Archive of Our Own

Kyouka loved the yellow flowers that grew in their yard. A privilege that many of those living in the Kamuatari district basked in, her family most of all. They shone brilliantly in the sun, a beautiful pale hue that reminded her of her mother’s hair. Creamy blond wisps, light with the filtered wind, glowing in a mimicry of a halo when adorned with yellow.

Before she knew it, Kyouka had grown attached. Her free time was consumed by those flowers. She would sit and look at them, touch their delicate petals, careful not to damage them. Finding the yard to be her favorite place. Warm with the sun, air free from the suffocating scent of incense, sound barely carrying- her body on the edge of the well structure estate and the all-encompassing chaos nature seemed to carry. Day or night, she would sit on this border, watching as the plants moved along with their own energy. Embedded in each of their cells, clamoring together in their own type of harmony.

Her infatuation grew, her mood changing based on her sight of the flowers. Sadness always persisted within the colder months, when the flowers would recede. They never experience the winter’s snowy front, but the cold wind brought in would shift the plant to die off. Only to return in early spring, bringing along their golden hue.

Of course, her captured attention was found by her mother, observant as one could be with their only child. She noticed the way her eyes always travelled to them, no matter the task at hand, her body would stop, eyes locked to their symmetrical pattern. Her mother had even noticed when she had borrowed her camera, despite her efforts to place it exactly how it was before.

She hid the photos underneath her pillow, of the flowers- from afar, up close, trying to capture their beauty.

Her mother met her at the porch, box in hand, soft smile she rarely presented even in the presence of her father, her husband. Her voice was soft, a contrast to her imposing commands given to those beneath her. Calming in a way Kyouka remembered from long before her training started.

Despite her mother’s careful hands, carding through her hair, brushing away strays- styling it to perfection, her words made something ache in her chest.

“I don’t understand how these flowers have managed to captivate you so much.”

Kyouka traced the contents of the box, a beautiful pin- made of the strongest steel, adorned with the glimmering glass colored yellow. The material was meticulously molded to resemble the flowers she loved so much.

“They’re just flowers, Kyouka, I wouldn’t want you to get ‘too’ attached to the things.”

A small tug, pulling her long hair out of the way into a bun resembling her mother’s. Calloused fingers took the pin from her fiddling hands, securing her hair with practiced ease.

“Although I can’t argue, your hair looks beautiful like this.”

Her red hair is decorated with yellow. Red, a sign of a rightful heir to the Nijiku, she raised her chin, feeling the arms of her mother around her shoulders.

“Never stray from your goal, or else the forest may burn in consequence of your negligence.”

Whispered to her, tone lowered to a dangerous trill.

Kyouka could only nod, refusing to reach for the escaping warmth as her mother pulled away. Standing with barely a sound, the large coat she adorned made more noise than her own footsteps.

The weight was gone, but her head felt heavy. With thoughts of her mother’s words, an aching heart rose with every bated breath. Like some sort of bad omen.
.
.
.
.
.

Kyouka found a calmness seeping into her bones at the swift care of her hairpin. Usually, menial tasks were left to the maids of the estates. Cleaning, keeping order in the household, polishing, sanitizing, and organizing. Yet, Kyouka found herself unable to allow others to touch such a delicate pin. The steel was polished by her own hands, glass was cleaned with careful precision. Allowing for every faceted edge to gleam when caught in the sun.

The weight was carried with her everywhere. From morning to night, she pinned her growing hair up, allowing the black underbelly to show to those around her. Always catching a glimpse of the pin's beauty in every passing reflection.

Her peers awed and cooed at the newest adornment. Their hands a twitch away from touching the pin, only to be brushed aside by Kyouka’s careful glance.

The glass flowers kept her yearning heart at bay, hoping to see the flowers coated in dew once more.

Her love for the flowers poisoned her mind, her thoughts, her actions. She became careful, ensuring her peers could not touch her with their sloppy attempts at sparring. The pin never took harm, she made sure of it. Even as her body was pushed to the floor, distracted momentarily.

Even when her father pulled her along to his study, grip bruising her wrist greatly, only to become stricken with blood as his ruler came down on bare forearms. Wincing with each lash against her skin, the pin remained fixed in its careful arrangements.

Even when her hair was pulled by their newest addition to the family, Goka. A rather large baby, hands grasping for her hair, tugging hard at the strands that he could reach. While her own hands made sure to cradle the boy as directed by the wet nurse.

Goka’s eyes, shining with tears, with loud cries wailing in her ears, seemed to catch the light. The shimmering light of her pin.

Kyouka made sure to show Goka the field of flowers as often as she could. It calmed the boy the same way it did for her. His eyes were trained on the rows and rows of land. Capturing his attention and her own.

As her brother grew, he learned of her infatuation. Always finding her on the porch, whether it be meditating, drinking tea, or simply eyeing the flowers as her hand traced the fine edges of the pin.

He was always quiet, even more than she had been when she was younger. Goka rarely spoke, barely to her and even less to the maids.

But he shared her appreciation, although not to the same degree.

In hindsight, Kyouka should have heeded her mother’s words more carefully. To grow infatuated with an object, to be blinded away from her goals. But, as her eyes would take in the field, hearing the subtle brush of leaves, Kyouka could momentarily be captured. One could even say she was tainting her brother with her sick ideals. To be clouded by the pleasantries of life, the view she knew many didn’t take part in.

She should have known dependency was a sick game. A game she lost all in the manner of an evening.

