The house smelled of dust and forgotten memories.
Faint rays of the afternoon sun slipped through the cracked windows, casting long golden streaks across the wooden floor. Everything was still, untouched, like time had frozen inside these walls.
Kisimoto stepped in first, the old door creaking behind him. His gaze swept across the room—the furniture covered in sheets, the air thick with age.
They were home.
Roko whistled. "Damn. Feels like a lifetime ago."
Their mother exhaled, fingers brushing against the wall as if confirming this was real. "It's been years…"
Serena said nothing. She just walked in, eyes flickering around as if scanning each corner for threats.
Kisimoto dropped his bag by the door. "Alright. Let's get to work."
No one argued.
They needed this.
—
The first few hours were spent cleaning.
Roko grumbled about how he wasn't a maid, but still wiped down the tables. Kisimoto fixed the broken lights. Their mother sorted through old belongings, deciding what to keep.
Serena dusted the shelves, methodical, almost… normal.
She didn't hum. Didn't tap her fingers against her knife.
Just worked.
By evening, the house looked livable. The floor was clean, the kitchen usable, and the dust-filled air had been replaced with the scent of freshly washed sheets.
They sat down on the worn-out couch, exhausted.
Kisimoto leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "It's… weird."
Roko raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"This." He gestured around. "Peace."
No gunfire. No running. No blood.
Just a house. A family. A quiet moment.
Their mother smiled softly. "It won't last forever."
Kisimoto sighed. "I know."
But for now—
They let it be.
TO BE CONTINUED…