The morning in Lethra hit different. Soft sunlight leaked through mist. Birds half-sang, like they couldn't decide if waking up was worth it.
Dioka was already up — boots laced, hair messy, vibes sharp.
Guakulia? Starfished on the bed, sprawled like he'd wrestled demons in his sleep.
"Wake up, man," Dioka groaned, shaking him. "It's morning."
Guakulia cracked one eye. "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 every which way, looking like he survived an explosion.
Same old dynamic:
Dioka = low-key responsible
Guakulia = chaos in human form
Together? The quiet town's heartbeat, long before destiny even cared.
---
Life Before the World Shifts
Lethra breathed calm. Wooden houses. Twisting stone paths. Morning vendors laying out baskets of bluefruit. Fishermen shouting jokes that half the town didn't get.
Air smelled like fresh bread and salt.
Kids ran with wooden staffs, pretending to fight dragons.
Old folks argued about legends as if they'd lived them firsthand.
The world wasn't dramatic yet.
It was just alive.
Dioka and Guakulia strolled the market, waving at familiar faces. Everyone knew them — always together, drifting between trouble and responsibility like a balanced curse.
"Yo Guakulia," a vendor called, "don't break anything this time!"
"No promises!" he yelled proudly.
Dioka rolled his eyes. "You literally broke his chair last week."
"Bro… that chair was weak. I did him a favor."
---
Something's Off
It hit them on the old southern bridge — moss growing in patterns like ancient carvings.
Guakulia was mid-rant about winning the town festival race when Dioka froze.
Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
"Dioka? Yo, bro. You good?"
"…You didn't hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Dioka stepped toward the railing, eyes fixed on the river below. Calm, sparkling water. Harmless.
But there was a sound.
Not from the river. Not anything physical.
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. Felt like someone was trying to say my name… but not with a voice."
"Bro… that's creepy."
"It wasn't the river."
The breeze sharpened. Cold enough to make both straighten instinctively. Townspeople walked past, oblivious.
The whisper faded. Reality snapped back.
Guakulia placed a hand on Dioka's shoulder. "Come on. Let's bounce. This bridge always felt cursed anyway."
Dioka stepped back but kept glancing at the water, like it might whisper again.
---
Life Moves On… For Everyone Else
They spent the afternoon helping an elder with repairs, arguing over whose fault the bridge-whisper incident was (Guakulia insisted it was "probably just wind with an attitude"), and grabbing fresh skewers from a street cart.
Everything looked normal. Everything acted normal.
Except Dioka kept brushing his ear, distracted.
And Guakulia occasionally scanned the surroundings without realizing it.
The world hadn't changed.
But something had tapped them.
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.