Before garments were crafted, before hides dried upon bodies, and before tied fibers cloaked the bellies, backs, and chests of humans, there existed only flesh exposed to the biting cold, the gale, and the scrutiny of others.
In those days, the village subsisted without the modesty that would emerge later, for they lacked a lengthy history of shame. They knew only the necessity of survival and of being witnessed completely.
It was during this epoch that Koeji began bearing an agony not stemming from the flesh, but from the gaze of others. Upon observing his physique and noting, within his womb, dual natures that eluded the rest—man and woman, conjoined, existing simultaneously—the settlement recoiled as if confronting an abomination of the world.
Some averted their faces. Others whispered. Cruel words were spoken, stinging barbs requiring no repetition to inflict harm. Koeji failed to grasp why this sparked such unease, nor why others dodged his glance.
Falazahr, however, did not follow suit. The village Matriarch regarded him like any other human: not with peculiarity, but with focus.
When the discourse began boiling over and shame threatened to supplant harmony, she commanded the crafting of woodland attire for everyone. She claimed that what one carried in their loins did not alter the power of their arms, the necessity to forage, nor the obligation to defend their kin.
Since then, Koeji existed within dual realities: the village's, which tolerated him as a walking enigma, and Falazahr's, who perceived him as an ordinary mortal, though the population ensured he never forgot the opposite.
That morning, the scent of smoke drifted across the settlement's hub. The primary bonfire burned near the circle of huts, fueled by dark timber, resins, and dry twigs maintaining a blue blaze more vibrant than any other in the valley. That was the mother-fire, the flame that must never perish.
Koeji paused at a distance, watching. Beside the blaze, Niu sat atop a low log, a makeshift bowl of banana leaf resting upon her legs. Inside lay a thick, pale-hued juice with a sweet aroma. The girl drank slowly, bearing the mark of the previous night's terror, yet she seemed less bewildered. Her smile remained faint, albeit genuine, as if fragments of the dream still pursued her.
Koeji hesitated before approaching. He felt the village's gaze upon him, even when no one truly stared. It was nearly always this way. Merely entering the center of the settlement caused a peculiar silence to settle around his steps, like a shadow without an owner. That drained him more than labor. Still, he walked toward Niu.
— Are you well? — he inquired, curious.
The child lifted her face.
— I am.
Koeji glanced at the banana-leaf bowl, the nearly finished juice, and the circle of blue fire flickering nearby.
— They said your hut collapsed.
Niu nodded.
— It was my scream.
He fell silent for a moment, attempting to comprehend how such a tiny voice could uproot an entire structure.
— I had a strange dream — he offered, seeking perhaps a way to avoid appearing as though he only approached to ask of the prior night. — And I saw something within it…
Niu regarded him with curiosity.
— One like mine?
— You dreamt as well? — He turned his face toward the mother-fire. — An animal full of black stripes. Silver fur. Lunar talons. And it breathed fire.
Niu's mouth parted slightly.
Koeji continued:
— It hovered above the earth. And it spoke to me.
— What did it say?
He exhaled slowly, as if still struggling to accept the sentence.
— It claimed I needed to preserve the world from the Eternal Winter.
Niu blinked several times.
— What is that?
Koeji shrugged, yet the gesture proved heavier than anticipated.
— I do not know. I grasped nothing of it. I only carried the feeling that it might be important.
He stared once more at the blue fire. The flames fluttered with a strange constancy, nearly too alive to be mere fire, as if that azure glow harbored a memory humanity had yet to decipher.
Niu tilted her head toward him.
— Perhaps you will understand later.
Koeji let out a short, humorless sound.
— Perhaps. But everyone here acts as if I ought to understand everything already.
The girl did not respond immediately. She simply observed him with that simple gravity characteristic of children who perceive much without possessing names for almost anything.
Suddenly, a presence imposed itself behind them.
— Koeji.
The voice was sufficiently harsh to force him to turn by reflex. Heridor stood a few paces away, his body upright and his face taut. The missing arm remained absent beneath the rudimentary robes, and his expression, upon fixing on Koeji, made it clear he viewed him with suspicion.
— You must withdraw — declared Heridor.
Niu frowned.
— Why?
Heridor did not divert his gaze from Koeji.
— He need not remain here.
Koeji felt tension climb his nape.
— I was merely speaking with Niu.
— And you have spoken enough — retorted Heridor.
Koeji folded his arms.
— I am doing nothing wrong.
Heridor unleashed a short, joyless laugh.
— That is precisely what worries me.
Koeji took a step forward—not much, merely enough to demonstrate he would not leave simply because someone commanded it.
— You always speak to me as if I were a strange thing.
— And are you not?
Niu lowered her eyes to the bowl, uncomfortable. Koeji took a deep breath.
— No one here sees me as a normal human, Niu — affirmed Koeji.
Niu raised her eyes to him. For an instant, the village's clamor seemed distant. Then she smiled. Not a wide smile, but affectionate, open to the measure of her simplicity.
— I see you.
The response struck Koeji physically.
Heridor cast a swift glance at Niu, as if disapproving of the girl's naivety, then turned once again toward Koeji.
— She is a child — he noted. — She has yet to learn to distrust what she does not understand.
Within the village, everyone knew the history. No one related it directly, yet it existed in every silence broken near his passage. When they were exposed to Koeji's difference, when they noted he carried within his womb two sexes simultaneously, the reaction was not comprehension. It was revulsion. Some claimed he was a mistake of nature. Others asserted such a womb brought ill omens. Some even suggested he ought not remain among the rest.
Falazahr, however, stood against that cowardice.
She claimed that if the village continued walking naked, human eyes would turn difference into a weapon. She ordered everyone to craft their garments, cover their bodies, and learn to look at their hands, at the hunt, and at the fire, instead of scrutinizing another's womb as if one's worth resided therein.
She did not do this merely for Koeji. She did it for everyone. Yet it was because of him that such a decision became necessary. And still, despite this, the village continued treating him with distinction and indifference, as if the clothing could not completely conceal what he was.