Where her training took place, in the barren fields of their yard, the winter wind was bringing the foliage to death. Her feet shifted against the dying grass, her bokken firmly in her grasp as another bullet shot just passed her ear.

Stinging pain erupts, her mother’s words grating against her already frayed nerves. Frustration built deep in her gut as she managed to dodge another bullet. Mother reloaded, keeping her stance perfect, aiming once again before firing. Her feet upheaved grass, slipping against the cold dew of morning. Kyouka knew her face was turning a similar shade of red to her hair.

Sweat clinging to her skin, muscles aching with her quick turn to dodge. Another shot, aim, fire- hitting her cheek swiftly. The impact left her breathing heavily against the ground, and the bokken let go as a result. Sleeves dirtied, as she eyes her pin, disrupted from the fall, hair coming undone from its careful updo.

Heavy steps reached her ears, the gun pointed towards her as her mother kept a diligent eye on Kyouka’s scrambling form. At the end of her barrel, Kyouka’s heart thrummed hard against her chest, panicked and laced every pull away from the woman. Her mother did not falter, closing in as the gun got closer to her head.

Kyouka’s hand grabbed the pin, tightening her grip before raising it to her mother. The short steel extended, becoming heavy within her hand as her mother paused in her step.

There was silence between them, Kyouka’s eyes never left the pin… or rather, her newfound weapon. The steel was polished, glass flowers becoming as hard as stone, giving ample counterbalance to the handle. Something surged, energy, like life breathed new air into her lungs, giving it to the object in her hand. She could feel the warmth coming from the metal, as if it carried its own heartbeat, its own sentience to its new form.

Glancing towards her mother, her breath seized, hitched too quickly, teeth clenching. Pupils widen at the sight, fear enveloping them- afraid that if she looked away, a bullet would lodge itself right between her brows.

Shadow cast along her face, the gun never leaving its pointed glare.

“Kyouka dear…”

Her tone was sour, sharp, causing her to flinch. Eyes finding something, only causing her glare to narrow further. Her gun was pulled away, safety clipped, before fastening it to her belt.

“Put that… thing away…”

With a hesitant hand, Kyouka lowered her pin, resting it against herself, careful not to dirty it further. Trying to relinquish the energy that flowed through it- only barely able to transform it back into its more delicate form. Her careful gesture only seemed to anger her mother more; her hands were quickly pulling her from the ground by her wrists.

“Mother- where?”

Her voice was caught with another hurried tug, silenced by another pointed glare. Kyouka’s skin burned from the firm grip, tightening every so often the longer they walked in silence. Her own feet lost on their own as her mother’s quick pace left her scrambling.

Her legs burned as the walk became a stride, bordering on a run as her mother’s gaze remained steadfast- ensuring Kyouka would not fall behind with her iron grip. Kyouka could only pray not to fall and to be dragged through the dirt.

Within moments, to her frazzled brain, Kyouka looked to see Hell Guard HQ come into view. The imposing building looked as if it would swallow her whole. Once, twice, did Kyouka try to pull away from her mother, the woman only taking it to pull her closer.

Hell Guard bowed to her, only giving a pitying glance at her own way.

Kyouka swallowed hard, heart hammering so loudly she could hardly believe the sound to truly escape her mouth at the blatant shove her mother gave towards the lower levels of the building.

The air was damp, wet with recent rain seeping through the brick walls, echoing moans of pain from those trapped within the walls.

Prisoners… Givers, many of them. Locked away behind the bars lining each wall. So many that she couldn't shy away from them. Her mother only pushed her further, her pin the only thing her mind could grasp on as her eyes adjusted to the darkened environment. Beads of sweat left traces of her anxiety down her brow.

Mother kept her eyes trained forward, not glancing her way despite her body's steady protest to venture further. Cries came through the cotton in her ears, prayers of the men trapped for years down here. Beggars wishing for the sun to hit their faces. But, most of all, the anguished bellows of givers aching for their jinki.

Kyouka could hardly capture breath into her lungs, feeling eyes on her, calculating, saddened eyes on her like some sort of rabbit amongst wolves.

They watched her as they ventured further, cowering against her mother, who only dragged her further and further into the jaws of a lion. What mother could do this to a child? Some would whisper, or maybe that was her own mind. To think her own wouldn’t pull her to the bellows of the beast. A hare dragging the panicked kit.

Kyouka’s legs shook beneath her, finally making her distress well known to spectators around her once her mother stopped her in front of a particular cell. Closing her eyes tightly, her mother lowered to her level, voice by her ear-

“Look, Kyouka.”

Absolute, a command, no room to argue against her- she slowly opened her eyes.

The man was emaciated, skin and bone, his chest rising with a steady shake. Blurred eyes, heavy with a cloudy film. A wet inhale echoed, raising her hands to her mouth, Kyouka barely held the urge to empty her stomach right then and there. Ribs were prominent, scars littered his paper like skin… she was sure if the man could cry, he would.

His hand twitched, gaze shifting to her mother.

“Please…”

His voice was small, dry with disuse.

“Disgusting.”

Mother bellowed,

“That is a Codependent, a waste of society… someone so dependent on a singular object that once it has been removed, they fall to ruin.”

She tried to look away, but a hand pulled her gaze back to the man.

“Do not look away, this is the scum we Hell Guard clean up. Amongst those imprisoned, how many do you think are Codependents?”

