Six months later…

The world felt peaceful that morning—too quiet.

In the quiet town of Artimia, where sunlight bathed the fields in gold and the wind hummed through tall grass, it was easy to believe nothing bad could ever happen here.

But peace had a way of lying, and somewhere deep down, Theodore Gray always knew it.

Inside a weathered little house near the edge of town, chaos reigned.

Clothes littered the floor like the aftermath of a war, only Theo understood.

Sketches of old dreamscapes clung to the walls, their corners curling with age, as if the past refused to let go.

The rustle of trees outside brushed against the paper-thin walls like nature itself was trying to wake him.

But surprisingly, Theo was already up. Late to start the day, yes, but he was up and about.

Half-dressed, shirt misbuttoned, hair lopsided, and frantically hopping on one leg while trying to find the other sock.

His room smelled like pencil shavings, dust, and teenage boy—barely masked by the citrusy cologne he'd sprayed in a panic two minutes ago.

Beneath it all, though faint, lingered something sharper. Metallic. Almost like rain before a storm.

He caught his reflection in the mirror and smirked.

His tie was uneven, and his eyes were still crusty from sleep.

"Lookin' dangerous," he said to himself, winking before bursting out laughing.

His laugh always came too fast, like a hiccup he couldn't hold in.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The antique clock on the wall forced reality back at him.

"Theo! You're going to be late!" came a familiar call from beyond the door.

His mother's voice—soft as wind chimes, warm as morning toast.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he yelled, grabbing his bag and lunging for the hallway.

He didn't make it far before a blur shot past his legs, and he stumbled.

"No way! Not today!"

Theo gave chase down the hallway only to see Mimi—the family cat—a sleek, black menace with attitude to spare—sitting at the bottom of the staircase like she owned the house.

Theo scooped her up, cradling her like a baby.

"Really? You've got to stop cheating, you psycho."

Mimi licked his chin in apology, purring like she'd won.

The scent of breakfast hit Theo like a punch—eggs, toast, spice, something buttery and golden.

His stomach roared louder than any alarm clock. 

By the time he reached the table, breakfast was set and waiting.

Alvin Gray sat at the head, silent as always. A wall of a man—broad shoulders, thick beard, the kind of presence that made silence feel sacred.

Theo plopped into the seat next to him, tearing into breakfast. Tears of delight streamed from his eyes as he savored every bite.

Fluffy eggs, toast smeared with jam, and crisp bacon kissed by heaven.

Alvin held a book in one hand and, without looking, reached for the last piece of bacon on Theo's plate with the other.

"Come on. I was gonna eat that," Theo muttered.

Alvin grunted. "You eat like a feral dog. Be grateful I saved you from gluttony."

Theo grinned, wolfing down his breakfast anyway.

"See? Emotional hunger saved by breakfast. Not by you, Dad."

"More like delusions cured by backhands. Don't tempt me."

Theo chuckled, draining a glass of water and wiping his mouth.

He stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Alright, I'm out—"

"Hold it!"

Alicia Gray stepped into the room like sunlight through a window—smiling, arms open, flour dusting her cheek, hair cascading in long curls that carried the scent of lavender and something sweet.

"Where do you think you're going without saying goodbye?"

"Mom, not now—"

He found himself already wrapped in her arms.

"You'll miss these one day," she teased.

"One hug turns into a hostage situation..." Theo complained, though he didn't pull away.

No hug in the world could match the safety of hers.

Her arms were a force field against the world.

She pressed her cheek against his.

"You're growing up so fast..."

"You say this every year."

"I mean it every year." She twirled him like a toddler. "When did you get so tall?"

Theo groaned. "Mom, I love you too, but I really have to get going."

She let him go with a laugh, and he staggered back like he'd just been KO'd in a boxing match.

From behind his book, Alvin finally spoke. "Theodore."

Theo straightened up. "Yeah, Dad?"

His father set the book down, stood up, adjusted his son's crooked tie, and flicked him gently on the forehead.

"You're not a kid anymore. I want you to start thinking about the kind of person you want to be."

Theo blinked, caught off guard.

His dad rarely spoke much, but when he did, his words stuck.

"Y-yeah... Yes, sir."

Alvin's gaze lingered. "When that day comes, Theo—whatever it is—don't hesitate. Promise me."

Theo nodded quickly, though the words snagged in his chest, heavier than he expected.

"...I promise."

"Now get going before you're late, and happy birthday."

Theo stepped outside and let the sunlight wash over him.

The door clicked shut behind him.

The world felt new. Different.

He walked through Artimia like he always did—down the dirt path that curved past the wheat fields and wildflowers, where everything smelled like wet earth and fresh leaves.

