"It was today, four years ago, that the Juren Station Tragedy occurred—caused by an unprecedented Vessel attack that left seven dead and many more injured.
"As we remember them today, let's also take a moment to feel gratitude for the protectors of our society, our Guardians, who acted quick and selflessly. Preventing so many other thousands from dying.
"And it's thanks to their divine energy laying a shield around this nation, that we haven't seen a public tragedy of that scale caused by Vessels ever since..."
Shiran's face is flat, devoid of emotion—a complete contrast to the delivery-rider next to him who has this news blaring out of his phone with water-glazed eyes.
He looks up at the billboard hovering over the side of the road. Printed with the faces of two out of three Forts—Guardians who act as representatives of their entire community. Squeezing his eyes shut and sniffing back tears, the delivery boy joins his palms together and mouths a Thank you, Mitra, Thank you, Shankinya at the billboard.
Shiran looks up too—but at the traffic signal, to figure out just how long he'd have to be stuck here listening to the voice of the news anchor that's way too energetic for him at eight in the morning.
"In other news, the state Government has retrieved a fresh set of victims from the Non-Guardian Protected (NGP) areas, of which at least eleven are children.
"While the current hostel facilities are under expansion, these children will be relocated temporarily to homes of volunteer civilians with a great passion for helping the Guardians protect—"
The light turns green, fortunately, saving Shiran from yet another spiel about the Guardians. And news that he's already familiar with.
Although the map would suggest a different route through the city's main roads, he snakes his way through deserted streets and sparse highways. He's essentially managed to keep himself isolated and distanced from every object on his way by the time he reaches the bungalow. It's at the doorstep here that he leaves the big black bag.
This customer has already ordered a couple of times from his aunt's restaurant now, so they know what to expect. Taking the food parcels out from inside the bag, they leave it out in the open before shutting the door behind them—never seeing his face nor having a single interaction with him the entire time.
Shiran marks the order complete on his phone.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
Two more are done before he gets back to his aunt's apartment. He's already looking forward to falling on the bed and scrolling through his phone till it's time for the afternoon orders—when he spots the pair of new sandals by the shoe-stand.
"Shiran, meet Nayra."
Two heads turn towards him from the dining table. Both of them have clearly just stepped into the house minutes ago—his aunt is still wearing the chef's coat she put on for work this morning. And the girl of ten or eleven who sits across from her still has a washed-out, ragged-looking packed bag next to her legs. And the satin purple straps on the identity card hanging around her neck suggests that she was probably first picked up by the Municipal Corporation and dropped off here.
"The state Government has retrieved a fresh set of victims from the Non-Guardian Protected (NGP) areas, of which at least eleven are children..."
Using a hand to flip one of her braids back over her shoulder, Nayra extends the other towards him. "Shiran Da," she looks like the host welcoming him into the house. "Nice to meet you."
His aunt's smile morphs into a line hiding gritted teeth as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.
"Nice meeting you too."
Despite her old, yellowed shirt and the ill-fitting pants, Nayra maintains a proud dignity that refuses to back down even in the face of his unbothered insociability. "You'll regret it, Da," she points her eyes at her own hand—still hanging in the air. "You won't get this chance later, when I'm a big person. My mother always said I'll become a big person."
Shiran has no idea what the hell that means—but he'll agree if it means this conversation will end sooner. "I'm sure you will."
He walks past her outstretched hand, oblivious to the way her eyes widen. "Y-You're not going to... ask how I'll become a big person? You're not d-doubting?"
Should he? "I don't," Shiran confirms, not waiting for a response as he opens his mouth to tell his aunt he'll be in his room, but she cuts him off before that. A smile as sticky-sweet and thin as her signature coconut dumplings spreads across her face.
"Shiran, can you see me for a second in the kitchen?"
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
"I understand not wanting physical contact when you're doing deliveries," she hisses. "But Nayra is a child! You could've at least made an effort there..."
Shiran zones out, having heard this same frustration a hundred times before. Though his aunt knows what he's like by now, it seems that his behavior in certain situations still startles her to the point of yelling at him. Maybe she believes the occasional outburst will actually make him initiate physical touch by some miracles. It'll never happen, of course—but he doesn't mind giving her the hope, if she'll stop glaring at him and let him go to his room sooner.
"I'll try better next time, Aunty."
"You should. I want you to change your mindset, Shiran. We're giving new life to a child from the NGP areas!" She paces up and down the kitchen floor. "That's not just another delivery task on the list." Eyes blazing with passion, she stresses on her favorite phrase: "It's a mission we're carrying out for the Guardians who work so hard for us. It's the least we can do to help them create a society where everyone feels safe and protected, do you understand? So we make Dhaishu feel as comfortable as possible here."
