Chapter Text
At the supposed age of fourteen, Makima was small and plainly dressed, her coat buttoned neatly to the collar despite the cold. Her hair was gathered into a single braid that fell neatly down her back, not a strand out of place with only two long strands framing her face, as if she disliked disorder. What unsettled people were her eyes steady and unblinking, ringed faintly with gold watching the world with a patience no one should have mastered yet.
She spoke politely, rarely raised her voice, and never wasted words. When she smiled, it was brief and measured, as though she had already decided how things would unfold.
This had been a particularly uneventful walk to the small school, with her sisters in tow they had past Ms Hilda's small bakery that resembled more of a shack, the older women had always been kind to the four girls ever since they arrived in the village, slipping them warm bread on cold mornings and watching them with the steady care of someone who noticed more than others.
The sound of Yoru’s voice cut through her reminiscing, flat and irritated, as if her thoughts alone had wasted enough time.
Makima could only sigh.
‘’Step aside, heathen! How dare you block my way!’’ Yoru snapped, her words slicing through the air. She was only fifteen in appearance, but she carried herself like a warrior, her stance straight and unflinching, eyes daring anyone to challenge her.
Yoru carried herself like she owned every space she entered. Her posture was straight, her shoulders squared, and her gaze sharp, almost piercing, as if measuring the world and everyone in it. Her hair was dark and flowing, though a few rebellious strands framed her face. She spoke with a clipped, commanding tone, and even when small, her words cut through the air like a blade. Despite her rough edges, there was a sense of confidence in her movements.
Despite that she wasn’t very intimidating most of the children just secretly treated her as if she was a boisterous brat.
Kara, the girl standing stubbornly in the narrow path, had been a thorn in their sides since the five of them had first arrived.
A voice cut through the air, soft yet apathetic. “Could you please not start a fight so early in the morning?” Yoru froze mid-step as a girl appeared by her side.
Short, pale pink hair framed her sharp, pale face, and her purple spiral eyes seemed devoid of life. Her head slightly tilted just showing her earrings.
Even at the supposed age of seventeen, her lean, deliberate movements carried the weight of someone far older. Her voice, quiet and detached, added to the unease, and the wind seemed to still as she watched, marking her presence as something impossible to challenge.
Kara tsked, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, though her gaze flicked briefly toward the other girl. “Fine, Asaka, but make sure to keep that one on a shorter leash, lest she bite someone,” she said, her tone calm and unbothered toward Yoru, but there was a subtle edge of caution in her eyes as she addressed the girl now coined Asaka.
Yoru’s red spiralling eyes met hers, unblinking and sharp, but Kara didn’t flinch, standing her ground with measured confidence.
“Bite someone? Do you think of me as some kind of dog?” Yoru snapped, her tone sharp and indignant.
“Some might thin—” Kara started, a teasing lilt in her voice, but before she could finish, the bell rang. Its clear clang echoed across the snowy village, slicing through the tension like a blade and drawing the girls’ attention toward the door of the small school.
Kara shook her head with a small smile and stepped aside. “Fine,” she said lightly, her boots crunching against the frost-covered ground as she turned and walked away, leaving Yoru and Asaka in the snow-drifted street. She didn’t look back, though a faint glimmer of mischief lingered in her eyes, as if daring the others to act.
‘’It seems that Shi-Chan has resolved the situation,’’ Makima said, her expression not shifting in the slightest ,though Kara had referred to Shi-Chan as Asaka that was not the name the four of them used, it was just easier for the other children and adult to caller her Asaka.
Speaking of the four of them the girl Makima had addressed did not reply
Makima turned her head toward her other sister, who had been silently mumbling to herself. “Fami,” she said evenly, “the bell has rung. It’s time to go.”
Fami’s silvery-grey hair fell just below her shoulders, slightly frazzled as if she’d rolled out of bed and never quite fixed it. Her pale grey eyes spiralled faintly, distant and unfocused, and she carried an almost always anxious air, murmuring softly to herself as though her thoughts never fully settled.
“Huh… ah, sorry, I wasn’t paying attention, Makima!” Fami stammered, throwing her arm up nervously as if to ward off some imagined mistake. Her shoulders hunched slightly, and she shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting.