She wasn’t looking for an answer, but her jaw shook with the one ready on her tongue. She had learned that the Hell Guard- those captured by them, seventy percent were givers.

“Remember your goals, remember what you see today. This is what you’ll see tomorrow, and in the future… don’t forget this.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Her breathing didn’t return to normal. It couldn’t, not until she was alone, and the hold mother had on her promised that she wouldn’t be for a while.

The estate was quiet, the prattling feet of the staff gone. Kyouka’s steps felt heavy; her whole body shook with each step. The man in the cell, his form replaying in her mind, his pleas for his jinki. Her grip tightened.

Her infatuation brought her here, burned down her forest, and led her to her father’s study.

A knock, a firm hum, her parents looking at her… what had they said?

Oh right.

“Kyouka, give your father the pin.”

She shook her head instinctively; she didn’t mean it. Her face bloomed with a rough sting, father’s hand raised- the sound of the hit barely reaching her ears. Sweat gathered, nails digging into her palms.

Kyouka brought the pin to her chest. She was warm, her heart beating as one. She shook her head again. Blood welled against her nails. Breath, damn it, breath.

She couldn’t.

A firm hand held her bruised wrist once again, mother’s calloused hand.

Father pried the pin from her grasp.

Her crazed eyes were mirrored in the gloss of her father’s pupils. Panic enveloped her body as a sturdy arm pulled her close. Keeping her thrashing low as guttural yells left her. Animalistic in nature as her arm reached for the pin.

“No! Wait! I won’t use her again! I swear! Don’t- Don’t do anything to her, please!”

Her pleas, nonsense, loud, mumbled in the haste she made them.

Mother held strong, letting father take the pin in his hand. Watching her writhing form, spinning her form between his fingertips. A disappointed ‘tsk’ met her ears, almost drowned by her own prayer.

“She…” He twirled her pin faster, more carelessly. “A pin, a she?”

His voice was almost amused, uncharacteristically so.

“I expected more from you.”

Her clamoring paused, heaving a desperate breath, tears falling past, down her face. Burning her skin, marking her fate far past what she had known.

A sigh, the twist of the pin stopped.

“It’s not too late, though, you're young enough to learn, to not get attached to objects so easily.”

With his words, her pin fell to the floor- glass flowers chipped at the fragile edges. Her cry bounced against the walls, voice aching towards the end, hands finding purchase against her mother’s rough coat. Trying with all of her might to push away, to get to her father before he could!-

A rise of his foot- he wouldn’t!

It came down so quickly.

The sound of glass shattering, a quick gasp, inhale caught in her chest. Like a bowstring snapping through a strong enough pull, Kyouka’s heart lurched, bile escaping her mouth with one violent upheaval.

Mother stepped back, lowering her to the floor. Almost falling into her own mess, Kyouka managed to hold herself on shaking elbows. Jaw slack with saliva, another rush of bile out, burning her throat. Tears mixed with the acidic waste at her knees.

Scraping against wood, glass pieces sticking to father’s shoe. Pulled from her core, a dry heave brought up nothing but pain in her chest.

The blessed quiet is only filled with her sobs, coughs, spitting up saliva, and her head becoming a heavy weight on her shoulders. Kyouka felt cold, like something was ripped from her very soul. The matching heart, torn asunder until it no longer could live alone.

She was dragged by unknown hands to her room, dropped onto a made futon where she could curl into herself so tightly that one would mistake her for a corpse. And maybe, maybe she wanted to become one. A cavity formed within her chest, her bloodied nails clawed for that aching chasm. That no matter the tears, the water spilling from her eyes could fill the unknown void it created.

Moonlight cast shadows, as did the rising sun, over and over, encompassing her room in bathing shadows and unbearable light. Kyouka knew the passage of time consumed her body, knew of its intricacies of taking and taking without much thought. But no matter the time or the day, she couldn’t get up.

Glued to the futon, fetal position, causing pain to form in her body, tightly wound up.

Within the time she spent, fusing to the softened fabrics of her bed, Goka would try to coax her. His small hands were trying and trying to pull her up. Unused muscle, body not yet trained for its predisposed destiny. She eyed the boy, murmured platitudes, urging him to leave before she infected him with her plight. Her illness. Her infatuation grown obsession with a stupid flower evolving into one for an object.

Codependent.

A filthy codependent.

One who became worthless at the mere destruction of an object.

An object that shared her warmth.

An object that resembled the field of flowers she found solitude in. The same field in which she would find peace from the aching bruises her father left her. From the battering headaches made from her mother’s strained lectures.

She was to reach the golden throne, yet how could she when the shattering of glass left her in such a state?

It circled within her mind constantly. Images of the starved codependent, his body frail as hers was steadily becoming, flashed through her eyes with every attempt at sleep.

It had been many days, three if she was counting, for her mother to return. Disappointment was evident on her brow. Dragging her away from the dirtied futon, forcing her arms to move in a way that resembled any modicum of life.

The bathroom was warm when they arrived, the tub already filled with water. Kyouka lazily followed her mother, allowing the woman to strip her of her uniform. The academy’s clothing was dirtied with sweat, tears, and dried bile.

It was a blur, being cleaned so gently by the same woman who had dug her nails into the softness of her flesh only days prior. Even the treatment of her hair was garnered with care, a comb trying to detangle the large mats that had formed.

When deemed too difficult, Kyouka heard the snip of scissors, weight coming off. Piles of tangled hair falling to the floor.

“Trust me, Kyouka, we saved you from a lifetime of heartache. Best to get rid of that thing now before you get too attached.”