"She already looks pretty comfortable to me."
Years of dodging any incoming physical contact has sharpened his instincts like a blade on a whetstone. So when his aunt tries to land a thwack on his head, she's only left shrieking in frustration.
Shiran has already slid to the other end of the room, his eyes bored—and borderline sleepy. "Sorry."
The absolute lack of heartfeltness behind that apology is familiar, but not any less grating. "Get out!" his aunt huffs. "I'm taking Nayra on a drive to show her the sights, so don't forget to grab the key for your afternoon deliveries—"
The harsh scraping of a chair against the floor pierces the air.
"I didn't come here to see the sights, Reyali Aunty," Nayra stands up tall—addressing her from the table. "I'm here to become a Guardian."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
To her credit, Shiran's aunt recovers quickly from the initial confusion. "Oh, I think you have it wrong, darling," she lets out a chuckle. "Only those who are blessed with sa-gun can become Guardians. Do you know what sa-gun is?" She runs her hand across the cutlery cabinet beside the table, looking for something. "Let me show you, I had a magazine featuring Mitra and Shankinya here somewhere—they had good photos. You see, it's this golden energy that—"
Said golden energy appears right before her eyes in a small pinprick.
All the words dry instantly on her tongue, leaving Shiran's aunt dumbfounded.
She watches Nayra shoot out that ball of golden energy, slightly tinged brown, out in a stringy beam.
It catches a bit of sunlight streaming in from the balcony—flaring into a burn before dissipating.
Shiran's fingers twitch at his sides.
There's a Guardian... in this house.
"Oh." His aunt blinks. "Didn't you tell the Relocation Officer?"
"They said you'd send me to school," Nayra frowns. "Do you not know what is the school for Guardians?"
Shiran's aunt ignores the question. She sits down on a chair at the table, foot tapping hard against the floor. "I don't get it..." she squints. "A Guardian child can't be living in the NGP area, and the Officer said your mother is only a civilian from Hothri..."
She doesn't need to finish that line of thought before the answer clicks into place.
The father must have been a Guardian.
Just because Hothri is now classified as a Non-Guardian Protected area doesn't mean it would've always been that way. Ten years back, Guardians were still posted on the less-populated peripheries of the city.
It's the only possible explanation for a power that gets transmitted through lineages—to the point that Guardians have followed strict codes for determining the best marital partners across centuries now.
Shiran clenches his fingers—trying to stop the strange crawling under his skin. And he knows he's lost his window to get back to his room when he sees trepidation darkening his aunt's eyes.
"We can't let her keep using that power here," she whispers, having beckoned him into the kitchen once again. "If someone even happens to see it, can you imagine..."
The riots. Shiran doesn't have a wild imagination at all, but it isn't that difficult to picture.
A Guardian marrying outside of their codes is nothing less than a god having an extra-marital affair.
Not all humans would be cool with that. Some would feel their very existence threatened—and they'd do anything to deny or distort the truth, starting with burning the bastard down.
Nayra keeps producing tiny balls of golden energy that turn into worm-like beams—her eyes full of excitement and completely ignorant of what's coming for her.
If she ever gets found by the wrong people...
But his aunt is already two steps ahead. "I'm taking her to The Guard. She'll be safe there."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
Or at least, that's what his aunt had planned to do.
But when Shiran comes back later that night after a second round of deliveries, it is to the sight of the girl still sitting in their living room.
The table is laid out with a spread of dishes—the star of the show at the centre. Chicken drumsticks poking out from a mound of light orange-colored rice. His aunt has cooked up a literal feast. "I'm going all out tonight~" she sings when he enters the kitchen for water.
Shiran tilts the jug into the glass. "Okay. So they don't serve dinner at The Guard?"
All the cheeriness on his aunt's face as she puts a meat cutlet on the hot pan suddenly falls away.
"Oh, The Guard..."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
Reyali found herself sitting in the room of Gayura Janrath.
Dean of Student Affairs, The Guard the nameplate read.
She'd expected the receptionist to just give her the contact of some admin member—not to actually seat her in the private chambers of the Dean. The very Dean of the one and only training institution for Guardians in their nation.
So when, ten minutes later, a burst of wind entered the room through the doors swinging open—Reyali nearly tripped on herself trying to get up.
Gayura towered over them as she took her seat across the mahogany table. The sa-gun flowing through her had to be exceptional—even without being channelled, it radiated through her skin strong enough to give off a golden aura.
Under its calming properties, the tension that had stiffened up Reyali's shoulders was obliterated instantly.
