Chapter Text
The streets of Hanoi felt hot and humid as Niran made his way through the busy crowds of the city. The motel should be around here, somewhere , he thought to himself, sweat drying out his skin in the endless heat.
He had forced himself out of his usual, glamorous gear before his escape from Vishkar, trying to attract as little attention to himself as possible - he found himself regretting that now, the beige button-down shirt pressing uncomfortably against his skin. He missed the light, airy fabric he wore at the academy, and through that almost Vishkar itself.
No.
He didn’t miss Vishkar, would never miss Vishkar, and would never even lie about missing Vishkar. He missed his family, his friends… he missed Satya. Oh, Satya. How was she doing, he wondered? Ever so joyous she’s now free from her mess of a roommate? A likely case.
Sigh.
His inner thoughts of nostalgia were soon interrupted by an extremely physical reality check. Before even realising what had happened, Niran’s towering body lay on the dirt pavement, looking up at the blue sky, the bright sun of Hanoi staring right back at him. The crowds of people kept going on about their lives - blissfully ignorant of the man on the ground. He squeezed his brown eyes shut for but a moment.
He opened them again.
A stranger lay there next to him, their head hooded and face covered by a stained cloak. Niran turned to his side and reached his hand towards the shrouded figure, attempting to remove the hood. Said attempt failed as the figure hurriedly stood up, soon lifting Niran up as well.
Niran resisted to smile at their height difference - it had been a while since he stood face-to-cloaked-face with someone, and he’d almost forgotten his own height.
The stranger in turn didn’t say much, only murmured two words in a deep, raspy voice.
“My apologies.”
With that, they walked off without even giving Niran a chance to forgive them. Not that they needed forgiveness of course – he just found it amusing. He brushed some dirt off his shirt, still staring after the fleeting stranger, who had now disappeared behind a corner. Where are they off to , he wondered, his thick brows lifted with bemusement.
Only a few seconds later would the answer come pushing Niran to the side of the busy street, prancing after the escapee: three equally as covered figures, with none of their features visible. Each one walked in that same extensive hurry the preceding stranger did as well, leaving Niran especially suspicious.
So, – naturally – he decided to follow them.
It didn’t prove particularly hard to follow three extremely dubious figures through the crowds, despite how busy they appeared to be. After a multitude of turns and a couple of confused looks on where to go, Niran reached the polite stranger from before. Albeit he was not the first.
“...will be a satisfaction to the clan. Surrender now, and die with whatever honour you have left.” A toneless voice declared. Belonging to one of the three men, Niran assumed.
“I have none. I refuse to be defeated while I still seek redemption.”
Niran recognised the murky voice from before.
He peeked from behind the cemented wall where he stood: the alley ahead was a dead end, with the gloomy stranger having nowhere to go. They were outnumbered three to one, with nothing in their hands but a mere bow – a longbow at that. Niran didn’t claim weaponry to be in his area of expertise, but the use of a long-ranged weapon seemed near impractical in close combat.
“Your redemption can only be achieved through blood,” the unemotional voice spoke up again. “Let it bleed quick and painless.”
Niran lingered there, unsure on what to do. Should he step in? Send out some of his thorns towards the three men? He didn’t want to start a fight, even if the threat of one was present; he avoided violence where he could. But he couldn’t leave either, not really. Where he avoided violence, Niran avoided unnecessary deaths as well – despite how difficult Vishkar proved that ideality to be. Quietly tapping his prosthetic finger on the cement, he surveyed the situation – the stranger – for any kind of sign on how to proceed.
At that moment, the cloaked figure looked past the three men cornerning them, their dark eyes finding Niran’s. Their gaze carried itself with a lingering sadness, yet in that moment they were calm. Certain. Confident. They knew what to do. And so did Niran.
As flashing steel revealed itself from one of the men’s pockets, Niran stepped out into the alley, carrying himself with the energy of an old friend.
