3
The spring thaw came gently to the forest, melting the snow into sparkling rivulets that fed the stream where Takemichi had first learned to say "wibber." The world was waking up, and with it, Takemichi was blooming. His hair had grown longer, falling in golden waves past his shoulders, and his skin had lost its deathly pallor, now holding a faint, luminous quality that made him look like he belonged in a fairy tale.
Hina noticed everything about him. The way his blue eyes would catch the light and seem to glow from within. The way he moved with an unconscious grace that didn't quite belong on land, as if he expected the air to hold him the way water once had. The way he laughed now, freely and often, a sound like small bells chiming.
But there were still secrets between them. Hina could feel them, pressing against the edges of their friendship like waves against a shore.
It was a warm afternoon in early April when the truth finally emerged. They were sitting by the stream, Takemichi with his too-long legs dangling in the cold water, Hina on the bank with a bento box of rice balls and pickled vegetables. He had been quiet all morning, his eyes fixed on the flowing water with an expression of profound longing.
"Takemichi," Hina said gently, "what are you thinking about?"
He didn't answer at first. Then, slowly, he pulled his legs from the water and turned to face her. His expression was serious, almost fearful.
"Hina," he began, his voice soft, "I need to... tell you something. About me. Where I come from."
She set down the bento box, giving him her full attention. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to share."
"I want to. You are my friend. My only friend. You should know." He took a deep breath, the way she had taught him when he was nervous. "I am not... human."
Hina blinked. She had suspected something, of course. The strange language, the way he'd appeared from nowhere, his complete ignorance of human society. But hearing it spoken aloud was different.
"What are you?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"My mother was... a Siren. My father was... a Mermaid." He watched her face carefully, looking for the disgust, the fear. "They... should not have loved. Their kinds are enemies. The Mermaids killed them. For loving each other. For loving me."
Hina's heart clenched. She wanted to reach out, to hold him, but she sensed he needed to finish first.
"The Sirens," Takemichi continued, his voice growing stronger, "they are not what humans say. The stories are wrong. Mermaids made humans believe lies. Sirens do not eat sailors. They save them. They warn them. Their song is Truth."
He looked down at his hands, pale and slender in his lap. "I am half Siren. I have their voice. Their truth. But I cannot use it. I don't know how. My parents died before they could teach me."
Hina was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. She thought of the stories she'd heard since childhood—the beautiful, deadly Sirens who lured sailors to their doom with enchanting songs. The monsters of the deep who craved human flesh. She thought of Takemichi, who couldn't even eat a mushroom without nearly dying, who trembled at loud noises, who looked at her with such trusting, gentle eyes.
"I don't believe the stories," she said finally.
Takemichi looked up, surprise flickering across his features. "You... don't?"
She moved to sit beside him on the stream bank, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "The Sirens in the stories are monsters. They're cruel. They kill for pleasure." She turned to look at him directly. "You are the kindest person I've ever met. You cry when you see a bird with a broken wing. You thank me for every rice ball like I've given you treasure. You learned to speak a whole new language just so you could talk to me." She shook her head firmly. "The stories are wrong. They have to be."
Takemichi's eyes filled with tears. "Hina..."
She reached out and took his hand, the way she had so many times before. "But Takemichi, you have to promise me something. You can never tell anyone else what you just told me."
His brow furrowed. "Why?"
"Because most people won't think like me. They believe the stories. They'll be afraid of you. And when people are afraid, they get cruel." She squeezed his hand tightly. "They might hurt you. Or worse, they might try to take you, use you for your voice, for what you are. You have to stay hidden. Promise me."
He looked into her earnest brown eyes, seeing the genuine fear there, the desperate need to protect him. "I promise, Hina. Only you. Only ever you."
She smiled, relief washing over her features. "Good. That's good." She released his hand and picked up the bento box. "Now, eat. You need to keep your strength up. And after, I want to teach you more words. We need to work on your tenses. You still say 'I go' when you mean 'I went.'"
Takemichi smiled, the tension of his confession melting away. "Hina is best teacher."
"Hina is best teacher," she corrected with a grin. "Now say it right."
"Hina is the best teacher," he repeated carefully.
"Perfect!"
The days that followed were some of the happiest of Takemichi's short life. Hina came every day after school, bringing food and books and the warmth of her presence. He was learning to read now, tracing the strange symbols with his finger while she sounded out the words. His vocabulary grew, his sentences became more complex, and his accent, while still present, became less pronounced.
