Whispers in the Guild
The morning began not with the shouting of merchants, but with whispers.
The guild was quieter than usual. The talk wasn't about missions, pay, or drunken victories — only one thing:
"They say someone saw fire outside the walls — fire like in the legends…"
"Nonsense. No one can summon such flames."
"And if someone can?"
When Hinokami crossed the threshold, he felt the weight of their eyes — not direct stares, but sideways glances, from behind mugs and half-faked yawns.
"So… the goblins weren't the only ones who saw."
The sparks in his blood trembled slightly — not from anger, but from pressure.
Kai stood beside him, hands in pockets, exhaustion in his eyes.
"Ignore them," Kai murmured. "If the guild chased every rumor, none of us would still be alive."
"This time, the rumor's true," Hinokami answered quietly.
"Yeah," Kai smirked faintly. "But they don't know that."
A voice called from the far end of the hall:
"Hinokami! Come here."
Lisan.
She stood behind her desk — her smile softer, restrained, as if she didn't want to reveal too much before everyone.
He walked toward her, feeling the aisle between the tables turn into a corridor of stares.
"Do they already suspect? Judge me? If they must — let it be for what I truly am, not for their stories."
Lisan leaned forward so only he could hear.
"There are rumors — about fire outside the walls. Strong ones."
"I know," he said.
She held his gaze steadily.
"There are things I can't ignore. Not when I'm responsible for the new ones."
Hinokami reached for his belt and unhooked his Wooden Token — warm, like a piece of himself.
"Look," he said simply. "I give you permission."
Her eyes widened.
"You're sure? That means—"
"That I won't hide," he interrupted. "If you must judge me, let it be with truth. No time for games. We're leaving for another mission today."
He placed the token in her palm and nodded.
Its warmth flared briefly.
Lisan closed her eyes. The runes glowed faintly, breathing in deeper light.
She saw fragments — not images, but sensations:
— a boy under a sky with one moon,
— a fire not born outside, but within,
— a broken sword,
— a woman of light,
— forgiveness where hatred should be.
Lines formed on her brow. Another followed.
Hinokami watched in silence.
"Will she see me as a monster… or a mistake of the world?"
She opened her eyes.
"You…" she began, but at that moment a guard entered — bronze insignia on his shoulder, one of the city's, not the guild's.
"Time's up," the man called. "All Metal-ranks assigned for today's missions, report to the east gate within the hour. City guard escort mandatory."
Kai appeared behind Hinokami's shoulder.
"Come on, Metal boy. If we're late, we'll get a lecture on discipline — worse than any wound."
Lisan held the token a moment longer, then handed it back.
"Go," she said quietly. "We'll talk… when you return."
Her tone carried no judgment — nor trust. Something sharper — cautious silence.
Hinokami fastened the token to his belt again.
"Fine. First, survive. Then decide who believes what."
He followed Kai out, leaving the whispers to rise again behind him — like smoke searching for wind.
Beneath the City
The mission ended faster than expected — just scouting, checking paths, nothing unusual. At least on paper.
On the way back, Kai walked in silence — longer than usual. No jokes. No questions.
"You're thinking too loudly," Hinokami said at last.
"Yeah," Kai replied. "And unlike you, I don't have an inner sun to burn the noise away."
"What's wrong?"
Kai looked at the distant walls.
"Someone in the archives asked about you today. Not directly… but about 'new Metals showing unusual abilities.'"
"Meaning me."
"Yeah."
They entered through a side gate — quiet streets leading toward the guild. Children played with wooden swords. A cat watched them from a window ledge — thoughtful, as if it knew too much.
"If I stay on the surface, they'll crush me by their rules. If I hide, I'll lose myself."
He contained the warmth rising in his chest.
"I'll show you something," Kai said suddenly. "A place where walls don't listen."
"Underground?"
"Beneath the city's memory," Kai corrected. "And beneath its fear."
They turned toward the archive district's rear section — smaller doors, heavier, without decoration, marked only by runes against damp and rot.
"Officially, this is where old records are stored," Kai said. "Unofficially… it's an entrance to something else."
He produced a small key engraved with symbols and pressed it against a rune.
A section of stone shifted with a click, revealing a narrow passage downward.
"Ready?"
"I don't know," Hinokami said honestly. "But I'm here."
"Fear is part of the path. If I deny it, I lie to the fire inside me."
The sparks in his blood began to dance — not in panic, but anticipation.
They descended.
The deeper they went, the quieter the city's sounds became.
In their place came something else — a whisper, not from men, but from stone that had seen too much.
The Exiles of Light
The underground wasn't just a tunnel.
It was a labyrinth — halls, arches, rooms carved in forgotten purpose.
In one wide chamber, faint crystals glowed with cold, heatless light.
There they were — a dozen figures.
Some wore tattered mage robes, others the worn clothes of ordinary people.
Their eyes were strange — not blind, not bright, but hollow in another way, like lights turned inward.
"Who brought an outsider?" asked a woman with silver hair and a face carved by years of quiet fatigue.
"I did," said Kai. "This is Hinokami — bearer of… a special flame."
A scarred man glared suspiciously.
"We don't need more trouble. The city's forgotten us. Let's keep it that way."
"The city hasn't forgotten," Kai said calmly. "It remembers you — just not kindly."
An older woman stepped forward — her eyes pale as frozen water.
"Come closer, boy."
Hinokami obeyed.
"What do you see in us?" she asked.
He looked carefully. No runes burned on their skin, no aura shimmered around them — yet the air was colder here.
"People who once stood near the light," he said slowly, "and paid for it."
A thin smile crossed her lips.
"At least you don't lie. That's a start."
Kai whispered beside him:
"They're the Exiles — former mages, priests, soldiers who came too close to the power. Those who lost their light."
