Chapter Text
Tojo ██ is six; he doesn’t cry.
He doesn’t cry because crying doesn’t bring people back to life. It doesn’t fix anything, nor does it make the blankets on his mother’s bed any warmer. Simple tears won’t wake her from her endless slumber, just as they won’t stop the maids from lowering their gazes when he enters the hall in the mornings.
No one tells him she’s dead. They tell him she’s gone. She’s just going to be “asleep for a little while.” They tell him not to worry.
██ is not an idiot.
After all, he reads far too much for that. Watches things too closely too. He knows he takes after her—that’s why the servants try not to flinch when they pass by. As quiet as they try to be, he hears it anyway.
He stops speaking for a time. His father lets him be. ██ goes everywhere he used to go with her. Every room, the courtyard, the kitchen. He returns to the places where memories rest over and over searching for his Mother’s warmth. Yet all that greets him is a chilling void of absence.
✦
Something’s wrong with his father, ██ suspects.
Or rather, not wrong in the way everyone says it. Everyone says he’s grieving, that he’s exhausted, and that the death of Mother rests heavy on his heart. But ██ knows better.
Father isn’t falling apart.
He stands taller these days; starts working again and attends council meetings once more. He drinks again, though he insists he never truly stopped. This isn’t how a man who just lost the love of his life acts. Even a six-year-old can see that.
People talk, thinking that he won’t hear. They think he’s too young. Think that children simply forget the things they hear by accident.
“…Can’t even wait six months…”
“It’s shameless. He was already asking the seamstress for—”
“…the new one? She’s from that western trade envoy a while back. Less royal than the late lady, but—”
The woman’s name comes up quite a few times too, but ██ decides it’s not worth remembering.
She’s someone from out west. Visited during the late summer, when Mother was still able to speak in complete sentences. He remembers her—doesn’t remember her face, only remembers the way she kept looking at Father.
Mother was still alive when that woman started visiting.
✦
The night he runs away, it’s cold.
It’s not even a particularly clever plan. The chill of winter pierces through his clothes as he walks fast through the night. He makes it far. No one stops him and they don’t send anyone after him, either. They’re likely too ashamed to admit a child slipped through their fingers. That, or they’re too preoccupied with Father’s remarriage.
The world outside the Tojo manor is lively. He isn’t eaten by wolves either, contrary to popular belief.
He lies about his age and washes dishes at some tavern for lodging. Once or twice he pretends to be someone’s cousin and gets away with it. He pretends to be blind after accidentally running into a bishop just so he doesn’t have to apologize. He’s learned people don’t like confident children—they trust them even less.
When the tavern stops offering him a place to sleep, he finds a room outside the old abandoned church. It’s dusty, but filled with books from a prior occupant. No name, only a title marked on them: Priest.
In any case, he reads everything. Mystery serials (his personal favorite), romance novels (it’s embarrassing how much he enjoys one of them), and etiquette books. Notices this Priest character seemed to be interested in the art of disguise. Reads those books more than once. It’s helpful knowledge, especially in his position.
There’s a swordsman’s handbook too. Swordplay isn’t about strength, he learns. It’s about knowing when to strike; knowing exactly where it hurts. He copies it line by line, right next to the art of disguise notes.
Then, he trains with sticks. Later, with stolen blades.
He titles himself knight before anyone else does. People begin to believe him.
They give him odd jobs: guard duty at border taverns, escort work for traveling merchants. They don’t ask for certifications because they’re simply too cheap to hire anyone licensed. It works wonders for him, though.
One time a noblewoman eyes him with half-interest and he says he’s spoken for just to wipe that smirk off her face. He doesn’t know who he’s spoken for; even so, the phrase feels satisfying.
It’s around this time he starts going by HiMERU.
✦
He’s thirteen when he receives a letter. Not one he intends to open at first.
He sees the seal, that very same seal from his childhood, and instinct tells him to throw it directly into the nearest alley fire. Except it’s raining. All the fires are dead or dying and the paper itself is already damp from being handed to him at the end of a job. Guy gave it alongside pay and a pat on the shoulder followed by,
“Someone’s looking for you, boy.”