Another snip, her long hair becoming shorter with every passing minute.

“We did you a favor… You saw those people in HQ. Everything we train you for, everything we put you through, is for your own good.”

And through her hazy mind, through the cold, empty feeling within her chest, Kyouka could only solemnly smile. Softly, attaching her only conscious mind to her mother’s words as if they were her lifeline.

She had become lost in the levity of life, the joys that distracted her from her goal. And worst of all, she almost polluted Goka with her sick ideals. She had seen the adoration in his eyes as well; his innocent aloofness gave way to mimicking her reactions. Trying to be like her, and what had she shown? A horrible role model for him, demeaning her worth to one linked to an object.

The last snip, metal meeting the counter, Kyouka looked at her reflection in the far-off mirror.

Cut to her shoulders, a short bob, unlikely to be styled any other way, or with any pin.

It felt lighter; her soul felt lighter.

Her eyes widened, fully showing the dullness her pupils took on. No longer carrying the shine they once had. It was odd to see, but in all of her bouts and worries, she found only numbness to the discovery.

Amongst the warmth of the bath, Kyouka found resolve.

She should have never become infatuated, never obsessed, never codependent.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

“I was too careless. I apologize for my lack of foresight, Kyouka.”

Salt was poured into the man’s wound by her own hand.

“I should have seen the signs before they became a problem, should have never given you that pin.”

Her mother continued, words causing a shift in mood. The man only cried out in pain, pleas for mercy dying on his tongue.

“No matter… Are you almost done there?”

Her hand, no longer shaking from the heavy weight of the interrogation, was now the twentieth one of the week she had helped with. Sure, the first one left her shaking underneath the covers of her bedding, unable to sleep in fear of seeing the bloodshot eyes of that woman held within her palm. Now, she kept calm, face passive as the man continued to glare at her mother.

“A child… How could you make a child do this?!”

She scoffed; it echoed against the damp brick.

“Dear, will you grab those scissors over there?”

She nodded, not confident in her ability of vocalizing without it sounding hoarse from the previous night's hours of crying- dreams plagued with the yellow flowers she yearned for in spring.

Mother grabbed the scissors from her hand, coming close to the man, grabbing his tongue- inching the pristine blades close enough she was sure the man could taste the metal.

“Speak, don’t speak… Either way, you might lose a tongue by the end.”

With a nod from her, never taking her eyes off the prisoner, Kyouka rushed to grab a lightbulb- the man’s jinki.

His eyes widened impossibly so, whites riddled with veins. He shook his head, causing a subtle knick to form on the organ, blood welling quickly.

Removing the blade, he hung his head-

“I’ll tell you! Just don’t touch him, please.”

Kyouka could only watch, from her spot, to see her mother gather the information she needed. Once satisfied, she turned her way. Looking between the two, she crouched to her level. Much taller than most, the woman’s coat touched the floor, now dirty with blood.

“Break it.”

His head shot up.

“No!! I told you everything I know! Please! He’s not even a weapon! Please!”

Kyouka eyed the lightbulb; it was worn and probably didn’t work as intended. But her hands finally shook. They hadn’t since the twelfth interrogation, when mother asked her to break an elderly lady's jinki- a wooden spoon, carrying burn marks, but still polished to a shiny finish. She couldn’t follow through then…

“Dear, break the lightbulb.”

Her hands were heavy against her shoulders. Words close to her ear.

“It’s just a lightbulb. A broken one at that, it serves no further purpose.”

She couldn’t look away, could even see her dulled eyes in the reflection of the glass.

“Please! Don’t! You can’t! I can’t live without him!!”

She couldn’t look away.

“He believes it has sentience, Kyouka… Imagine all the people who have died because of his actions. All of the people who have told me the same thing, asking, no, begging for their loved ones.”

Kyouka remembered those nights, when her parents would return home- uniforms, blood-soaked, horror-stricken faces, voices quiet as they discussed the mass casualties. The red that would stain their hands, the voices she could only imagine haunted them day and night.

Mother’s words were firm, eyes holding, recounting events that have kept her fighting.

With a deep inhale, Kyouka raised the object, pausing… images of her father breaking her pin so steadily against his boot. Grinding her teeth, squeaking with force as she willed her body to move, to take her building frustration- past the numbness she clouded her mind with to-to-just Move!

The lightbulb slammed against the stone floor, and the man’s cries fell on deaf ears.
.
.
.
.
The second interrogation, she had cut the Achilles tendon of a woman involved in a trafficking ring.
.
.
.
.
.
Her mother asked her to break the jinki of an old woman during the twelfth interrogation.
.
.
.
.
Kyouka was told to break the fingers of an older gentleman, a man involved in the business of child assassins, during the tenth interrogation.
.
.
..
.
.
She held the eyeball of a woman during the seventeenth interrogation.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Returning to the estate, a chill would crawl up her spine, the walls taking in any warmth she held. Her feet were heavy, mind was no longer thinking correctly; it was clear in a way.

Logically thinking of the right and wrong of the Hell Guard, the goals instilled since she was young, and behind a locked door…a flower field.

Where, in the upcoming spring, no flowers bloomed. They never did, for as long as Kyouka stared at the field, they never blossomed again.

______________________________________________________________________________

Kyouka’s attention spanned across her studies, academy training, Goka, and their newest brother.

Zanka was smaller than Goka had been, an easier birth, and as mother had said, “He better be.”