“It’s fine,” Makima said evenly, her expression unreadable. “Are you still worried about that test today?”
Fami swallowed hard, her hands twisting together in front of her. “I… I guess,” she murmured, voice barely above the crunching snow beneath their boots. Her eyes flicked toward the small school ahead, then back to Makima, as if searching for reassurance. “I just… I don’t know if I’ll remember everything…”
Makima’s gaze remained steady, unblinking. “Then focus on what you do know,” she said softly, the weight of her calm almost grounding during Fami’s nervous fluttering.
The faint echo of the bell rang again, reminding them that the moment for worry was passing. Fami nodded quickly, though her hands still twitched, and fell into step beside her sister, the snow crunching lightly beneath their boots as they approached the school.
The door creaked open on iron hinges, and the smell of smoke and pine rushed to meet them. Inside, the little church-school was all timber and beams, its walls darkened by years of fire and storm. Snow slid from their coats and pooled on the plank floor while the wind rattled the shutters like an impatient knuckle.
The main room held a carved altar at its front, beside a row of low benches nicked and worn by generations of restless hands. Beyond this space, narrow doorways led further down the corridor to two additional classrooms. The left classroom was slightly further up the corridor, neat and tidy with rows of desks and a chalkboard leaning against the wall. The right classroom was closer, larger but sparsely furnished, benches lined along the walls, floor worn smooth from years of footsteps. The air carried the faint scent of chalk dust and damp wool, and the silence made it easy to imagine the echoes of lessons long past.
The children began to file in as the bell’s echo faded, boots thudding softly against the planks. Without needing to be told, they split toward the two identical classrooms, familiarity guiding their steps more than any rule posted on the walls.
Fami lingered near the threshold, wringing her hands as her pale grey eyes darted between the rooms. After a moment’s hesitation, she followed Makima, slipping into the classroom on the left. Makima chose a seat near the middle, posture straight and composed, her braid resting neatly down her back as she folded her hands atop the desk.
Across the hall, Yoru’s classroom was louder, the quiet broken by shifting benches and low murmurs that hadn’t yet learned to settle. Cold light leaked through the narrow windows, glinting off frost and dust alike. Yoru dropped onto a bench near the back, arms crossed, jaw tight. Her red eyes swept the room once, sharp and challenging, daring anyone to stare too long. A few students glanced her way, then quickly found sudden interest in their desks.
Shi-Chan remained in the main room for a moment longer, standing near the altar. Her short pink hair barely stirred as she watched the children settle, purple spiral eyes unreadable. Only when both classrooms had quieted did she move, her steps unhurried, presence pressing gently but firmly into the stillness of the school.
Even in that quiet, she noticed it—a subtle tension in the teachers’ movements, a sharpness in their words when they thought no one was listening. Something had stirred between them, small yet deliberate. Shi-Chan filed it away, as she always did, noting the undercurrents that others failed to see.
The classroom settled slowly, the scrape of chairs and murmured voices fading into a low hush. Frost clung to the edges of the small windows, and pale winter light spilled across the rows of desks. The chalkboard at the front stood bare.
Makima sat perfectly still, hands folded on the desk before her, braid lying straight down her back. Her gaze drifted calmly around the room, taking in each child without lingering too long on any one of them. There was no curiosity in her eyes only quiet attention, as though she were already aware of what each of them would say or do.
Beside her, Fami fidgeted. She shifted in her seat, fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve, her spiraling grey eyes flicking toward the door and then back to the desk. The faint scent of chalk dust seemed to make her shoulders tense even more.
“You’ll be fine,” Makima said softly, not turning her head. Her voice was even, almost gentle. “You know the material.”
Fami swallowed and nodded quickly. “I… I know,” she murmured, though her foot continued to tap against the floor. At the front of the room, the door creaked open again. The lesson was about to begin.
A few of the children were whispering in the corner, their heads bent close together, voices low and hurried. Yoru’s eyes flicked toward them at once, sharp and warning. The whispers faltered, then stopped altogether, replaced by an uneasy silence as the children straightened and pretended to mind their own business.
The door to Yoru’s classroom opened, and a woman stepped inside. She was tall, her dark hair flowing she was quite beautiful, and the room quieted as soon as she spoke.
