Raizen parted his fingers.
Slowly. One millimeter at a time. The way you lift the lid of a box when you're not sure what's inside and you always consider the option to slam it shut again.
Light entered the gap between his fingers - pale morning sun, filtering through the canopy and clouds, slicing into the dark hollow of his cupped palms. He tilted his head. Brought one eye close to the opening and peered through the crack.
Something black.
Small. Very small. A dark shape sitting in the center of his palms, no bigger than a pinecone. He couldn't make out details - the gap was too narrow, the angle was too thin. Just a shape. A dark, compact shape that was sitting perfectly still in the warm space between his hands.
Then it moved.
A quick, sudden shift - the weight in his palms lurching to one side, tiny limbs scrambling against his skin. He felt it - felt feet, tiny and sharp, pressing into the flesh of his palm, pushing off, moving.
Raizen slammed his hands shut.