“…How strange. Well, thank you for honoring your end of the deal. HiMERU is departing now.”
A few blocks away, and under the cover of some soggy balcony he’s probably not allowed near, he ends up opening it. The letter smells like dust.
HiMERU reads each line out loud, though it’s quiet. His words swallowed by the light rain.
HiMERU (is that what you’re going by nowadays?),
I write to you not out of obligation or nostalgia. Though I imagine in your position these things matter very little. I write to you because Kaname exists.
That sentence stops him, his fingers stilling. He doesn’t know a Kaname.
Apparently, this Kaname is tired all the time and lies still for most days. Never eats unless asked repeatedly. Sometimes coughs up blood. The physicians say his chances aren’t dire, but treatment is expensive—a cost the current Tojo estate cannot handle.
Apparently, business fell through; Father’s trade investments collapsed.
As did his new wife.
HiMERU reaches the last few lines:
You were always good at many things. You’re a clever and capable boy—that much hasn’t changed from what I’ve heard. I know it’s undeserved of me to ask… But if there’s any trace of love for the name Tojo within you, or even pity… Please help him. If not for me, then for him.
I will not write again.
Father
Disgusting, he thinks as he folds the letter. Pretentious and cowardly both. What a pathetic man.
HiMERU wants to tear the paper in half. Wants to let it soak up rainwater and rot into the mud. He almost drops it off the balcony, but his hands don’t let go.
Instead, he pulls the document from between the pages: medical documents with more text than he’s ever seen on a book’s page. Unfamiliar diagrams. There’s a faded sketch of a child’s face and a note scribbled underneath it: Tojo Kaname.
The boy looks tired. But he’s just a face on paper, no one HiMERU knows. Even if he looks strikingly similar.
HiMERU seals the note again. He wonders if he’s ever hated someone and pitted them in equal measure before. Suppose there’s always a first for things.
He decides to get serious about things. Not for his father, gods no, but for Kaname’s recovery. Just because the boy was dealt a bad hand by fate, doesn’t mean he should suffer because of their shared awful father.
✦
When he’s fifteen years old, he hears a rumor from a sea-captain turned courier turned tavern drunk. A high-ranking noble family’s private knight has died. (Natural causes—probably old age.) The Kazehaya family; Eastern duchy. Still fairly untouched by the war and famous for long prayer nights and church ties. Unpleasantly devout types.
HiMERU lingers at the table for longer than usual.
“Oh yeah,” the man says. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair looks like it’s seen better days., He doesn’t look trustworthy. “They’re lookin’ for a replacement squire or knight or whatever. Normally they’d get someone top tier—y’know, royal registry and all that—but there are too many out on campaigns these days. East boundaries are safer anyway.”
He pretends not to notice HiMERU listening. HiMERU pretends he’s not listening.
That night, he updates his forged papers. Ages himself up just barely. Sixteen won’t do (besides, he’s turning the very same age soon). Freshly eighteen, though? He can get away with that, and it makes him look more legitimate.
He studies the handwriting of other knights first. They’re always drunk inside the tavern. He asks them for autographs; says he holds great respect for him. That he has countless dreams of his own to serve just like they do.
Later, he copies them, though not perfectly. Perfect would be suspicious. Instead, he lets the ink bleed just a little at the end of his fake signature. Just shy of careless. It’s the sort of imperfection that says he’s been doing this for years.
A few nights later he crafts the application itself.
He writes of modest deeds, like his experience patrolling the border near the western cliffside trade routes. What he really means is fending off drunk thieves in a village four hours out from the capital. Writes of honors, like a commendation from the Lieutenant of Velinda—a man he suspects doesn’t exist. The only truthful thing the application contains is a few testimonies from the tavern’s regulars.
He signs it HiMERU. It’s not like he uses the Tojo name anymore.
In the morning he slides it into a courier’s box headed eastward and tips the guy five silver to handle it with care.
“Fragile contents,” HiMERU lies. “Family heirlooms.”
He’s doubtful it’ll work; it’s a gamble more than anything. Looking for other leads is a more effective use of his time—so he does.
The Kazehaya family is not minor. The eastern duchies still hold onto formalities like religion. They sit close to the Church, too. Meaning close to miracles.
