Hey, Arcose—wanna play Kachi?" Vivian chirped, scraping the last bit of broth from her bowl. She jumped up, grinning. "It's been so boring, always beating Grandpa at it."
"Kachi?" Arcose echoed, half rising, unsure if it was a game or a threat.
"ONLY AFTER YOU FINISH YOUR CHORES, VIVI!" came Grandpa's thunderous voice from the forge, metal clanging in rhythm.
"Aww, really? Fine!" she groaned, stomping theatrically toward the sink. "I'll finish them quick!"
"I can help," Arcose said before he could stop himself. The words tumbled out awkwardly. Something about standing there while they moved around him—it made him itch. Like he wasn't supposed to exist in a home this warm.
Vivian turned, eyes lighting up. "Seriously? That's awesome! We'll be done twice as fast!"
He shifted, embarrassed. "Yeah... about that. I don't actually know what Kachi is."
Her gasp was loud enough to startle birds from the roof.
"You don't what? You've never played Kachi?!"
"Not everyone grows up with games," came Grandpa's low, gravelly voice as he walked in, soot clinging to his beard like ash to the bones of a hearth. "Teach him while you do the dishes."
Vivian handed Arcose a rag. Their hands touched—warmth, light, contact. Arcose pulled back, barely.
She didn't flinch.
The sink water steamed faintly, catching the morning light.
"So," Vivian said as she scrubbed a chipped plate, "you never played Kachi with your friends?"
His hand froze.
Friends.
Tarin's raspy laugh, Lilo's small hands tugging at his sleeve, calling him "big brother" with that innocent trust that didn't belong in the slums.
Gone. Burned away in the frost and the filth.
He blinked hard.
"No," he muttered. "Not really."
Vivian's shoulders tensed—only slightly. But she didn't ask again.
"Kachi's easy," she said instead. "Two rackets—called 'Ka'. One ball—'Chi'. Fast, loud, chaotic. You'll love it."
They finished quickly.
The backyard was a patch of dirt and stubborn grass, where morning light knifed through broken clouds like blades through paper. Vivian held up two wooden paddles, worn smooth at the handles. Handed him one. The weight felt strange—like a toy, not a tool.
She tossed the ball high and swung with a whistle of wind. Thwack.
"Your turn!"
Arcose stepped forward, paddle raised.
He missed. Completely.
Vivian giggled. "Told you—it's harder than it looks."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. No shit."
"Again!"
She tossed the ball. This time, something shifted.
Fft.
His breath caught.
The world stilled—not stopped, but slowed. The ball traced an arc, luminous and perfect. His pupils narrowed. His heart didn't race... it paused.
Zzzpt—! He moved.
CRACK!
The ball shot across the yard like a bolt of lightning, slamming into the ground inches from Vivian's foot. Dust burst into the air like a spell had gone off.
Vivian stared. Eyes wide. Mouth open.
"What in the hells was that?!"
Arcose blinked. His breath returned. The haze vanished.
"I... don't know," he said, frowning.
She stepped closer, eyes squinting—not in fear, but curiosity. "Your eyes... they were weird. Just for a second. Like... like glass, or ice with lightning underneath."
He looked away. "It's nothing."
Vivian tilted her head. "Doesn't seem like nothing."
"Don't tell anyone," he said quickly.
"Why would I?" she said, smiling. "It's not like you turned into a dragon."
He let out a breath. A shaky one.
"Let's keep playing."
And they did.
Dust kicked up as they darted across the yard. Laughter mixed with the thump of wood, the whistle of air, the scuffle of boots on dirt.
For a moment, Arcose wasn't a starving thief, or a boy who'd buried too many names.
He was just... a boy.
But beneath his skin, something pulsed. Watching. Learning. Growing.
And as the sun rose higher, behind those strange, shimmering eyes—
The storm waited.