CHAPTER 004

  A Silent Guardian

  __________________________

  The terminal felt quieter than home. Not less busy—just more... intentional.

  Everything moved in soft patterns—like water currents or hushed clockwork. Travelers passed through in near silence, luggage wheels gliding on polished tile, distant voices echoing like memory. It felt respectful. As though the space itself asked for gentleness.

  Erin walked beside her mother, hand firm on her suitcase handle. Kael darted a few steps ahead, rubber soles squeaking faintly. They stepped beyond the final gate, and the world paused for a moment.

  A woman stood near the meeting point, serene and poised, holding a placard that read:

  Sorin – Shinjuu Academy

  She wore a tailored black suit. At her collar was a single pin—silver, shaped like a wisteria blossom. Her posture was like still water, unshaken by the crowd.

  "Mrs. Lyra Sorin, Miss Eleanore Sorin, and Mister Kael Sorin," she greeted with a precise bow. Her voice was soft, but it carried—like a cello string drawn slowly. Perfect English. Slightly accented. Melodic. "Welcome to Japan. My name is Arakawa, Yumiko. I will assist your transition and escort you to Kyōtaki Hills."

  Erin mirrored the bow—awkwardly. "Thank you."

  Lyra offered a courteous nod. Kael froze for a second, then bowed too, nearly toppling over. Arakawa's expression barely shifted, but Erin could feel it—a slight warmth beneath the professional calm. As they followed her outside into the warm, filtered light, the air changed. Warm air with a touch of ocean and trees greeted them.

  Japan smelled different. Not just of a city, but of something older beneath it. Grilled soy. Faint sea salt. A sweetness like cedar bark in sunlight.

  A sleek, black private van awaited them just outside the terminal. Its windows were tinted, its leather interior cool and immaculate. The academy's emblem—an etched wisteria bloom—adorned the headrests and side doors in silver stitching.

  Kael tugged at Erin's sleeve. She looked down. "What?"

  He didn't speak. Just pointed at a rusted fence near the parking exit.

  There, perched on a crooked pole, was a strange bird. It was large, dark-feathered, its shape almost raven-like but not quite. Its head tilted, sharp-eyed. Watching. Before she could speak, it launched into the air, wings snapping wide. Only the shimmer of its tail caught her eyes—a slick silver-blue, like oil over water.

  "Did you see—?"

  But Kael was already being nudged toward the van by their mother. And Erin turned, following reluctantly as Arakawa held the side door open. The moment passed, carried off on wings. Her spidey-sense did not even tingle. It must have been just a regular bird, native to Japan.

  Inside the van, cool air hummed low from discreet vents. The seats were wide, pale leather. A tray of bottled water and wrapped rice snacks sat between them. They pulled away from the curb smoothly. The airport vanished behind them.

  "We will be bypassing the heavy Tokyo traffic via expressways, where we will be looping southwest through Saitama, Shizuoka, and then skimming the edge of Kyoto Prefecture," Arakawa said as she translated what the chauffeur, Hideki-san, said in Japanese. "The total journey will stretch just under six hours, with planned stops and light traffic. Hopefully, it won't feel that long. Please feel comfortable."

  Lyra thanked the man for explaining their route in an awkward accent, her japanese freshly learned from the movies and subtitles she watched during the flight. Hideki-san nodded with a smile.

  They've taken naps during the flight. But they look forward to finally taking a full rest once they arrive at their destination. Their transit was surprisingly comfortable, the travel felt smooth and stable, and the scenery outside shifted from urban city landscapes to traditional and naturalistic settings.

  "If I may ask," Lyra broke the quiet, her voice cautious but clear, "how common is it for the Academy to issue invitations like... this?"

  Arakawa didn't hesitate. "It is not common, Mrs. Sorin. Though not entirely without precedent."

  She folded her hands in her lap, gaze focused ahead. "Shinjuu Academy receives thousands of inquiries every year. Especially from elite families—some apply for placement years in advance. We are discreet, selective, and private. The competition is steep. Academic merit is only part of the consideration."

  “Please, call me Lyra,” She said, not unkindly. She wondered if the school was really just a preparatory institution for the elite. She wanted to ask if they knew her husband, but felt that this was not the right time to ask questions of a specific nature. She needed to see that Shinjuu Academy was everything that meets the eye. In a soft voice, she asked, "Then what else is considered?"

