Legacy's Wake

As Stitch padded toward their tiny shared room, she could still hear the rhythmic sweeping of Sendal's broom against the wooden floor. The sound was oddly comforting, like a gentle lullaby that reminded her of normalcy—even if, deep down, she knew their lives were anything but.

She knelt beside their modest bed, straightening the wrinkled sheets and fluffing up the single pillow they shared. A small sigh escaped her lips as she glanced toward the tattered curtains fluttering from the night breeze slipping through the cracks in the window.

"Sendal?" she called out softly, still smoothing out the fabric.

"Hm?" her sister hummed in response, not pausing in her sweeping.

"Do you think we'll ever leave Cascade Cradle?" Stitch asked, her voice uncertain but filled with a quiet hope.

The sweeping stopped for just a moment before resuming. "Why would you ask that?" Sendal replied, her tone light but careful.

Stitch hesitated, fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket. "I don't know… I just—sometimes, I wonder what's beyond this place. I hear the merchants talk about islands far away, with castles, forests, and creatures we've never seen before. I wonder what it'd be like to go there… Maybe we wouldn't have to worry so much about money or food."

Sendal chuckled, though there was something bittersweet in it. "You and your big dreams," she mused. "You sound just like Mom used to when she talked about the world outside."

Stitch perked up. "She did?"

"Of course," Sendal confirmed, moving a chair aside so she could sweep under it. "She always talked about adventure, about seeing the stars from different lands, meeting all kinds of people. She said she wanted to sail across the sea one day. But…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Life doesn't always work out the way we want, Stitch."

Stitch frowned at that but said nothing. She turned her attention to gathering up the scattered fabric scraps she'd left on the floor from her sewing earlier.

"Maybe we could still go, though," she murmured after a while.

Sendal sighed, placing the broom aside and leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "If only it were that simple."

"But what if it is?" Stitch turned to face her, determination flickering in her tired eyes. "What if we saved up just enough? Maybe not now, but one day… maybe we could leave this place together."

Sendal smiled softly but didn't answer right away. Instead, she walked over and crouched beside her little sister, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You always hold onto hope, don't you?"

Stitch gave a small, sheepish shrug. "It's better than giving up."

Sendal let out a breath of amusement, nodding. "Yeah… I guess it is."

For a while, they worked in companionable silence, the only sounds being the occasional scrape of furniture moving and the steady rhythm of their movements.

But then a knock came at the door.

A heavy, deliberate knock.

The kind that made the air shift and the warmth of the moment vanish instantly.

Stitch and Sendal froze, their eyes meeting. A silent understanding passed between them—one filled with quiet dread.

The night was about to change.

The Knock at the Door

The knock came again—louder this time, sharper, like a blade rapping against the brittle wood of their door. The sound sent a chill down Sendal's spine, a deep and terrible weight settling in her chest. She knew that knock. She had been expecting it for weeks, dreading it every time she heard slow footsteps outside their home. But hearing it now, after such a warm moment with Stitch, made it all the more unbearable. The tiny comfort they had built, the fragile illusion of safety—it was all about to shatter.

Stitch, oblivious to the tension in the air, tilted her head curiously. "Who could that be?" she asked, her voice light and innocent, the words slicing into Sendal like a knife.

Another knock. This one more insistent. More demanding.

Sendal inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay composed. She turned to her sister, gripping her small shoulders tightly. "Stitch," she whispered, voice low and urgent. "Listen to me very carefully."

The sudden shift in her sister's tone made Stitch frown, confusion flashing across her young face. "What's wrong?"

"Go to our room," Sendal said firmly. "Get under the bed, and no matter what happens, don't come out. Don't make a sound. Do you understand me?"

Stitch hesitated, glancing between her sister and the door, her tiny fingers clutching at the hem of her dress. She didn't like this. The way Sendal was speaking—it wasn't just a request. It was something much heavier, something laced with fear. It didn't make sense.

"But—"

"Now, Stitch."

There was no room for argument in her voice, no warmth left in the way she spoke. It was enough to make Stitch's stomach twist.

"O-Okay…" she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper.

She hurried to the bedroom, dropping to her knees and crawling under the bed, pressing herself against the wall. Mendy was still in her hands, its soft, stitched fabric comforting against her fingers. She hugged the doll close, its button eyes reflecting the dim candlelight of the room. It didn't make sense. None of this did. But she knew better than to disobey.

Outside, Sendal took a steadying breath, smoothing down her dress before stepping toward the door. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, a steady drumbeat of fear that she fought to ignore. With one last glance toward the bedroom, she swallowed hard and turned the knob.

The door creaked open, revealing three figures standing under the dim glow of the street lanterns.

Marines.

Their crisp white coats were damp from the misty rain, their boots muddied from the wet cobblestone streets. The man in the center, slightly taller than the others, had a thick mustache curled at the ends and a sharp, knowing smirk. His eyes, cold and assessing, flicked over her with the casual ease of a predator surveying its prey.

"Evening, Miss Sendal," he greeted smoothly, tipping his hat ever so slightly. "Hope we're not interrupting anything."

Sendal stood her ground, forcing her expression to remain neutral. "What do you want?"

The Marine chuckled, reaching into his coat. "Straight to the point. I like that."

To be continued...