"They say the color of your eyes is your truth. But I've met too many liars in blue and too many saints in black."
— Unknown dissident, executed in Year 901
Kazuo didn't believe in fate. But if it did exist, it had a cruel sense of humor — the kind that kicked you in the ribs after tripping you face-first into a fruit stall.
"Good morning," he said to the vendor girl — a little too loud, a little too hopeful. "You look radiant today. Like a peach in bloom. Or, uh… a pear. A really nice pear."
She raised an eyebrow. Her amber eyes studied him as one might inspect a bruised vegetable.
Kazuo cleared his throat. "I mean that in a respectful way. Very pear-worthy. Sorry. I'm terrible at compliments."
She didn't answer. Just turned back to reorganizing her crates, pointedly ignoring him.
He stood there awkwardly for a second, until a small cloth pouch slipped from his belt and hit the dusty ground with a puff. Cat treats spilled everywhere.
Behind a barrel, someone snorted — very loudly and very intentionally.
Kazuo didn't have to look to know who it was.
Rei.
"Three pears, please," Kazuo said stiffly, placing two cogs — silver trade coins — onto the crate. The vendor accepted them with a brief nod, handed over the fruit, and turned away without a word.
Kazuo lingered a moment, chewing on shame. Then a voice rang out beside him like a trumpet of sarcasm.
"Smooth as ever, Casanova."
Rei leaned against the stall, biting into an apple he hadn't paid for. His spiky red hair caught the morning light like fire, and his twin daggers glinted at his waist. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"Don't," Kazuo said.
"I mean, I knew it would crash and burn, but that was poetic. 'Pear-worthy'? What even is that?"
"She was cute."
"She was untouchable. Amber eyes, Kazuo. That's two full social tiers above you. You're barely even on the ladder."
Kazuo took a defiant bite of pear. "Doesn't mean I can't try."
"And that," Rei said, throwing an arm over his shoulder dramatically, "is why I admire you. You're a reckless romantic with no sense of consequence and even less success."
Kazuo rolled his eyes and swatted the arm away.
The Lower Crescent of Yurelda bustled around them — a patchwork of stone, spice smoke, shouting vendors, and weary-eyed slaves. Here, those with black, hazel, or gray eyes moved carefully. Kept their heads down. No one made eye contact unless they had the luxury of doing so.
Guards, in their silver-blue armor, stood at corners like wolves wearing medals. None of them had black eyes. Black eyes weren't allowed to exist.
Kazuo kept his hood low. His mismatched gaze — one black, the other a glinting green — drew attention. And attention here meant danger.
As they walked, he felt the stares. Subtle. Quick. Always judgmental. The green eye unsettled people. It didn't belong. Not down here.
"You ever get tired of hiding?" Rei asked as they turned down a side alley, the sound of haggling fading behind them.
"I'm not hiding."
"You wear a hood in summer."
Kazuo shrugged. "Just avoiding trouble."
"You've been avoiding it since Gramps took you in."
Kazuo's eyes narrowed. "That's low."
Rei smirked. "You're right. Gramps raised you better than this."
Kazuo smiled despite himself.
They stopped at a shaded corner where a narrow canal whispered past, lined with moss and broken lanterns. Kazuo sat on a low step and tossed a bit of pear into the water.
A moment later, a familiar blur of fur and claws leapt onto his lap — a one-eyed tabby, scarred and mean-looking but loyal as any dog.
Kazuo fished a treat from his pouch and offered it up.
"You spoil that thing," Rei said.
"She's got taste."
"She bit me last week."
"She has excellent taste."
The cat purred like a tiny thundercloud. Rei leaned back against the wall.
"So. What's the plan today? Another awkward flirt? Saving lost children? Or will you finally tell Gramps the truth about last week's... puddle?"
Kazuo didn't answer immediately. He watched the water ripple.
A boy had fallen into the canal last week. Not drowned — just slipped. But when Kazuo saw it happen, something surged in him. He didn't move. Didn't even think. But the water moved. It rose. Caught the boy. Slowed his fall like a cushion of silk.
No one saw it.
Except Rei.
"I didn't do it," Kazuo had said at the time.
"You did," Rei replied. "And you should talk to Gramps."
Kazuo sighed now. "He already suspects. He always knew there was something weird about me."
"That's not what I meant."
Kazuo glanced at his own hand. The skin was dry. But sometimes… it wasn't. Sometimes it glistened when it shouldn't. Like the air bent toward him.
"Gramps once told me," Kazuo said slowly, "that some truths bend. Others break. He said I'd have to decide which I was."
Rei snorted. "And you picked 'confused orphan with a death wish.' Nice."
Kazuo smiled again. "Something like that."
Then a scream shattered the calm.
The scream came from the next street over.
Kazuo was on his feet in an instant, hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. Rei cursed and followed.
They reached the corner just as a crowd began to form around a shouting merchant. A boy — no older than ten — was pinned to the ground by a guard with heavy boots. The child's clothes were ripped, and his cheek bled where he'd been struck.
"Caught him stealing!" the merchant barked, red-faced and furious. "Little rat tried to slip a ring into his sleeve."
