Year X771 —
Location: Rosemary Village
Age: Ren (6) | Erza (6)
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The first person to notice wasn't Ren.
And it definitely wasn't Erza.
It was Mrs. Halwen—the baker.
Ren stood on a stool behind the counter, carefully arranging loaves of bread in neat rows. He hummed quietly, breath steady, movements efficient. Erza stood beside him, arms crossed, watching the door like a guard on duty.
"…You two," Mrs. Halwen said slowly, squinting at them over her spectacles.
Ren looked up. "…Yes?"
She leaned closer, voice lowering conspiratorially. "…Did something happen?"
Erza stiffened. "…What."
Ren blinked. "…Happen how?"
Mrs. Halwen smiled knowingly. "…You're closer."
Ren glanced sideways.
Erza was standing exactly where she always stood.
"…We're the same distance as yesterday," Ren said honestly.
Mrs. Halwen laughed. "…That's not what I meant, dear."
Erza frowned. "…Explain."
The woman waved a hand. "…Never mind. Just—be good, alright?"
Ren nodded enthusiastically. "…Always!"
Erza eyed him. "…That was suspicious."
"…People are just weird," Ren replied cheerfully.
She wasn't convinced.
They carried the bread out into the sunlight, delivering it to nearby homes. The air was warm but not suffocating today—a good training day.
As they walked, Ren noticed villagers glancing their way more often than usual. Some smiled. Some whispered.
> Are we doing something different?
Erza noticed too.
"…Why are they staring," she muttered.
Ren shrugged. "…Maybe we're cool."
"…We are always cool."
"That's true."
They reached the well, where several children were already gathered. The moment Ren appeared, one of them waved.
"Ren! Are you playing today?"
Ren opened his mouth—then hesitated.
He glanced at Erza.
She raised an eyebrow. "…What."
"…Do you want to?"
She paused.
> Playing… again?
"…If you want," she said finally.
Ren smiled brightly. "Then yeah!"
The game was simpler today—catching stones tossed into a bucket, running short races, clumsy laughter echoing through the square.
Ren noticed something strange.
Erza didn't stand apart this time.
She joined in.
Not fully—she didn't laugh as loudly or run as wildly—but she participated. Threw stones. Timed races. Corrected stances.
The kids listened.
"…She's scary," one whispered.
Erza heard it.
"…Good," she replied calmly.
Ren snorted.
During a break, Ren handed her water again.
"…You're doing good," he said.
She frowned slightly. "…At what."
"…At this."
She looked around—at the children, the village, the quiet rhythm of the day.
"…I don't hate it," she admitted.
Ren's chest warmed.
> That's huge.
As afternoon approached, clouds gathered—thin, lazy things drifting across the sky.
Ren and Erza walked back toward the clearing to train.
"…Do you feel it too," Erza asked suddenly.
Ren blinked. "…Feel what?"
"…People watching us," she said. "…Like we're… noticeable."
Ren considered that.
> We are stronger.
Calmer.
Together.
"…Maybe," he said. "But that's not bad."
"…What if it is."
He stopped walking.
She took a few more steps before realizing he wasn't beside her. She turned.
Ren stood there, small but steady.
"…If they notice," he said carefully, "it's because we're not hiding anymore."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"…I don't want to be weak," she said quietly.
"I know."
"…And I don't want to lose this."
Ren smiled softly. "…You won't."
"…How do you know."
He walked up to her and tapped her forehead lightly with one finger.
"…Because I'm still here."
She stared at him.
Then—slowly—she nodded.
Training that day was different.
Not harder. Not faster.
More intentional.
They practiced breathing while sparring lightly, wooden sticks clacking softly. Each exchange was careful. Measured.
Ren noticed how easily he could predict her movements now.
Not because she was slow—but because he understood her.
> She leads with her shoulders when she's serious.
Steps back half a pace when unsure.
Holds her breath when she's angry.
She noticed things too.
"…You stop breathing when you think too much," she said, blocking his strike.
Ren blinked. "…I do?"
"Yes."
"…That's rude."
"It's dangerous."
"…Fine."
They corrected each other without frustration.
Without fear.
When they finished, both sat down heavily.
"…You're smiling again," Erza said.
Ren touched his face. "…Am I?"
She nodded.
"…It's annoying."
"…But you like it."
She hesitated.
"…A little."
That evening, the village gathered again—someone had brought news from a nearby town, and people shared food while listening.
Ren and Erza sat slightly apart from the crowd, close enough to hear, far enough to breathe.
Ren leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"…You know," he whispered, "if people keep noticing us, they might think we're important."
She snorted softly. "…We're six."
"…Important six-year-olds."
She shook her head—but she was smiling.
"…If we are," she said quietly, "…we should be strong enough to deserve it."
Ren nodded. "…Together."
She glanced at him. "…You say that a lot."
"…Because I mean it."
She didn't reply—but she leaned closer.
Just enough.
The night cooled gently. Lanterns flickered. Crickets sang.
Ren focused on his breathing, matching it unconsciously to hers.
In.
Out.
> Strength draws attention, he realized.
But bonds decide what you do with it.
As they stood to leave, Mrs. Halwen passed by again.
She smiled knowingly.
"…Walk safe, you two."
Ren waved enthusiastically.
Erza paused.
"…Good night," she said politely.
The woman's smile widened.
As they walked back to their hut, Erza spoke quietly.
"…She knows."
Ren tilted his head. "…Knows what."
"…That we're important to each other."
Ren considered that.
Then smiled.
"…That's okay."
She looked at him.
"…It is?"
"…Yeah. I'm not planning on hiding it."
She stopped walking.
"…Ren."
"…Yes?"
"…You're strange."
He laughed. "I know."
She resumed walking, just a little closer than before.
> Maybe the world notices, Ren thought.
But that doesn't mean it gets to decide anything.
Under the quiet midsummer stars, two children walked side by side—
stronger, steadier, and no longer invisible.
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End of Chapter 21 🌠