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“So you decided after all?”
“Yeah…”
Izuku nods, feeling his throat close up from seeing the slight tremble of the girl’s hands. Ochako pauses for one moment, and a light chime of her earrings resonates with the birdsong that covers the clearing.
When Ochako turns to look at him, Izuku, above all, wishes he could ask her to stop smiling. To honour the pain both of them are going through.
Sunlight caresses her cheeks, and the small bird sits in her hair, enjoying the warmth. The bird’s singing strikes Izuku to his heart as he recognizes this as the last time hearing the forest chant of his home. The clearing at the top of the Hill of Repose smells of lush grass and honey as it has always done. At the peak of the summer season, the flower buds are as striking in their colours as the ones embroidered on the long skirt covering Ochako’s legs.
Ochako keeps the smile. Her eyes are a mirror of endless sorrow and a wish to hide behind a mask. She wants to look happy for him, supportive. But they know each other too well. She sighs and closes her eyes, taking a bloomed flower off the branch above.
“Are you sure? Adventures like this are dangerous, you know it.”
People don’t come back, she means. You may be one of them.
The fingers clench around the gentle flower, before it falls to the bottom of the wicker basket. Ochako softly rearranges the buds that bloomed so bright and fleeting, all for humans’ sake. Soon enough, they will become the sweetest syrup and adorn the table for celebrations.
“It is my decision. I will not take it back.” Izuku lowers his head. The ocean seems far away from here, but he still feels the whisper of the breeze in his hair. Day by day, its call gets louder. “I can’t let him go alone. We..”
We don’t belong here, Izuku thinks. He seals his lips shut.
Ochako will object, but she has no way to understand.
Uraraka feeds the bird that sweeps down from the treetop. She is in harmony here. Found herself in the boundless hills and valleys. The back of her shoulder bears the lines that fall into a gentle hummingbird in ink, forever set under skin. Ochako is the youthful queen of the forests and hills. She is fortunate not to understand the lost one’s soul.
She will never understand life without knowing your place. Izuku is sincerely happy for her, and his heart still aches from their inevitable parting.
Ochako lowers to her knees to where he is sitting, and her silken skirt lies on the grass with barely a rustle. Warm palms envelop his face, brown eyes full of pain meet his, but her smiling lips are so sincere and gentle. Only now does Izuku understand the true depth of his love for her.
“I believe in you. The skies were always so kind to you after all,” Ochako huffs quietly, as if they were again kids and she chides him like an older sister. “But I want you to remember one thing, Izuku.”
Her eyes are so close, and Izuku feels his own fill up with tears. Fingers on his cheeks hold him firmer, and their foreheads touch.
“Remember that you are always welcome home. We will accept you as you are. You are so loved. I love you, you hear?”
His eyelashes tremble, and they cover each other’s faces and hands with stuttered breaths as they both whisper the promises and final words.
Somewhere deep inside, Izuku knows – Ochako does not believe that he would return alive. He dares not to blame her.
Lighting up his last lanterns on the island, Izuku feels the heat of the flame as never before.
The evening greets him with a chilly scent of seasalt and the cicadas singing. Midoriya holds on to a thick candle and adjusts the wide sleeve of his shirt as he reaches up to the lamp by the road.
His whole life he has dedicated to this. A boy from the Ancestors Temple who, each night, lights up the lanterns on the temple path. Sometimes it seemed like the craft had no sense at all.
His job is considered one of the most respected for its proximity to the spirits and the indisputable contribution to history. However, even when Izuku felt this flutter at the bottom of his chest with each step closer to the temple, he did not feel a sense of purpose.
Taking barefooted steps in the warm sand and covering the candle flame with his palm, Izuku tried to hold his head high. This is the last time he makes the way to pay respects to the spirits on this island – the last day he will stand as a boy in front of them and ask for what they cannot give. His whole life, Izuku so desperately prayed and asked for answers without understanding that the world works in a different way.
Yagi – one of the elders – as always, sits deep in meditation as he waits for Izuku. Behind the old man’s back is the wall that holds chronicles hewn by so many generations in the stone. Drawings in clay, in blood, etched in flint or else – history of so many in pictures and inscriptions, indecipherable signs, handprints and amulet imprints. The most precious treasure this island has. Memory.
Izuku loves this place. Never once did he fail to feel familial warmth here, the feeling of pride and reverence before the history of his lineage that lit up nightly and brought his shoulders wider.
The old man sits with his legs crossed and his wrists settled on his knees, and his breath comes noisily through his nose as the bare feet patter with small steps to the lanterns by the wall. The candlelight gladly jumps to the new wick and settles cozily in the new place with a quiet hiss. Izuku lights up all the lanterns before the sun sets and pauses to settle his gaze on the wall.