He started exploring the forest more confidently, always staying within sight of the cave that had become his home. He learned which berries were safe to eat, which mushrooms would kill him, how to tell time by the position of the sun. He was adapting. Surviving. Living.
The stream where he had nearly died became his favorite place. The sound of running water soothed him, reminded him of the ocean he would never see again. He would sit on the bank for hours, sometimes humming softly to himself, melodies that floated up from memories of his mother singing him to sleep.
He didn't realize the danger of those melodies. To him, they were just sounds, comforting and familiar. He didn't know that his voice, even in casual humming, carried the faintest trace of his Siren heritage—a subtle, almost imperceptible pull that could catch the attention of those with sensitive ears.
He didn't know that someone was listening.
Taichi Mikodo was a predator disguised as a gentleman.
In the imperial capital, he was known as a successful businessman, a philanthropist who donated to orphanages, a patron of the arts. His smile was warm, his manner polished, his clothing impeccable. No one suspected that beneath this civilized exterior lurked the mind of a monster.
His true business was far from legitimate. In the shadows of the empire, Taichi Mikodo was the head of the largest illegal trafficking network in operation. Humans, mostly—poor children from the countryside, desperate young women promised jobs that didn't exist, men who'd made the wrong enemies. But his speciality, his true passion, was the acquisition of the extraordinary.
Beastmen with their animal features. Oni with their supernatural strength. And if the ancient texts were to be believed, creatures of myth who still walked the earth in secret. Taichi had made it his life's work to find them, to capture them, to own them.
He was traveling through the countryside on business, scouting new territories for his network, when his carriage passed near a forest that most locals avoided. He barely noticed it, his mind occupied with ledgers and logistics, until the sound reached him.
It was faint at first, barely audible over the creaking of the carriage wheels and the clopping of the horses. But it grew clearer as they passed a particular bend in the road—a voice, high and clear, singing in a language Taichi had never heard.
His body went rigid. Every muscle froze. His mind, usually so sharp and calculating, went blank. The voice filled him completely, drowning out all other thought. It was beautiful. It was terrible. It was everything.
"Stop," he heard himself say, though he didn't remember forming the word. "Stop the carriage."
His driver, a brutish man named Goro who had helped him dispose of more bodies than he could count, pulled the horses to a halt. "Sir?"
Taichi didn't answer. He was already climbing out, moving toward the forest as if pulled by invisible strings. The voice grew louder as he approached, weaving through the trees like a physical thing. It was coming from a stream, he realized. Someone was singing by the stream.
He moved silently, years of hunting prey teaching him how to step without sound. Through the trees, he saw a flash of gold. A boy. Young, maybe twelve or thirteen, with hair like spun sunlight and skin that seemed to glow. He was sitting on the bank, his back to the trees, his feet in the water. And he was singing.
The language was ancient, flowing, beautiful. Taichi didn't understand a single word, but he felt them in his bones, in his blood, in the deepest, darkest parts of his soul. The voice wrapped around him like silk, like chains, like love.
When the song ended, Taichi came back to himself with a gasp. He was leaning against a tree, his face wet with tears he didn't remember shedding. His hands were shaking. His heart was pounding.
He knew, with the absolute certainty of a collector who had just found a masterpiece, what he was looking at.
A Siren.
Not a myth. Not a legend. A real, living Siren, sitting on a stream bank in the middle of nowhere, singing to the water.
The ancient texts spoke of Sirens' voices—how they could enchant, compel, drive men mad with a single note. Taichi had always assumed it was exaggeration. Now he knew it was truth. He had felt it. He was still feeling it, the aftershocks of that voice vibrating through every nerve.
He had to have it. He had to have him.
But Sirens were dangerous. Their voices could be weapons. If he approached openly, the boy might sing again, might compel him to do something foolish. No, this required subtlety. Planning. Patience.
Taichi smiled, a cold, satisfied curve of his lips. He was very good at patience.
He melted back into the trees, leaving the boy unaware of his presence. He would return. He would observe. He would learn everything about this golden creature's habits, his routines, his weaknesses.
And then he would take what was his.
The kidnapping happened three weeks later.
Takemichi never saw it coming.
He had been sitting by the stream as usual, enjoying the warm spring afternoon. Hina couldn't come today—she had a family obligation, some cousin's birthday party—so he was alone with his thoughts and the comforting sound of the water.
