Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A weapon was only so much a weapon when it could be wielded and used. Otherwise, it was just furniture that took up space, just like a chair in a dining room; like a tool that sat in the bottom of the toolbox that only stayed so long as the possibility of its use still remained in the distant future.

Gira shook awake with no amount of effort, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his room. His body was numb to the cool chill as he sat up in his worn cot, soft feet landing atop the cold stone floors. 

He thought for a moment of a distant past: of soft wool blankets and stuffed animals by his bedside, and quickly shook away the thought as quick as he swallowed the sourness in his mouth. 

The familiar dullness sat in his stomach and the dreams of night were quickly blanketed over, muffled and shoved away into the darkest crevices of his mind. In a few hours, he would no longer remember such a dream. 

It was fine.

His room remained unchanged from the night before, except for the pot situated in the corner of his room that had been replaced, taken and cleaned while he slept. Similarly, a small plate of food sat innocently atop the cold stone floors, just within the cages he lived in. And next to it were freshly washed clothes, almost taunting in how pristinely white they were against the backdrop of the near black stones. 

Yet, no irritation flared, but only a dull ache. He thought of a time when things were simpler, though he could not remember such a period. Only the comforting whispers of Kuwagon kept him company in the bleak mornings.

‘You are sad, Little God,’ the Shugod said, their voice deep and resonant within Gira’s mind. 

Gira shook his head, even though he knew Kuwagon could not see it. Still, he could feel the faint amusement that rumbled through their bond.

“It’s nothing, Kuwagon,” Gira replied, his voice hardly above a whisper. It was raspy and weak. Weak, from little he spoke.

Kuwagon did not touch the topic any further, their presence receding in Gira’s mind. But they did not leave entirely. 

They suddenly said, ‘I sense my companions.’

Gira could feel the slight confusion of the Shugod through their bond. He glanced at the walls which he knew laid the outside world, and not for the first time, he wished desperately that he could see whatever that was there. He could hardly remember a time beyond the cold stone walls and the iron cages, yet he could answer with conviction that the sky was blue and the world outside was beautiful. He wanted to see it for himself—to confirm these faraway thoughts he had.

“You told me,” Gira thought for a moment as he tugged his worn boots onto his foot. “You told me that there was a prophecy.”

A long time ago, near the very beginning of his memory, Kuwagon, still foreign and yet so familiar, said something about a two-thousand-year-old prophecy that was to come to fruition soon. Something about…

What was it again?

‘The Bugnaraks are awakening and you must fight them, Little God,’ Kuwagon replied. 

And Gira, being the weapon he was, would finally be wielded after all these years of cruel isolation from everyone else. 

Kuwagon continued solemnly as if aware of Gira’s thoughts, ‘Though I wish for no battles to come upon us or my companions, I know very well that this is your purpose. For as long as there is no war, you shall remain in a cruel cage of confinement. And for that, I cannot regret the desire for their awakening.’

Something akin to warmth spread inside Gira’s chest. A smile curled on his lips and he stared at his cold loaf of bread, imagining Kuwagon’s face–whatever they looked like. “Thank you, Kuwagon,” he said.

‘It is my pleasure, my Little God.’ There was a pause as Kuwagon gathered their thoughts. ‘Though I have not heard from one of my companions in a very long time. I worry that something must have happened to them during all these years.’

Gira could hear the distant sound of fanfares outside and wondered if it had anything to do with Kuwagon’s companions’ arrival. But he worried more for Kuwagon, whose tone took a somber tone. “I’ve heard you have many companions…” he searched for his words, gathering his thoughts. “What are they like?”

‘Temperamental, ’ came the quick answer. ‘Prideful. Perhaps a little naive and easily blinded. It is no fault of them, however, as they wish nothing more than to serve their king, but this is a sentiment that I do not share with my companions.’

Gira hummed as Kuwagon spoke. “I wish I was naive and blinded like they were,” he complained. “If only then, maybe I wouldn’t find this so unpleasant.” 

If he could convince himself that his caged life of isolation was a noble way of serving his king, then perhaps things would have been much simpler and less painful. 

But it was clear that Kuwagon didn’t feel the same. ‘Do not wish for things you do not mean, Little God,’ they admonished. ‘You are lucky you hold such sentience. And I do, as well. Our pain only comes from our own awareness, and that is something you should not desire to lose.’

