CHAPTER ONE
Changes

--


But all is changed in time, the future none can see
The road you leave behind, ahead lies mystery
--Stevie Wonder


The first thing Syaoran thought when he set foot on Tomoeda soil was that it felt different.

He wasn't referring to the physical aspect of it, though there had been some changes in the shops and buildings, it was not nearly different enough to elicit confusion in where he was. Nor was it different in the sense of his seeing Tomoeda through adult eyes. He'd left when he was fourteen, yet Syaoran remembered Tomoeda as it was then.

No, it was something in the air. It was in the presence of the people, of the surroundings, and just in indescribable things. It was darker somehow. Heavy. It was a change so subtle yet so palpable that he could nearly taste it.

A discreet cough sounded behind him. Turning, Syaoran saw his forgotten cab driver fix a bored stare on him.

"Everything all right, sir?" the cabbie asked, his tone anything but interested.

"Fine," Syaoran muttered as he paid him.

The cabbie paused, staring at him a bit longer than necessary after taking the money. "Right."

As he watched the taxicab pull away, he muttered, "I am fine."

His behaviour made Syaoran feel just a little crazy.

So he woke up this morning in a panic, so what. That's normal after having a heart-pounding nightmare. Of course, he didn't really remember the nightmare… Then in mere hours later, he booked himself on the next possible plane to Japan. He's eighteen. He's allowed to be spontaneous. Of course, he wasn't just an eighteen year-old after taking over family business anymore. He had to cancel, reschedule, and re-arrange a good chunk of his schedule on the plane.

And now he was in Japan, alone, with a single duffel bag of personal belongings, without having seen or heard from anyone he knew since he'd left, and with nowhere to go. Why was he here again?

Because he had a bad feeling from a dream he couldn't remember.

Maybe he was just a little bit crazy.

But he had money. And money helped with finding a place to stay, Syaoran thought as he began to walk. He had to start somewhere. It may as well be where he would sleep tonight.

He'd only gone a few paces when it hit him.

It was as if the power of a presence slammed into him, cutting off his air, rolling through his head until he could taste it in the back of his mouth, and rippling along and under his skin until the hair rose on his flesh. Then just as suddenly as it hit him, it was gone, leaving Syaoran cold, trembling, and thrown.

What in hell was that?

--

He found a suitable hotel soon enough. It was close to the shops and in walking distance of his childhood friends' neighbourhood. At least he hoped it was still their neighbourhood.

As soon as he'd checked in and dropped his duffel bag, Syaoran was out on the streets again, skipping the hot shower and feeling unusually restless. He was still edgy from the occurrence that had felt very much like an attack and decided walking while worrying would be better than sitting still and fidgeting. Yet the exercise and fresh air did nothing to calm his nerves.

Instead, he kept the setting sun company as he walked through familiar streets that seemed different, and recalled half a dozen memories by the time he walked down the block. Sakura was everywhere. Each way he looked he could think of times he was there just being with Sakura.

He lost himself in that. He lost himself in his own mind, in half-buried memories, and in the city streets. He didn't fully register where he was until he was half-way down the street lined with cherry blossom trees.

He didn't stop, but part of his mind began to panic. He knew exactly where he was going, and he couldn't make himself stop, because the rest of his mind felt a surge of exhilaration. As if after all this time, he was finally coming home.

He shook those thoughts off as soon as they formed. He must've written her a thousand times and called even more. He'd never gotten a reply.

And didn't that cut like a knife, he thought bitterly. He would be better off turning around and heading back to Hong Kong, where he belonged.

Syaoran actually stopped in his tracks and was beginning to turn when the better half of his mind began flashing back on the feeling he woke up with this morning. He was raised to trust his gut instincts, especially when they came to him in dreams.

He shook his head and squared his shoulders, determinedly turning back around and marching on.

He had to see Sakura and make sure she was okay.

But by the time he came into view of Sakura's home, the sun had already completely set. The darkness settling around him felt like a cloak, shielding him from his surroundings and leaving him alone with his conscience. So he stood there for a while, a lonely shadow of a figure, and studied the house.

It looked just as he recalled it. It was a good house. It was the right size for a family with kids, and sturdy looking as ever. Not only that, but it looked like a home. It felt like one.

How many times had he been there before? God, he couldn't count the times. Just as he'd lost track of how many times he'd butted heads with Touya, how he'd madly blushed at every smile Sakura aimed his way, and how many times he'd argued with Kero.

A sudden wave of exhaustion rolled through him. He wasn't sure if it was the rehashed memories or the jetlag getting to him, but Syaoran chose that reasoning over cowardice when he turned around and headed back to the hotel.

--

He slept like the dead for eleven solid hours, only waking when he rolled over into a patch of early afternoon sunlight that burned through his eyelids. Moaning and feeling as if a truck had rolled over his head and then backed up, Syaoran stumbled into the cramped washroom and splashed cold water on his face.

It didn't help.

Praying that the miraculous effects of caffeine in coffee would make his mornings feel less like shit, Syaoran threw on jeans and a wrinkled green t-shirt he didn't remember packing (if you could call stuffing a handful of randomly picked clothing into a duffel bag packing), and headed down in search for what would technically be lunch.

He found food and coffee, but also found that his stomach was too knotted and tied up about where he was going later, that he couldn't choke down any of the food. Instead, he drained the coffee and only felt his morning marginally improve.

