Chapter Text
Chilled flakes of snow gently fell onto the slumbering city below, the night casting a deep blue hue across the various structures of solid stone. The full moon occasionally broke through the dark clouds, shining down onto the slums below. It cast a mysterious glow of light that shone through the window of an orphanage, illuminating the face of a dark-haired young man named Mika.
For Mika, his life in the capital city’s orphanage had been an endless cycle of bland, watery, or burnt meals in a poorly lit room that smelled perpetually of mildew. Affection was non-existent; and any deviation from the rules was met with swift, silent punishment—often the loss of the meager supper or an hour of strenuous labor scrubbing floors. Mika had spent the last decade learning to be small, quiet, and invisible, a skill that protected him but stifled his spirit. However, even trying to be invisible was a difficult act for him. His appearance was too striking with his unusual eyes that were a defiant mismatch—one a brilliant, molten gold, the other a deep, restless blue. The only part of him that truly rebelled was his restless body, which longed for movement and space far beyond the cramped, dust-filled room where he slept alongside thirty other boys.
Mika held a secret passion for creation: dancing, music, and a love of fabric and thread. His best friend, Arashi, who currently works at the brothel in the slums of the city, would occasionally purchase small scraps of fine material with his meager earnings—a square of silk, a length of velvet—giving Mika a chance to practice the meticulous needlework he taught himself. Mika would secretly craft garments, brooches, and on rare occasions, jewelry, to help Arashi stand out from her competition with the other members of the brothel.
Mika also tried wearing the clothing suited for brothel work, and it was uncomfortably revealing; not leaving much to the imagination. He didn’t wear it because he wanted to, it was to get used to the feeling of the fabric on his skin, he needed to feel comfortable and confident while wearing it.
With nowhere else to go after getting removed from the orphanage, Arashi managed to get him an opening at the brothel she works at. Though the thought of joining a brothel made his stomach clench, it was the only promise of security he had. For a harsh and predetermined future was still far better than starving on the streets alone with no roof over his head.
But at this moment, it was a special night, for it was his final night at the orphanage. He was turning eighteen, and by the morning the head nun would throw him to the streets, into the harsh reality of adulthood. However, there was something that he desperately wanted to do. He carefully got out of his bed, and from beneath a loose floorboard in the shared bedroom, he retrieved a bag that held his single and most precious outfit.
It was an outfit that he was going to wear when he presented himself to the boss of the brothel. A flowing, blue silk piece inspired by desert dancers from the west. It was revealing, seductive, and very popular with the nobles as of late, according to Arashi. It was designed with small chains holding various pieces of tear-drop shaped metal around his shoulders and waist. Semi-transparent, silver bell-sleeves, revealing his—far too slender—arms with two extensions of long blue fabric hanging down from his shoulders to drape beside his knees. He put on matching metallic earrings and white sandals, completing the mesmerizing outfit.
It was his finest creation, a testament to his suppressed talent that he was completely unaware of. He changed into his silk clothes swiftly, then threw on a cloak to hide himself from prying eyes and to protect himself from the chilling winter wind, as he quietly shuffled out of the door.
Mika managed to sneak out of the orphanage successfully, leaning against the cold stone wall after closing the door behind him. He gazed up at the stars though the specks of falling snow, the promise of the streets and the brothel felt like a heavy chain around his neck. But tonight, he wouldn't think of it, for tonight was going to be a memory of freedom.
He didn’t have good eye sight at night, so he never liked walking around alone in the dark. So, using the bright moonlight to his advantage, he slipped out of the side gate and moved through the moon-shadowed alleys until he reached his spot: the flat, wide roof of the general store. It was the only stage-like place he had ever known to be ideal—high enough to feel alone, but close enough to the heart of the city to feel alive. The towering castle gazed down at him, a regal, stone audience to his performance. Carefully, he shimmied up the drainpipe along the building and pulled himself onto the roof.
Taking a deep, clean breath of the night air, Mika pushed the fear of tomorrow away. He felt the smooth, cold, stone against his bare feet, a necessary and grounding sensation. The roof became a vast and limitless space, compared to the confines of his shared bedroom. He gazed to the starry sky once more, the moon—that was once hiding behind a single dark cloud—revealed itself once more, shining down as though it were a spotlight on the orphan. He tossed away his cloak to the side and began to dance. His movements were not the classic steps taught in the ballrooms of the wealthy; they were raw, fluid, and full of longing.