  "Potential," Arakawa said. "Of different kinds. Scholarly, creative, relational, and beyond. The admissions process involves extensive vetting. Background checks. Psychological profiles. Genealogical assessments, in some cases."

  Erin blinked at that, unsure if she'd heard right. Could there be something with her family after all? The question was ready to jump out from her, but her lips held them fast.

  "The Scholarship and Grant Program," Arakawa continued, "is even more exclusive. It exists for students of exceptional promise who may be facing circumstances that... disrupt conventional pathways. Your daughter's application qualified under this tier."

  Lyra went still. "We didn't submit an application."

  "No. You were recommended." There was something gentle, almost private, in the way Arakawa said it. Like a thread too fine to tug yet.

  "Who recommended us?" Lyra asked softly.

  "I'm afraid I can't disclose that," Arakawa replied. "But I believe... it was someone with deep regard for your family."

  That silenced the conversation for a moment.

  Outside, they were passing low hills and shadowed pine roads. Kael had curled up against his mother's arm, his eyes fluttering closed. They did have breaks in between long stretches of the drive. But they were eager to finally reach their destination, Lyra finally asked if they could make the final stretch in a single drive. There was no need for more breaks, she said finally.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Erin silently agreed, her eyes drifting towards Kael who was starting to bob his head, a valiant effort to keep awake if not for his now-closed eyelids. Erin's head leaned against the window now, lashes lowering as the rhythm of the road lulled her.

  Lyra glanced at Arakawa. "The living arrangements. Is everything... standard?"

  "Yes. Your accommodations are a short distance away from campus grounds. The apartment is modest, but secure. Three bedrooms, kitchenette, balcony. It is walking distance to the school buildings. We've stocked it with essentials. You'll find the local customs respectful, but privacy is important."

  "Any taboos we should be aware of?" Lyra asked.

  "A few," Arakawa said. "Shoes off indoors. Minimal noise after dusk. Respect for shrine spaces, even if unattended. You will receive a written guide."

  As the discussion shifted to living arrangements and cultural nuances, both Kael and Erin succumbed to the steady lull of the travel, drifting into sleep. And behind her, a strange bird flew on.

  Unseen.

  Unnamed.

  But never far.

  She did not notice how the GPS map on Arakawa's dashboard blinked and rerouted, indicating a descent through the final stretch: Kyōtaki Tunnel. 444 Meters.

  Arakawa didn't mention it. The driver didn't hesitate. But the moment the van entered, Erin frowned in her sleep as she felt the shift. Kael stirred in his sleep beside her. Even Lyra fell into uncomfortable silence.

  The air turned cool—unnaturally so. The dim lights within the tunnel barely touched the rough stone walls. Moss clung to the edges, and the sound of the tires against the ground felt distant, like it was echoing from somewhere else entirely.

  It was only a minute. Maybe less.

  But it lingered—an unsettling stillness that draped itself over them until they emerged back into daylight, greeted by the green hush of trees and the gentle rush of a nearby river. No one said anything. But Lyra quietly turned her head, just once, to glance behind them.Her arms stretched towards her children.

  The tunnel mouth stood like a black doorway, swallowed by mist. A faint shadow of a man stood, and a fading echo of wind sounded in her ears. For a moment, it looked like her husband. She blinked—and it was gone.

  A cold shiver ran down her spine. Lyra clenched her hand; the warm temperature of her wedding ring was a sharp contrast in her clammy fingers. Her thumb fiddled with the ring. Her chest felt tight, a squeezing sensation, and a lump was dangerously close to breaking in her throat.

  Be brave.

  For the children.

  She kept her thoughts grounded, as firm as she could. Just as she had all those years ago, when the pain was fresh and when it felt like her world was breaking apart. Their parting was sudden, and tragic. The impact from the accident left several others in similar condition. Her husband was not the only victim of the multi-vehicular crash. But it left them with the worst condition, the not-an-accident-but-murder had left their family with battered remains that they were forced to keep the casket closed. Her kind and solemn husband, murdered!

  The thought of it alone made her want to go on a rampage, to scream out her questions at anyone who had answers. And she will have them. She just had to be patient. She needed to pull herself together. Her children needed her, and she was all they have left. Her wedding ring, a warm and sharp reminder of her dear Vaelen.