The maids helped, of course, as they had with Goka, but with time, she had stepped in with a lot of Zanka’s care. She held him, rocked him to sleep, fed him his bottle on time, entertained him- everything the staff would be tasked with. Anytime she wasn’t available, she would task Goka with him. The boy was still rather quiet, but managed to gain a glimmer of purpose once he had held Zanka. Where Goka had been anxiously waiting for his actual training to start, he had found some meaning in the measly days with their little brother.

As he grew, Kyouka noticed his interest in sticks. From the moment he could walk on his own, he would gather sticks from the yard. Stack them, throw them, and in an amusing act of mimicry, would try to copy Goka’s well-formed stance as he trained with his bokken.

Kyouka had found the entire thing fun, giving her day a basking break of light- anytime Zanka would grace the air with his boisterous laugh, always carefree in a way that Goka was not born with and she had stamped out early in life. She never scolded the boy as their parents had done with her, wanting to hear the small giggles to the hearty laughs. Kyouka found, when brushing his creamy blond hair from his forehead one warm night, Zanka had reminded her of the flower field.

A warm flame flickering beneath it all, yellow in hue- warm enough to soothe one's soul, but not enough to burn.

If she were the same person, so many years ago, she might have cried no matter the presence of Zanka sleeping soundly or Goka across the room with his own futon, reading silently.

All of them crammed into one room on this warm night, rain creating a thick blanket over them.

Zanka had come to her first, blanket in hand, eyes no longer tired- nightmares creating worried lines across his brow. She chuckled at the way the large futon almost swallowed him, his scrawny frame unable to pull it from the closet without falling.

Soon, Goka reluctantly followed, refusing to admit his reason for seeking her, only silently nodding her way before setting up another futon to her right.

She let the silence of the night encompass her, eyes trained on the ceiling as her siblings slept soundly beside her. Zanka sprawled out, despite falling asleep tucked so snugly. Goka, as stiff as a board, snorred lightly.

A sigh escaped into the air, her eyes wandering to both of them.

Goka showed promise, which she was sure of, but within the safety of her own room, she would think of the festering resentment she could see growing. Although Zanka was still so young, their parents had already put Goka on a throne of his own. One where he would have to set an example while she was away.

Shifting to Zanka, her gaze softened. The flame moved gently, warm and sunny in a way she had never seen before. Kyouka knew she could only protect her siblings so much… but looking at Zanka, she worried. Worried like a mother would for her child.

Kyouka could feel a stabbing pain deep in her heart.

Willing it to dissipate, she let a long exhale, returning to stare at the ceiling once again.

Thankfully, neither had shown signs of becoming codependents…while Zanka’s intrigue with sticks was a little troubling, the boy would gather many of the multitude of sizes and qualities, never choosing one for his own.

Goka, a minimalist like their father, rarely kept things long enough to grow an attachment. She had noticed that sort of lesson to be instilled into him early on. Their parents, clearly learning from her incident, took no chances.

Despite the churn in her gut at the thought, a part of her couldn’t help but be grateful. That Goka would have no chance of experiencing the same fallout she had…of becoming obsessed, of becoming a filthy codependent…

Of losing a part of oneself, their family refused to exist.

______________________________________________________________________________

Kyouka had been exiting her room, dressed in her Hell Guard uniform- ready to perform another patrol as a trainee out of the academy, when something nagged at the back of her mind.

Not from nothing, of course, but rather, her brothers.

Zanka held Goka’s hand, pulling the older boy along- stooped low enough to allow him to do so.

Over the years, Goka had given in to Zanka’s antics, only to not meet her pointed glare, but she digresses.

Kyouka crouched to Zanka’s level, frame buzzing with excitement as his smile showed his recently lost tooth.

“Kyou! Look at ta’ bracelet I made, Goka!”

Looking at it, it was made of wooden beads- all of which were various sizes but still joined together into a form of jewelry she knew Goka wouldn’t usually wear, other than the fact that Zanka had made it for him.

“Ya’ made that for Goka?”

“Mhm!”

Nodding his head too quickly, Kyouka winced at the way he almost fell over with a dizzying step. She eyed Goka, his face a red mess, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Where’s my gift, huh?”

She asked, poking at Zanka’s shoulders as his ears became red.

“Well, I..I ran out of materials and, an’ I didn’t know-”

“I’m kiddin.”

Kyouka rose to her feet, brushing off any dust from her knees as the boy sighed in relief. Zanka’s eyes widened at her appearance, piecing it together, blurting it out before Goka could ask.

“Where yer going, Kyou?”

A small smile adorned her features.

“On patrol, and I need ya’ to watch the house for me.”

Kyouka playfully winked, earning a hearty salute from the other before he puttered out in a quiet giggle, barely concealed by his hands.

“Goka, make sure he goes to bed on time, and good luck with the academy tomorrow- I’ll be gone for a few days.”

“Right.”

Giving a small bow, Kyouka made her leave. Wishing the estate grounds a goodbye, waving to the staff she passed. The unsettling feeling did not leave- trying to shake it off did nothing but give her a headache.

But, she had no choice but to continue forward.

Hopefully, when she returned, everything would be as she left it.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The man was a charlatan! With his words, turning her to go against her training, she couldn’t believe herself for letting that man get to her.

She had been on the tail of one particular criminal, the Hell Guard had been searching for, a child assassin of sorts. She was easy to spot within the streets, despite the city they patrolled being the densest on all of the ground, the girl's fiery red hair was an easy marker.

