Shinkai - The Eyes That Shouldn't Exist

The royal garden smelled of ash and violets.

It was said that nothing ever truly died in Yurelda, but the truth was that even beauty had a half-life here. The petals drooped under unnatural light, fed by soil imported from the north and watered with alchemical mixtures meant to simulate the seasons. The air was too still. The flowers too obedient.

King Cedric sat beneath the stone archway, golden wings folded neatly behind him like twin blades of living flame. Not mere ornamentation, but the flesh-born mark of his lineage — broad, veined, and radiant, shimmering with an otherworldly sheen. Each wing curved with predatory grace, the gold tinged faintly with iridescent green near the joints. His hands rested on a cane he didn't need — a symbol more than a support. The veins of green-gold running through its shaft pulsed faintly, as if it breathed with him. His eyes, once the envy of the royal court, were a luminous gold — pure and unchallenged. The kind of eyes people bowed to without question.

Across from him, his daughter did not sit.

Lady Elyria stood among the violet trees, fingers brushing the brittle petals. Her silver hair shimmered in the dome's artificial sunlight. The silence between them was not hostile, but carefully measured — the sort that only royalty and enemies practiced well.

"You're distracted," Cedric said, not unkindly.

"I'm thinking."

He watched her for a moment. "About the unrest in the Crescent?"

"No."

Cedric tilted his head. "Then about what?"

She didn't turn. "A boy."

A pause. Not long. But long enough for the entire chamber to feel it.

"A boy?" Cedric repeated, voice unchanged.

"Black hair. Dirty cloak. Two different eyes — one green, the other black. I don't understand how that's possible."

Another pause.

"He was eating a pear," she added. "And then he looked at me."

Cedric's grip on the cane shifted — just slightly. The pulse in the staff brightened.

"And what did you see?"

She finally turned to face him. Her expression was calm, but her voice had dropped into something soft. "Someone who wants to belong."

Cedric said nothing.

"He didn't look like a threat. But he didn't look like anyone else, either. His eyes weren't afraid of me."

"They should have been."

She flinched. Not visibly. But her breath skipped.

Cedric stood slowly. His wings unfurled, just enough to cast a shadow across the roses. "In this city, eyes are truth. And truth must be controlled."

Elyria's jaw tightened. "That's not what you used to say."

"That was before people began questioning which truths should live."

He turned from her, gaze sweeping across the garden dome. Somewhere above, the towers of Yurelda caught the morning sun like spears.

"Forget the boy," Cedric said.

"But—"

"Forget him."

A beat of silence.

Then: "Yes, Father."

She bowed slightly, and when she rose, her face was still. Perfectly composed. Royal.

When she left the chamber, Cedric waited.

Waited until the guards outside had returned to attention.

Waited until the last petal stopped trembling in her wake.

Then he tapped the base of his cane twice.

A thin shimmer passed through the garden. From behind the farthest tree, a cloaked figure emerged — neither fairy nor elf, but something in between, masked and silent.

Cedric did not look at him.

"There's a face," he said quietly. "A green eye... and a black one. That's impossible. That should not exist."

The figure tilted its head.

Cedric's voice was cold now.

"One eye noble. One eye enslaved. If anyone else sees him — truly sees him — the system cracks. I want him gone."

The figure bowed once.

Then vanished.

The Crescent always smelled worse after rain.

Water pooled in uneven cobblestones, soaking trash and ash into one gray, sloshing soup. Flies gathered where people couldn't afford shoes. Steam curled from food carts and sewage vents alike, making it impossible to tell hunger from sickness.

Kazuo didn't mind.

This was the part of Yurelda where no one looked too long at your face — or your eyes.

Rei walked beside him, chewing on a grilled onion skewer with the smug look of someone who'd paid with charm instead of coin.

"You're unusually quiet," Rei said, mouth full. "Girl problems?"

Kazuo didn't answer. He kept his hood low and his gaze lower. Every step felt like it echoed wrong. The crowd was normal — loud, tense, angry. But something underneath had shifted. Like the city was watching itself more closely than usual.

He'd felt it since morning — the feeling of being watched. Not by vendors or guards, but by someone who moved with intent. Someone who didn't belong.

Gramps had once said: "When you feel the air hesitate, someone's drawn a blade with your name on it."

They turned down a side lane near the dye market, where colorful fabrics hung like drying tongues between rusted balconies. That's when it happened.

A boy no older than ten came barreling out of a fruit stall, clutching something wrapped in cloth. Behind him, a burly vendor shouted and gave chase.

"Thief!" the man roared. "Little rat took it!"

The crowd did what it always did — pretended not to see. Some made space. Others stepped back into the shadows.

The boy ran straight toward Kazuo.

Their eyes met for a half-second. Not in fear — in apology.

Kazuo shifted.

Too late.

A second man — not the vendor — lunged from the crowd. He wasn't dressed like a local. His cloak was uniform-cut, too clean for this part of town. His movement was wrong — precise, trained.

The boy slammed into Kazuo's side as the attacker drew a blade.

Rei swore and ducked back — then immediately flanked Kazuo's side, hand on his dagger. "You've got two seconds to pick the wrong fight, buddy."

Kazuo reacted instantly. The sword at his side snapped free in one smooth motion. Metal clanged as he parried the first blow and twisted, letting the attacker's weight carry him forward. Sparks flew from the cobblestones.

The boy vanished into the crowd.

The attacker hissed and stepped back, drawing something from beneath his cloak — a faintly glowing blue relic.

Kazuo's breath caught. That mark — it belonged to the Crown's agents.

The man raised the artifact, light racing up his arm like lightning veins.

Kazuo didn't wait.

He called to the element he knew best.