Gira felt the worry come through their bond, Kuwagon’s concern for him, and their displeasure of his entire predicament of being in a cage. “Alright.” he tried to appease the Shugod, and changed the topic. 

“Tell me more about the outside world. If just to pass the time. If your companions are coming, then that means something, won’t it? You might even be able to meet them if you want.”

But Kuwagon only chuckled emptily at Gira’s suggestion. ‘Silly Little God,’ they rumbled, not unkindly. ‘I do not have access to my physical body. I have not in a very long time. I reside within you for a reason, Little God, and that is why I remain as your companion and not the king’s.’

They continued, ‘But the world outside is vibrant as it is stunning, more than these dreary walls they’ve kept you in. You will one day come to see it, Little God, and you will no doubt find the beauty I have seen all those centuries ago.’

Gira bit his lips with uncertainty. “What if it never happens?” He asked nervously, biting his lips and glancing up at the empty ceiling in doubt. “What if the day never comes and I’m stuck here forever?”

‘You will not be. I will make sure of that.’ Kuwagon promised firmly. ‘I am not sure if I can communicate with my companions, but I will do everything in my power to assist you, Little God.’

“... Really?” Gira asked.

‘I promise.’

Gira awoke to the unusual rumbling of the castle, and he almost fell to the ground in surprise.

“W-what’s happening?” He scrambled up from his bed and hurriedly changed into the spare set of clothes that were left near the iron bars. Something niggled in his mind… something about being prepared.

‘The Bugnarak. They are coming,’ Kuwagon answered tersely, and his tone bled with worry and unease. ‘They are hostile, though I imagined as much, but I had hoped…’

“You hoped?” Gira tilted his head in confusion, pausing mid-movement. Shaking his head at the lack of answer, he continued to change, sparing little attention to the next few rumbles, each stronger than the one before.

‘The Bugnarak… I hoped–’  

Before Kuwagon could finish, something came barreling through the rock walls of his room, smashing the walls into pieces, and striking the dense iron bars so hard that the familiar cages were broken open.

Gira’s ears rang but from the sound or the destruction, he wasn’t so sure. His heart beat against his ribcage and something pumped through him. For the first time in so many years, he felt alive , almost like he was rechristened with new life. It didn’t matter that some of the debris hit him, cutting his skin open for blood to bleed. None of that mattered. Not when…

Behind him, something shone brightly—something so blindingly bright that he almost thought that someone was lighting something through the hole made by the projectile.

‘Look , Little God,’ Kuwagon breathed out, voice tender and warm. Nothing of his earlier unease was audible.

Gira’s heart thudded in his chest. He couldn’t believe his own eyes and it almost felt surreal. He was almost scared to go near, but oh , did he want to.

That’s not a light , he realized belatedly as he took small steps toward the hole in the wall. 

It was the world outside .

…

And it was hideous .

Gira hated the world he saw already. He was already sick of everything he was seeing.

The sky was a foreboding grey and not the bright blue he remembered. Dark clouds rumbled in warning as giant monsters loomed ahead, their slow and heavy movements leaving the ground shaking with every step. They were coming toward the castle, Gira realized.

The city below was in shambles and there was hardly an undamaged building in sight. He could hear screaming, too, grating against his sensitive ears that were far too used to silence. 

‘The prophecy has come to fruition,’ Kuwagon said. ‘It is your time, Little God.’

Gira glanced at the destroyed iron bars, wondering very briefly where to go. It seemed logical to leave through the wall, even at the risk of his own life. But something told him that he would be fine. Injured, perhaps, but alive.

Kuwagon agreed with his sentiments, who rumbled in concurrence in Gira’s mind. But the Shugod, with a worried tone, added, ‘Be careful, Little God.’

And without a moment to spare and a single thought made, Gira jumped from the high building, gulping at the sheer height he was dropping from. He cursed himself when he realized that the castle was situated in the sky, and most of all, there was no floor until much below where everyone was running and screaming.

He braced himself for the fall, for the pain, and maybe even the blackout that would come to pass. However, before his body could collide and his innards be pathetically splayed for everyone to see, he distantly heard Kuwagon let out a loud roar, and he felt himself stop meters above the ground.

“H-huh?” Gira blinked. He yelped when he abruptly fell to the ground, his thin body hitting the harsh cobblestones.

‘I’m sorry, Little God,’ he heard them say.

“It’s fine,” Gira brushed the Shugod off and gently peeled himself from the ground, wincing at holes in his trousers that revealed bright red blood from his scraped knee. 