With the but of her gun, she was able to knock the child out swiftly, feeling at least a little proud of herself for completing a task her superiors had had trouble with for months. She was even considering going with her coworkers to their after-patrol drinks, even if she was just going to nurse one drink all night.

But then, that man, Enjin, with his associate, stopped her- she had met him before. During a few nights between them, she’d rather forget, with a little too much booze and her newfound freedom getting to her head.

It was neither here nor there- he was steadily approaching just as she got the handcuffs ready.

“The Hell Guard executes children now?”

Kyouka’s brow rose, a not-so-savory response ready on her tongue- ‘Oh, they do much worse.’

Rather, she let her eyes stay trained on the girl. They had been on her trail for months- actually investigating the organization before the girl was even born. She still remembers fingers breaking under her softer hands so many years ago.

“This child is an assassin, responsible for the death of many.”

“And the solution is to what? Kill her? Do the Hell Guard hold no morals?”

The older woman asked, and Kyouka could only roll her eyes, her brimmed hat hiding her gaze from the two.

“Justice needs to be served.”

“By taking her life?”

Her grip on the girl only tightened. So much has been gained and lost through others’ loss.

The Cleaner whispered amongst themselves, trying to decide what to do, even though she had already made up her mind on what to do with the child. She wasn’t going to be the one to decide the child’s fate, but it was her duty to capture her. What happened afterwards…

“Is she a giver?”

“What? Yeah.”

“We can take her in.”

She stilled for a moment, letting the words settle. They continued.

“If she’s gonna serve some sort of punishment, it might as well be community service.”

Enjin smirked, inhaling another puff of his cigarette.

“You believe she has any humanity left in her?”

Kyouka doubted it. She had seen men and women on the brink- desperate for anything to continue living, even if that meant destroying themselves or those they loved. Crazed for any semblance of hope despite everything.

“If Semiu can see anything redeemable with her jinki, then I believe there is.”

Her jinki? Was able to see… something deep in Kyouka’s heart lept, nervous for a second before calming. If she could see that within people, who’s to say she couldn’t see that missing piece of herself… The idea terrified her, but her body remained still. Her jinki wasn’t activated; if she had any say, it would stay that way.

“I'm supposed to just trust you all?”

Her voice could barely be heard, disbelief edging it.

“Yeah, you have to have some humanity, Kyouka-”

Her teeth squeaked together, pressure from her clenched jaw.

“--After all, if this was one of yer brothers, you’d try an’ save them right?”

-tsk

She threw the girl to their feet, done with the conversation.

“At least my brothers behave.”

Turning her heel, she looked back once more.

“If she kills anyone, the Hell Guard will storm Cleaner’s HQ for her head.”

The man only winked in her direction, sending a mocking kiss her way.

Kyouka’s frown deepened, her steady stride turning loud with each step, becoming heavier and heavier. Her eyes caught on her coworkers, or rather, other trainees.

“You just let that Cleaner take that criminal Kyouka?

One girl asked, a groan only left Kyouka’s throat at the mention of what had just occurred.

“We have to report that to Madam Nijiku, right?”

Another asked, and a few nods were sent their way.

Kyouka could only sigh. Even if they didn’t report this incident, the Cleaners reported to the Hell Guard to some capacity. Her mother was going to hear about her lapse of judgment one way or another. It was a matter of who told her.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Kyouka returned home drenched, soaked from the top of her head to the soles of her boots. Rather than spending the last day with her fellow trainees, celebrating another successful week of patrolling the densest city on the ground, she was told to kneel out in the rain- with a small boulder over her knees.

The rain burned against her exposed skin with whatever chemicals were set into the atmosphere in the area. Sitting out in this district's rainfall caused her skin to be tinted red.

A light punishment, mother had said, for her discretion. For letting that criminal go, at least she was in the custody of the Cleaners rather than back in the streets, which saved her from something more permanent.

She didn’t even have the chance to fully dry up on the ride back to the Kamuatari district, as they had their own bout of rain. Causing her mildly dry uniform to become wet again, although with cleaner rainfall this time, as the rain in the Kamuatari district was rather clean, allowing for plant growth.

But with each step back to the estate resulting in a squelch or uncomfortable rub of wet fabric against sensitive skin, Kyouka couldn’t help but sigh in relief at seeing home come into view.

Though her relief was short-lived.

She had barely taken off her socks, sticking to her skin, when Zanka ran to her.

Taking no mind to her wet appearance, the boy only held her tightly. Voice muffled by her clothes, her own hands trying to coax Zanka to speak clearly.

“Kyou, somethin’s wrong with Goka.”

Dread. Pure unadulterated dread. Fear. Worry. Spreading through her heart like it was nothing but a virus.

Kyouka followed Zanka’s scared form as he led her to Goka’s room.

Opening his door, her eyes met a sight she knew all too well.

On his side, his body was barely conscious of the new pair of eyes on him. Goka was still breathing, albeit shallowly. Disregarding the trail of water she carried, Kyouka made her way to Goka’s side, leaning down to his ear, his eyes slowly making their way to hers.

“Goka…”

Her voice was small, a whisper. Zanka remained by the door, a nervous fidget of his hands playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Kyouka…”

His voice was hoarse, dry from disuse- or maybe throwing up if what she believed happened did.

Kyouka could feel the tremors her body tried to quell, to try and stop the shaking, but her body couldn’t. She wanted to cry, but she was sure they dried up long ago.