He wasn't singing today. Just sitting, letting his mind drift to memories of his mother, of her gentle hands braiding seaweed into his hair, of his father's deep voice telling stories of the deep ocean trenches. Happy memories, now tinged with the ache of loss.
He heard a sound behind him and turned, expecting to see a deer or a fox. Instead, he saw men.
Four of them. Large, rough-looking men with cold eyes and cruel smiles. They emerged from the trees like wolves surrounding prey, spreading out to cut off any escape.
Takemichi's blood turned to ice. He scrambled to his feet, backing toward the stream. "What—what do you want?"
The men didn't answer. They just kept advancing, their smiles growing wider.
Takemichi's survival instincts, dormant since his first days in the forest, screamed to life. He turned to run, to plunge into the stream and swim away, but a hand closed around his ankle, yanking him back. He fell hard, the breath knocked from his lungs, and then they were on him.
Hands grabbed his arms, his hair, his clothes. He thrashed and kicked, screaming, "Let me go! Let me go!" but they were too strong. One of them shoved a foul-tasting cloth into his mouth, muffling his cries. Another bound his wrists behind his back with rough rope that burned his skin.
"Easy there, little fish," one of them laughed, his breath rank with alcohol. "Boss wants you alive and pretty."
Takemichi's eyes widened. Boss? Someone had sent them? Someone wanted him?
He tried to sing. He didn't know how, didn't know if it would work, but he opened his mouth to let out the only weapon he had—
The man holding him must have seen the intention in his eyes. A fist connected with his temple, and the world exploded into white pain, then darkness.
He woke to darkness and motion.
He was in a moving vehicle of some kind—a carriage, he realized, from the jolting and the sound of horses. His wrists were still bound, now chafed raw from the rope. His head throbbed where he'd been hit. And he was cold, so cold, stripped of the warm clothes Hina had given him and dressed in something thin and flimsy.
A lantern flickered nearby, casting dim light over the interior of the carriage. And in that light sat a man Takemichi had never seen before.
He was handsome, in a polished, unnatural way. Dark hair slicked back, eyes like chips of obsidian, a smile that didn't reach those cold, empty eyes. He was dressed in fine clothes, silk and velvet, and he watched Takemichi the way Takemichi had once watched fish in the tide pools—with casual, predatory interest.
"Ah, you're awake," the man said, his voice smooth as oil. "I was beginning to worry. That was quite a blow my man delivered. I'll have to speak to him about being gentler with my treasures."
Takemichi tried to speak, but only a strangled noise came out. His throat was raw, his mouth still tasting of that horrible cloth.
The man leaned forward, and the lantern light caught his eyes fully. There was something wrong with them. Something hungry and empty at the same time.
"Let me introduce myself," he said. "I am Taichi Mikodo. And you, my dear boy, are now my property."
Takemichi shook his head frantically, trying to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The carriage walls were solid wood, and the man was between him and the door.
"Oh, don't look so frightened." Taichi's smile widened. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not much, anyway. You're far too valuable to damage." He reached out, and Takemichi flinched violently as those cold fingers touched his cheek. "Do you know what you are, little one? Do you know what I heard when you sang by that stream?"
Takemichi's blood froze. The stream. He had been singing. He had forgotten Hina's warning, forgotten to be careful, and this monster had heard him.
"You're a Siren," Taichi breathed, his voice filled with wonder and greed. "A real, living Siren. I've spent my whole life searching for creatures like you. And now I have you." He laughed, a soft, delighted sound that made Takemichi's skin crawl. "Do you have any idea what your voice is worth? What your blood is worth?"
Blood? Takemichi's mind reeled. What did he mean, blood?
"You'll learn," Taichi said, as if reading his thoughts. "In time, you'll learn everything. But for now, rest. We have a long journey ahead, and I want you in perfect condition when we arrive at my home."
He extinguished the lantern, plunging the carriage into darkness. Takemichi sat in the black, his bound wrists aching, his body trembling, and for the first time since his parents died, he felt true, absolute despair.
Hina. He thought of her face, her smile, her warm brown eyes. She would come for him. She had to. She was his friend, his only friend, his snow that stayed always.
But as the carriage rolled on through the night, carrying him further and further from everything he knew, the hope began to flicker and fade.
Taichi's estate was a nightmare disguised as a paradise.
