Moonlight spilled across the wooden floor, pale and quiet, cutting the small guest room into strips of silver and shadow. Tomora sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely interlocked. The room smelled faintly of dried herbs and smoke from the village fires outside. Everything was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
His shoulders rose and fell as he exhaled. The battle replayed in fragments behind his eyes—screams, lightning tearing through the air, the way his head had felt like it was splitting open from the inside. He flexed his fingers slowly, as if testing whether his body still belonged to him.
Then something moved.
At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The fabric at the corner of the room shifted, barely noticeable, like it had caught a breeze. Tomora frowned and lifted his head.
His shirt—folded neatly on the floor—rose.
Not jerked. Not yanked.
It floated.
Slowly, carefully, as if guided by invisible hands.
The fabric lifted inch by inch, sleeves dangling, swaying gently in the air. Tomora stood at once, every muscle tightening. His pulse quickened, not from fear, but alertness.
"…What the?" he muttered.
The shirt drifted toward the door, gliding through the air with deliberate patience. The wooden door creaked open on its own, just wide enough for the fabric to slip through.
Tomora didn't hesitate.
He followed.
His bare feet made no sound against the floor as he stepped into the hallway. The village house was quiet at night, most of its residents asleep, the only noise the distant chirp of insects and the low crackle of dying fires. The shirt floated ahead of him like a ghostly guide, slipping into the neighboring house.
Tomora pushed the door open.
And stopped.
Inside, a girl stood frozen in the center of the room.
She was clutching his shirt to her face.
Sniffing it.
Hugging it.
Her eyes were half-lidded, her expression blissfully dreamy as she inhaled deeply, completely unaware she was no longer alone.
"Ahhh…" she sighed. "He's so handsome… so mysterious…"
Tomora stared.
Not angry. Not embarrassed.
Just stunned.
"…Hello?" he said flatly.
The girl stiffened.
Her entire body locked up like she'd been struck by lightning.
Slowly—painfully slowly—she turned her head.
Their eyes met.
Her pupils shrank.
Her face turned red in a way Tomora didn't think was physically possible.
And then—
"AHHH!!!"
She screamed, flailing so hard she nearly tripped over herself.
"N-NO! I— IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!!"
She scrambled backward, trying desperately to hide the shirt behind her back, arms flailing like she could somehow erase reality through sheer panic.
Tomora tilted his head slightly.
"You're holding my shirt," he said.
"I KNOW!!" she yelled, tears threatening to spill as she waved her hands wildly. "I wasn't trying to be weird! I mean—I was—but not like that—!"
Suddenly, her body flickered.
For a split second, she vanished.
Gone.
The air where she stood rippled faintly, like heat distortion, then—
She popped back into existence, gasping.
Tomora's eyes narrowed just slightly.
"Nature element," he said calmly. "Stage 1 invisibility."
The girl froze again, hands clasped in front of her as she bowed repeatedly, hair swinging wildly.
"I'M SORRY!" she blurted out. "I was just curious and you saved our village and everyone keeps talking about you and I panicked and—!"
She straightened abruptly.
"I'm Yora!!"
Tomora blinked.
She peeked at him through her fingers, waiting for anger, judgment, anything.
Instead, he just stood there, cheeks faintly warm.
"…Can I have my shirt back?"
Yora let out a strangled noise and shoved the shirt toward him as if it were burning her hands.
"Yes! Yes! Of course! Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry—!"
Tomora took it, pulling it back on slowly, his movements careful, controlled. The fabric was warm. He chose not to think about why.
Silence stretched between them.
Yora stared at the floor, rocking slightly on her heels, face still flushed.
"…Still worth it," she muttered under her breath.
Tomora paused mid-button.
"…What?"
"NOTHING!" she shouted instantly.
A beat passed.
Then, unexpectedly, Tomora let out a quiet breath that almost—almost—sounded like a laugh.
Yora looked up, startled.
For the first time since escaping the mansion, since the raid, since the lightning and pain and fear, something felt… normal.
Awkward.
Human.
And somehow, that scared Tomora more than any battle ever had.