The sky was open.

It was bright. The clouds flew across the grand expanse, fuzzing about in strange shapes and configurations, uncaring of the tiled roofing below.

The cherry willows fluttered about with the wind, the breath of the heavens heaving down with great force, only for a subtle silence to rule thereafter. The birds chirped freely among the blooms, huddled over the living of their nest.

A boy sat there, looking up and around. Slowly. Calmly. The eyes, of dull nature and carrying an indescribable sheen, took in the environment as his legs hung over the small ledge, the wooden ledge jutting out from the main house. With every inhale and exhale, they dangled ever so slightly, body totally unconscious to the movement.

A slight rumbling murmured about from the inside of the house, presenting itself in incomprehensible garble, and yet a noise he could pick up on. Not that he particularly cared what they were saying, it wasn’t important to him.

The cut garden encompassed the edges of his view, the sand just below. The plants, begging for attention, demonstrated their ornate grace as they complemented each other in flows and patterns. The touch of maintenance was obvious, and the effect profound upon most all who would view it.

The cobbled pathway added to the scene rather than detracted from it, as if to display it a small garden of yokai, the enchantment of the place holding the observer root.

And yet, the boy could not care.

His head turned around, what he knew to call one hundred and eighty degrees.

His skin, a bit sunbaked, felt the cool of the shade after a few more seconds. His fingers brushed against the familiar groove of the door, sliding it open in a smooth fashion.

He looked down at the room, at the center, at the spot. Of course it wouldn’t be clean yet.

“Kiku.”

A little girl looked out from behind the wall.

Her eyes, red and quivering with tears, complemented her uncommon white kimono, a red sash used to supplement the almost invisible design. Her hair was almost white, and the boy felt it quite strange that she was not named Yuki, a far more adequate name for a child such as her.

The boy held out his hand, dirtied, and waited for her to respond in the way he wished. With a bit of a jump, the little girl took the time to decide, before ever so slowly moving forward on the rim of the room. Her eyes, the appearance of blue sapphires that India traded, looked at the boy with complete fear. In the last few feet, with the haste of her life on the line, she dropped the hefty book that she could barely carry in his hands and ran away.

“Kiku,” the girl froze at his words, “stay.”

Her eyes widened in fear, fluttered to shock, and decided on what he presumed to be horror. “No… please no...” And, with tiny step after step, the almost four year old scuttled away, likely to cry again. The boy wondered if all little girls were simply like that or if she was an especially delicate flower.

The boy, setting the book down on a nearby desk, went into the next room over, past the hallway the girl disappeared into. He didn’t particularly get caught up on whether she would join him or not and opted to get food into his system instead, possibly a glass of water as well.

The taste, the texture, the room temperature heat, it was all there. The meal he had wasn’t that important, so he made something he could eat quickly. All in all, no more than fifteen minutes were spent.

With no delay, nor speed, he soon reclaimed the literature and opened the door once more. It slid easier when you were going inside rather than outside, he noticed, but couldn’t care less. There wasn’t much to care about in his life, good or bad. In fact, he didn’t remember the last time he didn’t do something passively. It was in his nature to learn, and so he did.

He resumed sitting down in the same spot once more, the wood being a bit smoother there than the other places you could step, but only an almost unperceivable sum. Soon after, his fingers traced the spine that contained the pages, and flipped.

The words burned throughout his mind. If he didn’t understand, he worked until he did. It wasn’t learned for entertainment, more for the sole reason of passing time, other than to become wiser. Self-improvement, to him, is simply life.

And so, hours passed.

…

People were everywhere.

There originally were a few armored and uniformed folk, as expected, but soon there were more. A large variety, though mostly consisting of nosy neighbors staying just outside the property, trying to snatch a glimpse to gossip about. The armored folk, though quite startled and curious about him, left the boy alone after a short while. Soon, his sister was forced out, and stayed with a group of the people with uniforms rather than him.

She kept screaming and ranting about the boy, but they all tried to comfort her instead. Soon enough, a perimeter was formed, keeping people out, almost resulting in him leaving as well. However, those who are obstinate almost always win out.

A few people he recognized came much later. Most were greedy, but one or two were caring. He always took notes and tabs of them, as reading people was always more engaging than reading books. Though, books were fine too.

Most gave him a single glance before looking for another person dressed in black garb and robe. For a while Ms. Yatagiri, who was affiliated to him in a way he didn’t know, sat with him and hugged him. It brought reading further difficulty, but nothing too much. Eventually she left too.

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He cracked his neck, a habit he developed due to copying his parental figures. Soon his knuckles, wrists, toes, and ankles followed suit. The sun had left the midday point just an hour ago, and people had already left save for a few armored people.

Deciding it was about time, he went in to eat, drink, and organize things.

…

His attire had changed. A black kimono, something he believed complimented his looks more, but didn’t appreciate the gloom it gave off. Now, he wore one.

It was a different place, and a different book, but much the same situation. The people from yesterday save for the armored folk gathered around. Some displayed true emotion while others were comparable to a metaphorical crocodile, but of course it would be that way.

