"Again."
Tosa's voice was iron, echoing through the forge. Sparks hissed as his hammer struck metal. "Focus, Rei. If your Enso flickers that wildly when you're only shaping a blade, what happens when you face real fire?"
Rei's hands trembled around the iron. A faint pulse of unstable light rippled off his palm, uncontrolled. The metal warped. The air cracked.
Tosa snatched it from him with a glare.
"You'll burn this whole place down one day."
Mira, sitting at the doorway with herbs in her lap, smiled faintly. "Or maybe he'll light it up brighter than anyone ever could."
"Don't encourage him," Tosa grunted, though there was no heat in it.
Rei's head lowered. His voice was small.
"I didn't ask for it."
The forge grew silent. Even the fire seemed to hesitate, unsure if it was allowed to breathe.
Then laughter broke the tension.
Kaien barged in, bow slung across his back, hair wild as though the wind was always playing with it. "If Rei burns down the village, at least it'll save us the trouble of gathering firewood!"
Rei scowled. "Shut up, Kaien."
Kaien ruffled his hair anyway, grinning. "Relax. You're not a curse. You're just… different."
The doorway darkened. Envelon, the elder with a bent back and a voice worn down by decades, leaned against his staff. His cloudy eyes fixed on Rei.
"Every fire begins as unstable light. Even the stars above us—they were once chaos, before the heavens gave them form."
Tosa huffed, hammer resting against the anvil. "Stories won't keep the village safe, old man."
"Perhaps not," Envelon rasped. "But they remind us that chaos is only the beginning."
Mira nodded. "And beginnings are worth protecting."
From the street, Jaren's voice cut through. The miller, arms dusted with flour, leaned at the doorway with a smirk. "Or maybe that chaos will swallow us whole. Enso isn't supposed to crack like that. Everyone knows it."
Kaien bristled. "Say it to his face, coward."
"I just did," Jaren said flatly. "When the forge burns, don't say I didn't warn you." He left, muttering curses under his breath.
The words sat heavy on Rei's chest. He wanted to shout back, but his voice died in his throat.
"Enough," Tosa barked. He set the warped blade aside, voice sharp but weary. "Rei, you're done for today."
Rei dropped the hammer and stepped outside.
Hurukoya opened before him, alive with sound.
Children ran barefoot across the square, swinging sticks like swords, shouting about who would become the greatest warrior. Women traded cloth and herbs, laughter threading through the air. The smell of stew and grain drifted from open doors.
It was simple. It was whole. It was home.
But as Rei walked through it, he felt the weight of every glance. Some villagers smiled and waved. Others turned away quickly. A few whispered.
The boy with the broken Enso.
The boy who couldn't hold the rhythm.
Kaien caught up to him, nudging his shoulder. "Ignore Jaren. He's been bitter since the river washed away half his millstones."
Rei frowned. "They're not wrong, though."
"Maybe not," Kaien said. "But they're not right either."
"That doesn't make sense."
Kaien grinned. "Neither do you. That's why I like you."
The river's edge shimmered beyond the fields. A voice rose there—low, steady, ancient as the current itself.
Shira's chant.
She stood at the gate as she always did, guardian of Hurukoya. Her eyes never wavered from the horizon. She didn't join the markets, didn't sit at the feasts, didn't share in the laughter. Her voice was the wall between them and the world.
Rei had never spoken to her. Few had. But something about that voice always made his chest tighten, as though it was meant for him even when it wasn't.
Kaien followed his gaze and shrugged. "Don't worry about her. She's been like that since before we were born. Worry about yourself."
Rei nodded slowly, but the chant lingered in his ears long after.
That night, the village gathered in the square for Envelon's stories. Children sat cross-legged, adults standing behind them, the fire crackling in the center.
"The heavens," Envelon began, "are rivers of Enso, endless and flowing. What we hold in our bodies is but a fragment, a borrowed ember. Some embers glow steady. Some burn wild. But all return, in time, to the great river."
A boy raised his hand. "What if the ember burns too hot?"
Envelon's eyes found Rei in the crowd, though he didn't say his name.
"Then the world must decide whether to shelter it… or smother it."
The words silenced the crowd. Even the children stopped fidgeting.
Rei's heart sank. He lowered his head, shadows flickering across his face from the firelight.
Kaien leaned close, whispering. "Don't listen to him. He loves being dramatic."
Rei tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat.
The fire burned higher, sparks vanishing into the night sky like prayers that would never return.
Hurukoya breathed. It lived. It laughed. It feared.
And Rei… Rei felt like the crack in its song.