When Sky Crash happened, Japan sank into the sea just like so many other island nations. Luckily for Japanese people, many were able to evacuate—namely among them the Imperial Family.
In the wake of destruction, the Western Territory took sympathy and offered refuge on the coast, temporarily giving them land of their own in the formally Pfeiffer State Park, roughly 1,200 acres of land.
The Japanese people proved so useful in the rebuilding of the world, specifically in their quick grasp of all things magic, that the Divided Territories of America traded them the land in return for a comparatively small sum.
The remaining Japanese people had already formed their own new sort of rule since coming to America, their own democracy and continuation of the Imperial Court, new customs and the adoption of many of America’s.
The land they were given was renamed Faifer, and often goes by the name of New Tokyo by Americans.
And Prophecy was Stirring in New Tokyo…
= = =
Sumire was named so because of her violet eyes, a genetic mutation of her’s. Mutations of the eye are not uncommon, but violet eyes… those were rare indeed, especially on a woman of Japanese descent. They were striking with her curly dark brown hair, her freckles, and tanned skin.
Her mother was noble, a scientist of mist and its properties, a full fledged frontline adventurer back in her day.
She’d never met her father, and so was a bastard in the eyes of other nobles in the Imperial Court. She did know one thing about her father, one thing she didn’t have to be told, that he must’ve been of african descent. Sumire was half black, that was obvious.
She was just the equivalent of a lady of the court, someone who supports those above her, and she was lucky that it was that. She was lucky her mother loved her, Sumire knew that.
She looked around her room for the final time, remembering the prophecy told to her by the old oracle woman, her elder.
“You were born with ice in your veins and you won’t, you can’t, know better… until you meet a Salamander.”
The accompanying vision flashed in her head, of light green hair on a feminine outline, of faceless faces riding on featureless horses through a green valley.
She always thought there was something suspicious about her position in court, like everyone knew something she didn’t.
At 18 years old, it was time to find out once and for all.
It was time to go on an adventure, just like her mother did before her.
As she zipped up her suitcase, she remembered the other thing she’d been told: “The Blight Lords are waiting for you.”
She shivered, just remembering the words and not the icy image.
The Imperial Family started having prophecies after a mutation. Even since then they’ve been using a computer to analyze genes, to ensure that it would stay in the bloodline and be passed down. They’ve been selectively picking partners based on that computer to match partners that’ll have children with the most powerful mutations.
Unfortunately, Sumire thought, they were wildly successful. And even worse, most of the nobility was included in this selection process. Even though she was just barely a lady, she wasn’t excluded from the process.
Which was the problem, Sumire was selected.
She’d be the wife of a Prince, if everything went well for them and badly for her. When you’re picked, you have your prophecy taken by the king or queen, either of them could do it, they were both oracles, prophets.
And those ominous words were hers.
She picked up the suitcase and headed down the hall, knowing this might be the last time she sees her childhood home in a long time to come.
It was the middle of the night, but the city of New Tokyo was awake.
On her way out, she slipped a paper onto the counter telling her mom to not worry, it was high time she did some soul searching.
= = =
Sumire was on a mostly empty train, sitting down with her rolling suitcase next to her. She was tapping her foot anxiously, and for good reason.
Call it women's intuition, call it whatever you like for that matter, but Sumire was certain someone was staring at her, possibly following her, and had been for a while. She’d always been sensitive to these things, amongst other things.
The train came to a routine stop and on climbed a white man with blonde hair slicked back. He was wearing aviator sunglasses with a gold outline and a military style air force jacket in black with black jeans. Nobody left the train, of the five people in the car.
Sumire thought their eyes met. He strode over to her and took a seat across from her. Lowering his sunglasses, he openly looked at her head to toe before putting them back on and clearing his throat.
Ahem, “You seem troubled, missy.” He spoke in an over accentuated way, in a tenor deeper than his face said it should speak. “If I’ve ever seen someone running away from something, it’s you.”