‘I’m truly sorry…’ Kuwagon apologized profusely. ‘You must awaken me, Little God. It is the only way…’  

But Gira wasn’t listening to Kuwagon. He watched as someone in armor—someone in bright blue—fought against what he presumed was the Bugnarak. At the hum in confirmation from Kuwagon, he turned his attention back toward the warrior in blue, whose face was obscured in a mask. They slashed aggressively at the Bugnarak, who fell with a screech as dark black blood spurted out.

Gira didn’t know why his stomach twisted the way they did. He was a tool. He was supposed to be a weapon wielded by the king. He had to fight the Bugnarak, just like he was told to. By the king or not, it was what Kuwagon told him.

He winced when someone seemingly much stronger appeared, who heaved and flung the blue warrior toward the ground.

‘Tombokuri,’ Kuwagon murmured. ‘One of my companions.’

Gira blinked. “The warrior?” He asked, gesturing toward the fallen individual.

The same individual, who he realized was a man, seemed to have noticed Gira standing in the corner and started yelling something. But Gira wasn’t listening to him.

‘No, their Shugod. God Tombo serves him.’ There was a pause. ‘ You should be able to use the sword.’

It was only then that Gira noticed the sword lying innocently on the ground, with colorful switches and an elegant handle that could not be mistaken for anything less than a royal’s weapon. 

“What are you doing, idiot! Get the fuck out!” The man yelled, even as the scary looking monster began walking toward him.

But Gira paid attention to neither of them, who was more focused on the sword on the ground. He could feel it. It was something he wasn’t quite sure of, and not even Kuwagon seemed to understand, but they both knew that there was something with the sword. Something Gira could do.

He grabbed the sword from the ground and pointed it surprisingly steadily at the monster, shielding the blue warrior in the process. His mind felt calm despite how rapidly his heart beat against his chest.

“ Idiot ! Only kings can use it! Just get out!” The man yelled helplessly, shakily trying to climb back up.

The monster, on the other hand, was no longer interested in Gira’s action, and he began to swing his large axe forward, his thick body pulled taut with effort.

“Am I worthy to be a king?” Gira whispered, watching in almost slow motion as the axe fell.

Could a weapon be a king, a ruler of its people? Could Gira, who knew nothing more than the cold stone walls and the iron bars help the people who inhabited? He felt uncertain, but for freedom… to fight… he felt that he could. 

‘Of course you are,’ Kuwagon replied warmly, and Gira could almost feel the Shugod grinning at him.  

‘You are my Little God, after all.’

There was no time to blink as the axe flung away an impressive distance, hindered by the bright red light that engulfed Gira. The monster let out an ear-splitting shriek, and the surrounding Bugnaraks flinched at the light, some scattering away, some letting out a similar sound. The man, who had finally come to stand right behind Gira, let out a loud curse and instinctively shielded his eyes away.

Something happened but Gira wasn’t sure of it. He heard something–someone sound behind him, and he instinctively knew that it was Kuwagon flying right behind him, their body rechristened and alive more than ever. He felt the Shugod more than before, the mere connection they shared for all these years being nothing in comparison. And he felt Kuwagon guide his hand gently toward the red trigger on the sword.

‘You shall rule the world, Little God,’ Kuwagon murmured as Gira pulled the trigger.

“Royal Arms,” Gira—or was it Kuwagon?—Whispered. His eyes glowed red and his body lit up, briefly encased in gold. 

Before anyone could even blink, the gold shattered, revealing the red armor and the clear emblem of Shugoddam on his chest.

“What the fuck ,” the man in blue whispered.

Chapter Text

There was no time to waste as the blue man—who Gira learned was Yanma Gust—grabbed his injured frame and began dragging him toward Tombokuri, but only before being intercepted by a yellow praying mantis.

Gira could hardly blink as both he and Yanma were thrown into the Shugod by the impressively dexterous pincers.

“Ow, what the fuck !”  

There was a foreign voice. “How obscene .”

‘That’s Kamarina. God Kamakiri,’ Kuwagon belatedly explained. They gestured toward the blonde-haired woman in front of them, who pinned Yanma with a disapproving stare. ‘And that is who they serve.’

Quietly, Gira heard Kamarina hum in acknowledgement, saying something about returning to a place. This place…

“ Ishabana ?” Gira echoed.

Whatever the woman and Yanma were saying abruptly paused at the sound of Gira’s voice.