He lowers to his knees and touches his forehead to the stone, warmed by the sultry summer day. He greets the spirits and silently asks for forgiveness for everything he hasn’t gotten to do right before tonight. His fingers, covered in small burns from melted wax, fold together in his lap as Izuku’s eyelids cover the burning chaos of malachite eyes.
Only then does the elder’s gaze fall on him. Izuku knows that his teacher likes observing the moments when others connect with the spirits. He sees it as an invaluable honour, recognizing each time as unique, never to repeat again. The old man always greets these moments with a smile.
Toshinori Yagi breathes deeply, and his airways give out a low wheeze. Anyone can hear as the mucus comes up to his throat with each exhale – the incurable poison of age crawls deeper and deeper within his body, ruthlessly taking more and more flesh between its teeth. One of the most unbearable thoughts in Izuku’s head whispers to him that the teacher might not live long enough to see him return. The talks with his mother and his teacher he feared the most. They are the dearest people he has, and he is terrified of what he might do if he sees either of them cry.
But the old man watches him with a gentle smile, flexing his sandy toes slightly. He wets his chapped lips, and the mighty eyebrows crease in an expression of unspeakable tenderness towards the young man before him.
“You are leaving us, my boy,” he says in a husky voice, and a tremor goes down Izuku’s spine. “I will be praying to protectors of the skies and the seas for you. May the wind blow in your favour.”
Izuku can only keep his eyes closed and nod in gratitude. All the symbols on the wall, it seems, are already burned into the back of his eyelids, and they dance before him in the dark. Tonight, Izuku intends to let them all in, to pay tribute to every single soul that raised him in this holy place.
“How fast the good kids grow,” the elder continues slowly, lowering his heavy head. “That rascal Katsuki persuaded you after all… I remember him so young, so scared of the silhouettes behind my back, hiding behind his mother’s skirt. I believed he would make a good leader for this place; he was born for it, but oh well…” Yagi wheezes out a laugh while the lights around them dance, casting sharper shadows. “The small rebel grows up, discards all my lessons, and now steals my only worthy successor.”
Izuku wants to interrupt, to prove to his teacher that Katsuki is not how he seems at all. He wishes he could express the depth of the love Katsuki holds for his home, to tell of all the pain hiding inside the hot, courageous heart. He sits there, torn apart by the craving to justify every harsh word Katsuki ever said towards his teacher.
He keeps quiet. Elder Yagi knows it all anyway.
He didn’t live his years in vain. At least the emotions of a boy who practically grew up in his arms he could read.
When Izuku is done with prayer, he opens his eyes to the man’s smile. The firelight dances across the older face, the thinning skin around the bony face and eyes set so deep you barely see their colour. Izuku feels a regretful pang, a light pressure in his throat. He sits there and regrets his decision to go. But the elder’s eyes don’t hold any pain or remorse – only quiet pride and this indescribable look a wise madman having lived through so much has. Long fingers reach out and beckon him forward.
“Come closer,” Yagi calls.
When the elder takes Izuku’s hand in his, his skin gets a rush of heat, and goosebumps cover him in a wave from fingertips up to his shoulder and down his back. Elder Yagi rarely touches others. He does it during rare ceremonies – gives his life force to those in need and the newborn children. Or he grants a speck on his inner peace to the deceased.
Toshinori Yagi holds Izuku’s hand, traces his finger along his palm, studying it. Izuku has a difficult time holding back a tremor.
“I know, my friend, I know. You don’t have to tell me a word anymore today. I know it is hard, but this island is not the place for you.”
This man knows everything. If he wanted to, he could tell the world so many secrets, shed light on old mysteries… But he chooses to talk only to Izuku. Quietly, interrupting his speech with an occasional cough and a raspy sigh, he shares what goes on in the old, tired soul of his.
“You will surely find the right place. You will find the patron who will accept you in equal measure to you accepting his spirit in yourself. Despite my sincerest wishes, this island does not house a spirit that would be an equal to you. Your soul is deeper than the ocean, my boy.”
Izuku stares at his own palm as a small vial settles on it – the glass warmed by another’s hand seems so familiar and dear. The elder closes his palm around the vial full of dark liquid and presses Izuku's hand into a fist.
“And when you find that place, I want you to have the best ink to mark the occasion. Katsuki isn’t as skillful as his mother when it comes to marking, but he'd better give it his best or the old man will come after his poor soul,” Toshinori laughs, while Izuku still stares at his hand. At the most expensive, the dearest gift he was ever given.
It is a tradition of the island. The belief that the debt we are born with is repaid once we find the true purpose and spend our life doing it. A patron spirit governs every movement and every place in the world. Once you find your place and calling, you find yourself truly – you get a chance to live fully. And when you allow your patron spirit in your body through the ink mark, you get freedom and the right to be reborn in your next life.