Settling a heavy hand on his arm, Kyouka began to rub up and down- attempting to be soothing, trying to coax some sort of answer out of him.

“It was ‘n accident… I didn’ think…”

Hand stilling, it continued after a beat, ministrations traveling down to the boy’s wrist. The bracelet was gone…

“Zanka was ‘bout to fall off the porch, and I ran to him, but he was too far.”

It started clicking together, the events playing through her mind. The initial panic, the relief, then the horror at what had just occurred.

“The bracelet changed, it…it extended, grew- I was able to pull Zanka into my arms but…”

‘Trust me, Kyouka, we saved you from a lifetime of heartache. Best to get rid of that thing now before you get too attached.’

Mother’s words echoed within her brain.

Before she got too attached…before he got too attached.

Codependent.

She could hear the exact words used, even though she wasn’t there- it felt all so familiar.

‘If you were faster, you wouldn’t need that… thing! To save him.’

Vitriol, vile, and poison on their tongue when talking about a part of their soul.

It wasn’t like they asked for it to happen, but they always dealt with the consequences nonetheless.

“Where’s it now?”

She curled in closer, asking between them.

“Burned, gone… ash.”

Stepped on, burned, beaten, bruised…

Kyouka calmed her heart, or tried to; she had to if Goka was to keep on living, she had to put on a brave face. Zanka had no clue what was transpiring. Mother and Father would let Goka starve to death before admitting he was a giver- one who was severed from his Jinki. Like a fawn with a broken leg.

Turning to Zanka, the boy was still shaking.

“Zanka, could ya’ run a hot bath?”

He nodded, ever so quick to please- Kyouka missed the way he took his flame with him, even if it was only down the hall.

To Goka, she helped him sit up, a steady hand around him as she lifted him to his feet.

Mother had helped her at first, though looking back, it was out of necessity rather than love.

Her hold tightened, urging Goka to put his feet in front of the other.

Washing up reminded her of when Goka was younger. When they would share a bath, she’d wash her hair before getting to his. Even when sick, the boy rarely allowed her to care for him in such a manner. Now, though, she could see the deep bone exhaustion, his shoulders slumped down to his curled-in knees.

“I know it hurts now, but ya’ need to continue.” She said what she could, trying to reach into her own time curled into herself. “You can’t be like them, those who lose themselves because of an object.”

Water came down his back, suds, soap, all going down the drain. He relaxed further.

“Ya’ have people countin’ on ya’... do… You hear me, Goka?”

Goka only nodded.

He was always a quiet kid, only speaking when his mind felt full- always honest. But, even to her, Goka kept things secret.

She only hoped that now, he just didn’t have much to say.

______________________________________________________________________________

“You need to train that boy properly.”

Mother hardly gets into her business these days. Usually drowning in paperwork, no longer out on the field, stuck in her office during all hours of the day. Yet she found time to question Kyouka’s methods of training their youngest.

“His training is going well-”

“Not from what I’ve heard.”

Kyouka only rolled her eyes, causing a glare to be pointed her way.

“Have you even trained him on dodging bullets?”

“First thing we did.”

“Don’t sass me, girl.”

A sigh left her, trying to compose herself. Sure, mother became more lenient as years passed, but then again, that didn’t mean the woman would hesitate to punish her like she was still a child.

The scratch of the mother’s pen continued.

“You tell me he holds promise, more than either you or Goka. But his teachers tell me otherwise.”

Ah, Zanka’s flame. She had tried to explain it when the other was in a particularly good mood. But, the woman only flippantly disregarded her words, saying, ‘people only say that to make themselves feel better for taking a chance on the less fortunate.’

Kyouka remained rather opinionated on the topic, much to her mother’s dismay. Since she knew what she saw was true. Zanka held this light that neither Goka nor she held. Even before her eyes turned dull, the shine disappearing in a matter of seconds, she never saw that glimmering heat. While Goka’s soul grew resentment and anger towards their youngest, something she tried to drown out but failed to do as the boy pulled away from her.

“You told the teachers to be harder on him.”

“For his own good, since yer no good at trainin’ him.”

Taking her mother’s reversion to her native accent as a cue to leave, Kyouka laid the papers she was there to drop off onto the table. Wondering how a simple task could devolve into this, she didn’t know.

“I wish you luck with your paperwork, mother.”

The woman only scoffed, taking the next stack of papers off the pile.

Next time, she’ll send Goka.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
When Zanka returned to the estate with a stick, she could see the awe laid upon his brow, almost smothered by the blatant confusion in his eyes.

Kyouka knew of the boy's ‘interest’ in sticks from a young age, but in the years that followed, she never expected him to actually pick a stick as his weapon. Maybe a bo staff or sasumata, which the stick resembled.

He had looked to her for answers, eyes searching for something, but what she saw- flames growing so brightly she no longer could see the gentle field of yellow flowers in his soul. More attuned to a wildfire.

“I don’t know why I picked it… I just…”

She knew Zanka was hiding something from her, the truth he was hiding most likely being more embarrassing than being unable to explain why he chose a stick for a weapon.

While her choice was a katana and Goka's a regular staff, Zanka’s was an interesting option. The stick wasn’t even polished, looking like one of those sticks Zanka had her promise to never lose- straight from their backyard.

Kyouka let her eyes leave her reflection, away from her steadily growing hair. She would need to cut it soon, too many bad memories with it, it's long…

Her eyes reaching Zanka’s, she took in the stick in his hands.

