Dressed in the red cloak that Toki had given her, Utsuki felt somewhat protected from the insistent gazes of passersby. The thick fabric covered her fragile shoulders, and the intense color seemed to offer her a kind of anonymity, like a curtain drawn between her and the world around her. However, the oppressive atmosphere of the market suffocated her. The constant buzz, the mixed smell of fish, dust, and spices, and, above all, the memory of the theft, gnawed at her stomach with a pressing unease.
The thought of her mother's ring—that delicate silver circle, engraved with a small flower—appeared again and again in her mind, like an open wound. She wore it always, sometimes unconsciously turning the stone between her fingers in moments of uncertainty. Now, the hole in her finger seemed to burn.
"Maybe we should go somewhere for a drink," Toki said, noticing the deep frown between the girl's eyebrows. His voice was low, calm, almost an invitation to silence. "A quiet place where we can talk."
Utsuki nodded slowly, as if only then realizing how much her insides were shaking. The thought of a warm drink—even a bad tea in a cracked mug—suddenly felt like a lifeline.
The buzz of the market was becoming unbearable. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift back to an autumn afternoon, with leaves falling on the porch of the house. Her mother had grinned in amusement when Utsuki, as a child, had tried to steal the ring from her finger, "so I could wear it too." He clearly remembered his mother's laughter, the smell of ginger and cinnamon tea in the kitchen… and the promise that one day, that ring would be his.
—
Not far from the main hustle and bustle of the market, they spotted a tavern with a weathered wooden sign hanging at an odd angle. The drawing on it—once, perhaps, a jug or a loaf of bread—was almost erased.
"That might be good," Toki suggested, already heading for the entrance with sure but unhurried steps.
The heavy wooden door creaked as Toki pushed it open, letting a sliver of light filter in. The interior was bathed in a warm yellow light, filtered through the dirty windows. The solid wooden tables looked old but well-kept. The smell of stale beer, tobacco, and cooked food hung heavy in the air, but in a curiously comforting way.
A few customers sat scattered around the tables, talking in whispers or staring into space. It was a quiet refuge from the chaos of the city, an island where time seemed to pass more slowly.
At the bar, an old man with a thick white beard was tactfully wiping a glass with a clean cloth. His gaze was warm, his eyes slightly sad but gentle, and his posture betrayed the weariness of years, not apathy.
Toki and Utsuki sat at a small table near the bar. It was close enough to ask for information, but far enough away not to attract the attention of the others.
"Hello," Toki said, his tone polite.
The old man looked up and smiled at them. "May your hearts be blessed. How can I help you?"
Utsuki could no longer hold her tongue. The words came out like a broken thread from a vessel: "A ring of great value… of immense value to me was stolen." Her voice trembled slightly, not with fear but with pain. "Have you seen anyone suspicious around here?"
The old man put the cloth aside, rested his palms on the counter, and leaned forward slightly, as if to give them his full attention.
"A thief, you say? Unfortunately, the market is full of such people… But tell me, child, what kind of ring was it? And what did the person who took it look like?"
Utsuki swallowed hard and began to describe the ring with an almost painful meticulousness. The details were so vivid in her mind that she seemed to see it in her palm, there on the table. The small stone, the delicate flower-shaped engraving, the almost imperceptible traces of wear on the side. Toki listened attentively, silent but present – ready to intervene if emotion overwhelmed her.
While the girl spoke, the old man studied them with a warm but attentive curiosity. At one point, a playful glint crept into his eyes.
"Forgive me for asking you a personal question," he said in a low, warm voice, "but… are you two in love?"
Silence. Utsuki and Toki looked at each other, perplexed.
"What?" Toki burst out, flashing an amused smile. "Us? No way!"
"We're just… acquaintances," Utsuki added, a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. She felt completely unprepared for such a question.
Toki immediately began to joke, dropping ironic hints about their supposed "secret relationship." Utsuki looked at him indignantly – she didn't understand why he could make fun of her at a time like this, when she felt like her world was collapsing.
—
A young girl with bright eyes and a slightly ironic smile appeared from behind the counter, carrying a few pints to a table in the corner. She had an energetic presence, but also a certain seriousness in her gaze, as if she carried more than she seemed at first glance.
"Ah, my niece, Juhi Tora," the old man said proudly. "She helps me around here."
Tora smiled faintly at them, hearing the last lines of the conversation.
"Speaking of thieves and rings," the old man continued, turning to the girl, "didn't you find something in the market the other day?"
Tora stopped in her tracks. A shadow of guilt crossed her face and she looked at her grandfather as if he had shoved her in front of a bullock cart.
"Well..." she began, avoiding Utsuki's gaze. "I found a nice ring on the floor by the fruit stalls. A man seemed agitated, I think he dropped it by mistake..."
Tora hesitated for a moment, turning the empty mugs over on the counter, then looked back at Utsuki.
"It was a silver ring, with a small stone and... I think it had a flower pattern engraved on it," she said quietly, as if each word were a step on a thin line of ice.
Utsuki's heart stopped for a moment. Her mouth was dry, but in a trembling voice she said,
"This is my ring! My mother's, actually. It's the only memory I have of her..."
Tora's gaze did not soften. She seemed more uncomfortable than impressed.
"I found it. I kept it. I had no way of knowing anyone was looking for it."
Utsuki froze. A tension rose within her that went beyond anger. It was a visceral pain, mixed with injustice and exhaustion.
"You can't keep it just because you found it!" she burst out, her voice rising above the buzz of the tavern. "It's mine! It's not just some trinket. It's all I have of my mother!"
Tora lifted her chin, her dark eyes stubbornly unblinking.