"How does one lose light?" Hinokami asked.
"By forgetting it's truth," said an old man in the corner, "and seeing it as a weapon instead."
The scarred man laughed bitterly.
"Or when the Order decides you're inconvenient. Then your light ends — on paper. The rest is detail."
Their gazes turned to Hinokami.
"And what do you carry?" asked the woman. "Light that obeys order — or light that questions it?"
"I don't know. And that's the truth."
He felt warmth beneath his skin but kept it steady.
"I carry fire that sometimes heals, sometimes protects… and can destroy. I'm still learning which."
"At least you admit it," the old man sighed. "We hoped this story was over."
"What story?"
"The story of the First Flame," said the woman. "And since you're here, it's clearly not."
The Legend of the First Flame
They sat in a circle. The floor was cold stone, but the air seemed to listen.
The old man rose slowly, robes frayed, sleeves marked by faded sigils of rank.
"Long ago," he began, "the world did not divide fire from light. All was one.
Those who wielded the flame were honored — called Keepers of Warmth."
Warmth.
The word resonated inside Hinokami; his inner sun stirred faintly.
"Among them was one — not the strongest, but the strangest. He didn't seek to use fire for war.
He sought to speak with it."
"Speak?" Hinokami repeated.
"Yes," said the woman. "They say he could give the flame a soul — not command it, but ask what it desired."
Kai listened, unusually serious.
"They called him the First Flame," the old man continued. "Not because he was first, but because for the first time, the world saw a fire that chose.
He forged weapons that refused to kill innocents.
Armor that shattered when its bearer betrayed a friend.
A flame that could say no."
Hinokami fell silent.
A sword that refuses to kill…
A flicker of Kagehora's memory burned in him.
"And then?"
"Then came what always comes — fear," the scarred man said. "Power that can't be controlled must be destroyed."
"The rulers declared such fire dangerous.
If weapons can refuse, if flame can decide — how can men wage wars?"
"So he became heretic, then monster," the old man finished softly.
"He didn't fight them," the woman added. "He chose differently — gathered his power and sealed it away."
"Where?" Hinokami whispered.
"In the sky," the elder said. "He divided the fire into three seals — three moons, three eyes to watch the world and hold the flame until mankind was ready not to enslave it."
Kai trembled.
"Those are just legends… right?"
"Legends," the woman replied, "are memories too dangerous to call truth."
The Forge of the Purple Eye
The air grew colder.
"What did you see?" Hinokami asked.
"Once," said the woman, "some of us believed the First Flame would return — not as a man, but as a spark in another's soul.
We built a forge far from the Order's eyes — a forge for balance, not war."
"The Forge of the Purple Eye," Kai whispered, quoting something half-forgotten.
"Yes," the elder nodded. "Named for a vision. When the three moons align, the purple one opens — like an eye.
In that moment, the seal weakens, and the fire looks back."
Hinokami felt the warmth inside him pulse — listening.
"We forged not swords, but keys — artifacts meant to speak with the flame without breaking the seals.
Or so we thought."
"What went wrong?"
"People," the scarred man grunted. "Some wanted knowledge. Others — power."
Their eyes met his again.
"Why tell me this?" Hinokami asked.
"Because if you were ordinary," the woman said, "the city would have spat you out long ago.
And… the Smith of Smiths has already chosen you, hasn't he?"
Hinokami froze.
"You know him?"
"He was one of us," said the elder. "Until the world feared his truth.
They named him the Grey Watcher — as if a smith could only witness, not shape."
He was part of it… still is.
The sparks in Hinokami's blood flared, then steadied.
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing," the woman said. "Just know this: every choice you make from now on won't be yours alone.
The flame in you carries echoes — of the one who refused to rule, and of those who locked him away."
"If you follow the path of the Forge of the Purple Eye," the scarred man added, "remember: it's not a temple. It's a question. The answer depends on you."
Steps Above Their Heads
Silence thickened.
From above — dull thuds. Footsteps.
"Not a coincidence," Kai muttered. "Too many guards near the archives today."
"The Order of Light," the woman said quietly. "They've been searching more often lately."
The elder turned to Hinokami.
"You must go. You and the boy don't belong here yet. If they seek us, let them find us. We're already ghosts."
"I won't leave you—"
"You will," the old man snapped. "Or you'll give them a reason to hunt you. We're echoes. You're movement. The echo can be silenced — the movement must live."
Kai grabbed his arm.
"There's an old drainage tunnel. Move!"
Hinokami looked once more at the Exiles.
"I'll return."
"Don't promise what the world might forbid," the woman smiled faintly. "Just live long enough."
"Long enough to choose my own path."
The inner sun inside him condensed into a steady warmth.
They fled through a narrow corridor smelling of damp stone.
The footsteps above grew louder. Commands were shouted.
"Think the ceiling will collapse?" Hinokami asked, half-joking.
"If it does, at least we'll avoid another moral lecture," Kai grinned. "I hate when my life depends on which version of truth is fashionable this century."
Despite the danger, Hinokami smiled.
The tunnel stretched endlessly, until faint daylight appeared — pale and real.
They emerged in a narrow alley between old buildings. No one waited.
But far away — shouts, orders, boots striking cobblestone.
"They search for answers underground… while the answer walks the streets."
"How do you feel?" Kai asked as they blended into the crowd.
"Like someone opened a window inside me," Hinokami said. "And let in more questions than air."
Warmth spread through his chest — calm, steady.
"The First Flame. The Smith of Smiths. The Forge of the Purple Eye.
And I… just someone who won't let fire lie."
Above them, between rooftops, the purple moon shone brighter for an instant.
An echo of ashes and forgotten words lingered in his mind — both promise and warning.