"Well, she's kinda cranky."
"Kinda? You're being too kind," the girl replied with a knowing smile, lowering the pail with a resolute thud. "She's always been that way."
As she stepped forward, Kiel had a better look at her. Her hair was a cascade of orange silk, parted into elegant twin braids that framed her face and fell like ribbons over her shoulders. Her eyes—bright cerulean, as open and endless as a summer sky—held a gentle kindness that seemed to reach straight through him. Freckles dusted the bridge of her nose like scattered leaves in autumn, and her features were striking—high cheekbones, a sculpted jaw, and a delicately refined nose that gave her the beauty of a painting brought to life.
She wore a flowing, light-blue shirt that fell past her waist in effortless drapes, paired with snug compression shorts that stopped at her knees. There was a quiet strength in how she moved, a natural grace that drew the eye without trying. Her smile, shy but radiant, stirred something unfamiliar in Kiel's chest. And the scent—sandalwood and amber, earthy and warm—lingered like an unspoken promise.
To the casual observer, she was stunning. To Kiel, she was sublime.
"Is something the matter?" she asked, her voice as soft and soothing as wind rustling through trees.
Kiel's jaw had dropped without him realizing it. He shut it with a sharp click, silently cursing his lack of composure. With slow, uncertain movements, he signed, "Uh, no, nothing's wrong. Just... thinking."
"Oh? Thinking about what?" she asked, a spark of curiosity in her tone.
"The first time we met," the younger Kaiju cut in, his tone sharp. The girl's attention flicked toward him. "I didn't want his help. I didn't need it." His words were barbed, aimed more at Kiel than her.
The girl's smile faltered. Her brow furrowed, casting a brief shadow across her features. Even in frustration, she radiated a magnetic beauty—tempered now by concern. With a long, exasperated sigh, she turned back to Kiel. Her smile returned, softer now, as if she'd decided to set the burden of irritation down.
In that fleeting moment, she transformed before his eyes. One breath she was a stern sister, the next a beacon of warmth and serenity. Kiel couldn't look away. Her presence was like sunlight—impossible not to feel.
"Apologies for my brother's rudeness," she said, her grin returning, this time edged with playfulness and a familiar fondness. Her eyes flitted between Kiel and the boy, exasperated yet maternal.
"Oh, it's okay," Kiel signed, still stunned by her effortless kindness. Then he paused, confusion slipping across his expression. "Wait... you understood that? You can understand me? You both can?"
"Mhm," she nodded, raising her hands to match his gestures. "Four years of sign language. Papa insisted. Said it builds empathy and strengthens community."
The words hit Kiel with unexpected force—like warm light breaking through a winter storm. The barrier that had long confined him, muffling his voice and severing connections, cracked in that moment. For the first time in a long time, he felt... heard.
Then—cold. Shockingly cold.
"Gah! That's freezing!" he signed, flailing as a chunk of ice landed on his head, his face twisted in horrified surprise.
"Well maybe you'd stop feeling it if you'd quit squirming, you big green baby," the girl teased, gently pressing the ice bag into place.
"Baby?!" Kiel signed indignantly. "If your brother hadn't clobbered me with the frying pan underneath the bed here—" he knocked on the frame for emphasis, "—I probably wouldn't even need the ice!" He turned a mock glare at the boy. "You're not slick. I saw you."
Letting out a sigh, Kiel sank into the bed. The pain had dulled. The warmth of the room, the softness of the sheets, and—most of all—the girl's quiet presence had lifted something heavy from his shoulders.
He glanced at her again, watching the way her hands moved with practiced care.
"Hey," he signed, slow and thoughtful, "is he really your brother?"
"Certainly," she replied with a tilt of her head, her hands affirming her answer. "Why? Don't we look alike?"
"No, that's not it," Kiel signed quickly. "It's just... well, he's not—"
"Human?" she finished, her tone gentle. She placed the ice bag back in the pail and retrieved a bandage from her pocket, her fingers deftly wrapping it around his bruised arm. "He is. Just... not entirely. His ears, his eyes—just rare genetics. Other than that? He's your classic impatient, annoying little brother."
"Hey! The heck? I'm literally standing right here!" the boy snapped, earning a chuckle from his sister.
"And for the record," he added, turning to Kiel, "I didn't ask for your help. You did that on your own. You brought it on yourself."
Kiel nodded. "I know. I just got tired of hearing them talk that way—about us. There are people out there who look at us like monsters. So we have to watch out for each other, right?" He smiled. "We're all we've got."
The boy blinked. "...Well, uh, get better soon, I guess. I've had enough drama for one day. Don't want your dying words haunting my room." With that, he slipped out, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
A beat passed. Then:
"Huh," the girl murmured. "You actually left him speechless. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this moment?"
Kiel raised an eyebrow. "So... who are you people, anyway?"
Her head tilted. "What?"
"Most people, they turn me in. Call the cops. You didn't. Why?"
She met his gaze, calm and unflinching. "Do you want people to trust you, or are you that more comfortable when they don't?"
"I just... don't want anyone getting hurt over me," Kiel signed with a trace of bitterness. "You humans keep doing the dumb thing."
"Well, fuck," she muttered with a huff. "You're welcome?"
"I'm not saying you're stupid," Kiel added quickly. "You're smart. Clearly so. So what's your angle?"
"My angle?"
"Yeah. What's in it for you?"
She shook her head, amused and exasperated all at once. "Sometimes... people don't have an angle. Sometimes, they're just trying to do what's right. You know, like actual human beings being human?"
She glanced at the family photo on the dresser—a snapshot of warmth and joy, her family, smiling beneath a sun-drenched sky. But the innocence in that photo felt like a relic now, distant and unreachable. Slowly, she turned the frame face-down, as if to bury the past it held.
She exhaled. "Kiki told me what happened. In the alley. Called it reckless, stupid, foolish."
"Yeah... sounds about right."
"But he also called it brave. And noble. So, thank you." She finished tying off the bandage with a gentle touch and smiled. "I'm grateful."
Kiel blinked, his cheeks suddenly warm. His hands hesitated before signing, "He's got a... creative way of saying thanks. Mind if I ask your name? I already got his."
"Think you can pronounce it?" she asked with a teasing glint.
"Try me," he signed with mock bravado.
She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Alright. Just... don't laugh, okay? It's not exactly your average girl-next-door name."
"I'd never laugh at you," he signed earnestly, his smile unwavering.
Her eyes locked on his, her playful energy giving way to a moment of vulnerability. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and declared with theatrical flair:
"Asterialnauchseccin Elspeth Katsuragi!"
There was a pause. Kiel blinked.