The woman looked pleased as she nodded. “At least they’re teaching you well in Shugoddam. You are correct…” she looked at him expectantly.

‘Your name,’ Kuwagon huffed in amusement after a beat of silence.

“Oh.” He blinked. “Gira.”

The woman tilted her head to the side, as if waiting for something more. “Just Gira?” She asked after a moment of silence.

“Not Gira Hastie, or something?” Yanma interjected with an eyebrow. He gave Gira a hard calculating stare.

The name rung a bell in his head. Gira could recall a faraway time when he was once called that: when the clothes he wore were as soft as the clouds, and the warmth of the sun basked his skin. He couldn’t remember anything else; it wasn’t much—maybe except a distant memory of a delicious jelly dessert and warm and affectionate hands.

“Gira Hastie… I think that’s right,” he nodded to himself. At the blank look from Yanma and the woman, he quickly added, though with a hint of unsureness, “At least, that’s what I think it is…”

‘A Hastie? That means you’re the king of Shugoddam!’ Kamarina quipped, chirping excitedly at the prospect. 

But Gira shook his head. “I’m not the king,” he told them. “I don’t know who it is, but I know it’s not me.”

He couldn’t be a king when he was trapped in an iron cage with dark stones for all these years with Kuwagon as his sole companion. But he couldn’t help but wonder who the king was; whether the king even knew of his existence. They must have; Gira had been given the occasional change of clothes and the tray of food. There was no way that they didn’t know he existed.

Kamarina made a soft sound of confusion at Gira’s words. ‘But Queen Himeno told me that there was only one Hastie and that was the king…’

At the same time, Yanma scowled and said, “We know that; duh .”

Gira blinked at the simultaneous sounds, his brain steaming in confusion as the words jumbled together. 

‘The blue king claimed to have known that you were not king,’ Kuwagon recapped.

“I know that,” Gira said. “But I couldn’t pick up on what Kamarina said.”

He waited for Kuwagon or even Kamarina to say something, and it was only after he looked up when a response didn’t come that he noticed the incredulous look on the two kings. Sometime as Gira waited, Yanma had scooted away, going closer toward Himeno.

“You’re insane,” Yanma declared shakily, looking pale and blue like his jacket. “You’re certifiably insane. There’s no doubt about that.”

But Himeno wasn’t quite sure. She processed what Gira had said and turned toward him, her eyes sharp and demanding. “Who were you speaking to? Who’s Kamarina?” She asked sharply.

Gira blinked in confusion. “I was speaking to Kuwagon,” he answered slowly. When they both looked at him blankly, he clarified, “God Kuwagata?” 

‘Silly Little God,’ Kuwagon said with mirth in their tone. ‘Others cannot communicate with us.’

“It’s a little late to tell me that, isn’t it?” Gira grumbled quietly, turning pink. Kuwagon huffed in amusement in response.

His conversation didn’t seem to reassure the two kings at all. They looked at him worriedly, though with a hint of interest. Particularly Himeno.

“You can understand them?” Himeno asked carefully with a neutral expression, but her excited tone betrayed how she actually felt. 

Gira nodded. 

Himeno paused. “And they have names?”

He thought the question to be quite stupid but he nodded in confirmation, more than a little scared of her wrath. “Of course,” he said.

There was silence with only the sound of Kamarina’s soft humming and the whirring of machines. Though, as Gira belatedly realized, no one else could probably hear the Shugod’s little tune. 

“I’ve decided,” Himeno suddenly said, jolting him from his thoughts. She gave him a smile. “I’ll make you mine.”

What-

“Hah?!” Yanma whipped his head around, jealousy evident in his face. “Why does he get to become yours?”

Himeno gave Yanma an unamused stare. “ That is the reason why,” she stated flatly, taking a step back. 

Gira thought he heard Yanma whimper.

“Plus,” Himeno continued, her smile replaced with an air of seriousness. “If Gira is truly a Hastie, then he needs to be dressed better than in the rags he’s in. Which reminds me–” she turned toward Gira. “If you are a Hastie, then where were you all this time? No one has ever spoken of another besides Racules.”

“Racules?” Gira cocked his head to the side. “He’s…”

A distant memory of eating a delicious jelly confection… the kind warmth of his hand on top of his head… a voice saying…

“Young master Racules, your father is calling for you.”

And Gira…

Gira watched as his… his…

His brother.