It was a sprawling compound hidden deep in the mountains, accessible only by a single winding road that was patrolled day and night by armed guards. To the outside world, it was a private retreat for a wealthy businessman. In reality, it was a prison.
Takemichi was led through gilded hallways past rooms he was forbidden to enter. But he saw things. Glimpses through partially open doors. A girl with cat ears huddled in a corner. A young man with horns sprouting from his temples, chained to a wall. A child no older than five with scales glinting on her arms, crying silently into her hands.
He wasn't the only one. He wasn't the only creature stolen from their home.
His own room was beautiful—too beautiful. Soft bed, silk sheets, fresh flowers in a vase. A cage lined with velvet. Because that's what it was, he realized. A cage. The windows were barred. The door locked from the outside. The walls thick enough to muffle sound.
That last detail was important, he would learn. Sound carried. Sound was dangerous. And Takemichi's sound was the most dangerous of all.
The first week was almost bearable. Taichi didn't visit. Servants brought food—real food, better than anything Takemichi had ever eaten—and changed the flowers and emptied the chamber pot. They didn't speak to him. They didn't meet his eyes. They moved like ghosts, in and out, leaving him alone with his terror.
On the eighth day, Taichi came.
He swept into the room like he owned it—which he did—and settled into a chair by the window, crossing one leg over the other. He looked at Takemichi the way a painter looks at a canvas, assessing, planning.
"You've been very quiet," he observed. "I was told you haven't made a sound since you arrived. Not a song, not a scream, not even a whimper. That's... disappointing."
Takemichi pressed himself against the far wall, his heart pounding. He had learned, in those first days, that his voice was the only power he had. If he used it, if he showed them what it could do, maybe he could escape. But he didn't know how. He didn't know if he could control it. And if he failed...
"I want to hear you sing," Taichi said. It wasn't a request.
Takemichi shook his head, clamping his mouth shut.
Taichi's eyes hardened. For a moment, the civilized mask slipped, revealing the monster beneath. Then it was back, smooth and pleasant.
"Let me explain how this works," he said, leaning forward. "You are my property. Everything about you belongs to me. Your voice. Your body. Your blood. I can do whatever I want with you, and no one will stop me. No one will come for you. No one even knows you exist."
He stood and walked toward Takemichi, who tried to shrink away but found himself cornered. Taichi reached down and grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet those empty eyes.
"So when I tell you to sing, you will sing. Or I'll start taking pieces of what's mine until you decide to cooperate. Do you understand?"
Takemichi's eyes filled with tears. He tried to turn his face away, but Taichi's grip was iron.
"I said, do you understand?"
A small, broken nod.
Taichi smiled. "Good boy." He released Takemichi's chin and patted his cheek, a gesture of sickening affection. "Now. Sing for me."
And Takemichi sang.
He sang the lullabies his mother had sung to him, the wordless melodies of the deep ocean, the mournful cries of the Sirens who watched over sailors. He didn't know if his voice held power—he still didn't know how to access that part of himself—but he sang, and Taichi listened, and when the song ended, there were tears on the monster's cheeks.
"Beautiful," Taichi whispered. "Absolutely beautiful."
He left without another word, and Takemichi curled into a ball on his velvet-caged bed and cried until he had no tears left.
The abuse escalated slowly, insidiously.
At first, it was just the singing. Taichi would come every few days, demand a performance, and leave. Takemichi learned to comply, to empty his mind and let the songs flow out of him like water from a broken vessel. It was easier than fighting. Fighting only made things worse.
Then came the blood.
Taichi arrived one evening with a small knife and a crystal vial. His eyes held that same hungry gleam they always did when he looked at Takemichi.
"The ancient texts speak of Siren blood," he said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "They say it can grant strength, longevity, even supernatural abilities to those who consume it. I've always wondered if it was true."
Takemichi's blood ran cold. "No. Please, no—"
"Don't worry. Just a small amount. I won't take enough to harm you." Taichi advanced, and Takemichi scrambled backward until he hit the wall. "You're too valuable to damage permanently."
The knife was sharp. The cut was precise, across his forearm, not deep enough to be life-threatening but deep enough to bleed freely. Takemichi gasped at the pain, tears streaming down his face, as Taichi held the vial to the wound and collected the crimson drops.
When it was full, Taichi pressed a cloth to the cut and smiled. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"
He raised the vial to his lips and drank.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then his eyes widened, and a shudder ran through his body. His skin flushed. His pupils dilated. He laughed, a wild, exhilarated sound.
