Twilight Town was quieter than usual. The light, of course, was the same as always — warm, golden, endless — hanging above the rooftops like a lantern that refused to burn out. The sky stretched wide and pale-orange above the station plaza, clouds drifting lazily as though time itself had forgotten how to pass.
Kairi walked with her hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket, the scent of baked sugar and old stone settling around her like a second skin. Every corner of this place echoed with the ghosts of footsteps — Hayner, Pence, Olette… Roxas. Her friends. Her memories. Their laughter sometimes seemed folded into the air itself, waiting for someone to breathe it in.
But today… the rhythm was off. She felt it first — that instinctive prickling behind her ribs, the way the world seems to hush just before something important happens. She slowed her steps near the edge of Station Plaza, gaze sweeping across the familiar view — and then her breath hitched, just slightly.
Someone stood by the base of the clocktower. She stopped behind the low iron railing and studied him from a distance. He wasn’t anyone she recognized. Definitely not a Twilight Town local — his clothes were wrong for that. Dark, worn gear with odd detailing, a camera slung casually at his side like it belonged there, like it mattered. He hadn't noticed her. He was looking at the sky.
Kairi tilted her head, uncertain. Her first instinct was caution — but not fear. There was something about him that didn’t feel dangerous. Just… displaced. Like a line from the wrong page in the right story.
She took a few careful steps closer, her boots quiet against the cobblestones. She didn’t want to startle him, but the weight of silence felt heavier the longer it stretched.
When she was near enough for her voice to carry, she stopped. One breath. Then:
“You’re… not from around here, are you?”
Her tone was calm, edged with curiosity, but not demanding. Just a gentle question, offered like a bridge between two worlds. She waited, her gaze steady, the hush of the town stretching between them — golden, patient, watchful — as if even Twilight Town itself was listening