HiMERU has never liked gods; never asked them for anything directly.
They’ve done so little for him.
In any case, he’s heard they take background research seriously. Any noble family from the East worth their salt should be able to spot a fake.
Still, he’s desperate. And what’s the worst they can do? Throw the letter away. Surely they wouldn’t come to the capital’s outskirts to lock him up themselves. That would be a waste of resources.
When he receives a return letter two weeks later stamped with the house crest in deep red wax, he’s more than shocked. Knows before he even opens it what it means.
He’s been invited for a formal interview. Asked to dress respectfully. …Whatever that means.
HiMERU stares at it for a good four minutes. Then he sets it down on the floor of the rented room with that lopsided bed and a ceiling he suspects is starting to mold. He stares at a spider crawling over one of the beams above.
When he speaks aloud, it’s mostly to himself.
“This is… very likely a terrible idea…”
Kazehaya Tatsumi is dropped off at the local church when he is seven years of age.
That is to say: a carriage is arranged for him. A message is sent a day in advance that the Duke and Duchess of the East extend their personal thanks to the clergy for hosting their son. A servant’s hand rests on his shoulder as Tatsumi descends from the coach and walks the path toward arched wooden doors.
He’s accompanied by silence as he steps inside—no farewell kiss on the forehead or sorrowful calls of his name from the carriage. He’s expected not to cry despite being so young.
He doesn’t. Or rather, he holds it back. Father once scolded him for crying—he hasn’t made the mistake again.
“Welcome,” says a priest in spotless white robes. He bows low. Not out of warmth or duty, Tatsumi notes. The way his hands tremble mid-gesture gives it away. It’s out of fear. “Lord Kazehaya. We are honored to have you here.”
Tatsumi returns the bow, his small hands folded politely behind him.
Whether he’s supposed to be here or simply forgotten like a bookmark stuck inside the pages of a holy text half-read… that is something he hasn’t yet worked out.
When the priest says, “They’ll return soon,” Tatsumi already knows it’s a lie.
They don’t return. The weeks stretch long. His things were sent with a servant biweekly until he was practically living in the church as his new home. No letters ever come with the parcels, only his belongings.
Sometimes the other children poke their heads through the door to see him, however, they never stay. From the look on their faces, he guesses it isn’t something born of cruelty.
The priests, healers, and sisters all whisper to one another like he’s an urn on a high shelf. Something frail and gilded and oh-so-holy.
“It wouldn’t do to accidentally offend the Kazehaya family…”
“Even with the archbishop involved, there’s no touching the Duke.”
“Did you hear? He’s spending so much time studying—it’s admirable…”
Which of course he is. There’s no one else to speak with.
Tatsumi spends his hours quietly: head bowed over leather-bound texts and neglected courtyard flowers. He practices his riding, though not on horseback—the church only has donkeys. He waters moss instead of roses, but the garden still looks beautiful to him even if it may be unconventional. The saint statues with cracked skin keep him company better than anyone else here.
One day he asks Sister Avi why no one corrects his speech when he recites it at breakfast. He knows he messes up some days; he’s seen the other children get scolded for simply leaving out a word.
She sweats nervously and tells him, “You’re doing so well! Astonishingly well! What a talented young boy…”
He’s memorized her face when she lies. He wishes he was just treated the same as the rest of them.
“Ah, I see,” he says simply. “Thank you for your compliments…”
✦
By his tenth birthday, they let him organize his mornings, and this is their grave mistake. Because none of them expect him to sneak into the high archives.
The archives are locked, as is expected. However, the elderly woman who does the sweeping has poor eyesight and a kind heart. If Tatsumi just smiles at her, he can slip past with no questions asked. She tells him not to touch anything fragile and gives him directions to the books meant for children.
He ignores those directions.
It’s not his fault he’s curious.
At first he listens a little. He reads picture books with titles like How to Pray Correctly and What Foods Did the Saints Like? They keep him entertained as silly as they may be. One day he finds a book with a pop-up page and spends ten minutes just pulling the tab to make the little angel flap its wings.
He reads and finishes those books. Then he wanders.