“Take your seats,” she said.
Benches scraped as the students settled. Asaka moved with the others, taking a seat without hurry, her short pink hair barely shifting as she sat. Her purple spiral eyes drifted forward, calm and unreadable, as if the earlier tension had never touched her.
Across the hall, the other classroom fell silent as well. A man entered, thin and neatly dressed, his expression polite but difficult to place. He closed the door behind him and set his bag down before turning to face the students.
“Good morning,” he said.
Fami stiffened slightly.
Makima only watched, her expression unchanged.
The man placed his bag on the desk and smiled faintly.
“This won’t take long,” he said. “Answer carefully. Silence, please.”
He began handing out the papers one by one.
When he reached one of the boys, Harry. He leaned down and murmured something just loud enough for the boy to hear. The boy stiffened instantly, eyes widening.
The man straightened as if nothing had happened and continued down the row, his polite expression unchanged.
Makima’s eyes shifted, just slightly, following the man as he moved away from the boy’s desk. She watched the boy’s rigid posture, the way his hands trembled as he reached for the paper. she said nothing only looked back to her own desk, her expression calm and unreadable, as if she were already filing the moment away for later.
“Ding.” The bell rang. The test was over.
The students stood, gathering their things, and left the building to go out into the courtyard.
The students spilled into the courtyard, laughter and chatter filling the crisp air. Makima and her sisters made their way to a large tree at the center, its bare branches stretching wide above them, offering a small patch of quiet among the bustling courtyard.
Just then, arms wrapped around Makima’s shoulders.
It was Sasha.
Sasha was about the same age as Makima, with chestnut hair that fell in loose waves just past her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and lively, always observing, and her smile carried an easy warmth that contrasted with Makima’s calm, measured presence.
“What are you doing?” Makima asked.
“Oh, cheer up! Aren’t you happy to see me?” Sasha replied, grinning as she leaned against Makima.
“Enough. Let go,” Makima said, gently removing Sasha’s arms from her shoulders,
“Ah, no fair! Why are you so cruel?” Sasha protested, pouting slightly.
Sasha then turned, her eyes finding Fami, and took a step toward her.
She leaned playfully into Fami.
“Fami, your sister is cruel! One could almost think she’s a devil, the way she acts,” Sasha teased, grinning.
“Tell her off!” Sasha laughed, leaning closer. “I was just showing my affection… as her dear and sadly, only friend!”
Fami didn’t know how to respond, she mumbled, “Ah… Makima, you could be kinder to her.”
“Don’t indulge her, Fami,” Shi-Chan said flatly, her expression completely unchanging.
“How long are you going to babble on with this meaningless farce?” Yoru snapped, her tone sharp and impatient.
From nearby, a soft, quiet laugh drifted over. Kalom stood a little apart, confidence in his stance, but the laugh seemed to announce him rather than his words. He glanced at Fami, subtle, careful, as if gauging her mood.
“Wow, you all are so lively this early in the morning,” Kalom said with a small smile. “I envy that.”
“Have you heard…?” he asked, voice steady and confident, eyes briefly meeting Fami’s before glancing away.
Sasha turned toward him, eyes bright with curiosity. “Heard what?” she asked, tilting her head with a teasing grin. The other girls barely moved, their attention elsewhere.
“Lily has gone missing,” Kalom said, face serious, no smile.
Kalom’s words hung in the air, and suddenly all eyes turned toward him.
Sasha’s grin faded, curiosity now tinged with concern. Fami’s spiralling grey eyes widened slightly, and even Makima’s unblinking gaze shifted, her expression unreadable but clearly attentive.
Shi-Chan, standing a few paces off, her head tilted ever so slightly, her short pink hair brushing her jaw, purple spiral eyes fixed on Kalom with that quiet, detached scrutiny of hers.
The chatter and laughter that had filled the space moments ago died down entirely.
“Missing,” Shi-Chan said, her voice soft and apathetic, carrying the words as if stating a simple fact rather than expressing alarm. Her purple spiral eyes didn’t waver from Kalom.
Sasha blinked, frowning. “Missing? What do you mean?”