She let her gaze sweep around the room, finally able to take it all in.
Crisp air-conditioning. White marble floor, specks of gold. Ancient shelves filled with knowledge exclusive only to a chosen few. Expensive perfume. Polished walls. Inscriptions describing the gods in their war gear. Wielding unlimited power. The smiling faces of their descendants, the Guardians, framed within rich photo-frames. Two verses on the ceiling singing praises of a battle that vanquished demons. Medals from the nation's President.
It was a room built only to seat the most noble, exalted beings of their society.
Reyali shifted in her chair—still unable to shake the mild sense that she didn't belong there.
Unlike her, Nayra leaned back in her chair like she already owned the place.
"I'd like to join The Guard today, Miss Gayura," she informed—as a matter-of-fact. "I'll make you proud by becoming the Number One Guardian in Kantoor."
"My secretary was right," Gayura directed a pleased grin at Shiran's aunt. "You did find a confident one.
But since her family background is unprecedented, we'd like to check two things first before we enrol her in The Guard. I'll ask you to wait ten minutes."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
'Ten minutes!? I don't care—I'll wait even ten hours!'
Somehow, despite being overwhelmed by the sophisticated atmosphere of The Guard, Reyali was beginning to see the upside of it all. Once Nayra got enrolled in The Guard, she could claim she personally knew a Guardian. And even took care of her for a day, in her house. Not a lot of people got to make such claims at all.
'There's the line for my next ad: Vermicelli Pudding That Guardian Nayra Had for Breakfast, 20% Off If You Book Through The DoorDrop App."
Imagining the wonders it could do for her restaurant business, Reyali was only rocked out of the dreams when she heard the large, gold-emblazoned doors of Gayura's chambers being pushed open.
Revealing the discolored, stricken face of an eleven year-old girl.
It was a look miles-different from the confident pride that Nayra had worn all day.
"She cannot be enrolled in The Guard."
Reyali spluttered, staring at the man in the blue suit who'd followed Nayra out with this news.
"W-Why! She clearly has sa-gun flowing inside her."
"Not enough for her age."
He peered back into the room, the gel in his slicked hair glinting as he gestured to someone inside. Another staff member ran out and placed two stuffed dummies, each the size of a Vessel, in the hallway.
Then he scuttled off like a bug being chased by a predator bird—and in a second, Reyali understood why.
Emerging from the chambers was a boy about Nayra's age, his movements so suave—but targetedly precise—he quite literally swooped in, taking great pleasure in the way she gasped and backs away.
He wore the same long black coat as all the other Guardians, embroidered with golden thread. But when he turned around to face the man in the blue suit, the back of the coat showed the image of an eagle. Stitched with glittering white thread, its beak split apart in a ferocious battle-cry.
"What, Kittan? Do we need to do another demonstration for the delusional girl?"
Without waiting for a reply, the boy raised his hand.
His gaze stayed rooted to Kittan in a questioning look—but it was mostly just to show how he didn't need to take aim to completely smash his target to smithereens. Hit by the force and severity of the white-golden energy that tore out through his palm, one of the dummies got reduced to nothing more than dust.
"That's the amount of sa-gun required to neutralize just a Grade Zero Vessel—in your terms... they'd be called Insect Vessels."
The man then gestured to Nayra to demonstrate her power.
Not only was the beam barely able to travel until the dummy, but even when it finally did—the quantity was so low that it barely made it sway. Standing its ground, the faceless dummy just peered at her unimpressed.
"As you can see, Nayra isn't able to call on even the basic amount of sa-gun required to fight a Vessel."
Shiran's aunt glanced at the shadow that fell over the little girl's face. "I'm sure it can be learnt...?"
"We already taught her the beginner's technique—but it isn't a technique problem," he clarified. "It's a power source problem. Because her parents' marriage was not sanctified, she's not exactly chosen to draw on her god's divine energy. Which is the source of her power. And if the connection between a Guardian and their power source is unclear, or sporadic—"
"We can't take that kind of risk, old woman!" the boy snapped impatiently. "We're saving human lives here, not trying to be hero in a movie." Snarling that last part particularly at Nayra, he stalked off down the hallway.
"I'm sorry," the man offered a small bow. "Allow me to escort you out."
Behind him—Gayura Janrath didn't spare them a second glance as she walked out of chambers.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
"Nayra hasn't talked since they basically told us the safest path for her is to live a civilian's life and never use her power," his aunt sighs. "So she can't be a student at The Guard."
Looking out through the kitchen door, Shiran sees Nayra muttering under her breath.
"Well..." his aunt clarifies, noticing that. "She is talking to herself. I think she took it pretty hard."