The man was white, and spoke in Japanese. There’s probably no harm in telling him the truth, she decided. “I’m just doing some finding myself, actually.”
“Ahh—that’s why it seems like you're running away. Those two things are closely related, you know?”
Sumire tilted her head quizzically at him.
“You see—when you’re finding yourself you're dropping everything, just like you do when you run away. They’re intertwined with each other, you can’t do one without the other. There’s a little bit of running away when you find yourself.”
Sumire nodded her head, not that she completely understood the man. She just thought of something: “Could you do me a favor, mister?”
“Call me Roger. What do you need, missy?”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She leaned in and whispered, “I think there’s someone following me.”
Roger nodded. “You did seem troubled, didn’t I say? Leave it to me, go up to the next car—act naturally.”
Sumire grabbed her suitcase and did as she was told—refraining herself from taking a last look at the people in this train car as she got onto the next, walking down the aisle to the end and taking a seat.
Now she was really fidgeting, and trying not to. It was just before the next stop came that she heard the door open at the other end. She tried not to look at who it was, and instead used her Hologrip on her wrist, pretending to be checking the news.
The door opened and closed again and she heard someone in boots walking up to her, before they sat down next to her, she looked to see Roger.
He spoke in a hushed tone to her, saying in English this time, “It’s that guy—don’t look right now. All you need to know is that you are being followed. Good instincts, missy. Now you just gotta throw him off.”
Sumire whispered to him, “How?” Also in English.
“I’ll keep him occupied while you get off the train at the next stop. Take any train that's there, then meet me at New Silicon Music and Bar. Got that?”
Sumire was already putting the address into her Hologrip. She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The bell rang in the train car, indicating a stop. She grabbed her stuff and walked off the train, heading directly with her best nonchalance to the waiting train with doors open directly across.
= = =
It took her about an hour to get to New Silicon. She had to transfer trains twice but luckily the destination was just above the subway station, as bars usually are.
In bold pink and purple neon she found the sign hanging over the building, “New Silicon,” written in kanji. This wasn’t exactly the nicest place in Faifer, but even in the worst part of this town there’s a high standard of quality.
Sumire decided to stop looking at the outside and headed in, greeted by the sound of rock music. A live band playing this time of night? She thought to herself, oddly busy for this hour, too.
Dragging her suitcase behind her, she found an empty seat at the bar. Shortly after sitting down the bartender came up, an old Japanese man.
“What would you like tonight?” He asked in Japanese.
“Rum and coke,” Sumire said. I could definitely use one…
“And get me one, too!” said a deep voice from over her shoulder. She knew it to be Roger, and she looked back at him with a faint smile.
She wondered how much she could trust him. He seems like a good man, if odd, but she’s also wary of giving out trust so quickly. Luckily for her, she had a trick up her sleeve, and she intended to use it.
Roger found a seat beside her and put his crossed hands up on the bar counter, saying, “I’d bet my last dollar that he was nobility, and he carried himself like he had a gun. Now why would someone like that be following you, missy?”
“You were right—I am partly running away. But the last time I checked, the Imperial Family didn’t stop people from leaving… By the way, my name is Sumire.”
“Very fitting name,” Roger said. “Tell me, what are you partly running away from?”
Sumire told him about her situation, about the prophecy and how she decided to face it head on instead of becoming a bride.
“Well, there’s your problem,” Roger said after a time, “you think you’ve got no investment in anything, but they see it another way. To put it another way—you made it far enough to get a prophecy, and that’s their investment. They're interested, in you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense… I’m just a lady of the court! Barely even nobility.”
“Whoever is following you, and whoever sent him to do it, has reason to think otherwise. You’re now an interest, get it? Something about that prophecy was tantalizing enough, if it started there like I suspect.”
“I don’t know what that is though…”.
“I could take a gander. Not many people have any business with Blight Lords, and even less people than that have them waiting to be met.”