Fami’s hands twitched at her sides, and even Makima’s gaze sharpened, unblinking. The news had caught their attention, but Shi-Chan remained perfectly composed, letting the weight of her words linger.
Yoru scoffed, crossing her arms. “Missing? Hearsay,” she said, her red spiralling eyes fixing on Kalom. “Children wander off all the time. Nothing to fret over.”
“Normally, I’d agree with you,” Kalom said, his gaze flicking briefly toward Yoru, his voice steady but tight. “But Lily’s been missing since Friday morning.”
“No wonder we didn’t hear about it,” Makima said calmly. “The village school is only open on Saturday and Sundays.”
This was because most of the adults were busy during the weekdays, including the teachers. The children either helped their families, spent time with friends, or went hunting to pass the time.
And in a small village like this, if someone went missing, the news would spread like wildfire. But Makima and her sisters hadn’t left home at all on Friday.
There was also that fact that none of the girls present were particularly close to Lily, the adults most likely didn't want to worry the children.
Shi-Chan spoke softly but firmly nonetheless, her expression unchanged, her head still tilted just slightly. “It is safe to assume,” she said evenly, “that people only noticed Lily was missing late into the night.”
Yoru pressed her thumb and forefinger to her temple, massaging it lightly. “Pray, so the child has gone missing, how should that concern us?” she said, her tone measured, calm, yet carrying the weight of quiet assurance.
All eyes turned to Yoru.
Fami scratched her cheek with her pointer finger, her words flat, a trace of tears barely glinting in her eyes. “That’s… obvious, isn’t it? What if she was kidnapped?”
“Kidnapped… I hadn’t thought of that,” Sasha said, eyes widening slightly.
Yoru pressed her fingers to her temple, letting out a faint sigh, while Kalom’s jaw tightened, a flicker of concern in his gaze.
Makima and Shi-Chan, however remained unmoved, their expressions unchanged it was as if they had already thought of this possibility.
their conversation cut short as a commotion drifted from the edge of the courtyard.
“Well, we don’t even know if it was a kidn—” Sasha started, curiosity bright in her eyes.
The words never finished.
A sharp crack cut through the courtyard air.
Everyone froze.
Kara stood near the well, hand still raised. Harry stiffened, eyes wide, more startled than hurt. He stumbled back, one hand going to his cheek. Murmurs ran through the group.
“Isn’t that… Lily’s brother?” someone whispered.
“She was your friend,” another added under their breath.
Kara’s gaze sharpened, cold and unwavering. “Exactly. Which is why he should remember,” she said, voice calm but carrying an edge that silenced the murmurs.
Sasha frowned, curiosity flickering. She kept her eyes on Harry, noting the tension Kara had forced into the air.
Yoru’s red spiralling eyes narrowed, a low hum of displeasure in her stance. “Step back,” she said flatly, voice clipped, clearly unimpressed.
Makima’s expression remained calm, her voice even. “There’s no need to escalate,” she said, stepping slightly forward.
Shi-Chan stayed silent, watching intently.
Kalom shifted awkwardly, a hint of uncertainty crossing his face, but he stayed with the group, ready if things turned ugly.
Sasha huffed, crossing her arms. “Kara… you’re really pushing it,” she muttered, a mixture of warning and exasperation in her tone “As expected… of the chief’s daughter,”
Yoru moved first. Without a word, she stepped forward and grabbed Harry by the arm. The boy froze, eyes wide, but didn’t resist. Kara’s gaze flicked toward him, sharp and warning, but she didn’t intervene.
“Back to the tree,” Yoru said, voice low but firm. Her red eyes glinted as she started leading him away.
The others followed—Sasha trailing closely, curiosity and caution both written on her face, while Makima and Shi-Chan exchanged measured glances. Fami hung back a moment, then fell in step.
The courtyard fell into a tense silence, the only sound the shuffle of feet on snow and the distant rattle of shutters in the wind. Kara remained by the well, arms crossed, watching, but she said nothing.
Yoru guided Harry to the large tree where the sisters had been gathered. The boy’s steps were hesitant, but he didn’t try to pull away. Once they reached the tree, Yoru released his arm and stepped back slightly, her red eyes sharp and watchful.
