The cabin in Biwa became their world. Small, creaky, smelling faintly of damp wood and whatever Jade burned while trying to cook. Mornings started the same way every day.
Kael woke up first. Always. He sat up, stretched, then immediately placed both hands on his stomach like he was checking for leaks. The inevitable happened.
A long, rolling growl echoed through the cabin—deep enough to rattle the tin cups on the shelf.
Jade, still half-buried under blankets, groaned. "Again? The sun isn't even up yet!"
Kael didn't answer. He just stood, walked straight to the pantry, opened the door, and stared inside like it had personally offended him. Empty except for half a loaf and some shriveled apples.
He turned slowly, looked at Jade, and pointed at his mouth.
Jade sat up, hair wild. "You're pointing at your face like I'm supposed to spoon-feed you. Use words, big guy."
Kael's stomach answered for him. Another growl. This one sounded personally insulted.
Dill, who slept closest to the hearth, jolted awake and dropped his book. "It's like a foghorn. I'm starting to dream in hunger noises."
Kael walked over to the table, sat down, folded his arms, and waited. Patient. Silent. Unblinking.
Jade threw her hands up. "Fine! Fine! I'll make porridge. But if you growl one more time before it's done, I'm feeding it to the squirrels."
She started stirring oats over the fire. Kael watched every movement like a hawk. When the first bubble appeared, he leaned forward so far the chair creaked dangerously.
Jade glanced over. "You're going to tip over. Sit back."
Kael didn't move. His stomach growled again—short, sharp, demanding.
Jade pointed the wooden spoon at him. "That's it. That's the warning growl. Next one's the 'I will eat the table' growl."
Kael raised one eyebrow. Then he very slowly reached over, picked up the empty bowl in front of him, and held it out toward the pot.
Dill snorted. "He's not even pretending to be subtle anymore."
Jade ladled porridge into the bowl. Kael took it, sniffed once, then started eating with the focus of a man defusing a bomb. Spoon moved so fast it blurred. Within thirty seconds the bowl was clean.
He set it down gently.
Then he pushed it toward Jade again. Empty. Expectant.
Jade stared at him. "You just inhaled that. There's no way you're still—"
Growl.
She threw her head back and laughed so hard she almost fell off the stool. "You're impossible! You're a walking stomach with legs and a sword!"
Kael didn't smile. He just pushed the bowl another inch closer.
Dill wiped tears from his eyes. "I swear he's doing it on purpose now. It's performance art."
Later that afternoon, Jade decided they needed to "blend in more." She dragged Kael to the village square to help carry sacks of grain for the miller. Kael lifted three sacks at once, one under each arm and one on his shoulder, like they were pillows. Villagers stopped to stare.
An old woman walked up. "Strong lad. You don't talk much, do you?"
Kael looked down at her. Said nothing. Then his stomach let out a low, ominous rumble.
The old woman blinked. "Was that… you?"
Jade, standing nearby with a sack on her hip, cackled. "That's his way of saying hello. And goodbye. And 'please feed me.'"
The old woman chuckled. "Well, come by later. I've got fresh bread."
Kael's head turned toward her so fast it was comical. No words. Just instant attention.
Jade elbowed him. "See? You speak fluent bread."
That night, rumors from the war arrived with a traveling merchant. He spoke in hushed tones about Cassian the Sanguine Knight, the blood-drinking sword, the 40,000 demons felled. About hidden camps being sniffed out. About demons asking for a boy who fought like a monster but had no magic.
Jade leaned close to Kael while the merchant talked. "They're describing you. You know that, right?"
Kael stared into the fire. Didn't blink.
Then his stomach growled—long, dramatic, perfectly timed.
The merchant jumped. "What in the world was that?"
Jade grinned wide. "That was Kael saying, 'War is scary. Feed me.'"
Dill covered his face. "We're going to die because his hunger has its own personality."
Kael stood up, walked to the cupboard, pulled out the last strip of dried venison, and bit into it like it was his sworn enemy. Chewed slowly. Swallowed.
Then, for the first time in three days, he spoke two whole words.
"More meat."
Jade collapsed laughing onto the floor. Dill wheezed. Even the merchant cracked a smile.
Outside, the wind carried distant howls. Demons were getting closer. The traitor's leak had left a trail.
But inside the cabin, Kael's stomach ruled supreme. And somehow, in the middle of hiding from the end of the world, that ridiculous, unstoppable hunger was the funniest, most reliable thing they had.