The morning at Kagegiri Villa began with soft sunlight spilling over the lacquered wood floors. Nozomi stood near the window, watching the world below stir awake — merchants readying carts, farmers calling out to one another, the faint laughter of children somewhere far away.
For once, he wanted to hear that laughter closer.
For once, he wished to feel like he belonged to this land that bore his name.
"Your Highness," said Hiroshi, his loyal general, "do you truly wish to go beyond the gates today? The people…"
"Yes," Nozomi interrupted gently, adjusting his cloak. "If I am to understand my father's kingdom, I cannot keep hiding behind walls built from fear."
He smiled faintly — though it trembled at the corners.
"Besides, I have never seen the market of Kuroshima. I want to know what my subjects live like… even if they do not wish to see me."
With only Hiroshi and a few guards at his side, he left the quiet safety of Kagegiri behind. The village roads stretched endlessly — a soft, earthy scent rising from the ground after dawn's mist. Farmers bowed reluctantly, some lowering their gaze as though even the sight of him might bring misfortune. Still, Nozomi bowed back each time, whispering blessings under his breath.
By the time they reached the Kuroshima market, the sun had risen high, washing the square in gold.
It was a place alive with colours — silk banners fluttering, baskets of fruit shining like jewels, the chatter of sellers calling out their wares. Yet, as soon as he stepped in, the sound died.
One by one, voices fell silent. Mothers clutched their children close. Shopkeepers turned their faces away. The soft laughter that had filled the air moments ago was replaced by whispers that slithered through the crowd like unseen snakes.
"It's him…"
"The cursed prince…"
"Born under the moon's shadow…"
Nozomi's steps slowed. For a moment, he considered turning back — but then his eyes caught sight of a small boy tugging his mother's sleeve, pointing up at him. The boy's innocence, unmarred by fear, made Nozomi smile. He knelt, placing a gentle hand on the child's head.
"You have a bright spirit," he said softly. "Hold onto it. The world may grow dark, but your heart mustn't."
The mother hurriedly pulled her son away, muttering apologies and superstitions. The rejection stung — yet Nozomi only smiled wider, as if trying to convince the air itself that he was fine.
He lingered near an old vendor's stall, pretending to admire pottery. In truth, he just wanted to stay a little longer — to feel like he existed among his people, even as they wished he didn't.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the same market...
Takao adjusted the brim of his straw hat as he entered the street, the faint scent of herbs and smoke lingering in his clothes. His satchel hung heavy with vials and scrolls; he had come to gather a few rare roots and dried petals for his tinctures.
He paused midway, frowning. The market — usually a living storm of noise — was eerily subdued. Only a handful of merchants whispered to one another, their tones hushed.
"Strange…" he muttered. "Why so silent today?"
An elderly shopkeeper, hunched and kind-faced, noticed him and sighed.
"You must be from afar, young man. The Moon's child has come."
"Moon's child?" Takao echoed, puzzled.
"The cursed prince," the old man said, voice lowering as if even words might bring ill luck. "They say he was born beneath the blood eclipse. Nothing but sorrow follows him. Look there, near the pottery stalls… you'll see him yourself."
Takao turned slowly, his gaze following the man's trembling finger.
Through the thinning crowd, he saw Nozomi standing quietly — tall, graceful, his short black hair catching sunlight . A prince wrapped in silence. Children peeked from behind their mothers' skirts, merchants turned away, yet Nozomi's lips carried the faintest, most heartbreakingly gentle smile.
He was thanking a seller who dared to bow, his tone soft, his movements careful — as though he feared to disturb the air around him.
And then, Takao saw it.
Beneath that calm smile, the faint flicker of something raw — a loneliness too deep to name, a pain so quiet it almost felt holy.
The prince's eyes lifted briefly toward the sky, reflecting the pale light of the sun. For that fleeting moment, Takao forgot to breathe.
"So that's him again, nozomi…" he whispered. "The one they all despise… and yet—"
He couldn't finish the thought. His chest tightened as if his heart had suddenly remembered how to ache.
Nozomi turned slightly, the breeze catching his hair. Their eyes did not meet — not yet — but Takao felt as though the distance between them had vanished.
"Why does someone who smiles like that," he murmured, "look lonelier than the moon itself?"
In front of takao's very eyes, nozomi turned and went away along with Hiroshi and his few soldiers...