Sumire remembered how unique of a situation she had growing up, that feeling that other people know more about her than she does herself, and took a drink from her rum and coke.
“Why are you helping me?” She asked, intently looking at Roger. He had his sunglasses off in this dim lighting, so she could read his eyes. Perfect, she thought.
He shrugged, saying, “call me a good samaritan, I help when I can.”
Sumire knew he wasn’t lying. Sumire always knew when people were lying. I need to get more out of him… “You don’t really mean that, surely… in fact, I’m starting to think you're the suspicious one.”
“I’m a private eye. I was coming back from a nearby bar and happened to see you. There’s nothing more to it than that, I was just trying to talk to someone. You know how drinking makes you social. But if you don’t want my help—”
“No, no, sorry for doubting you,” Sumire said. He wasn’t lying, not even a half lie. “I could use your help, seriously. I need to get out of this town.”
“You’ve got a bad case of wanderlust, don’t ya… Well, I think we threw that guy off, so all that’s left is for me to escort you out of this town.”
Not a hint of deceit in his mannerism, no ulterior motive to speak of. Sumire, immersed in liars from a young age, almost felt bad for the man. “I insist I pay you for your work,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
She reached into her purse, when he laughed a hearty laugh and put a hand on top of hers, stopping her. Their eyes met, and he said, “This ain’t work, missy. This is simple curiosity. Pay me with your kindness, if anything.”
He let go of her hand and took a drink of his rum and coke. “Besides, I get paid when the jobs done, and something tells me it’s not over yet…”
“I hope you’re wrong,” Sumire said.
“I hope I’m right,” he turned and smiled bright white teeth at her with a grin that could only be called shit-eating. “Comon, let’s get out of here.”
They both sat up and started walking out, when Sumire said, “why do you think this isn’t the end of it, anyway?”
They stepped outside, it was pouring rain suddenly.
“Because the man didn’t seem troubled when I stopped him, even though I was certain… it’s him,” he quickly turned a corner down an alley, grabbing her by the hand and jerking her in his direction.
“You’re gonna have to leave your suitcase, it must be bugged,” Roger said in that over accentuated voice of his, walking down the alley with wet footsteps. “Stand here, don’t move,” he pointed at the ground, then ran behind a dumpster further down.
Sumire froze in place and looked back down the alley where they came from. She saw the silhouette of a man against the neon lights, feeling the pouring rain on her head.
The stalker took something out of his jacket and pointed it behind every dumpster he passed. It must be a railgun, she realized, and her back only stiffened more. Railguns were highly illegal in Faifer, not even police carried them.
She felt her heart race as he quickly approached, and he said to her, “Where is he?”
She looked at the dumpster closest to her, darting her eyes to the left in front of her, and said, “Who are you?”
Stalker man’s wet footsteps sounded like a gong in the rain puddles, in the silent alley as he suspiciously looked behind the dumpster she had glanced at—gun pointed—and fired a shot that lit up the alley with the light of electricity.
The man grabbed his chest, dropped to the ground, withering for a short while on the pavement as she heard footsteps walking up behind her. She whipped her head around, finally loosening up, to see Roger pocket something.
“Dart gun,” he said, “it paralyzes the target.” He walked right up to the man and kicked him onto his back.
“You better start talking,” Roger said loudly in Japanese, he winded his foot back and unleashed a kick into his ribs.
Sumire gasped behind him, the man let out a groan then started laughing.
“What do you want to know, dead man?”
A car pulled up on the curb and out hopped two men in suits. Roger grabbed Sumire’s hand and sprinted down the alley, around a corner, and into a street. He looked both ways as they ran across, heading down a subway across the street—
“Where are we going!” Sumire asked as she was half dragged, half running.
“To escape them!” He yelled without looking back, but Sumire did look—they were hot on their tail, and she screeched, running faster than she thought possible.