Cutting dresses. Cutting hair. Cutting skin. The world kept building cages around Kaigo, and with untamed ferocity, his childish hands jammed the bars with scissors.

Cutting through the crowd. Left in a dark room with everyone’s backs turned against you. Scissors were the tools he could fight within a world where his stubborn soul was not appreciated. Kaigo was better than anyone else. More deserving.

Kaigo awakened in the womb. A freak. Too powerful and always told to act soft, play nice, and become smaller so as to not hurt anyone.

“What are you staring for? Are you admiring me?” He’d shout back when the eyes were too annoying.

Kaigo could feel the chains. He was trapped in a nightmare. His body simmering. Bubbling. Popping. The beast he had kept at bay for months had already taken over his nervous system. He could not feel, see, or hear anything outside of his own body. But his mind was intact. The ichor beast never relented in its assault on his fortress. Everywhere was fire and smoke.

Kaigo was reduced to the dangerous child he once was. His adult self had already resigned to a hero's death, that damn traitor.

Little Kaigo did not believe in anyone coming to the rescue. Every moment of survival was rebellion. Like a record on repeat, Kaigo gets going on instinct. The baseline thumping. Until he would see the sunrise over the water or his everything went dry, there would be nothing stopping the prince of Kaleido.

***

In and out of sleep Belaphorde kept by Vigo’s side. The wrinkles and scars of his hands became familiar patterns that he traced tentatively. Vigo was humming some old jazzy tune. He was recovering rapidly from his fever. He’d soon be out of bed, a few bones just needed to mend first he said like it was on the same level as taking out the trash.

Belaphorde had told Vigo everything that happened after but excluded the leaning tower incident. It was easier to say that they had failed to slay the Knave than face the consequences of his petty crime. Vigo was so proud that Belaphorde had pushed through and survived, but the most meaningful reward was that he finally could call himself Bel’s father, even if it was for convenience. To have a person who could verify your identity would make the process easier.

Balm the housekeeper was an elderly man with reserved manners and long silky hair tied loosely behind him. He had introduced himself with a slight bow and asked if he could open a window for them, or perhaps cook up an evening meal.

At night you could clearly see which part of the city was damaged in the attack by a shard of dark. The moonlit breeze was cool on Belaphorde’s neck.

“Did you see his face when you asked for porridge? Priceless! When was the last time we had porridge with milk and jam?” Vigo laughed. He had been smiling since he woke up.

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“Please Vigo, I’m trying to concentrate.” Belaphorde held Vigo’s forearm and held the maths pamphlet with his free hand. If it was the best way to get results he’d find parts that were manageable, though he was much more lost and frustrated than focused. “And what’s with the giggling? I don’t believe our situation is that humours.”

“Perhaps. But if you have to know, I’m smiling because I’ve always thought of you as my son, and soon I’ll have the papers to back that up.”

Belaphorde dropped the pamphlet and hid his face behind his closed hand. His stomach filled with butterflies. Bel really had not thought this through. He was caught off guard and did not know how to react. It was pure gold for Vigo to witness.

“Take your time, there’s a lot for you to process I’m sure. I won’t start calling you ‘son’ until you are comfortable. Right now you are trying to heal with this Passive-Guiding technique and I don’t think those squiggly numbers are helping you out.”

Belaphorde made a disgruntled huff. “Then what do you suggest?”

“The second thing the professor lady mentioned; an engaging book. You used to read all the time and I’m sure you can find something on the shelves.”

With much effort, Belaphorde turned his wheelchair and looked around the room. His back was hurting from the odd sitting position.

Part of him didn’t want to give up on the pamphlet, it would mean admitting that he was too dumb to get it. But clearly, Vigo did not care in the slightest and probably knew better what Bel needed.

The spines were all pristine, picked out with care to match the room. No one had ever opened these books.

Belaphorde scanned their titles for something he’d recognize. Reading was not something he wanted to do in that moment, he wanted to become stronger so he could get to Kaigo and prepare for the battle ahead. But a book was just as good as maths, so he picked up a hardcover with a dark-antique design.

“Dracula?” Vigo whined. “You will bore me out of my mind, and gothic is not your genre. Pick something else. A pocket that’s easy to read in bed. I think you would like something philosophical.”

Vigo continued to turn down the books Belaphorde picked up. 1984 was too depressing with a slog ending. The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy would have them laughing when they needed to be focused and contemplative.

Balm, having listened in on their conversation while taking away their bowls and cleaning up for the night suggested The Little Prince. It was his personal favorite, easy to read but filled with meaning. Vigo was against reading what he perceived as children’s literature but Belaphorde was thankful for the sincere recommendation. After a bit more debate Belaphorde had a small stack of books on the nightstand to pick from.

With help from the housekeeper, Belaphorde was moved into the bed with Vigo. It was a bit embarrassing but night was upon them. They needed sleep and Belaphorde needed as much time as possible to passively Guide so this was the natural development. Belaphorde had shared a bed with Vigo many times, especially in the years right after the incident. But with their newly established father-son relationship and his age, he had the right to feel a bit flustered. Meanwhile, Vigo was enjoying every moment of their shared closeness and listening to Belaphorde read aloud until he fell asleep.

It was dark except for the reading light over the bed. Belaphorde shifted between reading, meditating on his Guiding, and having his mind hijacked by chaotic thoughts. How could he have a doomsday clock over his head when from an outsider's perspective all he was currently doing was lying in bed?

It was so unnaturally quiet, only Vigo's snores kept the silence from becoming unbearable. The bed was too soft and too high up for someone comfortable with a mattress on the floor. The books did help him stop thinking about unnecessary things, but it was annoying how he had gone so long feeling tired and now he felt wide awake.

A distant thump made Belaphorde’s body stiff. With wide eyes, he listened. Another distant thump. The sound came from somewhere up above him. Vigo remained unbothered in the world of sleep.

It had to be Kaigo. Tina had instructed Belaphorde to not enter the third floor since Kaigo could be unpredictable and dangerous in his state. The sound of shattering glass sounded into the night, then, it got quiet.

Belaphorde wondered if something had happened. Had Kaigo calmed down, or was he hurt? Perhaps someone else was in the house to monitor him. Or was the nurse not arriving until tomorrow? He could not remember.

A muffled scream sounded through the walls, or was Belaphorde just paranoid and hearing things? No, there definitely was a wailing cry.