Morning crept into the forest without ceremony.
A pale gray light slipped through the branches, brushing against wet leaves and broken twigs left behind by the storm. The rain had moved on, but the ground still held its memory—cool, damp, heavy with the scent of earth.
Tomora stirred.
Small fingers twitched. His eyes fluttered open, wide and unfocused. Above him stretched a ceiling of green—towering trees swaying gently as birds called out to one another. For a moment, the world felt quiet. Safe.
A soft sound escaped his lips. Almost a giggle.
The light danced across the river nearby, silver ripples catching his attention. His gaze followed it, mesmerized, until a sudden twist of discomfort clenched his tiny body.
His stomach tightened.
The sound that followed shattered the calm.
A sharp, desperate cry ripped through the morning air.
The girl carrying him stopped mid-step.
She looked down at him, brows knitting together as his cries grew louder, more frantic. His face scrunched, lips trembling, small fists clenching and unclenching as instinct took over.
Hungry.
She adjusted her grip, cradling him closer to her chest, rocking slightly as she walked. "Hey… hey," she murmured under her breath, though she wasn't sure who she was trying to comfort—him, or herself.
Tomora's cries didn't fade.
Instead, his mouth found her arm.
He latched onto her sleeve, gums pressing uselessly against cloth, sucking with blind urgency. His fingers curled tightly, as if afraid she might disappear if he let go.
The girl froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Oh," she whispered, realization sinking in. "You're starving…"
Her jaw tightened. She scanned the woods, eyes sharp, calculating. Staying hidden mattered—but not more than keeping him alive.
She turned toward the distant outline of a village.
The village was small. Quiet. Too quiet for her liking.
Wooden homes stood shoulder to shoulder, their walls worn smooth by time. Smoke drifted lazily from a few chimneys. A woman knelt in a garden near the edge, sleeves rolled up, hands buried in soil as she worked.
The girl approached without hesitation.
"I need help," she said.
The woman startled, rising quickly, eyes darting between the girl and the child in her arms. "What—?"
"This baby needs milk."
The words came out blunt, stripped of pride.
The woman hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. Then Tomora whimpered, a weak, broken sound that made her flinch.
The girl gently shifted him so the woman could see his face—flushed cheeks, trembling lips, desperate eyes.
"Please," the girl said quietly. "He won't last without it."
Silence stretched between them.
Then the woman sighed, shoulders sagging. She stepped aside and opened her door.
Warmth filled the small house.
The scent of bread and herbs lingered in the air. The woman settled herself down and carefully took Tomora from the girl's arms.
The moment he found what he needed, his cries melted away.
The room filled with soft, rhythmic sounds instead.
The girl stood near the wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked away, giving them privacy, though her ears strained for any sound that meant something had gone wrong.
Nothing did.
Minutes passed.
When the woman finally handed him back, Tomora's body was limp with comfort. His breathing was slow and steady. One tiny hand curled against the girl's collar.
The woman watched them with tired eyes. "Be careful," she said quietly.
The girl nodded once.
Then she left.
The mansion loomed at the edge of the forest like a corpse that refused to rot.
Vines wrapped around its cracked walls. Shattered windows stared back like hollow eyes. The door groaned in protest as she pushed it open.
Inside, dust coated everything.
She descended into the basement, steps creaking beneath her weight. Down there, the air was cooler, steadier. A single room had been cleared—bare stone walls, a cot pushed against the corner, a candle stub resting on a crate.
She set Tomora down gently.
He stirred but didn't wake.
She watched his chest rise and fall, slow and even. Her shoulders finally loosened.
"This will be our home," she whispered. "For now."
The candle flickered.
Above them, the mansion stood silent.
But somewhere in the world, something had already noticed him.