Life, a great garden

It carries by like river

Destiny as sky

Futile, it an endless war

Soon, a beginning.

The boy frowned. He did so every time something such as this came up. There were many meanings, many emotions, it was well thought out and executed, yet altogether pointless and foolish. People were so starved for something to do that it seemed they read simple rhyme. Any could do such a thing if given time, and yet these were special because of who made them. People looked to the people in intelligence, while he looked to them in good marketing.

He looked up to the sky once more.

It had rained recently.

The little droplets were always so interesting. That things without wings could fly and become wisps in the air, a thing that eluded his reasoning for quite a while.

He looked at the puddle beneath his feet. His cold, dead eyes. He didn’t see what was wrong with them, and yet others hated them. It was foolish, he was of the same flesh and mind, and yet because of one small thing people perceived him differently. The perceptive ones did, anyway. There was a European writer who once said that the eyes are a window to the soul, but that was unlikely. The fact was that people were superstitious, and humans as a race instinctively search for unity, rather than accepting difference.

Perhaps he would have another short spar with Takuma after this was all over. He hadn’t seen his sibling for a while, he should look into that. The boy’s shoulders stretched back to loosen his body, his muscles tightened due to the moisture of the air and his reading position. The book was already finished.

The sky.

It was the most interesting thing of all.

It constantly changed. You couldn’t see the end of it. How did things fly up there, how far did it go, could humans go one day? All of them, he just couldn’t tell. Something that had yet to be answered.

And yet, he didn’t care about that.

He looked once more to the sky.

A pair of eyes, just for a moment. A thin, practiced, great smile.

“Hello!”

He looked back at the girl, a deep crimson hue sporting a blazing intensity. The fire on her head drowned out the pale colors of the world.

“Hello.”

She tilted her head in a way that would be perceived as cute. She kept her smile with her hands behind her back, the hair covering the optics he had seen before.

“You’re different.”

He looked down for a moment before looking back at her. “Yes.”

“Me too.”

He glared at her intensely before shaking his head. “No.”

She seemed surprised for a moment before giving a wonderful giggling. “I mean a different different.” She pointed at her covered eyes. “They all see, but they don’t see clearly. They don’t see the way we do.”

She patted his head even though she looked to be slightly younger, doing so more fervently once she noticed how clean and soft it was. “I like you.”

His eyes sagged, he had lost interest.

The next words made a vicious stir in his soul.

“Would you like to feel?”

He gave a look to her face, perhaps the first sincere lookover in a long time.

“We feel differently than different people. I,” she pointed to herself, “feel in a different way. You,” the finger waggled accusingly at the boy, “don’t know how. In fact, you’re so late, it’ll be hard to ever do so.”

He waited. She wasn’t finished. He did note how she would make an excellent merchant.

“I never said you can’t though, and luckily for you, I think I can help.”

With a light flumph she laid down on his back, arms around his shoulders. Both were children, so such a scene wouldn’t really matter.

“You wouldn’t know this, but I fake my emotions a LOT instead of just being like you. People more readily accept me that way,” it sounded like too much work to him, he could be doing something else during that time, “but it never actually made me feel not empty.”

The boys eyes widened. He had never seen a smile like that before. It did not display beauty, not grace, but the raw emotion was immeasurable. The gesture was incomparable.

“But then I accidentally discovered it. What filled me with emotion.”

“It was absolutely lovely, wonderful. I experimented and found out, found out, found out…” the gears in her brain turned until the lightbulb came on, “how I could feel. It isn’t that we aren’t people, but we are different people, so of course we are going to tick differently. And that’s the case for you too.” She snuggled in closer to his neck, the warm breaths tickling the hair he had basically none of.

“You make a great pillow.”

The boy frowned before she giggled once more. “When I saw you, it made me feel happy.”

“So, I want you to serve me.”

His eyebrow rose. There were several different mental illnesses he could prescribe her with.

“I already have so many servants, and so many people who aim for my favor. But!” she paused for dramatic effect. “I want you.”

“And when I want something, I’ll always get it.”

He looked at her just as she looked at him. They searched for any sign of movement on the other’s face. It led to the girl frowning, “I thought you would react more to being practically called a possession.”

The strange smile came back, curled to the very edges of her cheeks “It’s so splendid, you’re perfect.”

“Prove it.”

The girl looked genuinely puzzled, “Huh?”

“Prove to me you can.”

“Huh, you can say more than two words.” Then, ever so slowly, she lifted up her hair.

The eyes.

Their power was terrifying.

The first time he caught a glimpse they weren’t anything like they are now. There was no description. They simply existed. Some would call it beautiful, others unearthly. They were eyes that could not exist on any other individual. He didn’t know what anyone else could possibly think in that situation.

He was curious. He was surprised, he was intrigued. Things he had never felt before flooded into him. It wasn’t overwhelming, but rather a sense that it belonged. He felt as if he should be able to touch it.

The little girl gave her giggle another time.

She reached out her hand, “Well?”

And with his own, his clasped hers.