“There you are!” he shouted, a joyous echo travelling its way through the backstreet. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
All three men turned to look at him, visibly caught awry. In the blink of an eye, one of them lay lifelessly on the ground, a sharp arrow pointing out of his forehead. The sight of blood oozing out onto the pavement sent a shiver down Niran’s spine, but he kept his posture and held it together. It’s not your first time seeing the stuff , he reminded himself. Not that it ever was pleasant.
After a couple of aggravated shouts and baleful threats, the two men jumped on the cloaked figure, eager to dig their knives into the stranger’s flesh.
For a moment, it was a hassle of blood and dust. Niran didn’t know exactly how else to help, except try to pull either of the men off the stranger. After some struggling and hopping around the pile of brawlers, he managed to do just that, throwing the smaller of the two against a brick wall, momentarily stunning the man.
The stranger in the meantime continued their struggle with the other man. They sat on top of him, stopping a couple of blows from him with their bow, and slamming it against his face in retaliation. After a couple of missed swipes from the man, the stranger managed to kick the knife away from him, leaving him entirely vulnerable.
Niran pushed some dirt off his trousers before making his way towards the two figures, ready to help the stranger get off their now-harmless opponent. More blood needn’t be spilled, he sighed to himself in relief. The piles of it on the ground made the fight gruesome enough already–
He watched as the stranger whipped a knife of their own from the belt around their waist, stabbing it right into the throat of the man beneath them.
Ah.
Niran stood there, rather bewildered, staring at the murder scene in front of him. He watched as the (potentially dangerous) figure stood up and walked up to the man who was still alive despite everything. They lifted his body up by the throat and pushed him against the wall. The man was conscious albeit terrified, heavy tears rolling down his face before the stranger. Niran kept quiet as the scene unfolded.
“Send the clan a message,” the stranger proclaimed. “The fires of a Shimada dragon will not be smothered with mere sand and water. I will not die .”
Delightful.
Niran observed, as the stranger – revealed to be a Shimada – let go of the hooded man, who, in both tears and a hurry, pushed past Niran to escape the alleyway.
The stranger’s hood had fallen off amidst the struggle. A rather messy ponytail of pitch-black hair revealed itself, with the sideburns bordering on dark grey. As the man turned around to face Niran, he took note of his bushy beard and pointy eyebrows, equally as dark as his locks. An unwelcoming look on most, but on the stranger they complimented his sharp features. His eyes were slim and eyebags deep – a likely story of an insomniac, Niran mused.
The two of them stood there in silence for some time, one looking at the other with no words needed to be said. In truth, Niran didn’t know what he could even say. He’d just witnessed the man before him kill two people and spout some poetic shit at a third, willing to let that person go. He was left wondering whether he’d be spared like the latter man, or butchered like the former two. He couldn’t help but glance at the dead body next to them, at the puddle of crimson already drying under the harsh sun of Vietnam.
As he stared at the man before him, he noticed more blood dripping to the ground. Not from the corpses surrounding them, but from the stranger himself. The cloak around his body had been torn near his chest, a gaping wound revealing itself from under it. Without waiting for an invitation or a permission, Niran made his way towards the stranger. He knew what to do – again.
“Let me see,” he said with a firm tone, gesturing towards the bleeding wound. He figured if the stranger wanted him dead, he would be lying on the ground with the two other men. No harm in helping, in that case.
The stranger stared at him, visibly baffled at the sudden request presented to him. Niran witnessed the man go through a variety of different emotions, from looking around the very empty alleyway to find anyone else he could mean, to actually scoffing in frustration when he figured out Niran specifically meant him .
He didn’t object to the request however, and soon the man lifted his cloak to reveal… bare skin? His left side of the chest was exposed and out in the open, without any sort of armour or basic clothing to protect it. A shallow wound made its way down his ribcage, forming interlocked paths of crimson in doing so.
The two of them sat down on the pavement, allowing Niran to take a proper look at the injury.
Nothing too grave, he figured with relief. Forming a light lotus on his hand, he asked the stranger to stay still and not to make any sudden moves. At this the man scoffed again, this time whilst rolling his eyes.
