"And should my people fall… surely I will do the same."
— A vow spoken before the skies lost their color
The sky wept ash.
There was no rainfall, no thunderclap to announce it.
Something heavier — like the world itself was mourning, long before it understood what had been lost.
Above, clouds churned in the shape of a wound. Lightning cracked without sound — the silence that comes before history breaks.
The earth burned.
The ground itself seemed to grieve — as if something sacred had been betrayed.
Names had long been swallowed by the silence. The wind carried nothing but ash and the scent of blood. All around, the weight of what had happened pressed down, wordless and final.
And beneath that fractured sky, someone stood.
Just… waiting.
Still.
Then the storm came — and the sky forgot it had ever been blue.
—
But that was not today.
The sky over the Lower Crescent was bruised violet. Shadows clung to alley walls, and every step Kazuo took felt like it echoed louder than it should.
He adjusted his hood.
Not because it was cold. It was never cold in this part of Yurelda — not with the rising heat of too many bodies and not enough space. He did it because he knew what happened when the wrong people saw the wrong things.
Especially his eyes.
Someone passed with a sack of rice over one shoulder. Another pushed a cart of cheap wine bottles. No one made eye contact. Everyone tired to avoid that.
Kazuo didn't need to be reminded.
He'd heard the saying before — whispered, half-forgotten:
They say the color of your eyes is your truth.
But Kazuo had met too many liars in blue, and too many saints in black.
But people still believed it — because it was easier than thinking.
A pair of guards passed at the next corner. Their armor gleamed faintly in the low light — silver-blue with the spiral crest of the kingdom etched into their chestplates. Both had bright green eyes. Nobles. The kind that could walk down here and leave with clean boots.
Kazuo lowered his gaze.
He walked with a purpose, but not too quickly. Not enough to be remembered. He passed a woman selling painted clay charms — her eyes were brown. Tired. She didn't look up.
Good.
Among the lower class, brown and grey eyes were passable. Mild. Eyes that obeyed the system without question.
But even among them, Kazuo had to be careful.
He had lived here for years.
And still felt like prey.
Someone was watching.
He paused beneath a broken lantern, pretending to check a pouch.
To the left — a child with soot-streaked cheeks stared up at him. Eyes wide. Then the kid looked away quickly.
Kazuo swallowed and kept moving.
Something was wrong today. He could feel it in the air — in the way people didn't linger, in the absence of music from the balconies, in the quiet between the guard patrols.
Kazuo turned the corner into the vendor street.
Normalcy snapped back like a mask. Voices. Spice smoke. Shouting. The weight of paranoia thinned — but never lifted.
He took a breath.
Just act normal.
"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 brown 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 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.
Rei.
"Three pears, please," Kazuo said stiffly, placing two cogs — silver trade coins — onto the crate. The vendor accepted them with a 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. Brown eyes, Kazuo. That's still a tier 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 brown, hazel, or gray eyes moved carefully. Not low enough to be invisible. Not high enough to be safe.
Guards in silver-blue armor stood at every corner, like wolves draped in medals. None of them had black eyes.
Black eyes weren't even considered human. They were bodies without voice — livestock in the eyes of the system. If they were lucky, they ended up as slaves.
Even in places like this, where gray and brown eyes filled the streets, black eyes still drew stares.
Kazuo kept his hood low. His mismatched gaze was a walking contradiction.
And in a city like this, contradiction meant danger.
"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."
Rei raised an eyebrow. "You? Avoiding trouble?"
Kazuo narrowed his eyes. "Hilarious."
Rei smirked. "Says the guy who knocked over an entire pear cart yesterday and nearly started a riot."
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 familiar blur of fur and claws leapt into 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."
"Deserved."
The cat purred like a tiny thundercloud. Rei leaned back against the wall.
"So. What's the plan today?" Rei asked. "Another awkward flirt? Saving lost children? Or will you finally tell Gramps you're using your magic too openly?"
Kazuo didn't answer.
He remembered what happened last week.
A boy had slipped into the canal. Kazuo hadn't thought — he'd acted. The water rose, coiling like a living thing, and caught the child mid-fall. Slowed him, soft as silk.
Only Rei had seen.
"I didn't do it," Kazuo had said."You did," Rei replied. "And you know how dangerous this is."
Kazuo didn't respond.
Guilt pressed behind his ribs — but what else was he supposed to do?Let the boy drown?
Magic wasn't illegal.But using it — especially the way Kazuo did — drew attention.And attention meant people looking.Looking too closely.At his face.At his eyes.
Then it happened.
A scream tore through the Crescent.
Kazuo was on his feet instantly, hand brushing his sword hilt. Rei cursed and followed.
They rounded the corner just as a crowd swelled around a red-faced merchant. A boy — maybe ten — was pinned under a guard's boot, bleeding from the cheek, clothes torn.
"Caught him stealing!" the merchant shouted. "Little rat tried to pocket a ring."
The guard didn't even look down.
"What color?"
"Brown."
The guard grunted. "Mild blood, then. Strip a finger. Make it public."
The boy screamed, "I didn't steal it! I swear!"
Kazuo stepped forward.
Rei blocked him. "Don't. Not here."
"They're going to mutilate a kid."
"And they'll do worse to you. Then to me. You think they care what kind of magic you use if they drag you in for treason?"
Kazuo's fists clenched.
The guard raised his blade.
Pressure surged behind Kazuo's eyes — hot, sharp, pulsing.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. People stumbled back.
"Kazuo," Rei hissed, gripping his sleeve. "We're leaving. Now."
They didn't stop until they reached the edge of the Old Observatory, high above the Crescent. Smoke and the stench of the fish market faded into open wind.
Kazuo sank onto a worn bench. Rei paced beside him, tense — like a panther in a cage.
"You were trained to stay hidden," Rei muttered. "Gramps drilled that into you."
"He trained me to protect," Kazuo said. "And that kid…"
His voice trailed off. The magic had been there — ready. Right beneath his skin. One breath away from breaking loose.
Rei exhaled hard. "You're not normal, Kazuo."
Kazuo's gaze lifted toward the sky. "I know."
The wind stirred like it carried a warning.Kazuo let the hood fall from his head.The black eye caught the shadow.The green one caught the light.Both of them didn't belong.
Eyes that didn't fit the system.
Eyes that shouldn't exist.
Kazuo exhaled slowly.
He looked down at his hand — dry now, but memory-slick with magic.
"I wonder if the world will change someday."
They sat quietly.
Then Kazuo saw her.
Across the rooftops, beyond the haze of smoke and laundry lines, a royal carriage rolled into view — white with gold trim, drawn by white stagbeasts too clean for this part of the city.
In the Lower Crescent.
That didn't happen. Not here.
Guards flanked the sides. Banners fluttered behind. And inside, framed by silk curtains, sat a girl with silver hair tied in braids too intricate for a common morning.
Her gown was deep blue, embroidered with unknown symbols. Her posture: flawless. Her gaze —
— was fixed directly on him.
She looked surprised — like she'd seen a dragon.
Kazuo's body went still. Not from awe. From instinct.
For one breath, they held eye contact.
Then the curtain fell.
Rei frowned. "What the hell is a royal carriage doing here?"
Kazuo didn't answer. He couldn't.
He didn't know who she was. Or if she truly saw him.
But as the rooftops emptied and the wind stirred, he realized something unsettling:
He was trembling.