CHAPTER 4 — "MORNING CHAOS & A WHISPER THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST"
The morning in Lethra hit different — soft sunlight leaking through mist, birds half-singing like they were still debating if waking up was worth it.
Inside the little house on the hillside, Dioka was already up, boots laced, hair still messy but vibes sharp.
Guakulia?
Bro was starfished on the bed like he fought demons in his sleep.
"Wake up, man," Dioka groaned, shaking him. "It's morning."
Guakulia cracked one eye open. "Bro… it's barely alive outside. Leave me."
Dioka smacked him with a rolled-up scarf.
"Up. Now."
"Alright, alright—damn!" Guakulia shot up, hair sticking in every direction like he survived an explosion.
Same old dynamic:
Dioka = low-key responsible
Guakulia = chaos in human form
But together? They were the heart of this quiet town long before destiny even showed interest.
---
THEIR WORLD BEFORE FATE STARTS TALKING
Lethra breathed with a calm rhythm — wooden houses, stone paths twisting like puzzles, morning vendors setting out baskets of bluefruit, fishermen shouting jokes even though half their jokes didn't land.
The air smelled like fresh bread and ocean salt.
Kids ran with wooden staffs pretending to fight dragons.
Old folks argued about legends like they witnessed them personally.
The world wasn't dramatic yet.
It was just alive.
Dioka and Guakulia walked through the markets, waving at familiar faces. Everyone knew them — the two boys always together, always drifting between trouble and responsibility like a balanced curse.
"Yo Guakulia," a vendor called, "don't break anything this time!"
"No promises!" he yelled back proudly.
Dioka rolled his eyes. "You literally broke his chair last week."
"Bro that chair was weak. I did him a favor."
---
THE SUBTLE, WRONG MOMENT
It hit them on the old southern bridge — the one with moss growing in patterns that looked like ancient carvings.
Guakulia was mid-rant about how he's definitely going to win the town festival race this year when Dioka suddenly froze.
He didn't blink.
Didn't breathe for a second.
"Dioka?" Guakulia nudged him. "Yo, bro. You good?"
"…You didn't hear that?" Dioka whispered.
"Hear what?"
Dioka stepped toward the railing, eyes locked on the river below. The water sparkled like normal — flowing soft, calm, harmless.
But something was off.
There was a sound.
Not from the river.
Not from anything physical.
More like… a hum.
A whisper without words.
A presence brushing the edge of his hearing.
Guakulia squinted. "Don't play with me, man. What did you hear?"
Dioka swallowed hard. "…Something. It felt like someone was trying to say my name but… not with a voice."
"Bro, that's creepy."
"It wasn't the river."
For a moment, the breeze turned colder — sharp enough to make both of them straighten with instinct. A couple of townspeople walked past like everything was perfectly normal.
The whisper faded.
Reality snapped back clean.
Guakulia placed a hand on Dioka's shoulder. "Come on. Let's bounce. This bridge always felt cursed anyway."
Dioka finally stepped back, but he kept glancing at the river like it might whisper again.
---
THE DAY MOVES ON… BUT NOT FOR THEM
They spent the afternoon helping an elder with repairs, arguing about whose fault the bridge whisper incident was (even though Guakulia insisted it was "probably just wind with an attitude"), and grabbing fresh skewers from a street cart.
Everything looked normal.
Everything acted normal.
But Dioka kept brushing his ear, distracted.
And Guakulia occasionally scanned their surroundings without meaning to.
The world hadn't changed.
But something had tapped them.
Something tiny.
Something early.
A whisper isn't loud.
It doesn't need to be.
It's just the first knock on a door the universe wasn't supposed to open yet.