  "Never take it off, my beloved." Her husband always told her every day like their morning ritual, and she would always laugh it away. Ever since his passing, strange things happened—Erin falling ill all of a sudden. She did not want to imagine what she would have done, should the unthinkable happen. And when her daughter was finally well, Erin was not quite the same. They were always the best of friends, father and daughter. She thought at first it was the grief, so she decided to move her family to her husband’s old property. Hoping that time would heal them soon.

  Autism. Before Vaelen’s untimely passing, there was never a hint of it with her daughter. She didn’t understand how it could happen to her daughter. There was no small amount of blame on her side for possibly missing the signs. She was even a pediatric nurse, and she did not even see it.

  That was the moment that pushed her, she was not alone. And Erin needed her. So she took her daughter to specialists she had connections with, determined to get the proper help. And Kael, he was just a baby then. And he was just the sweetest baby she had ever had. Their little sunshine amidst the storm. Eleanore and Kael Sorin, her children that were more than just special, and somebody was after them. They might have succeeded with her husband, but she will be damned if they get to the children.

  Murder! Her mind circled on the painful reminder, over and over again.

  Questions plagued her, with no answers to satisfy them. But she had to be patient. She will adapt. She must. Lyra Sorin nee Hartwell, just a simple pediatric nurse and a mother of two, knew then that there was no turning back. Not if she wanted to keep her children safe.

  They were still children. Quiet Eleanore was just ten, and sweet Kael was just seven—her babies, and yet here they were moving across continents for a safe haven. She had no time to wallow in grief. She was afraid. She feared that once she let herself break in tears, she would never be able to pick up the pieces ever again.

  Oh, how she missed him! Why couldn't he tell her before?

  She kept her eyes in front, where she could see they were headed. Somewhere ahead—just past a curve in the hills—the gates to another life waited. A new life for them, where she needed to be strong.

  ______________________

  To Kael, the rest of the drive to Shinjuu Academy was a blur.

  He vaguely dream-remembered the tunnel—its strange hush and the chill that clung to his skin even after he woke up. He remembered waking up to just forest roads winding like threads through the mountains. Quiet stretches of green. A faint sense of somewhere important waiting up ahead.

  The sun was just beginning to dip as they arrived at a modest but elegant apartment tucked into the tree-lined outskirts of Kyōtaki Hills. The structure itself was modern, with wide windows and a small rooftop garden.

  Their unit was furnished simply—neutral tones, paper lamps, and woven rugs. On the balcony, potted herbs were already waiting as a gesture of welcome. They were then left to their rest and were given instructions with their welcome packet.

  Dinner was quiet. Lyra reheated the prepared bento boxes left for them in the fridge: grilled salmon, rice with pickled plum, and tamagoyaki. Kael nodded off midway through his meal, his spoon still clutched in his hand. He has yet to learn how to use chopsticks.

  "Eleonore, dearest," Kael faintly heard over his tired body. With a soft smile he did not see, Lyra asked his sister. "Can you take your brother to bed?"

  Kael wasn't quite sure what happened afterwards. He knew Erin had tucked him to bed. He remembered her urging his sleepy butt and helped him to his tatami-lined bedroom—it was very different from his bed before. After settling under a cotton blanket, he mumbled a good night and immediately slipped into slumber, too tired from their long trip.

  He must have been dreaming, because it didn't make any sense. He dreamed of a man that looked ancient and noble, he couldn’t quite recall what the old man looked like. Only the impression he left behind. He wondered how their mother could have known someone in Japan, much less someone from the school. Disjointed conversations with his mother's voice littered the dream.

  "...the ring keeps...hidden for now," Lyra was saying to someone—no, not someone. The air replied with a rustle. A flutter. Like wings brushing fabric. "...blood...sleeping..."

  "...not yet time to bequeath the... uncertain...they don't know."

  He dreamed of that strange bird carrying warnings or caution, in a voice that felt so familiar with muffled calls of “prince” and “princess” like what their father used to tell them at the end of bedtime stories.

  And then Kael remembers how, at the end of his dream, his father murmured promises of safety. Dream dad approached, softly brushing his head. "You'll understand soon. But not tonight."

  He placed a hand over Kael, a faint pressure, warm and steady.

  "For now," he whispered. "Everything is fine."

  And despite everything strange, distant, and almost magical... Kael believed him like he always did.

  Next Update: April 30, 2025