Kaido was three years old, and he was already tired.
He sat on the floor near the wall, legs spread, holding a small wooden block in both hands. He turned it once, then again, then placed it down carefully, as if the spot mattered. When it didn't feel right, he nudged it a little closer to the wall.
That was enough for him.
Behind him, the house lived quietly.
His mother moved between the small kitchen and the open room, her footsteps light, her movements practiced. She hummed without realizing she was doing it—not a song, just sound, something steady to keep the day from drifting.
Near the window, on a folded blanket, his two younger siblings lay side by side. They were still too small to do much of anything. One stared upward, blinking slowly, making soft, meaningless noises. The other slept with one hand clenched, breathing unevenly.
Kaido watched them for a moment.
Then he looked away.
They weren't interesting. They were just there.
"Kaido," his mother said gently, glancing at him. "Don't sit on the cold floor too long."
He nodded, though he didn't move.
She smiled anyway.
The house smelled like warm food and clean cloth. Sunlight slipped through the window in uneven lines, dust floating lazily where it touched the floor. Outside, footsteps passed along the dirt road, someone talking to someone else, life continuing as it always did.
Everything was normal.
The knock came without warning.
It wasn't loud. Just firm. Controlled.
His mother stopped moving.
No one knocked like that.
She wiped her hands on her clothes and walked to the door. Kaido stood up without being told, curiosity outweighing caution. He liked knowing what was happening.
She opened it.
The man standing outside looked ordinary at first. Tall. Calm. Dressed simply. But the moment her eyes met his, something in her broke.
She knew what he was.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her hand trembled against the doorframe as tears welled up and spilled over. She didn't scream. She didn't step back. She just stood there, crying silently, as if she had reached the end of something she'd always known was coming.
Kaido looked up at her, confused.
"Mama?" he said.
She didn't answer.
The man stepped inside.
The warmth in the house vanished all at once.
Not slowly. Not naturally.
Kaido felt it immediately. The air became heavy, wrong. His small hands clenched into fists as he took a step back. He didn't understand what was happening—only that he didn't like it.
He tried to pull away.
The man's hand brushed his shoulder.
There was no pain.
No force.
Just darkness.
Kaido's consciousness vanished instantly, his body going limp before he could fall. The floor rushed up toward him and never arrived.
His mother made a small, broken sound as he was lifted from the ground.
Then he was gone.