Sasha leaned forward, curiosity bright in her eyes. “Harry… what happened? Where’s Lily?”
Harry swallowed hard, glancing nervously at Kara, who remained near the well. “I… I don’t know,” he stammered. “She… she stayed at Kara’s house Thursday night… but Friday morning, she never came back.”
Fami spoke quietly, her tone flat but edged with a faint wryness. “Doesn’t seem like he’ll be hurt… not badly,” she murmured.
Makima’s expression remained unreadable, while Shi-Chan nodded silently, acknowledging the boy’s fear.
Sasha frowned, glancing at Yoru, who simply crossed her arms, her red eyes sharp and skeptical.
Kalom stepped forward slightly, voice calm but firm. “Did she say where she was going?”
The group exchanged glances, the weight of his question hanging in the air. Something was clearly wrong, but for now, the only thing they knew for certain was that Lily had vanished sometime after leaving Kara’s house.
Kalom’s question hung in the air. Harry shifted. “She didn’t say,” he murmured.
Makima’s crimson braid caught the sunlight as her gaze sharpened. “That is… unlikely,” she said softly, voice calm but certain. “A child leaving for someone’s else house would say something to her younger brother, if she wasn't going to return home the next morning.”
Shi-Chan’s head tilted slightly, expression neutral. “Indeed,” she said evenly. “He’s lying.”
Sasha leaned forward, curiosity flickering, but the sharp clack of the school bell cut her attention short. While Yoru’s red eyes narrowed, sharp and impatient. “Waste not our time” she said, low and firm. “Speak the truth.”
Harry swallowed hard, hands twisting nervously. “She… she was going to meet… Mr. Callen,” he whispered, voice low.
Kalom’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Callen? For… practice?”
Harry nodded quickly, eyes darting around the group. “Yes… she said she needed to get ready for the test. She… told me not to tell anyone.”
Harry nodded. “Yes… she didn’t say anything else.”
Makima’s crimson braid shifted slightly as her gaze sharpened. “Very well,” she said softly, voice certain. “Then that is the truth we have. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Shi-Chan nodded, expression neutral. “Understood,” she said plainly.
Fami’s eyes flicked briefly toward Harry, her tone flat. “Seems he speaks plainly enough,” she murmured.
Sasha leaned forward, curiosity flickering. “So, she really went alone to practice with Mr. Callen?”
Harry nodded again, his voice barely audible.
Yoru’s red eyes narrowed, her tone edged with impatience. “Keep all hidden, yet reveal what matters not,” she muttered, just a touch archaic. “We shall see.”
Fami’s hands fidgeted at her sides, her anxious energy barely contained. “If… if she didn’t come home… maybe something’s happened…” she murmured quietly, flat and controlled, though her mind raced with possibilities,
Kalom glanced at her, then toward the group. “The hunting party left Thursday,” he said. “Their path will cross with your older brother — he’s with them. They’ll return today. Perhaps they’ve seen or heard something that might help.”
Makima shifted again, eyes narrowing. “Indeed. Their path may intersect with ours. We must consider what they know when they return.”
The bell rang again, louder this time, signalling the end of recess. The group shared one last glance, unspoken questions lingering in the air, before turning toward the classrooms.
The courtyard, tense moments ago, returned to the soft shuffle of students and the murmur of lessons resuming.
The girls filed back into the classroom, the murmur of students filling the space.
Shi-Chan’s eyes flicked to their teacher, Ms Mariel, noticing a slight limp in her left leg. A faint dark mark showed through the hem of her skirt, catching the light with each step.
Yoru’s red eyes narrowed, tracking Ms Mariel with a subtle intensity. “She’s wounded,” she murmured, like no one would have noticed otherwise, the way a hunter notes a weakness. “Still moves like she’s ready for a hunt.” she said with a triumphant smile
Ms Mariel chuckled softly, brushing it off as if the limp and mark were nothing. “A few days ago,” she said, smiling faintly. “Nothing to concern yourselves with.”
Makima glanced out the window, calm and detached. Her eyes swept across the forest where the hunting party moved silently between the trees. Dogs padded after them, voices low and measured, but her expression betrayed little interest. I wonder what the mice will pick up, she thought, tracing the familiar paths through the underbrush.