boy being scolded gently.
Willow hesitated. "Not worried. Just… curious," he said, brushing his hair back. "You know how it is. Big day. Lots of unknowns. Maybe the gods give me something cool, maybe they curse me with something stupid."
Elm tilted her head slightly. "You'll be fine," she said. "You always overthink before you do something right."
He blinked, caught off guard. "That supposed to be a compliment?"
"Observation."
He pouted, earning the faintest twitch of her lips — the closest thing she ever showed to amusement.
"Well, thank you for the observation," he said, exaggerating the word just to annoy her.
Elm's eyes softened. "You should rest, Willow."
"I know. It's just—" Willow hesitated, his gaze finding Elm's eyes through the mirror. They were clear, calm, and full of innocence. That purity hurt to look at. He cursed inwardly, knowing that by tomorrow, that same innocence would begin to fade — and that he would be one of the reasons why.
For now, all he could do was offer a warning.
"I'm just worried that something might happen tomorrow," he said quietly. "It's a big day. The kind of day where the world watches and waits for someone to stumble. I'd hate for anything bad to happen… to you, or to Mom and Dad."
Elm said nothing. The silence between them stretched thin and heavy.
"Forget it." Willow sighed, shaking his head as he stood. "Let's just get some sleep."
"Wait."
Her voice stopped him.
A gentle hand caught his wrist and pulled him back into his seat. Before he could protest, Elm picked up the brush he'd set down. "You missed a spot," she said simply.
Willow blinked, startled. "You don't have to—"
But she had already begun brushing, slow and deliberate, each stroke precise and tender. She was surprisingly skilled, far gentler than he ever was with his own hair.
Willow's lips curved faintly. The last time this had happened, their roles had been reversed. He remembered a small girl with dull eyes sitting on the same stool as he carefully brushed her hair smooth. How strange that now she towered over him. How unfair that she had grown taller, stronger — everything he was not.
He leaned back slightly, relaxing under her touch. "I was just thinking," he murmured, "about when you were little. You used to cling to me all the time. Wouldn't even walk to the bathroom without holding my hand."
Elm groaned quietly, and the corner of Willow's mouth lifted into a teasing smirk.
"Oh? Embarrassed?" he said, his tone sing-song. "If only I could go back to those days. Where did that cute, helpless little sister of mine run off to?"
He grinned, leaning to the side. "I'm really starting to miss—ouch!"
He yelped, hand flying to his scalp. "Did you just—"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Elm said flatly, setting the brush down with calm finality.
Willow narrowed his eyes at her reflection, pouting in defeat. "Right. Got it. No teasing allowed."
Her expression didn't change, but he caught the faintest twitch of amusement in her eyes — enough to make him laugh softly.
"Your turn," he said after a moment, taking the brush from her.
Elm didn't object. She simply sat down before the mirror, and Willow moved behind her. Even seated, she was taller, her posture straight and steady. He had to fetch another stool just to reach her properly. The sight made him sigh dramatically.
"This is humiliating," he muttered, standing on his toes as he brushed through her dark hair. "You're not supposed to outgrow your older brother, you know."
"Then grow faster," Elm replied evenly.
Willow chuckled. "Not sure that's how it works."
He let the brush glide through her hair, noticing how it had grown to her shoulders again. "Did you get your hair longer on purpose?"
"Mother told me to," she said.
"And why would she—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind. I think I like it longer like this anyway."
Elm looked up slightly. "Really?"
"Really," he said, smiling at her reflection. "It suits you. Makes you look a bit softer."
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Then I'll keep it this way."
They fell into silence after that. The brush moved in slow, rhythmic strokes, filling the small room with the sound of soft bristles through hair. The moonlight spilled gently over them, wrapping the siblings in silver and shadow.
For a while, there were no words. Just the quiet peace of routine, the warmth of shared space, and the weight of what neither of them dared to say.
Willow brushed her hair carefully, committing the moment to memory. He knew what tomorrow would bring — the chaos, the fear, the smoke and fire. He knew that if he wanted to keep her safe, he would have to leave her behind.
Elm, too, felt the change coming. Her gift of wisdom whispered warnings in the back of her mind — that the world as she knew it would fracture come morning, and that something precious would be stolen away.
Neither of them spoke of it.
Instead, they stayed like that — the older brother brushing his sister's hair under the quiet moon, pretending that nothing was wrong, that tomorrow would come as gently as any other day.
Willow smiled faintly, though his chest ached. Just one more night, he thought. Let me have this one more night.
And as he set the brush down, he whispered beneath his breath, "May the gods be kind tomorrow."