Gira’s hand shook as he stared at the scrapes on his knees, already scabbed and almost gone. Which wasn’t right. He was just injured hours ago… why was it already…

“My brother,” Gira found himself whispering hollowly. He felt Kuwagon, troubled by his distress, attempting to give him some sort of comfort. “I think,” he added unsurely, hoping that it was untrue. Yet, deep inside, he knew the truth. 

He thought of the Shugod.“Did you know?”

Yanma’s face twisted in confusion again. “How else could we have–”

“Shush!” Himeno covered Yanma’s mouth, her eyes sharp as she watched the shorter man.

But Gira didn’t notice the two. He waited for Kuwagon to respond.

‘... I did not, Little God. My memory is foggy and…’ Kuwagon’s tone took a frustrated turn. ‘ I cannot recall anything beyond my past and your confinement.’

“Oh,” said Gira, disappointed. “I see.”

‘I apologize.’

Himeno tilted her head to the side in curiosity. “What did he–or she say?” She asked.

“Kuwagon,” Gira corrected quietly. “They told me that they can’t remember anything. Sort of like me.” He added the last part quietly.

“I see,” Himeno said, then paused. “It could be a form of trauma. Repression of memories, perhaps. Or ,” she walked toward Gira and took his head into her hand, carefully rotating as though it was a globe. “Blunt force trauma resulting in damage of the brain, thus resulting in a loss of memories… Though it still doesn’t explain how God Kuwagata also doesn’t remember… Could it be that you and God Kuwagata are connected in some unique way?”

Gira shrugged. “Could be,” he said.

He wouldn’t be too surprised if that were the case. Being that no one else could understand the other Shugods—at least, to his knowledge. And in retrospect, it was even stranger that Kuwagon was able to converse with him to begin with. 

The ground below them shook and Kamarina chirped something that Gira couldn’t quite hear. But Himeno had walked toward what he presumed was the exit door, and so he imagined that they just arrived.

Himeno had a slight smug smile, beaming with pride and happiness as she turned to look at them. “Welcome to Ishabana, the country of beauty and health.” And the door slid open.

Gira gasped .

It… it was stunning .

Ishabana was even more stunning than Shugoddam—though in retrospect, the bar was low to begin with. In his mind where there was an idealized image of the world, this place was perhaps the closest to it. It was nothing like the broken ruins and the grey foreboding clouds of Shugoddam, nor the stench of smoke and blood that wafted the air. Instead, the environment smelt pleasantly fresh, of flower petals and the general feeling of cleanliness that Gira could easily appreciate.

Gira turned to Himeno with sparkling eyes. “It’s beautiful ,” he said in awe.

Himeno smiled. “I know,” she said haughtily. She paused to look at Yanma, who looked just as enraptured by the scenery and smiled. “Now then,” she straightened and clapped twice. “Sebastian!”

“What the fuck!” Yanma yelped as an old man—presumably ‘Sebastian—popped from the bushes nearby, his greying hair strangely pristine and his suit also.

“Lady Himeno,” Sebastian spoke warmly and bowed low and deep, then turned to glance at Yanma. “President Yanma,” he greeted cordially. But he paused when his gaze landed on Gira.

Feeling more than a little self-conscious, Gira took a step back. He imagined he looked quite the mess: his hair, choppily cut and dull from the years spent trapped, and his skin a sickly pale shade for similar reasons. His clothes were cheap and simply-made, which wasn’t bad to begin with, but scuffed and stained from what happened in Shugoddam.

But Sebastian didn’t seem to mind that much and instead turned to Himeno with a questioning look. “And this is…”

“Gira,” Himeno answered. “Now! I need him to be cleaned up. Royalty or not, we must maintain beauty and most of all, health at all costs.” She clapped twice at the end of her speech and five more people popped from the same bush. “I need you all to give Gira a makeover. Make him befitting of a guest of our most prideful Ishabana.”

“ Yes, your highness !” The maids chirped.

Gira looked around, realizing that Yanma had suddenly teleported to stand right beside Himeno, his smile gleeful as the maids began to step forward. 

“ Huh ?” 

In his head, Kuwagon huffed in amusement.

Gira didn’t know what to do as the maids—albeit very gently, but no less demandingly, shoved him into the largest bathtub he had ever seen in his life. 

Surrounded by floral scents and a pleasant warmth, he felt as though he was about to fall asleep. But before his eyes could completely droop closed, the maids appeared again, this time, to drag him out of the bathtub.

“A side part would look nice on him,” one of them said.

