The sea had always been Kino's first companion. Its rhythm woke him in the morning and carried him to sleep at night, steady as a heartbeat. From the tall windows of the mansion, he could see the waves breaking white against the cliffs, and he sometimes imagined they were calling to him. Someday, he told himself, he would answer.
But for now, his world was the island.
At dawn, Kino rose as he always had, pulling on a shirt too loose at the shoulders. Cisco was waiting for him outside, already bare-armed, already scowling. The gardener never needed words to signal training had begun; a wooden staff in his hand was enough. Kino grabbed his own from the porch and followed him onto the lawn.
"Feet wider," Cisco barked. "You stand like a reed, boy. The sea wind will knock you over."
Kino grinned, shifting his stance. Cisco was always gruff, but Kino had learned to hear the care beneath it. The man in green hair had taught him the basics years ago, sparring with wooden swords by the shore, patient even when Kino's swings were clumsy. Cisco only sharpened those lessons, making him sweat, making him stumble, until his body remembered what his mind still fumbled.
The man. Kino's chest ached a little at the thought. It had been two years since he last saw him. Two years since they swam together in the cold sea and Kino, for the first time, noticed the owl tattoo on the man's back. Two years since the last story told in that calm, cool voice—tales of storms that split ships, of stars that guided sailors, of blades that never dulled. The man always left with a clap on Kino's shoulder, promising to return in six months. Always.
Until he didn't.
Cisco struck his staff against Kino's with a sharp crack, jolting him back. "Eyes up. You drift too much in your head."
"Yes, sir," Kino said, tightening his grip.
After an hour, dripping with sweat, Kino limped to the kitchen where Kaiji had laid out breakfast. The chef greeted him with a wide grin, his round face shiny with steam from the pots.
"You missed it, Kino! While you were flailing at Cisco, a gull swooped right in and tried to steal a fish off my board! I wrestled it—hand to beak! Nearly lost a finger!"
Kino laughed, shaking his head. "You probably scared it off with your shouting."
"Bah! Shouting is a weapon, lad. Remember that." Kaiji thumped his ladle on the table like a gavel, then ladled stew into Kino's bowl. His stories were always like this—too large, too loud, impossible. Kino never minded. The exaggerations filled the long, quiet hours of the island, like paint splashed across empty walls.
After breakfast, Kino found Rose in the drawing room, folding linens. Her hands were thin, veined like river branches, yet she moved with endless patience. She looked up at him, her eyes soft and proud.
"My, Kino," she said, brushing his cheek. "Eighteen today. How tall you've grown. You'll outpace even Cisco before long."
Kino smiled at her warmth, though it flickered quickly into a frown. "Do you think he'll come today? It's been so long…"
Rose's gaze softened further, but there was something unreadable beneath it, as always when he mentioned the man. "We shall see, my dear. For now, let us prepare as if he might. It's your birthday, after all."
Kino nodded, though the old ache stirred again. He could still picture the man's back disappearing into the forbidden library, scrolls under his arm, doors shutting firm. Kino had asked once, long ago, why he couldn't enter too. Rose had simply pressed a finger to her lips. "Not for you, sweet one." That was all she ever said.
He had obeyed, but he never forgot.
The day passed with uneasy stillness, the sky pale and cloudless, the sea strangely calm. Then, in the afternoon, sails appeared on the horizon. Kino dropped the basket of apples he was carrying and ran to the cliffs, heart hammering.
It had to be him.
The ship was smaller than he remembered, but as it drew near, he saw sailors crowding the deck. His excitement faltered. The man was not there. When the boat docked at the rocky shore and the crew disembarked, Kino scanned every face, desperate. All strangers.
They greeted him with smiles, with raucous cheer, with crates of wine and gifts, calling his name as if they knew him. Kino forced a smile back, but disappointment gnawed at him like hunger.
"Where is he?" he asked one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his chin.
The sailor only patted his shoulder. "Ah, Kino. So tall now. Don't you worry. We're here to celebrate you."
The words felt thin. Kino glanced back toward the mansion, where Rose had appeared on the steps. One of the sailors hurried to her, leaning close, speaking in a low voice. Rose nodded, her expression unreadable. Kino frowned, stepping forward, but another sailor clapped him on the back, pulling him toward the courtyard.
"Come, lad! Tonight we feast!"
The rest of the afternoon blurred. Decorations went up, Kaiji shouted orders in the kitchen, Cisco lugged barrels with muttered curses. The crew mingled easily, laughing, carrying gifts into the hall. Yet Kino noticed again and again how their eyes slid toward Rose, how they clustered near her in whispers when they thought him turned away.
As the sun sank, the courtyard transformed with lanterns and music. Tables groaned with food. Kino sat among them, smiling when expected, lifting his cup when toasted. But his gaze wandered always to the shore, to the horizon, to the place where the man should have appeared.
The stars came out sharp and cold. Kino leaned back in his chair, heart heavy. The crew sang, Kaiji roared another impossible tale, Rose smiled gently at his side. And yet, a shadow pressed at the edge of his joy.
Something was wrong.