Having completed his purpose in this life, a happy man is reborn in the form of his patron spirit in the next life to give this purpose to another young soul.
Izuku failed to find himself on the island. Even though his home is large, from the mountain's snowpeak to the coral reefs, there wasn't anything that gave him freedom. And the whisper of the stars, the call of the ocean day by day sound louder and louder in his head.
The elder looks in his eyes and sees the sorrow there, the fear, but his eyes don’t mirror the hesitation. His fingers grab the sleeves of Izuku’s shirt and hold so tightly, so surely.
“There will be no more a boy lighting up lanterns on the way to the temple,” he cuts mercilessly. “The one to return will be a man, the son of the sky, who will be remembered as one of the greatest people to walk the earth. This man will be the one to unite the endless planes of deep water and the clearest heaven, will bring together darkness and the light, becoming the kind patron of the children walking this blooming earth while still living his first life. You will be this man,” Toshinori says. The prophecy falls off his lips as a heavy hymn. Izuku breathes in through his mouth and blinks rapidly. In that moment, he recognizes that Yagi knows what symbol will be on his body then. If he just had the guts to ask…
But in becoming the successor of the main elder, he learned that some silly questions are not worth asking.
“And when you return,” Toshinori assures him, “I will be the first to greet you back with my song. I will strain my voice with an anthem in your honour.”
Izuku squeezes the man in a violent hug, threatening to crack his bones, and weeps. Yes, receiving an elder’s divination is the highest honour, but he is so far from the man of the prophecy. Right now, he is a naive young boy. The diving woman’s son, who allows himself fat tears and a cracking voice, the bitterness on his tongue. Toshinori sighs, enveloping the boy with one hand and gently patting his hair. Blood and phlegm rolling over in his throat imitate the sound of waves waxing and waning, echoing the almighty ocean. The man smiles, squeezing Izuku’s shoulders with his full strength.
“The life is fleeting, my boy…”
You have to remember that.
Behind the elder’s ear burns the fading mark of the singing cicada.
When the sun dully sinks in the calm ocean waters, and the sky dims to a rich dark navy blue, Izuku finds Katsuki on the cliff not too far from the beach.
The water below is tame, almost shy. From above, the whole side of the harbour is close as if in your own palm – the white sands and the peaceful roll of the waves.
Today, the village is lighting farewell fires and dances in their honour, beating their feet until they bleed, showing the patrons how cherished the boys are, asking to protect them at all costs. Everyone prepares for the celebration into the deep night; every house in the village is brightly lit this evening.
Katsuki is looking over the water surface, eyes trained on the horizon. His face is lit with the gleam of distant lights and seems sharper than it really is. His shirt is lying behind them on the path to the cliffs, taken off earlier today and forgotten.
Izuku stands behind his back, feels the grass below his bare feet, and tries to remember every single detail of the evening. He inhales slowly, struggling to wrangle his thoughts into some order. Katsuki stays quiet, looking far ahead, and both know that the other is terrified.
Several hundred steps away from the village on the shore stands the vessel built by Katsuki’s hand with some help from others. The very next day, it will set off on a long journey, taking two people away with it.
The skin on Katsuki’s shoulders is covered in ink. Shameful sign that Katsuki bears with head held high. The body of the village leader’s son is covered in marks – a brand of the fool who tried to lie to himself. Neither of the marks will grant him the path to rebirth, and the innocently clear skin of Izuku’s is once again covered with sparks at the sight. Katsuki slowly shakes his head at the subtle steps he hears.
“You finally showed up. Thought you’d bail on me.”
Izuku can’t look at the ocean. He still feels his heart so close to his throat, his breathing stuttered. He lowers onto the grass, his back against the other’s back, and lets out a broken sigh. The next inhale almost intoxicates him, full of the familiar scents.
Katsuki smells like air at the top of the mountain, like sparks from the high fire and cherry wine. Around his neck is his ceremonial necklace that conveys his relatively short life story. Several ropes strung with trophies: fangs, small bones, colourful beads, shells, a special black pearl (a reward from the village leader herself – sign of respect for someone’s act of bravery) — all of them making a soft crackling sound as they move, soothing, like the soft whisper of grasshoppers on a warm spring night. Izuku lifts his head, resting on the hot, hard back, and looks at the glowing outlines of the constellations above.
Katsuki had been obsessed with the idea for a long time. He rushed from craft to craft, trying everything within his reach. He laughed and shouted at unwelcome advice, claiming he would surpass everyone on the island the moment he found it... They would just have to wait, and everyone would see.
He told Izuku he wanted to travel to new lands, where he was sure to find something that would bring peace to both their souls. Katsuki is a skilled sailor; he'd been sailing with fishermen since childhood, learned all the techniques and tricks, while Izuku can read the stars. And Izuku, like no one else, understands Katsuki's desire to leave the island. To escape the constricting barrier outlined by the sandy shoreline.