The guard didn't even glance at the boy.
"What color?"
"Hazel."
The guard grunted. "Mild blood, then. Strip a finger. Make it public."
The crowd murmured, some gasped.
The boy thrashed. "I didn't steal it! I swear, I didn't!"
Kazuo stepped forward — but Rei was faster, blocking him with a hand across the chest.
"Don't," he said under his breath. "Not here."
"They're going to mutilate a kid."
"They'll mutilate you, too. Then me for being next to you. This isn't a storybook."
Kazuo's jaw clenched.
He stared as the guard reached for his blade.
Then something… shifted.
The air thickened.
The canal nearby rippled once.
Not from wind. From emotion.
Kazuo's heart thudded. The pressure behind his eyes pulsed — hot, aching.
The guard's hand slipped on the hilt. Not much. Just a twitch.
Just enough.
The blade clattered to the cobblestones, slipping from his grasp.
The guard cursed, confused.
The crowd began to murmur again, louder now.
Kazuo looked at his hand. Damp.
Like dew had formed there.
Water Magic…?
Rei grabbed him by the elbow. "We're leaving. Now."
They didn't speak again until they'd climbed the steps to the edge of the Old Observatory, a quiet place high above the Crescent. The wind was stronger up here, blowing the smell of fish markets and smoke away from them.
Kazuo dropped to sit against a stone bench worn smooth with age. Rei paced, agitated.
"You don't even know what you did."
Kazuo didn't answer.
"You don't, do you?"
"No," Kazuo admitted.
Rei turned to him. "It's not just some fluke anymore. You react, and the world listens. That's not normal."
Kazuo watched the clouds roll across the sky. "I'm not normal."
"I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant."
He looked down at his open palm again. It had dried, but in his memory it was still wet.
The wind picked up.
Kazuo let his hood fall back. His hair — dark, uncombed, constantly windblown — fluttered around his face.
His eyes caught the light: one a simple, black void. The other green — like a polished shard of jade.
People always stared at that green one. Sometimes with curiosity. Sometimes with fear.
"Gramps said it was beautiful," Kazuo murmured.
Rei sat beside him. "Gramps says a lot of things."
They both chuckled. Then Kazuo's smile faded.
"He also said the world wasn't built for people like me."
"You think he was right?"
"I think… the world wasn't built for anyone who wants peace."
They sat quietly for a while. Far below, the city pulsed with life — messy, cruel, hungry life.
"I had a dream last night," Kazuo said suddenly.
Rei turned to him, curious. "Yeah?"
Kazuo nodded. "I was standing in a place with no stones. Just grass. Mountains in the distance. A house. Wooden, small. No soldiers. No banners. No stairs to climb or colors to hide."
He looked away.
"And I wasn't afraid of anyone seeing my eyes."
Rei didn't laugh. Didn't make a joke.
He just stared out over the rooftops and said, "Sounds boring."
Kazuo smiled. "That's the point."
The sun dipped lower, staining the buildings in burnt gold. Yurelda shimmered in that light — not beautiful, but surreal, like a painting with blood beneath the brushstrokes.
Kazuo let the silence stretch. Rei didn't fill it this time. He just waited, knowing when not to speak — a rare gift.
Kazuo glanced at the silver pendant hanging from his neck. A simple cat charm, the tail curled into a spiral. It was old, worn smooth by years of fiddling. Gramps had given it to him on his tenth birthday.
Six years earlier.
Gramps had been hunched over a desk littered with scrolls and half-written letters, his spectacles low on his nose, ink on his fingers. The entire house had smelled like firewood and tea and old paper.
He looked up when Kazuo entered, raised a brow. "You're early. That usually means trouble or hunger."
Kazuo had shoved the wrapped bundle toward him. "Happy Birthday."
Gramps blinked. "It's your birthday."
Kazuo grinned. "Exactly."
Inside the wrapping was the wooden cat pendant. Crude, but clearly hand-carved — likely stolen from some market stall and reshaped in a back alley. Kazuo had sanded it smooth himself.
Gramps studied it in silence. Then stood. "Wait here."
He returned moments later with something clenched in his fist — a chain. Silver. Thin but strong.
"Even trade," he said, looping the pendant onto the chain. "Mine's older. But your cat has more spirit."
Back in the present, Kazuo rubbed the charm with his thumb.
"He'd lecture me if he saw me today," Kazuo muttered.
Rei laughed. "He lectures you if your boots squeak too loud."
"True."
"But yeah," Rei added, leaning back, "he'd say something like: 'Power without principle is a sword with no handle. Dangerous to everyone, especially the one who holds it.'"
Kazuo chuckled. "You sound just like him."
"I've been practicing."
They sat a while longer. Below, the market began to thin. The richer streets would be lighting lanterns soon. The guards would rotate. Night always brought a different kind of danger.
Then Kazuo saw her.
Across the rooftops, beyond the smoke, a single royal carriage rolled into view — black with gold trim, drawn by sleek white stagbeasts. Guards flanked it. Banners fluttered behind.
But it wasn't the carriage that caught his attention.
It was the girl inside.