It wasn't long before he found himself at Sakura's doorstep with his fist poised to knock. Then he hesitated. Again.

This was ridiculous. He had nothing to fear asides from getting thrown out if she really didn't want to see him. It wasn't as if they had a major falling out. It wasn't as if either of them had their heart ripped open and handed back.

Syaoran remembered the unanswered mail and winced.

So that hurt, but maybe there was an explanation.

He had his fist raised again, his mind distracting himself enough to knock – when the door swung open.

A young woman stared at him for a moment, stifling a startled cry. He took that moment to study her. She was wearing a long sweep of a dress, a deep charcoal that emphasized a slim waist. Ebony hair fell past her shoulders, framing a face of pale, fine-boned features.

She was striking upon first impression, and so very familiar.

"H-Hello. May I help you?" she finally stuttered.

"Yes. Um… Well – Is – Does a Miss Sakura Kinomoto live here?"

"Why yes, ah…" she trailed off, and Syaoran saw recognition light her eyes the same time it dawned on him.

"Syaoran?"

"Daidouji?"

She paused at that, a slight frown creasing her brow.

"We were on a first name basis before you left."

Syaoran stared at her, his mind reeling. How could he have not instantly recognized Sakura's best friend? Worst, they had become better friends themselves as well.

"I… I'm sorry. Tomoyo." He grasped for something to say. "It's… been a long time."

"Yes, it has." The frown disappeared as she studied him more closely this time, just a little more guarded and aloof then he remembered. "Why are you here, Syaoran?"

It was how she asked him, and how her eyes merely reflected his image back that unnerved him. He didn't like that feeling of not knowing what he felt he should know. He never did like it. Not at all.

And what unnerved him, also made him snappish, no matter how childish he realized the reaction may appear.

"What's happened?" He pushed past her into the house. "Where's Sakura? Is she all right?"

Tomoyo reached out and snagged his arm, stopping him. Her eyes were furious, but there was something else back there as well.

"No, Syaoran. You don't get to see her at all until you tell me what you're doing here. It's been four years. What made you come?"

There was urgency in her tone that stopped him from ignoring her. He looked at Tomoyo now, really looked, and realized what was behind the fury: weariness. Grief.

"I…" He glanced at the door. "I'll answer your questions Tomoyo, but can we please do this inside?"

Without a word, she let go of his arm and quietly shut the door. Then she led him into the living room and gestured for him to take a seat. She remained standing, so he did too.

Tomoyo angled her chin up so she could look him in the eye while waiting for answers. He only realized then how small she was. She barely came up to his shoulders.

"When did you arrive?" she finally asked in polite tones.

"Yesterday. My flight was in the morning."

He caught the flicker in her eyes before she disguised it.

"Why did you come, Syaoran?"

"Just… can you tell me if Sakura's all right?"

Tomoyo lifted a shoulder in half a shrug. "She's sleeping. She only settled down late last night, so I'd really rather not wake her."

Syaoran nodded, a tension he didn't realize was in his shoulders, relaxed slightly.

"All right. I… This might sound stupid."

"No, it won't," Tomoyo interrupted. Syaoran looked into her dark, unmoved eyes and knew she'd believe him. This Tomoyo might've been different, a touch colder than the sweet, sometimes silly child, but she'd also been a steady friend, constantly standing behind Sakura no matter how disastrous the situation. And she was loyal. She'd listen if it protected Sakura.

"I don't remember what woke me up yesterday morning. I thought it was a nightmare, but now I'm not so sure. I just… woke up panicked, you know? So I thought it was a nightmare. But… I felt something. Like I should be in Japan. Like something terrible had happened and I wasn't there. I was terrified something happened to Sakura." He rubbed his arm, suddenly chilled. That was the first time he put into words how he felt. "Please Tomoyo, what the hell is going on?"

"What -" there was a tremble in her voice and she stopped, clearing her throat. "What time did you wake up?"

There was that terrible knowledge back in her eyes again, and it made Syaoran's eyes narrow.
"Why?"

"Answer the question."

"Around nine, maybe. Why?"

Suddenly, grief seemed to overwhelm Tomoyo, filling her eyes with tears.

"You should know why!" she cried, voice choked up but hot with fury. "You're magical. You had a dream. Why don't you just tell me what you saw?"

"I don't remember it," Syaoran murmured, staring. Tomoyo wasn't listening. She battered tiny fists on his chest that startled more than hurt him.

"Why didn't you answer any of the letters? Emails? Calls? God!" she made a wild, arching gesture. "If you'd come any sooner, none of this would've happened!"

There was a lump in his throat that made it hard to breathe. He caught Tomoyo's wrists in his hands.

"What are you talking about?" he nearly whispered.

He saw the shock in Tomoyo's eyes when they both heard a low, sleep-roughened voice.

"Tomoyo? What's going on?"

Syaoran released her wrists and slowly turned.

She stood at the doorway, barefoot and in bright pink pyjamas. She'd gotten taller, her figure still slender and willowy, and her hair only a few inches longer. But her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and there was a drawn look to her features that only grief could etch. Yet she was still beautiful. Heartbreakingly so.

They stared at each other as if looking over a void in time.

"Sakura," he murmured, taking a step towards her.

She took a step back, shaking her head.

"What are you doing here, Syaoran?"