But desire doesn't erase fear. Midoriya is afraid to leave his mother's house and the temple with the old man who raised him. He's afraid he'd missed a place, a small corner of his home, that could have enveloped him in blessed enlightenment. He's afraid he'll die before receiving his mark.
The ocean is mighty and vast, its will unwavering, difficult to predict. Who knows…
Katsuki's head lightly nudges the back of his head in a silent question. Their heads remain together, and Izuku feels the kind of support he cannot express in words. Katsuki radiates heat, a warmth of a flame that soothes despite the bite. Izuku exhales raggedly through his nose and lifts his hand, still clutching the ink bottle. He reaches behind his back, and the other’s hot fingers grasp it for a closer look. Katsuki snorts, and the beads on his decorated chest jingle softly.
"The old man spares nothing for you, huh?" the boy says, a quiet grumble. Izuku pulls his hand back, but it's immediately grabbed even more tightly, fingers greedily intertwining with his, squeezing the glass vessel between their palms. Izuku sits with his head thrown back and his elbow extended, while the boy behind him clasps his hand between both of his own. Katsuki's hot breath covers Izuku's wrist, causing the delicate skin where it's touched to melt.
"I swear," Katsuki says quietly, as if he were reaching out to the spirits for the first time in years. But no, the leader's son had long since renounced all ties to the local powers, stubbornly following his own convictions. He only gets this quiet in the most serious moments, when his honour and his mother are at stake. Katsuki spoke so quietly, calmly, and confidently, clenching his teeth and breathing heavily, only when pledging an oath and declaring his love. "I swear I will find it. I will swim across the entire ocean, reach its very bottom, turn every island upside down, but I will find your place. If there is no such thing on earth, I will find the beast with the strongest wings and, having turned into it, carry you to the stars."
Touching trembling fingers with his rough lips, he whispers something else, but Izuku can't hear it anymore. His head is ringing with the sound of the surf and the frantic howl of the heavenly bodies, shouting something at him he still can't quite understand. His entire body is chilled by a ghostly loneliness, the fear that everything will turn out to be a dream and the fear that everything is real, both at once. Izuku feels as if the sky is about to collapse right on top of him, and nothing will stop it from crushing such a small, insignificant person. But then blunt nails dig into his hand, and he again makes out the words, gliding with a gentle breath across his wrist.
"Today, they're lighting a farewell bonfire in our honour. This evening, they're bidding farewell to two people. But when we return," the fingers squeeze the hand even tighter, pulling closer, their backs arching into contorted shapes, aching with a pain that's a sweet reminder of the life welling up within. And Izuku is happier than ever at this very moment, listening to the words of the person he's already following to the ends of the world. "We'll return, so that every lantern on the island will be lit just for us, and everyone will kneel. We'll be greeted with the tallest, hottest bonfires, and our fingers will inscribe the wall. We'll return as gods. I promise."
The stars watch them with their shining, childlike eyes. They look and blink rapidly, trying to grasp the essence of fragile humans, but they don't dare come even a little closer to get a better look.
Izuku only thanks them for not disturbing him and not laughing at his childish stupidity as he turns to bury his face between Katsuki's shoulder blades, hiding behind him from the tomorrow that bares its teeth at them and squints slyly. He desperately clings to Katsuki, trying to grab anything within his reach, to find an unshakable, unchanging fact that, like a rock, will remain forever in one place and calm his doubts.
Katsuki places his palms on the arms around his waist that hold him, allowing Izuku to breathe and calm down before they both have to go down to their people, smiling and pretending to be two crazy, fearless boys who don't understand the full danger of their undertaking. Katsuki feels the wine churning in the pit of his stomach, crashing in wild waves and rising again. Drinking didn't calm his anxiety, but Izuku clings to him like his last hope in the world, and he can't refuse the prophecy's son of heaven. He can't disappoint the only one who listened, who gives him the strength to believe that their dreams aren't a death wish.
They'll give each other their best marks and will definitely return to leave their story on the wall. Toshinori is never wrong, and Katsuki always keeps his word.
"Starting tomorrow," Katsuki murmurs, squeezing his fingers on the other's hands, his eyes filled with the heat of boiling magma and the passion of uncontrollable storm winds, "if I see even one tear in your eyes, I will immediately throw you overboard. Understood?"
Izuku grips him even tighter and nods, rubbing his swollen nose against Katsuki's back.
"Yes, Kacchan."
He's still breathing raggedly and can't control his emotions, but they have the whole evening ahead of them. Katsuki only listens to the waves and averts his gaze from the surface of the sea to the shore, where, in their home village, the flames of a tall, crimson fire greedily lick the sky.