The shelves in the back are very tall and dusty. He sneezes the first time he walks back there. He finds a book nestled far back on the shelf and when he pulls it out, a few flakes of leather fall to the ground.
The book is old—it’s seen better years. There are missing pages and a lot of text is crossed out. Some things are underlined twice, while the margins are full of arrows.
Tatsumi likes it. A book with a life of its own.
There’s no traditional chapter order or any sort of explanation of what a miracle is or isn’t. (He knows this somewhat. It’s been lightly covered during lessons about the Saints—a form of magic meant to be benignant. Always painted in a positive light in scripture.) It feels more like a student’s notes instead of a textbook.
You begin with intention and then touch where it hurts the most. Let warmth pass through you to the wounded.
One annotation mentions a “shared strain.” Something about holding hands with someone and letting them carry the aftereffects of casting. He mostly skips over that bit. He doesn’t have anyone to hold hands with anyway.
Everything else feels simple. Or at least doable.
If he can help just a single person with this, then it’ll be worth it, he tells himself.
One morning after a particularly horrid storm, he finds a rat bleeding out at the edge of the garden stairs. His parents would tell him to leave the disgusting creature alone, but what kind of person does something like that?
Leaning down, he sets one palm on the still-damp stone. The other rests above the rat.
“Please don’t bite me…”
Warmth seeps out of his skin, the signature golden color of miracles. The rat doesn’t panic. It doesn’t bite him either. Tatsumi’s heart beats faster—faster than it has in years. He feels slightly lightheaded. It must be the excitement. When the rat stops bleeding and scurries away, Tatsumi gasps.
“Oh…! It worked?”
No one sees; this is because no one is even watching the young Kazehaya anymore. Too distracted preparing for the older Kazehayas’ return.
✦
Just weeks after the rat incident, the Duke and Duchess return. The sound of carriage wheels over gravel announce their return. Everyone kneels when they enter the church to observe Tatsumi’s progress. That’s what they’re calling it. He wonders what sort of progress he was supposed to be making here.
Father lifts his chin and looks him over like he’s appraising an old painting. “You’re standing straighter now, Tatsumi. Good.”
Mother adjusts the pin in her hair, not offering a comment of her own.
They don’t ask what he’s learned. There’s no question of how he felt during those three years. The only things they ever say are statements.
He’s informed he’ll be returning to the manor, effectively immediately. His quarters are already prepared and a private tutor has been hired to catch him up on noble affairs. His meals are to be eaten at proper hours once more. No skipping to play in the dirty garden. This time the garden will have better flowers—but he’s only allowed there after his duties are finished for the day.
There’s no mention of where they went, or why it was necessary to leave their only son for three entire years. Tatsumi says nothing. If they don’t have any questions for him, he has none for them. He simply bows his head and smiles like they have a proper familial connection.
✦
The manor is grand, much like the church. His new room faces east, towards the coast. Beautiful as it is, there’s no warmth here. Even if the fire burns bright in the dinner hall.
“I’ve missed this place quite terribly,” Tatsumi says during their first dinner back. He can’t think of a single thing he’s missed about the estate, but he knows it’s what Father wants to hear right now.
“It’s good to have you home,” Father replies without looking up.
Is it?
The rest of dinner goes by quietly.
Three days later he’s assigned a personal knight. Tatsumi is given no say in the matter, as is natural now.
“You’re older now, and we can’t always be at your side,” Mother says, violet eyes skimming some document like this is a secondary matter to her. “You require a proper escort—a knight who doesn’t stray from duty. You’ll learn from him, too, I hope.”
The knight is older—sixty-something, Tatsumi thinks. He’s also extremely cordial and strict; his armor fits perfectly and he practices sword drills twice a day. He reminds Tatsumi of his parents.
Ten years of life and not a single friend to show for it. Sometimes he wishes he was born on the streets instead of in the comfort of the manor. Maybe then at least he would have someone to laugh with.
Tatsumi has barely any time to continue going down that depressing path when the knight knocks on his door. So he’s a bit different from Tatsumi’s parents—they never knock.
“Sir Arkadios at your service,” he greets.
The man even bows the way books describe it: back straight and movements efficient. It’s the kind of bow one would expect from a lifelong knight, and Tatsumi rises from his bed to return the gesture. His is likely a poorer, less refined version, but Arkadios doesn’t correct him.
