The rooftops of Eizo stretched before Yamori like a path only he could see. Dawn was breaking, painting the horizon in pale orange, yet the boy's breathing remained calm, his grey eyes steady. In his arms, he carried the girl he had just pulled from the kidnappers' den. Her arms clung tightly around his neck, her head turned away from the ground far below, as if the sight of falling would undo her resolve.
Yamori exhaled, almost a sigh, as his feet touched lightly upon the tiles and launched to the next rooftop. His voice was even, almost detached, when he finally looked down at her.
"So," he said, "exactly how did you get yourself kidnapped, miss?"
The question was casual, but there was intent behind it—an unspoken invitation for her to name herself. Yamori's eyes had already caught the details of her attire: the embroidered hem of her white dress, the fine stitching of her sleeves. She was of noble birth, without question.
The girl tightened her grip on him, knuckles white, but her voice was trembling and small. "M-my name is Kaede. I was with my papa… then those men snatched me away. A-and who are you? H-how did you even find me?"
Yamori landed softly in a shadowed alleyway, setting his feet firmly on the cobbles before answering. He glanced down the narrow passage, senses sharp as always, then spoke as if the weight of her questions barely touched him.
"My name is Yamori. I just happened to hear you." His eyes flickered briefly, a memory intruding. "Better you tell me where your parents are so I can return you, before those men start hunting again."
The memory pressed harder—the faint cries he had heard since entering the capital, threaded through the air like whispers only he could detect. The mana flowing through the city sharpened his senses to a knife's edge. He had followed the sound without hesitation. Shaking off the recollection, he looked at her again, his expression unreadable.
Kaede finally lifted her head. She was shorter than him by a hair, her tear-streaked face framed by long red hair, eyes of clear blue that betrayed both fear and a fragile courage. Yamori caught the faintest shift in the air around them and frowned.
"Alright, Miss Kaede," he said, voice calm but firm. "We don't have much time. I haven't learned magic in this world yet. I can't keep fighting like this without it, so talk while you can."
The girl hesitated, pressing her palms to the folds of her dress as if gathering strength. Straightening, she nodded faintly to herself.
"Papa said we were going to the Plaza of Rio. He mentioned meeting someone but—uh—I can't remember who. My head… it feels fuzzy."
Yamori's response never came. His eyes had already caught the glint of steel. In a single motion, he pulled her aside as a volley of daggers clattered into the wall where she had stood. Kaede gasped, eyes wide. Yamori let out a weary sigh as blood trickled from a shallow graze along his hand.
Without hesitation, he wrapped his arm around her waist and vaulted upward, his feet tapping against walls as he climbed back into the safety of rooftops. His pace quickened, the city flashing by beneath them.
"Hn… this is bad." His thoughts cut through the rush of wind. "Why does my body feel heavy? No… not the body. The blade. Poison. Of course."
His jaw tightened, though his movements remained fluid. The rooftops blurred as he accelerated, the air roaring against them. Behind, the pursuing thugs faltered at the boy's sheer speed, but they did not relent.
Kaede's voice cracked through the wind. "W-what's happening?! Are you alright?!"
Yamori ignored the sting in his hand, pushing harder. He reached the slanted wall of a tower and began running upward, boots finding purchase as the ground dropped away beneath them. Kaede clutched him desperately, her face buried against his shoulder.
"Yamori! What are you doing!" she screamed, terror rising in her voice.
He gave only a low chuckle, the sound strangely out of place in the dawn air. His eyes narrowed, his lips curving in the faintest smile. At the tower's peak, he pushed off, hurling them into open air.
The thugs below froze, daggers raised, eyes wide at his reckless leap. Their moment of surprise cost them. A shadow fell across them, and in the next heartbeat, two heavy impacts struck like thunder.
The men collapsed, skulls ringing with the force of the blows. Standing over them was Sinbad, his broad frame braced, a black axe in each hand. His voice rolled across the street, half jest, half command.
"Yamori," he called, "I didn't take you for the type to pick up ladies on your first day in the capital. But jokes aside…" His gaze hardened, sharp and expectant. "Explain."
Yamori exhaled once more. With one arm still holding Kaede securely, he drew a dagger from his pocket with the other, driving it into the tower wall to slow their descent. Sparks flicked against stone as he slid down the surface, landing at last in the shadow of the street where his father stood.
Dust settled. Yamori adjusted Kaede in his arms, his face calm despite the poison gnawing at his veins. He met Sinbad's gaze with a quiet, steady tone.
"Well," he said, "it's a long story, Father."