"I know it has value to you, but I grew up without things too. When you find something beautiful in an ugly world, you want to keep it."
At that moment, something snapped in Utsuki. The pain seeped into his palms, where it gathered into a small, incandescent sphere. The flames danced gently, like petals of fire, casting moving shadows on the low ceiling of the tavern.
The people at the tables had stopped drinking. The tension had frozen in the air.
Tora took a step back, her hands clenching. She had no magic, but she braced herself, like a beast ready to defend itself with its bare fangs.
The old man flinched, his hand instinctively going to his chest, and his eyes—wide open—fixed on his granddaughter and the flames in the stranger's hands.
"Hey, hey… Utsuki," Toki said, his soft voice cutting through the chaos like cold silk. He approached slowly, with calculated steps, and placed his hand on the girl's arm. "Not like this… Not with fire. Not for this."
Utsuki turned to him, her breathing ragged. But something in his eyes—that stubborn gentleness—stopped her.
He looked at Tora. The girl's face was pale, but her gaze remained firm. Then, suddenly, her stomach grumbled loudly. A simple sound, but one that echoed in the silence of the tavern like a revelation.
A shadow of shame rose in her throat.
Toki smiled slightly.
Toki handed her the bread and cheese without hesitation. The movement seemed simple, but behind it was an old heaviness, hard to describe.
"Eat," he said. His voice was low, without authority, but full of an understanding that could not be imitated. "We must not be enemies."
Tora looked at the food, hesitant. Her hands trembled slightly. Maybe from hunger, maybe from shame. But finally, she took it. She did not thank him—she did not dare. Her gaze remained fixed on the wood of the table.
Toki sat down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. The weak light of the lanterns danced on his face, revealing tired but still undefeated features.
"You know…" he began, with a bitter smile, "it is not the first time I have shared a piece of cheese with someone hungry. But it is the first time I have done it without fear of them stealing it back from me."
Utsuki looked at him out of the corner of her eye. There was something different in the way he spoke now. No jokes, no mask of irony. As if, for the first time, he was speaking as the man behind the silence.
"I never knew my parents," Toki continued. "Not their names, not their faces. Raised among ruins and garbage, I spent my childhood wondering if I was lost... or simply forgotten. Sometimes... I hear a voice. My mother's, I think. A warm voice. I don't remember the face, only the sound of that voice, like a lullaby whispered in a storm."
He smiled sadly, as if he were soothing his own wound.
"I was nine years old when I first understood that the world wasn't made for kids like me. I was with a small group—other homeless kids. We were sheltering in a collapsed building, sharing what we could find. We were a family, or so we lied to ourselves. Until one night, a few drunken men burst in on us. They grabbed us, beat us, wanted to... teach us 'lessons'. I didn't know what to do. I screamed. And... then... it happened."
Toki closed his eyes for a moment. Tora stopped eating. Utsuki stopped breathing.
"I felt a growing heat, running up my spine. Then... explosion. I opened my eyes and they were burned. Their bodies were smoking, the walls were flowing, as if they had melted. The other children were looking at me in horror. One was crying, another was praying. And then... they ran away. They left me there, alone, in the middle of what I had become."
His words fell like stones.
"The next day, the town knew. They called me 'the cursed child.' They threw stones, they spat. Even those who had helped me once or twice pretended not to know me. Parents would pull their children out of the way when they saw me. One night, someone set fire to my shelter. That was when I understood: if I didn't leave, the next torch would come with a sword."
Toki took a deep breath, as if he could still smell the ash in his nostrils.
"I wandered the five kingdoms, hoping to find a master. Someone to teach me what was inside me. But my mana wasn't just big… it was uncontrollable. Like a beast in chains that were too weak. Whenever I tried to use it, things happened. Uncontrollable. I burned an orchard. I melted a well. I made a woman faint just by standing next to me."
His smile faded.
"I found two masters who welcomed me. Rare, wise men. The first told me I had 'old blood' in me. That I might be a descendant of some forgotten God. The other, a monk, told me I wasn't cursed… just wounded. They taught me to breathe, to channel energy. I began to hope."
A short pause. A heavy silence.
"But neither could really help me. Slowly, my mana was affecting them. It was weakening them. They had nightmares, visions. One lost his sight for a few days. Then… I left again. Without telling them. Better gone than a burden."
He took a small stone from his pocket, held it between his fingers. It was black, cracked, with runes flickering faintly.
"I carry magic stones. Rare. Expensive. Change them often. Suppress mana. Without them... I would turn into a living weapon. Or dead."
Tora and Utsuki had been silent, listening.
"I fought for kings, for lords, for cities I forget after I leave them. I was the hero no one asked for. I won battles that killed innocent people. I never felt like I belonged anywhere. I never felt peace."
He looked up at Tora.
"And that's why I'm here. In the city I've avoided for years. Maybe by mistake. Maybe out of a stupid instinct. Or maybe... because this void inside me hopes, somewhere deep down, that something—or someone—can fill it."
He was silent for a moment. There was no self-pity in his eyes. There was an assumption. A sincere confession, without embellishment.
"I know what it's like to be hungry. To feel like you don't deserve compassion. That you don't deserve anything. But listen to me, Tora: no human is born to be thrown away. And you didn't steal that ring. You found it. And you hesitated to sell it. That says enough. About you, not about your past."
He looked at Utsuki.
"You too. You hold on to that ring because it's the last thing that connects you to your mother. There's a fire in your heart, but don't let it burn out. Sometimes, what keeps us alive… is the very thing that hurts us the most."
In the silence that followed, Tora sobbed softly. And Toki… Toki stared into space.
But for the first time in years, he didn't feel so alone.