"It's true," he breathed. "I can feel it. Power. Life." He looked at Takemichi with new eyes, eyes that held a terrifying mixture of greed and addiction. "You're even more valuable than I imagined."
After that, the bloodletting became regular. Once a week at first, then twice, then every few days. Takemichi's arms became a map of scars—thin white lines crossing his pale skin like the latitude lines on a map. He grew weaker with each taking, his luminous quality dimming, his energy flagging.
But Taichi never took enough to kill him. He was too careful for that. He was a collector, and collectors maintained their treasures.
The worst was the affection.
Taichi treated Takemichi like a possession, yes. But he also treated him like a lover, in the most twisted way imaginable. He would sit beside him after the bloodletting, stroking his hair, whispering endearments. He would kiss his cheeks, his forehead, his closed eyes, while Takemichi sat frozen, too terrified to move.
"You're my special one," Taichi would murmur. "My little siren. My treasure. No one will ever take you from me."
One evening, after a particularly heavy bloodletting that left Takemichi dizzy and weak, Taichi cupped his face in both hands. Takemichi tried to turn away, but he was too exhausted to fight.
"Look at me," Taichi commanded.
Takemichi's eyes, dull and hopeless, met his.
Taichi smiled that terrible, loving smile. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Takemichi's right cheek, then his left, slow and deliberate.
Takemichi flinched, revulsion crawling through his veins, but he couldn't escape.
"You're my property now," Taichi whispered against his skin. "So try to act like one, okay?~ Be a good boy, and I'll be gentle. Cause trouble, and..." He trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air.
He pulled back, admiring his work—the beautiful, broken creature before him. "I do so love you, my little siren. You'll learn to love me too, in time. They all do."
Takemichi said nothing. He couldn't. His voice, his only weapon, was locked away behind a wall of despair. He sat in his velvet cage, covered in scars, and let the monster kiss him, and touch him, and own him.
And in the darkest part of the night, when even the guards were asleep, he would curl into a ball and whisper into the darkness, in the language Taichi didn't understand, the only prayer he had left.
"Hina... Hina, where are you? Please... please find me. Please save me. I'm so scared. I'm so alone. Please..."
But the darkness never answered, and Hina never came.
Tachibana Hinata knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the clearing by the stream.
The cave was empty. Takemichi's small collection of belongings—the extra sweater she'd brought, the book they'd been reading together, the smooth stones he liked to arrange by color—were all still there. But Takemichi was gone.
At first, she thought he might be exploring. He'd been getting more confident lately, venturing further from the cave. She waited, sitting on the stream bank where they'd spent so many afternoons. An hour passed. Two. The sun began to sink toward the horizon.
Panic started to bloom in her chest.
She searched the forest, calling his name until her throat was raw. She checked every path they'd ever walked, every hiding spot he'd ever shown her. Nothing. No trace. It was as if the forest had simply swallowed him whole.
As darkness fell, she noticed something by the stream. Scuffed earth. Broken ferns. The marks of a struggle she'd been too panicked to see before.
Her heart stopped.
She followed the trail as far as she could, but it led to a road, and there it ended. Carriage tracks, fresh and deep, heading away from the village. Heading toward the capital.
Hina stood on that road for a long time, staring at the tracks that had taken her friend away from her. The tears came, hot and furious, streaming down her face. She thought of Takemichi's smile, his terrible pronunciation, his gentle hands, his trusting eyes. She thought of how he'd looked at her like she was the most wonderful thing in the world, just for being kind to him.
She thought of the promise she'd made—that she would always come back. That she would always be his friend.
And she had failed.
The despair hit her like a physical blow, dropping her to her knees in the dirt. She sobbed until she couldn't breathe, until her body shook with the force of her grief. She was useless. Weak. A stupid little girl who couldn't even protect the one person who needed her most.
But even as she wept, something else was growing in her chest. Something hot and fierce and unyielding.
Rage.
Not at Takemichi, never at him. At herself. At the monsters who took him. At a world that let such things happen. At her own powerlessness.
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and stood up. Her legs were shaky, her face blotchy and red, but her eyes—those warm brown eyes that had always held such kindness—now held something else. Something hard. Something determined.
She would find him. No matter how long it took. No matter what it cost. She would find Takemichi and bring him home.
But first, she needed power.
