"You can get down now, Kirihito…"
Xio's voice was soft, barely more than wind threading through leaves. The kind of softness that tried to hold something fragile—like a trembling bird, or a shivering snake. Morning light had just begun to stain the treetops in gold, but his words carried warmth much older.
He wasn't asking only because Kirihito's grip around his ribs was cutting off breath. There was something else—something rare in a Lanxie. He cared.
"N-No… they're… dirty… No…"
Kirihito's voice was thin, pleading. He clung to Xio like a vine too afraid to let go of the last tree it trusted. His hair, tangled and long, spilled over Xio's shoulder like silk ribbons, still caught in panic's breathless echo.
Xio exhaled, slow and steady, adjusting Kirihito higher on his back. The weight wasn't heavy. The emotion was.
The forest around them yawned quietly awake, morning mist curling low like forgotten sighs. Branches above swayed, filtering the rising sun into soft, golden veins.
"You're sleepy? You didn't sleep last night, did you?"
"Mm…"
Kirihito buried his face in the warm crook of Xio's neck, purring now, the trembling slowing—becoming rhythm. Becoming safety.
Xio walked through the moss-covered paths of Fukaki Forest, its silence almost sacred. The kind of silence that holds old griefs gently, like hands pressing a memory against the earth. Each step made barely a sound.
"I'll take you to a place… where no insects will bite you," he whispered, brushing a leaf out of the way, "where you'll find pretty flowers… pretty things… music… and dragon fruit."
At that, Kirihito stirred a little, his tail twitching in sleep-fogged hope.
"But in return—"
Tension returned. Kirihito's body braced, dreading the price. But Xio continued, softer than wind through reeds:
"—you have to trust me. Just for now. Even if it's only halfway."
Silence again.
Then… slowly… a nod against his neck.
A faint smile ghosted over Xio's lips, half-formed, almost childlike.
"Good snake," he murmured. "Sleep now."
Kirihito's body loosened, his purring returning like a lullaby stitched with hidden thorns. And Xio walked on, with a quiet ache blooming in his chest—an ache with a memory behind it.
A memory that tasted like snow and old music.
Memory Shift:
Xio had been ten. Small. Sharp-eyed. Quiet, like a shadow not sure where it belonged. The only child among the Lanxie.
And then he met Yuzai.
A special-grade yokai, colony-type—meaning his soul bloomed in a place of many. A rabbit yokai with fur-like hair as white as winter petals, and eyes the color of pressed poppies. Albino, delicate, otherworldly. Beautiful, like something the cruel world had no business touching.
Lanxie captured him one winter night. Said he was a "gift" to study. Xio didn't understand. Not yet.
"Look, Xio. A special-grade yokai," said Kage Ou, Xio's step-uncle, voice proud and cruel. "Observe him well. One day, you'll catch more, won't you?"
He ruffled Xio's hair with rough hands. Xio only stared.
In front of him, Yuzai was bound by glowing silver chains. But he smiled like he wasn't. His voice was soft, warm as morning sun against ice.
"Oh? So your name's Xio?" he said kindly. "Nice to meet you, little human. You're really cute. Wanna play with me?"
Xio blinked, cheeks turning red. No one had ever said such words to him. Not gently. Not like that.
"O-Okie…"
Yuzai knelt down as much as the chains allowed, his hands restrained, wrists bruised. He couldn't touch the boy. So instead, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Xio's.
"I believe you'll grow strong, Xio. Strong enough to live long… so we can keep playing, always."
It buried itself into Xio's chest—the first warmth he ever held.
Kage Ou looked displeased. Clearing his throat, he yanked the chains, pulling Yuzai upright with a hard tug.
"Enough for today."
Even so, Yuzai smiled. Xio looked up at him. Their eyes met in a silence that felt secret.
"Goodnight, Gray Bunny," Yuzai whispered.
And Xio smiled back for the first time.
That night, Xio couldn't sleep. He pressed close to the paper wall of his room, breath fogging the cold pane, listening. Waiting.
And then…
He heard it.
A voice—soft, broken, beautiful—drifted from the sealed chamber where Yuzai was held.
" 晨曦来了又走,
不是你.
Morning comes and goes , not you ~
人群来来去去,
不是你.
People comes and go , not you ~
你是我唯一渴望的人,
You're the only one I long for ,
你是我唯一寻找的光..."
The only light I seek
Xio leaned against the door, eyes got wet for some reason . He whispered to himself:
"Yuzai-kun's voice… it's so pretty…"
He didn't understand what this feeling was.
But he wanted to protect it.