She had silver hair, tied back in intricate braids. Her gown was pale blue, embroidered with symbols he didn't recognize. Her posture was straight, regal. Her gaze…
It was pointed directly at him.
He felt it before he fully saw it. Like her attention pierced across rooftops and smog and time.
They locked eyes — for one second.
Then she disappeared behind the silk curtain.
"Who was that?" Rei asked.
Kazuo didn't answer immediately.
He wasn't sure.
But something had shifted.
He could feel it — like a thread being pulled through the city's veins.
And for a moment, his palm felt cool again.
Like water had settled beneath the skin.
That night, Kazuo couldn't sleep.
Not because of the usual reasons — the heat, the guards yelling in the streets, or Rei snoring like a dying boar.
No, this was different.
The girl's face lingered in his mind.
Those sharp, observant eyes.
The way she didn't just see him, but recognized him.
That wasn't chance.
And she was royalty.
The emblem on that carriage had been unmistakable.
A blue star within a silver ring — the seal of House Cedric.
He lay on his back atop their rooftop, staring at the fractured stars above.
The cat curled beside his arm stirred but didn't open its eye. It was used to his restlessness.
Kazuo turned the pendant between his fingers.
"Gramps," he whispered, "what am I?"
No answer came, of course.
The wind only offered its quiet hush.
He remembered something Gramps had said not long ago, after Kazuo asked what he'd be if he weren't… this.
"You'd still be Kazuo. That's all you need to be. The rest is noise and fear."
But the world didn't treat him like "just Kazuo."
They saw his green eye and flinched.
They saw him hesitate when it rained and whispered.
They looked at him like he wasn't real — or worse, like he shouldn't be.
He didn't want to be a warrior.
He didn't want a throne or a banner.
He wanted something terrifyingly simple:
A quiet life.
A real one.
No hiding. No collars. No tests. Just a home.
Far below the city, past rusted gates and tunnels long swallowed by stone and time, something ancient stirred.
Beneath Yurelda's foundations — deeper than the slave tunnels and forgotten libraries — was a ruin lost to all but a few.
Its floor was broken.
The ceiling had long since collapsed.
But at the chamber's heart stood a pedestal of blackened stone, and carved into it:
A lotus.
But not any lotus.
It was upside down — its petals cracked, the center split open like a wound.
For years, it had been dormant.
Now, it pulsed.
Once. Faintly.
Then again — brighter.
Footsteps echoed in the darkness.
A cloaked figure approached the lotus.
They said no words.
But their eyes — dark, strange, glinting — held a knowing light.
They touched the symbol gently.
And the stone beneath Yurelda trembled.
Kazuo sat on the rooftop, arms draped over his knees, watching the sky shift from gray to gold.
The cat curled beside him stirred once, then settled back down, tail twitching.
He should've still been asleep.
But something had woken him.
Not a noise.
A feeling.
Peace.
That word again.
It kept echoing in his chest like a bruise he couldn't rub away.
He didn't want glory.
Or revenge.
Or some revolution.
Just… a life.
That was the dream.
But even now, with dawn rising slow and soft, Kazuo knew the truth:
If the royals — if House Cedric — ever found out who he really was,
Peace would be the first thing they took from him.
It always was.
He stood, dusted himself off, and slipped away before Rei woke.
The alley behind the bakery was already busy.
Workers hauled sacks of flour, and steam hissed from half-sunken ovens.
A boy with dust-colored hair looked up, blinked at Kazuo, and disappeared inside without a word.
Kazuo kept walking.
He descended the iron staircase that snaked below the Crescent — into the belly of the city.
Here, walls wept moisture and even rats knew better than to linger.
Few people came down unless they had secrets or scars.
He knocked once, twice, pause — then a third time.
The wooden door creaked open.
"Come in, boy," said the familiar voice.
Inside smelled like ink, rust, and rain.
Scrolls were stacked in chaotic towers.
One perched dangerously on the back of a worn kettle.
A book lay open across an old cat statue, half-covered in candle wax.
Gramps sat at his desk, coat draped over one shoulder, goggles propped above his sharp violet-flecked eyes.
His beard was neater than Kazuo remembered. Everything else was exactly the same.
He didn't look up.
"Still stirring puddles, are we?"
Kazuo stepped inside. "Not on purpose."
"That's worse. Means it's starting to answer you without asking."
Kazuo sank into the chair across from him. "So I noticed."
Gramps finally looked over the page.
"How's your control?"
"Getting better," Kazuo said. "Still... twitchy."
"That's because you're still scared of it. Water's not your enemy. It's your reflection. If you flinch, so does it."
"I'm not scared."
"Of the power? Maybe not." Gramps narrowed his eyes. "Of what happens when they find out? Definitely."
Kazuo didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Gramps leaned back, exhaling through his nose.
"You've done well. You've trained. You're stronger than you were."
Kazuo met his eyes. "Strong enough?"
"No such thing," Gramps said. "But maybe smart enough to survive."
They sat in silence as the kettle clicked off in the corner.
Then softly, Gramps added,
"You still dreaming of that quiet life?"
Kazuo looked down at his hands.
"Every damn day."