Shaking her head, she cocks a hand over her shoulder—pointing towards the machine on the countertop that's churning fresh ice cream. "That's why I'm going to make her forget all about it with my magic... Shiran, give this to her."
Taking the plate with the fried bread-crumb coated chicken cutlets, he sets it down on the table.
"I was going to become a Guardian."
"I was going to become a Guardian."
"I was going to become a..."
Geez. Shiran clears his throat. "Eat a cutlet."
Barely landing in her ears, those words get drowned out by her continuous loop of grumbling. Shiran goes to make himself a plate—he doesn't think trying again will make a difference. She'll eat when she feels like it.
Popping a chicken drumstick into his mouth, he's about to round the corner into his room when the words suddenly sound different.
"Shiran Da... I don't think I can become a big person anymore."
Now he understands what she meant by that. I don't think I can become a Guardian anymore. "It's okay, you're just not meant to be some things," he shrugs. "I mean—if the god doesn't like you, there's not much you can do about it."
Back turned to the kitchen, he's oblivious to his aunt's scandalized expression.
But before he can resume making his way to the room, his leg freezes.
As a harsh sob cuts through the low whir of the ice-cream churning equipment. "What do I do?" Nayra cries. "Ma didn't die just so I could go to regular school!"
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
Something flickers in the room. Shiran isn't sure if it's the tube light or his own eyes—blinking frantically. "W-What?" his aunt croaks out from the kitchen. "I thought s-she was just..." she swallows heavily, her face growing dark. "The Officer told me she got attacked by a Vessel."
Nayra shakes her head furiously, gasping for breath. "The Vessel didn't find Ma, Ma ran towards it."
Shiran's aunt clamps a hand over her mouth. "Why would she do t-that..."
"So I c-could go to Guardian school. Ma knew the officers only chose parentless children to take to the city."
So she... Shiran's breath catches in his throat.
He feels his vision blurring. She ended her own life just so her daughter could be picked for relocation.
Nayra is wailing now—the force of it throwing her body forward so hard, she keeps banging into the edge of the table.
Shiran's aunt is crying by now too, but she quickly wipes the tears off her cheeks. "Nayra, Nayra, it's okay," she gathers her into her arms, begging. "Please take a breath for me—you're going to fall sick at this rate."
"What do I do!" Nayra cries, unable to even process the instructions—much less act on them. "I made Ma die for no reason. I promised her I'd get strong enough to fight the Vessels in our home. Now I can't," she wheezes, clutching her chest. "I can't d-do that..."
Unable to get her to calm down, his aunt is already frazzled.
So when she sees Shiran's lips part, about to say something, the alarm bells in her head ring so hard her head feels like it's about to split.
"Shiran, shut up!" his aunt orders. "Whatever you're thinking, this is not the time to say—"
"Aunty."
His voice—usually wispy and monotonous, like he hates even just the effort of using his vocal chords for anyone else—stuns them into silence with its sudden loudness.
"So what if you can't become a Guardian?" Shiran looks at Nayra. I hate it.
"Become the government then." He forces the words out of his closed-up throat, heart still pounding painfully. I hate seeing her hold her chest just to be able to breathe properly.
I hate seeing her unable to lift her head.
"It's the government that tells the Guardians what to do anyways."
Nayra looks up.
Her hand slowly slides off her chest, dropping down against the table. "R-Really? If I become the government and tell a Guardian to go to my home... they'd do it?" She clenches it into a small, delicate fist.
Well, maybe not in those exact terms or processes—but Shiran doesn't think she needs the finer details now.
"Sure." The heavy, aching weight that had settled on his chest dissolves into nothingness, leaving him suddenly famished.
He lifts the half-eaten drumstick, nibbling it with so much focus that he doesn't notice his aunt's wide eyes directed at him.
"Th-Then," Nayra slams her now-hard fist against the table. It's clear her audacious pride has once again returned to infest her brain, because she goes on to make the most hyperbolic statements. "I'll become the government and send enough Guardians to my home to kill every last Vessel! Then I'll send them everywhere to get rid of every last Vessel in the world!"
His aunt is more than happy to encourage the behavior. "To Nayra getting rid of every last Vessel in the world!" she raises her glass.
Nayra soaks up the attention, punching her own glass up towards the ceiling a little too hard. "To Nayra getting rid of every last Vessel in the world!"
Ignoring the ice-cold drop of his stomach, Shiran responds to their waiting looks with his own glass—orange juice swimming inside, raised into the air.
"To Nayra getting rid of. Every last Vessel... in the world?"
...
"You zombie of a kid, can you say it with more enthusiasm!"
───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───