He wonders if this’ll be like the Sisters all over again.
“Thank you for watching over me, Arkadios-san.”
Arkadios smiles with practiced grace. Tatsumi can’t tell if it’s fake or not, he’s not that familiar with the knight yet.
“You’ll not be left to your own devices any longer. I’m here because, unfortunately, your parents are very busy people. As much as they’d love to watch over you, political matters call their constant attention.”
Tatsumi merely nods. He’s used to being told what he is and isn’t allowed to do. Still, he doubts the knight’s words. Even with no affairs, he’s not so sure his parents would love to keep him company anymore.
✦
The scenery outside Tatsumi’s window changes as the years go by.
He spends his days under a strict regimen. Up before sunrise (this one is easy, he’s always been a morning person), sword drills under Arkadios’ eye (this one… he finds more difficulty with, but he’s never directly called out). His studies are endless: etiquette, scripture, political theory, horseback riding.
He finds himself enjoying riding the horses—they’re different from the donkeys he once rode. The fresh air is freeing, and sometimes Arkadios even lets him ride alone. It’s thrilling. Still, he knows he’s being watched from somewhere. So he’s careful not to go too fast like he did before.
Meals happen on a schedule. Sometimes his parents attend, sometimes it’s just him and his knight. Candles go out at ten. No later.
Tatsumi learns which floorboards creak when he tiptoes at night. When he’s eleven, Mother catches him out past ten. First she scolds him, and then she punishes Arkadios for not watching over him.
It doesn’t sit right with Tatsumi. It’s not the knight’s fault he was out wandering the halls. It’s his own fault. So why doesn’t the punishment fall on him? Why does someone else have to take the brunt of the blow?
For a few months following that incident, Arkadios is far more strict than usual.
By twelve, Tatsumi is good at smiling even when he doesn’t mean it. Though, when he looks in the mirror he can tell it’s just a lie. Wonders why others don’t question it.
On the contrary, Arkadios never smiles unnecessarily. He doesn’t praise casually either. When he does it’s with stiff posture and always paired with a correction of sorts. Never… harsh, however. Tatsumi isn’t entirely sure if it’s fear of his parents or the inability to be brutal to a child.
Still, Tatsumi doesn’t hate him. Arkadios listens when he speaks.
The knight never interrupts. He just nods and says things like, “That is… an interesting theory,” or “If you pursue those studies quietly, then I see no issue.”
✦
By the time Tatsumi is fifteen, he looks more like a proper adult than a teenager.
It’s a quiet morning when it happens. He can barely see out of his window—the fog is too thick. Normally Arkadios would wake him, but the man is nowhere to be seen.
Twenty minutes later, Tatsumi finds him in the servant quarters. Still sitting upright at his writing desk, pen fallen mid-sentence. A half-finished letter rests beside the inkwell.
The house priest calls it “a natural end,” and Tatsumi is permitted five minutes of silence to himself before lessons resume. He skips them; no one stops him.
Later, his parents confront him. They don’t mention a funeral or anything of the like. It’s simply back to business for them.
“We’re doing our best to find someone as a suitable replacement.”
“…I understand.”
What he doesn’t say, however, is if a miracle could undo death if age is what took him. If he tried really hard, could he call him back? What if he tried on something small first—like a rat again?
…Would they punish him for it? Send him away, or call him possessed, or would they be afraid? Only Church officials are meant to learn miracles. He decides not to test it. Bringing back the dead is the wrong thing to do. …Right?
✦
A few months pass and summer arrives. His parents deliver the news of a new knight with as much glee as the elder Kazehayas can spare.
“...Admittedly, he doesn’t have the same level of experience that Arkadios-san possessed,” Father admits with a sigh, “but he’s still quite proficient on paper.”
Tatsumi tilts his head, his hair brushing over his shoulder. He should get a haircut soon before it gets too long…
“Ah, then I’ll be sure not to act up too terribly.”
“Wonderful. He arrives tomorrow. Your mother and I will be holding a last minute interview, and if all goes well you’ll meet him afterwards. Please stay in the parlor until he comes to get you.”