“What's done is done, all ya’ can do now is refine it. Make it yer’s, what is a stick but an unpolished staff?”

Returning to her reflection, dull contrasting shining blue behind her.

Zanka looked down at his stick, fingers tracing against the grain, catching pulled-up pieces- no doubt a risk for splinters. Nodding to himself, he nodded towards her.

“Thank ya’ Kyou.”

With more resolve in his step, Kyouka let out the tension between her shoulders. She didn’t like where this was going… not at all.

She knew the signs, lived through them.

Her’s couldn’t be helped… Goka’s jinki was gone the moment she left the estate… but Zanka, she could try and shield his flame from the onslaught that was no doubt on the horizon.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Three days.

Three fucking days.

Zanka was missing for three days, and no one informed her till the end of the second day.

Not mother or father. Fuck, Goka was the one to tell her, even though he waited longer than she would have wanted.

Kyouka allowed a good five minutes for her mind to conjure any possibilities. Going to the conclusion of her youngest being dead way too many times. Sometimes thinking that to be the best outcome.

‘He can’t come home.’

Her mind supplied.

‘He was most likely a giver.’

She added.

‘He’s dead if he never returns… dead if he does.’

Mother and father would rather find a corpse than a giver… would rather make him dead, six feet into the ground, than have an already mediocre son become a codependent.

If he returned, they would break his jinki, mother would train him in her stead, working him to the bone until he died from exhaustion or by his own hand. Failure was not an option in the Nijiku household, not even now, as adults- Kyouka still couldn’t look father in the eye without dry heaving… hearing crunching glass under his shoe.

Taking a deep breath, Kyouka looked at Goka, ever so composed. As if their youngest being missing was some sort of inconvenience.

“There has been no search party?”

A slight tremble, willing it to be out of anger rather than fear.

“Father believes Zanka is havin’ a tantrum.”

‘Of course he is.’

She stood, feeling the nerves cause an overwhelming prickling sensation underneath her skin, pacing in her room as Goka remained seated.

“Are ya’ going to search for him?”

A small edge of disbelief coated his voice.

“You believe he’s havin’ a tantrum?”

“Yes.”

She wanted to bash her head against a wall, forcing her vitriol down. Kyouka continued to pace. Only pausing when her mind conjured some form of a plan.

“We…I’ll wait for him to return.”

“Yer’ certain he’ll return?”

“Yes.” No

Kyouka was not sure; she could only hope for Zanka to come back. Preferably to her.

If he returned to her on his own, she could help…damn it all, she would try her best to prevent that flame from extinguishing. If Zanka never came back, she could lie awake in bed praying that he ran away.

If she were to look for him, she’d have to bring him to mother and father… fear clenched at her heart.

“He will come back, I’m… sure of it.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
She walked around the estate thousands of times; by this point, she was worrying a trail into the dirt with every lap.

It was nightfall of the third day, no sign of Zanka.

Her hair was choppy, hastily cut in a blind panic of seeing her own reflection. Nerves frazzled and shot through by her teeth, knawing at the skin around her fingers.

She couldn’t sleep the night before, nor could she eat in the morning nor dinner.

The maids looked at her oddly. Goka stayed out of it; mother and father were thankfully not home, so Kyouka was left with piles of documents and a missing brother.

By what felt like the hundredth lap around the estate, Kyouka paused at the sound of footsteps. Coming up the stone stairs leading to her, Kyouka felt a rush, a sinking heart, a shock to her system.

Almost expecting a patrolling hell Guard to come up those steps with the dead body of her brother.

But rather, it was Zanka, holding that damn stick in his shaking arms. Looking frail and starved, one strong gust of wind could topple him over.

And…

And a dull pair of blue eyes looked to her, his mouth open with a silent plea or maybe an explanation. Something that he probably rehearsed on his way here, but died the moment their eyes met.

She was right.

No matter the Nijiku, they all fell to the codependency, the pull of an object, of an escape, of a form of attachment that didn’t leave bruises on their skin and minds. A product of the never-ending push and pull of their family.

Kyouka could only wonder how many Nijiku became givers… and how many more died because of it.

Ringing in her ears, Zanka remained silent until-

“I’m gonna join the Cleaners…”

His voice was wobbly, dry, but clear to her ears. No longer filled with cotton.

She wanted to plead, to yell, to berate, to do something- anything to get him to stay. But that flame was so brilliantly bright, warm.

She was mistaken before, it wasn’t a wildfire… it was a meadow of yellow flowers. One where you couldn’t see the edge, where you could run for ages and never reach the end. A place where the winter’s cold bite was unable to find you.

Another set of steps, blond hair- like blooming flowers, contrasting Zanka’s beige. Enjin was farther down, with a girl, with fiery red hair.

The same mop of hair that matched hers, the same matted hair that stuck to her sleeve all those years ago.

Both looked ready for some pushback, standing behind Zanka as backup. Knowing the man, he probably tried to get Zanka to leave without returning home at least once.

Her brother, stubborn as he was, didn’t want to leave things in that way.

Zanka maintained eye contact, never leaving, even as the silence stretched between them.

So much circled within her brain. She wanted to tell him everything. How idiotic it was to return, how she knew how it felt as did Goka, that his flame was brighter than ever, how much she loved him even if she didn’t know how to express it….

But all she could mutter,

“Leave before sunrise.”

Turning away, her shoulders relaxed.

Kyouka only hoped… that the flowers would continue to grow.