Shinkai - The Eyes That Shouldn't Exist

The chamber was still.

Too still.

Somewhere far beyond the highland of Yurelda, a low cavern pulsed with ancient breath. Stone wrapped in roots. Air thick with silence. And at its center, a shallow pool reflected nothing at all.

A figure stepped through the veil of shadow — tall, cloaked, marked with the inverted lotus stitched across the back in faded silver thread.

He approached slowly.

Then knelt.

"My report."

Across the pool, on a throne that seemed grown rather than built, a second figure reclined — face obscured beneath a hood that swallowed the light. Behind them, etchings glowed faintly on the walls. Language older than memory.

No reply.

The kneeling figure bowed his head lower.

"There has been movement. In the capital. The Crown prepares for the tournament and the Hollow Veins are whispering...but that is not what drew my concern."

A soft sound — like wind over glass — stirred near the throne. Not a word. Just permission.

The figure continued.

"A person surfaced. Unranked. No noble seal. A peasant… yet handpicked by Cedric's highest sword."

He paused.

"His eye color… one is black and the other is green."

That broke the stillness.

For a moment, even the pool seemed to ripple.

The leader did not speak — not with words. But a weight filled the room. Like thought made solid.

The kneeling figure lifted his gaze only slightly. "Shall I eliminate him?"

Silence.

Then, at last — a whisper, smooth as dust sliding over stone:

"No."

The word hung like a suspended blade.

"Observe him."

The leader's voice was strange — neither old nor young. It folded around the air rather than cutting through it.

The kneeling figure stayed quiet for a moment longer. But then:

"May I ask… the reasoning?"

A pause.

His voice sharpened. "He shouldn't exist. And if he continues to grow… he could become a real threat."

The figure on the throne didn't move.

But the silence shifted — heavier now. Measured.

Then came the answer:

"Our plans may change."

It wasn't a warning. It was a fact.

The leader's tone never rose, but the weight behind the words pressed deep into the chamber.

"The Crown seems unstable. This tournament may reveal more than bloodlines and bravado."

A breath.

"And this Kazuo....He will soon know"

The kneeling figure tilted his head slightly. 

He already knows his name?

The thought came swift, quiet, respectful.

Of course he does. He knew all along. As expected.

The leader's voice grew softer — almost curious.

"A pawn moves only as it's told."

"A spark flickers, then fades."

"But something new…"

A pause, like the breath of an old forest.

"…something new chooses its own path."

"And choice, in a world built on obedience, is more dangerous than any sword."

"Right now he is a Walking Contradiction"

No more explanation followed.None was needed.

The kneeling figure lowered his head again. "Understood."

Then he rose, the cloak shifting silently as he turned. He walked back into the shadows without a word.

But just before he vanished, moonlight slanted across his face — catching his eyes for the briefest moment.

Eyes like blood and ash. Eyes kissed by the moonlight. Eyes no one in this world should have ever seen.

Back in the depths beneath the palace…

The underground field was lit only by ghost-torches — blue flame flickering along the walls like half-remembered memories. The floor was cracked in places, covered in frost, puddles, and steam. Night had fully fallen above, but down here, time bled out like sweat on stone.

Kazuo panted, knees low, hands on his thighs.

His uniform was soaked, not in blood but water — his own failed spells splashing back, the air thick with humidity and cold.

Setsuna stood across from him, relaxed as ever, spinning his sword loosely in one hand.

"You look like a fish gasping for air," he said.

Kazuo straightened, jaw clenched. "Still standing."

"Barely." Setsuna stopped the spin with a snap. "Again."

Kazuo raised one hand, breathing out slow.

"Water Magic: Water Shuriken!"

Three sharp disks formed, swirling with compressed pressure — steadier this time. Cleaner.

He launched them.

Setsuna didn't dodge.

He stepped forward and swept his sword sideways once.

The shuriken shattered into harmless mist.

Kazuo cursed under his breath.

Setsuna's eyes gleamed with that lazy sharpness. "Better. You didn't hesitate."

He took another step forward.

Kazuo reached deep — fingers trembling slightly.

"Arcane of Water: Vortex."

The torches flickered wildly as the air bent. Water pulled in from every direction, swirling around Kazuo in a rising spiral. The pool beneath their feet trembled.

He brought his arm forward.

The vortex launched — smaller than usual, but fast and tightly wound, controlled.

Setsuna smiled faintly.

"Now that…" he said, voice calm, "has potential."

Then he stabbed his sword into the floor.

"Arcane of Ice: Sheer Cold."

A silence fell.

Then a roar.

A blast of white exploded outward, not in force — but absence. Heat vanished. Light dimmed. Ice bloomed instantly across the walls, creeping like claws.

The vortex collided mid-air — water met void-frost.

Steam screamed. The room shook.

Kazuo dropped to one knee, shielding his face. His spell was holding, but barely. Threads of his magic peeled off, vanishing into the cold.

Setsuna didn't move.

"Focus," he called out through the mist. "Don't just push power. Shape it. Bind it to your intent."

Kazuo gritted his teeth. "Easy for you to say."

The mist settled slowly. Frost still crackled across the stone, hissing as it met leftover puddles. Kazuo's vortex faded at last, dropping harmlessly to the ground in a gentle spiral.

He was breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling.

Setsuna watched him for a long moment, then finally nodded once.

"…That's enough."

Kazuo blinked up. "What?"

Setsuna turned his back, already sheathing his blade. "I said that's enough. It's past midnight."

He looked toward the upper exit where a single torch burned with a paler blue flame than the rest.

"Tomorrow is the ceremony. No battles. Just pretty clothes, stiff wine, and forced smiles."

A pause.

"But you'll probably get a good look at your opponents."

Kazuo rose slowly to his feet, wiping his face with the edge of his sleeve. "Including Rulthan?"

Setsuna glanced over his shoulder. "Especially Rulthan."

Kazuo was quiet a moment.

Then: "Do you think I'm ready?"

Setsuna faced him again, his smile returning — lopsided, dry.

"No way."

Kazuo scowled.

"But," Setsuna added, stretching his arms lazily behind his head, "you might survive. Somewhat."

Kazuo exhaled, shaking his head. "Comforting."

Setsuna's tone shifted, just a touch more serious. "You've got good control over your Arcane spell now. Better than I expected."

Kazuo straightened a little.

"But don't stop here," Setsuna said, eyes sharpening. "Control it, yes — but don't just control it."

He stepped closer, tapping Kazuo once on the chest with the hilt of his sword.

"Master it."

The torches dimmed further as the cold receded.

Setsuna turned and started walking.

"Get some sleep, Kazu. You'll need it."

Kazuo didn't correct the nickname this time.

He just stood there, surrounded by frost and fading mist — the echo of battle still clinging to the stone.

Tomorrow, the stage would open.

And the world would start watching.

But before dawn touched the palace spires, Setsuna descended into the Lower Crescent — to pay a quiet visit to a certain man.