Chapter Text
The city slept under the rain, save for a few curious souls. Between the damp, deserted alleys, the world felt frozen in place.
The redhead clenched his hands, forcing them into tights fists before shoving them into his jacket. He had spent hours trying to quiet the sentation crawling throught his body—that thing inside him. Sometimes, in the midst of his almost unbreakable composure, the power surged without warning. Sometimes it was a glass shattering in his hand. Other times, streetlamps or animal reacted the moment he stepped near. Sometimes it was nothing more than the itch—its excitement, eager to slip free of its vessel. And tonight, he felt the flass finally cracking.
He slipped into an empty, dead-end alley and leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. Control yourself, Chuuya. This is nothing, he told himself.
But the energy snapped around him. Bottles left behind by drunkards exploded under the pressure the being emitted.
“Again…” Chuuya shut his eyes in frustration. He had always known something was wrong with him—that he’d been born with a power he could not control. And he also knew that, sooner or later, it would consume him.
Far away, someone’s gaze refused to leave him. A figure imperceptible to any ordinary eye stood atop a bridge overlooking the alley, as if the entire scene were a private show meant solely for him.
[…]
Meanwhile, on the far side of the city, a young brunet closed his book with a quiet, refined tap before extinguishing the candles one by one with a delicate, theatrical movement. He sighed once his exhausting routine was complete.
He stepped out of the dark room and made his way to the head of his coven. Upon reaching the tower’s peak, where the office lay, he knocked.
Once, twice, three times.
“Come in,” said a voice soft in tone yet demanding respect. The boy entered.
“Oh, Dazai. Did you do what I asked?”
“Good morning, Mori-san. The task is done. He’s a boy. His power is unstable, though he tends to be a nuisance for the police at times.”
If not all the time.
“Well done, boy. Return to your chambers.”
Dazai nodded and left with a calm posture. But the moment he stepped outside, the smile on his face dropped. That old man was insufferable.
Still, tolerating that awful man meant his life could be just a little more entertaining.
His mind drifted to the next spell he needed to prepare—likely one related to the orange-haired boy.
“Sir.”
A voice cracked with fear beside him, interrupting his thoughts. He raised an eyebrow, signaling he was listening.
“We have information on the young man. His name is Nakahara Chuuya. He was taken from his parents’ arms at age five and is currently eighteen. He’s the leader of a small rebel group of outlaws called ‘the Sheep.’” The man stopped, and Dazai looked at him.
“Nothing else?” he asked, his tone sharp.
“Sir, that’s all we’ve managed to gather in such short notice. Our informants are still working.” He handed him a thin folder containing the pitiful amount of information.
Dazai sighed, exhausted by his subordinates’ incompetence. “Fine. That’s all for today. Leave.”
The man obeyed immediately.
The Sheep. He’d heard the name. A group of runaways who survived poverty through petty crimes and occasional sabotage deals with Erevos’ king. They caused trouble here and there, often at the king’s request.
The coven of mages was nowhere near the most interesting faction—not since the deities and monarchs who once ruled these lands were slaughtered and crucified.
Long ago, the kingdom of Erevos entered war with Veyra. Their differences in lifestyle and species had shattered an ancient pact thousands of years old. For two centuries now, the kingdoms had been at war.
Erevos was composed mostly of witches, vampires, demons, mages, ghosts, and other beings considered “dark” for their “immoral practices” by Veyra.
Veyra, on the other hand, was populated by shapeshifters—wolves, tigers—alongside beasts such as griffins, manticores, and winged reptiles and horses. To Erevos, Veyra’s people lived in savage, outdated ways.
Dazai wouldn’t lie—he hated Veyra. He saw them as senseless creatures relying on brute force. Their strategies sometimes caused problems, but most of the damage they inflicted came from their unpredictability and the sheer scale of their attacks. Dazai had experienced that pain firsthand.
Without noticing, he reached the massive dark door of his room. He opened it, sat on his couch, and looked over the folder again.
“So, Nakahara Chuuya… What will you show us today?”
[…]
After hours of examining the meager information, one thing became clear—it was unbearably irritating to work with so little.