The Imperial Knight Order was the most prestigious military institution in the empire. Its members were the elite, the strongest, the most skilled warriors in the land. They protected the emperor, enforced the law, and hunted down those who broke it—including human traffickers.
If Hina wanted to find Takemichi, she needed to be among them.
Her brother Naoto found her in the backyard the next morning, beating a practice dummy with a wooden sword until her hands were blistered and bleeding.
"Hina! What are you doing? Stop, you're hurting yourself!"
She didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Every swing of the sword was a blow against Taichi Mikodo, against the men who'd taken her friend, against her own helplessness.
"Hina!" Naoto grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to halt. "Look at me. What's going on? You came home last night looking like you'd seen a ghost, and now you're out here destroying yourself. Talk to me."
She looked at her brother—older, wiser, always looking out for her. And the words came pouring out. Takemichi. The cave. The struggle by the stream. The carriage tracks. Everything.
Naoto listened in growing horror. "Hina, this boy you've been hiding in the forest... you need to tell the authorities. This is too big for you to handle alone."
"No." Her voice was steel. "The authorities won't care about some nameless boy. They'll file a report and forget about it. I have to find him myself."
"How? You're twelve years old!"
"Then I'll join the Knight Order." She pulled away from him and picked up the wooden sword again. "I'll train. I'll get stronger. I'll become someone who can actually do something."
Naoto stared at her, seeing a determination in his little sister he'd never witnessed before. "The Knight Order exam is brutal. People train for years and still fail. And you're a girl—they'll look down on you, try to break you."
"Let them try."
True to Naoto's warning, the training was hell.
Hina woke before dawn every day to run until her lungs burned. She lifted stones until her muscles screamed. She practiced with the sword until her palms were a permanent mess of blisters and calluses. She studied tactics, history, law—anything that might give her an edge.
Naoto helped when he could, teaching her the basics of swordplay he'd learned in his own training. But most of it was on her. Most of it was alone.
Her body changed. The softness melted away, replaced by lean muscle and corded sinew. Her hands grew rough, her face lost its childish roundness. But her eyes—those warm brown eyes—never lost their fire.
When she arrived at the Knight Order examination grounds, the jeering started immediately.
"A girl? She thinks she can be a knight?"
"Probably just wants to find a husband."
"Look at her. She's tiny. One hit and she'll shatter."
Hina ignored them. She registered for the exam, took her place among the hundreds of other candidates—all male, all larger than her—and waited.
The exam was a series of grueling trials. Physical endurance. Combat skills. Strategic thinking. Mental fortitude. One by one, candidates fell. By the afternoon, half were gone. By evening, only a dozen remained.
Hina was one of them.
The final trial was a sparring match against a seasoned knight. Hina's opponent was a mountain of a man who laughed when he saw her.
"Go home, little girl. This is no place for you."
Hina said nothing. She raised her sword.
The knight attacked with overwhelming force, expecting to end the match in seconds. But Hina wasn't there. She had learned, in her months of training, that she couldn't match strength with strength. So she used speed. Precision. Intelligence. She dodged and weaved, looking for openings, wearing him down.
When he overextended on a swing, she was there. Her wooden sword connected with his ribs—once, twice, three times. He stumbled, and she swept his legs out from under him. Before he could rise, her sword was at his throat.
Silence fell over the examination ground.
The head examiner, a grizzled veteran with more scars than skin, stared at her for a long moment. Then he smiled—the first smile Hina had seen from him all day.
"Tachibana Hinata," he announced, "you have not only passed the examination. You have achieved the highest score in your cohort. Welcome to the Imperial Knight Academy."
The jeers from that morning were gone, replaced by stunned silence and, from a few, grudging respect. Hina didn't care about any of it. She accepted her acceptance letter with steady hands, but inside, her heart was screaming.
I'm coming, Takemichi. I'm coming. Just hold on a little longer.
In a mountain estate far from the capital, in a beautiful room with barred windows, a golden-haired boy with scarred arms and empty blue eyes sat by the window and watched the moon rise.
He didn't sing anymore. Not since the last time, when Taichi had kissed his cheeks and called him property and taken his blood and his dignity and his hope. He just sat, and stared, and waited for a rescue he no longer believed would come.
But somewhere, deep in the part of him that was still a child, still innocent, still hopeful, a tiny spark refused to die.
Hina, he thought, the name a prayer, a curse, a lifeline. Hina.
And in the darkness of his velvet cage, he waited.
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