The boy with glass eyes lived like a shadow among the living.
The road outside the diner hadn't seen rain in weeks. Dust hung in the air like a warning. Every time the wind changed, it carried whispers through the village whispers about him. About the boy with eyes like broken glass.
Inside the diner, the hum of everyday life carried on like it always did. Plates clinked. Oil sizzled in the kitchen. The scent of garlic and soup drifted under the low beams.
And Seruyn stood behind the counter, cleaning the same spot over and over.
He didn't mind the work. Scrubbing plates, sweeping floors, chopping vegetables none of that ever hurt him.
People did.
Across the room, an old man muttered something under his breath. The woman beside him shook her head, not subtly. A child pointed at Seruyn. His mother's hand shot out and pulled the child back like he'd reached for a flame.
"Don't look," she whispered. "You'll draw it in."
It. Like he wasn't even human.
Seruyn kept his head down. Polite. Unbothered. It was easier that way.
Inside, though, he felt it the weight of their stares, the way every word they said seemed to leave a scratch across his ribs. He wasn't stupid. He knew they thought he brought bad luck. They didn't even try to hide it anymore.
He glanced at his reflection in the tea pot. White hair, pale skin, and those eyes.
Those cursed eyes.
When the last customer left and the door finally shut, silence wrapped around the diner like a second skin.
Seruyn moved quietly, picking up bowls, stacking chopsticks, mopping footprints no one else would clean. The sound of rain began tapping against the windows a late storm rolling in over the hills.
The bandanna around his neck shifted slightly as he bent over the mop bucket. It was old, soft from too many washes, deep navy with little sapphire buttons stitched onto the ends. His mother made it for him years ago.
One of the buttons glowed. Just a flicker. Just enough to make him stop.
It did that sometime usually during storms. He never told anyone.
Later, in the storeroom, he pulled up a loose floorboard. Underneath, hidden in a small box: scraps of things that didn't belong anywhere else.
A cracked mirror. A rusted blade with no edge. A torn sketch of a star. A note written by someone long gone.
And a bandage still stained from the day he'd tried to patch himself up without anyone noticing.
He sat there for a while, staring at the items, rain tapping gently above him.
He could still remember the boys who'd thrown stones at him. The ones who shoved him into a pond last winter and laughed when he almost drowned. His mother had found him soaked and shivering, but he told her he fell. She believed him. She always did.
He didn't blame her.
They loved him. They just didn't see the cracks.
"Seruyn-ah?"
He startled. His mother's voice drifted in from the back hallway, soft and worried.
"Still cleaning?"
"Almost done," he called back, steady as ever.
She peeked around the corner holding a lantern. Her smile was tired, but it always reached her eyes.
"You're such a hard worker," she said, stepping in to ruffle his hair. "You're a good boy. Don't ever forget that."
He smiled back. Not too wide. Just enough.
"I won't."
And maybe if he said it enough, he'd believe it too.
The storm outside grew heavier. Thunder cracked across the hills.
Seruyn stepped out behind the diner, bucket in hand. The wind was cold and clean. Rain soaked his hair in seconds. He tilted his head back and let it.
No voices. No staring. Just rain.
And then, a glow again stronger this time. He looked down.
The sapphire buttons on his bandanna were pulsing with light. Not constant, but like a heartbeat.
He blinked.
A chill ran through him not fear, exactly, but recognition. Like a part of him had just woken up for the first time in years.
Far above, lightning split the sky in half.
And in its reflection, Seruyn's eyes glinted like glass set aflame.
"They say I wasn't meant to be born," he whispered to no one. "But I think I was… just not from here."