After a light rain the night before, the ground was soft and the air sweet.

Petals clung to his shoes as he walked.

Ahead, an old sign read:

Welcome to Artimia 
Population: Small. 
Heart: Big.

He smiled. Same as always.

He thought about what his father had said, about the kind of person he wanted to be.

It was hard to know, and the world didn't give him many options.

But he figured if he could make people laugh, keep things light, and protect the people he cared about—maybe that was enough.

He ran past the river that glinted like glass, glaring at its slow, swirling surface.  

Then—at the bend in the trail—two familiar figures came into view.

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Gramm!"

The senior couple strolled arm in arm, squinting at him through the sun.

"Slow down, son!" Mr. Gramm barked, huffing. "You tryin' to give this old man a heart attack?"

"Sorry, sir!" Theo yelled back. "Running late again!"

"Again? At this rate, you'll be late for your funeral one day!" Mr. Gramm cackled, doubling over with laughter.

Mrs. Gramm rolled her eyes. "Ignore this senile old man! Happy birthday, dear!"

"Do your best, son!" Mr. Gramm yelled with a firm wave.

Theo smiled. "You got it!"

A few more steps—and there they were.

David Hartwright. Dawn Cypress.

Waiting by the fork in the road like fate had circled the day. David stood slouched against a tree.

A year older than Theo and half a head taller, he looked like a redheaded scarecrow brought to life—all mop-top hair and taped-up glasses that somehow clung to his nose despite the breeze.

His uniform blazer hung lazily off one shoulder like he didn't care about the rules.

One hand was in his pocket, the other dangling by his side as he casually kicked a pebble with his shoe.

His smile was lazy but warm.

When Theo approached, he didn't move; he just raised a hand in a slow wave.

"Yo," Theo greeted him.

"Took you long enough."

"You know how my mom gets. One hug turns into a hostage situation."

Then he turned to Dawn. She was shorter than both of them, but she carried herself like someone taller— someone older.

She stood straight with her hands behind her back.

Her uniform—perfectly pressed, not a wrinkle out of place.

Every button was polished. Every gesture was precise.

Her raven curls were pinned neatly behind her ears with a purple ribbon, like even the wind didn't dare mess with them.

She was Theo's age, sure, but a few months older, and she never let him forget it.

Something about her presence always made Theo's chest tighten a little.

Not in a scary way, but in a way that made him forget how to stand correctly.

It felt like the air got heavier when she was nearby.

She had a glow to her—not the loud kind—more like the quiet before a storm.

Like the hush that rolled through a forest before the trees started to sway.

Beautiful. Intimidating. Unreachable.

Most guys didn't even try to talk to her.

Theo didn't know if that made him brave or just incredibly stupid.

Sometimes, he wondered what she'd say if she knew how he felt.  

Then again—saying it out loud? That wasn't just risky business.

That was emotional suicide.

"Hey, Dawn. Good—"

Theo didn't get the chance to finish before a flurry of color burst into the air.

Confetti and flower petals rained down in an explosion of cheer.

"Happy birthday!"

The surprise smacked him like joy in powdered form.

Petals clung to his shoulders and hair as he stood there, stunned, then broke into a crooked grin.

Dawn gave him a soft smile, her hands still half-raised from the toss.

"Good morning, Theo."

David smirked, flicking a stray petal off Theo's shoulder.

"You thought we forgot, didn't you?"

Theo laughed, brushing the mess from his curls.

"Honestly? Kinda did. I even forgot."

"How could we forget?" Dawn asked, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. "It's the same day every year."

David elbowed Theo. "Why couldn't you be early for once?"

Theo elbowed him back. "I'm not even that late."

David grinned wickedly. "Tell that to Dawn—I bet her you'd be on time."

Dawn chuckled faintly, arms folded. "Of course, I was right. Theo's never early."

Theo tipped his head toward her, grin crooked.

"Mornings are dangerous enough without you making them harder, Dawn."

She blinked, caught off guard, before giving him a half-smile. "Oh, feisty."

David barked a laugh. "That's a new one."

The three of them started walking without needing to say a word, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other.

Above them, a bird cut through the sky, wings outstretched against the flawless blue.

Theo watched it until it disappeared into the clouds, that small flicker of lightness fading as a strange heaviness settled in his chest.

The air smelled faintly of rain again—metallic, sharp, almost like the clouds were holding its breath.

"You know," he said with a crooked smile, "some mornings feel too perfect. Like the world's trying to trick us."

David laughed. "Nothing ever happens here. Unfortunately, because of that, we're cursed with boredom."

But as Theo's gaze lingered on the horizon, he couldn't shake the feeling that something unseen had already begun to stir.

The bird never came back.

And by nightfall, neither would Artimia.