He knew he could go through the astral plane himself and gather more, but risking discovery by Chuuya was too dangerous. A normal person wouldn’t notice him, but whatever was inside Chuuya certainly would.
Still, curiosity won. With a heavy sigh, he rose to gather his candles.
He placed each one precisely in its place and lit them with delicate motions. Opening his spellbook, he found the spell he’d used earlier that day to spy on Chuuya.
The circle glowed faintly, just enough to spark in his eyes. The air grew heavy, metallic, and the candles flickered as if unsure whether to live or die. Before him, the wall quivered, and in the distortion a sliver appeared—another place, a shifting shadow, a pair of lips whispering something he could not quite hear.
Dazai smiled, tilting his head as if enjoying the show.
He felt his body splintering. The air gave way—and for an instant, he was falling. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his room but in a murky space—as if reality had been submerged underwater. Shadows shivered, rearranging into a room that wasn’t his.
He was no longer in the alley from earlier. Now, he was in a run-down cabin. He scanned the place and realized that Chuuya wasn’t alone; several other youths, around his age or younger, slept nearby.
The Sheeps.
He approached the sleeping Chuuya and examined his face. It was interesting—his frown was the same as when he’d hidden in the alley. His features looked tough despite his small stature. Full lips, long lashes, hair reaching past his shoulders in uneven layers. Chuuya slept shirtless, allowing Dazai to see the toned muscles in his arms.
Alright, Dazai admitted it—he was considerably handsome. Maybe too much.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed when Chuuya’s body tensed, his nose twitching like a dog sniffing its prize.
Dazai stepped back quickly, afraid of being discovered.
Chuuya, sensing someone’s stare, rose slowly, stiffly—heat made the cramped space suffocating. As he opened his eyes, he spotted a blurred, tall silhouette. He rubbed his eyes once, twice, three times. It wasn’t hunger-induced hallucination. The silhouette gained clearer form.
“Who are you?” Chuuya whispered, careful not to wake the others.
Dazai chuckled quietly. He knew he should leave before it was too late, but something about the thrill kept him there.
“You drool in your sleep,” he replied simply, teasing.
Chuuya blinked.
“And why the hell do you care if I drool or not?” he snapped back—before remembering he was, in fact, speaking to a real person. “Now answer me. Who. The hell. Are you?”
He stood up fast to confront the figure as it sharpened, gaining color. Then he realized—the emblem of Erevos.
An enemy.
“You… filthy repulsive bastard,” Chuuya muttered, dripping disgust. “You’re one of those psychopathic weirdos from Erevos.”
“Oh? Does Chuuya have a problem with that?”
“A problem? Of course I do.”
He glared harder. “You’re the deranged freaks who ruined us.”
“Oh, dear Chuuya… what a shame your kind has such empty heads,” Dazai cooed, amused.
Then Chuuya realized something.
This man knew his name.
“How do you know my name?” he demanded. But the brunet only smiled—sweet, harmless. In the end, Dazai yielded under Chuuya’s piercing stare.
He sighed. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”
Dazai laughed internally at the deliberately blatant hint, and Chuuya—who thought the weirdo might actually answer—only grew more furious. He lunged, but Dazai moved first.
“Oh, lovely Chuuya, you can’t touch me like this. While I’m here, you can’t do a thing. So go on—watch whatever you want. I’ll be busy observing your little Sheep.”
At the mention of the Sheep, Chuuya’s eyes widened.
And then it hit him.
The creep knew.
There was no other reason Erevos would be observing him unless it was because of that. Chuuya wasn’t even part of the army—aside from the small deals the Sheep made with the king. And the king had sworn no one would ever trace anything back to them.
Dazai, meanwhile, continued with what he had planned—until he heard the ticking. It was time to leave unless he wanted to be trapped in the astral plane. Damn it. He had wasted precious time watching and teasing that stupid little brat. He needed to go.
Chuuya, still frozen in shock, reacted only when the brunet spoke:
“Well then, Chuuya. Time for me to go. I suppose we’ll meet again soon.”
And then, the man dissolved like sand in the wind.