Kagekawa's slums always smelled the same at sunrise.
A mix of damp concrete, old grease, and the faintest hint of broth drifting from the street vendors who still dared to open before the patrols started their rounds.
Ren and Hikaru sat on overturned crates behind the ramen stall, sharing what was technically a single portion meant for one person. The bowl was shallow enough to reveal the scratches at the bottom, and the broth was thin enough that it reflected Ren's tired face like a warped mirror.
Ren lifted the chopsticks, paused, then offered the first bite to his brother.
"Hikaru. Eat."
Hikaru frowned. His cheeks looked sharper than they used to, and there were dark circles under his eyes—signs of too many nights making sure Ren slept before he did.
"You first," he muttered.
"We've been over this," Ren sighed. "We share."
Hikaru hesitated—then broke the tension with a tiny smirk, leaning his forehead against his brother's shoulder.
"Fine. But if I take all the noodles, that's on YOU."
Ren snorted softly. The simple humor eased something in his chest, if only for a moment. They alternated bites, each trying to push the bowl toward the other when they weren't looking. Around them, the city slowly stirred awake.
Bootsteps. Shutters slamming open. A baby crying in a nearby window.
And above all of it—the crackle of Dominion speakers mounted on every corner pole.
"OBEY. REPORT. PURIFY. Kagekawa must be cleansed of corruption.
Any citizen suspected of Grace activity must be detained IMMEDIATELY..."
Ren hated that voice. It slithered under his skin like oil.
Finished with the last sip of broth, Ren and Hikaru stood and stretched their stiff joints. Ren placed the empty bowl back on the stall counter, bowing respectfully to the vendor. The old man nodded with a tired smile.
"You boys be careful," he whispered. "The soldiers… they're in a mood today."
Hikaru's brow creased. "A mood ?"
The vendor's silence was enough…
When they stepped out of the ramen stall, the cold slapped their faces immediately.
It made them look even poorer than they were.
Ren tugged at his thin, faded jacket, barely thicker than paper. His plain black headband, marked with the number 2, sat snug across his forehead, holding back messy middle-parted hair that hung in uneven strands.
His face was clean-shaven, but not because he chose to shave; he simply couldn't afford to grow anything decent. His cheeks were hollow, his skin dull from hunger, and the wind made him look colder, older.
Hikaru's appearance didn't hide their poverty either.
His long hair spilled from beneath a worn bandana stamped with the number 5, the cloth frayed at the edges. A scruffy goatee–mustache combo clung stubbornly to his chin and upper lip—a patchy, uneven thing grown more out of neglect than style.
His hoodie was stretched thin, stained and stiff, and his pants were ripped at the knees and ankles, tattered enough to show skin through the holes.
No one would ever mistake them for anything but slum kids…
They walked through the narrow residential blocks, crowded balconies, laundry lines hanging over the streets, and graffiti covering nearly every wall. Not the expressive, rebellious kind—this graffiti was made of desperate warnings:
THE DOMINION KILLS US
TRUST NO ONE WITH A BADGE
THE DEAD DON'T TALK , RIGHT?
Ren traced a finger across one scratched message:
"THE DAY WILL COME WHEN EVEN OUR SHADOWS TURN AGAINST US."
He didn't understand it then. He would soon.
The brothers turned onto a wider street, where the Dominion plastered its propaganda.
Huge posters covered the walls:
WANTED: POTENTIAL GRACE HOSTS — REPORT IMMEDIATELY
REWARD GIVEN FOR EVERY 'CORRUPTED' CITIZEN TURNED IN.
THE FIEND FAMILY — DANGEROUS REBELS (CAPTURE ON SIGHT)
Ren stopped at that one. A blotched red stamp covered their family name. He swallowed hard.
Hikaru tugged his sleeve. "Don't look at it."
Ren tore his eyes away, but the image burned into his mind.
Their surname had become a curse…
They were a block from home when they heard it, a crack followed by a scream.
Ren's head snapped toward the sound.
Down an alley, a Dominion soldier towered over a frail old woman. Her basket of herbs lay scattered across the stone. She was on her knees, trembling, hands lifted defensively.
"P- please," she begged. "I only asked why the tax increased again—"
The soldier slammed the butt of his rifle into her shoulder. The sound was sickening. She collapsed sideways, gasping.
Ren's breath hitched. His fists curled instantly.
The soldier leaned down, gripping her hair, forcing her head up.
"you don't question policy, YOU FILTH."
He punched her, hard. Blood sprayed across the wall. Her body jerked, limp but still breathing.
Hikaru grabbed Ren's arm. "Don't."
Ren's jaw clenched. "He's going to KILL her—"
"Ren." Hikaru's voice dropped to a whisper, trembling.
"If you help her… they'll kill you... And then me, and then anyone who saw us."
Ren felt sick. His heart screamed to move. His legs refused to.
The soldier kicked the woman's ribs. Something cracked—audibly. She didn't scream anymore. Just choked, coughing blood onto the pavement.
The soldier didn't stop.
He stepped on her throat.
Ren lurched forward.Hikaru held him back with both arms, shaking.
"We CAN'T save her. We live in the Dominion's hood. We don't get to be heroes."
Ren's eyes burned. His throat tightened. Every blow the soldier delivered felt like it landed on his own ribs.
The woman's hand twitched toward them once— as if begging.
Ren looked down, He couldn't meet her gaze.
They turned away.
The sounds of the beating followed them for half the street.
Then several more strikes.
Then one long, hoarse exhale.
Then silence…
When they reached their home—a cramped wooden unit with broken windows and patched-up walls.
Ren didn't go inside right away. He stood at the entrance, staring down the corridor of the hood.
The woman's blood was still on the soldier's boots in his mind.
Her outstretched hand still reached for him inside his memory.
Hikaru finally spoke, voice barely audible.
"Ren… I'm sorry."
"For what?" Ren whispered.
"For being right."
Ren closed his eyes in pain.
Inside their home, darkness pooled in the corners. The slums fell quiet, waiting for the next patrol.
The air felt heavy, like the world itself expected something awful to happen.
And something would.
Soon.
Tonight, the Dominion hunted for traitors.
Tomorrow, they would find something far more dangerous…