“It is but a scratch,” he argued. “There is no need for you to waste your time on this.”
“Treating scratches is what I’m best at,” Niran countered with a smile. To this the man said nothing, only letting out a small puff of air as he admitted himself defeated. No use in arguing over getting treatment, Niran supposed. As he caressed the open wound with his biolight, he noticed the stranger peering at his innovation.
“Hard light?” he asked with thought. Niran nodded in response. The stranger let out a silent humph, unaccompanied by disapproval, but Niran could still smell the following statement from a mile away. “You are from Vishkar, then.”
“ Were ,” he clarified. “I was too much of a nuisance for them to keep up with, so I took my research and left.”
“Research?”
Niran lifted the glowing flower off the wound with his prosthesis, a witty smile on his face. “Healing biolight,” he elucidated. “It’s still just a prototype, but I’m hoping to advance medical science with it.”
“I see.”
Niran could almost taste the suspicion flowing off the stranger’s tone; he didn’t trust him. Niran wouldn’t trust another Vishkar scientist either - except for maybe Satya. He kept quiet, descending his gaze and focusing on the wound. He couldn’t help but chuckle in marvel as the biolight – his biolight – weaved the cells of the stranger together.
“I’m on the run,” he confessed after a moment of silence, giddy to explain his “dangerous” life to someone. He hadn’t attempted to make any sort of connections after his escape from the Academy, afraid he’d expose himself too quickly. Vishkar had all of the neighbouring countries under their abnormally straightened thumb, but a Shimada wouldn’t have any strings attached to the corporation, would they?
“Vishkar wants my biolight to advance their own image, but I disagree. It should be shared with the world, don’t you agree?”
He let go of the stranger’s chest, now kneeling right in front of him.
The man placed his hand on the wound, noticing no outer scarring from the fight. He kept quiet for a moment, before nodding in agreement.
“Yes,” he began, a shadow of a smile forming at the tips of his thin lips. “It appears to be… practical.”
“Thank you!”
The man hummed in alleged satisfaction. He traced his now-nonexistent wound one last time before getting on his feet and grabbing his bow. Niran assumed the stranger would take his leave soon, so he, too, gathered himself and stood up, pushing strands of his blond hair behind his broad shoulders. The lotus on his hand faded away as embers of hard light, disappearing into thin air.
He watched as the man, instead of thanking Niran with his words, proceeded to give him a small, yet polite bow. Nothing too dramatic, fortunately, but Niran appreciated the gesture nonetheless.
“So, what about you?” Niran decided to probe, undeniably intrigued. “Why did those men chase you?”
“It should not concern you.”
“Perhaps not,” Niran noted, a gentle smile on his face, “But it wouldn’t hurt to know, would it?” It really wouldn’t, he assumed. Whatever organisation was after the begrudged stranger before him, he surmised they wouldn’t have longer of a reach than Vishkar – and even his all-seeing corporation couldn’t reach the narrow backstreets of Hanoi.
“Yes,” the man answered boldly. “It would.”
A terrible lie , Niran thought, but he didn’t want to push the topic at hand farther than this, lest he wanted the already shut-off stranger to flee from him entirely. He kept his distance, but still indisputably craved for more information. “May I at least know your name? I’d hate to remember you as the “random man” I saved “that one day”.”
“Only a fool would reveal their name to a stranger.”
“Only a fool?”
“Just so.”
“Just so…” Niran repeated, his tone hushed. “My name is Niran.”
The man said nothing, only gave that same, familiar scoff he’d targeted at Niran twice already. His hold on the bow in his hand tightened, and soon enough he pushed past Niran to leave the alleyway entirely. The silence between them was thick enough to be sliced with a knife, yet Niran felt comfortable. At peace. He didn’t have the need to say anything like he almost always did, all he felt the need to do was feel the air slightly swift as the stranger passed his still figure, his mouth formed into that same, gentle smile.
He laughed. Maybe he really was ‘only’ a fool.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone realised that of him.