Another hummed. “But it would look too similar to the king of Shugoddam.” 

“He does look awfully similar to him, doesn’t he?”

“I love your red highlights! Are they natural or did you dye them yourself?”

Gira blinked, surprised at the sudden question. “I, uh–”

“Nevermind that,” the same maid cut in, her expression morphing into something more intimidating. “How could you let your hair get to such a point? They’re completely dry! Almost dead!”

Another maid nodded vigorously. “You’re lucky you’re at Ishabana. Anywhere else and it would have been a lost cause.”

“ Lost cause?” Gira squeaked.

But the maids continued as though they didn’t hear him. “A middle part looks nice, doesn’t it?”

“Refreshing and simple. I like it!”

“Oh, and I’m certain that Lady Himeno will love it as well!”

In the end, Gira was pulled around, thrown from one end of the castle to the next, and at one point, getting his hair done (or “fixed”, as the maids so eloquently dubbed), then getting fitted for clothes at the next. 

His opinion was completely ignored after choosing the third bland brown boots and the simplest white linen shirts he could spot—which were few and far inbetween. 

Gira wasn’t really sure what to do anymore. Fortunately, the maids seemed excited to do it all for him. 

“Would a button-up such as this be a little… too similar to one of Sebastian’s?”

“Don’t be kidding! Pintuck shirts are absolutely in with the young adult male population!”

“Hm,” one of them hummed, giving Gira a hard look. She nodded at herself. “How about a double-breasted vest, rather than a single-breast?”

“Good idea!”

Gira wished Kuwagon would stop laughing every time his face scrunched up in confusion.

The sun had completely set once Gira was finished, and he was quietly escorted off to be seen by Lady Himeno, who was (allegedly) being accompanied by ‘that brute’ President Yanma, to which the maids made scathing comments that had him turning a bit blue like the man’s armor.

If there was one lesson he learned, it was to never anger anyone in Ishabana. He didn’t think anyone would find his body, much less him alive if he did…

He snapped out of his thoughts when one of the maids stopped in front of the door. Gira, not paying any attention, almost fell if not for the quick hands grabbing him.

“T-thank you…” Gira stuttered, turning slightly red. 

“No worries,” the maid answered with a bright smile. “It would do no good to put a single wrinkle on your new clothes before Lady Himeno sees them.”

The fact that Gira had yet to see his own appearance was left unsaid. The maids, seemingly forgetting this fact (or uncaring of it) and Gira being too scared to say anything and be faced with their wrath.

Gira wasn’t sure what any of the reactions meant when the doors opened. Himeno blanched, blinking several times, before giving the maids a smile that was borderlining on smug and proud. He couldn’t see the maids’ expressions, though he imagined that they looked just as proud… uh… however he looked. He just hoped he didn’t look too different. 

Yanma let out a low whistle and gave Himeno a look that was almost lovestruck. “You’re amazing .”

Himeno didn’t even look at Yanma as she gave a soft sniff. “Of course. I expect nothing less from them,” she said proudly. She then turned to Gira and gave him a smile. “You cleaned up well,” and pulled out a mirror.

Gira didn’t bother asking where the mirror came from. None of it seemed to matter anyway, as he stared at himself in surprise.

Gone were the choppy hair, a product of his time spent in a cage, and in its place was his hair, neatly combed to part at the middle, his bangs stopping near his cheeks while the rest of his hair stopped at the bottom of his nape. For the first time, he noticed how vibrant the red streaks in his hair were and how they shined underneath the bright lights.

The clothes, admittedly, looked great as they felt. Gira could only vaguely recall a time long past where he once wore finery as soft as these. The shirt was simple, but evidently well-made, with black and red ribbons accenting his attire.

“ Wow… ” he blinked. 

Himeno smiled. “I would have liked you to wear something a bit more to your station, though I think this will do for now,” she said.

Yanma seemed to agree, who circled Gira once and gave him a grin. “Anything’s better than what you wore before.”

“H-hey!” Gira gave Yanma an indignant look. “My clothes weren’t that bad…” he trailed off when he saw the look on Himeno. He backtracked, “Okay, they were kind of bad…” 

“Bad would be an understatement,” Himeno sniffed. “ Now . I think it’s time for dinner.”

Gira stumbled over his new boots in an effort to follow Himeno, Yanma trailing right behind her. 

Kuwagon chirped, evidently happy with something, and Gira couldn’t help but share the same sentiment.