Mika desperately wanted freedom, he didn’t want to be stuck in the overbearingly harsh world of poverty. He didn’t want to be trapped in the slums, where thievery, manipulation, and murder were commonplace. He didn’t want land, money, or power, he just wanted a safe haven, where he could be unrestrained and allow his heart to sing in the ways of art and music.
He leapt into a soaring jump—his long and slender limbs stretching out into an incredibly beautiful pose that would make even the most beautiful women jealous of his grace. Mika put all of his feelings into his dance, it was for the forgotten orphans that died, for the cold of the streets, and for the bitter taste of stale bread that the head nun served. Every leap was a burst of emotional pain, every spin a defiant rejection of his fate, and every sway a surrender to the sadness of life. For those fleeting minutes, he was the master of his own destiny; even if it was just for a short while.
High above the vast city, in the castle's western wing, a beautiful prince walked out from his bedroom to the attached balcony. His short, striking pink hair and intensely violet eyes were distinct and out of place amongst the pale stone walls. The castle was constructed centuries ago to withstand siege, but to him it felt more like it was built to hold back his inspiration. His kingdom felt like a cage, his duties a suffocating blanket of distraction to his true desires. He often came out at night, hoping the vast, indifferent expanse of the sky would diminish the weight of his royal responsibilities and give him the drive to create.
Prince Shu’s greatest comfort was his passion for needlework and design. In the quiet hours when he should have been mastering the art of diplomacy, he was instead meticulously sketching and crafting garments. His designs—known for their elegant, ethereal seams and intricate, symbolic embroidery—were the most coveted pieces among the nobles of the kingdom. However, he refused to let anyone wear them, locking them away in a storage room to shield them from prying eyes. He despised the nobles and their stiff, arrogant postures, and the casual disregard they showed for the work itself. For they didn't truly care for the design, the fabric, or the sweat and tears that transformed a simple cloth into a garment of breathtaking beauty; they wanted only to brag, arrogantly exhibiting their conferred status.
His current restlessness stemmed directly from tonight's grand ball that his father had forced him to attend. Its sole purpose was to present him with a roster of “suitable partners.” However, while surrounded by stiff, preening courtiers modeling their extravagant, and almost gaudy outfits. Prince Shu had complained—quite loudly— that the attendees were nothing more than clothed-swine draped in meaningless vanity. He had no interest in marrying any of them, convinced they would only stifle his artistic views and inspiration. He longed for someone who understood true beauty—the beauty in creation, a raw passion, and sincere soul.
He sat on the balcony, the castle's chill radiating through the stone, wondering if such a person even existed in this rigid world. The air felt heavy against his own chilly mood as he stared into the darkness, troubled and restless. The moon, usually a reliable silver disc, played hide-and-seek behind heavy, bruised clouds.
Just as Shu was about to head back inside his room, a particularly dense cloud drifted past, and the bright, sudden moonlight flooded the city below.
There, on a distant rooftop, stood a mesmerizing figure. The falling snow, swirling around them like energetic, glowing fireflies.
Shu froze, the mysterious dancer’s form was perfect! A breathtaking silhouette that moved with a grace that seemed impossible—a fluid, effortless torrent of motion. And what truly captivated Shu even more was the fabric. He noticed its impossible elegance—the way it shimmered and flowed with every move, becoming a living extension of the dance. Though he couldn't make out the details of the seams, he could sense the love and artistic care in the garment's construction. This level of grace, coupled with clothing that moved so exquisitely, could only belong to a noble family's child, one who had snuck out to escape the stifling formality of court.
This person understands art, Shu thought with profound certainty, and the prince was consumed by the need to find out who this mysterious being was. His heart, which had felt dull and heavy for months, gave a strange, powerful lurch as he focused intensely on the dancer’s movements. This was not a practiced performance; this was a soul pouring itself out. He recognized the unburdened spirit in his movements—a freedom the prince desperately lacked. He watched a moment longer, mesmerized by a long, slow extension of the leg, a move so simple yet so utterly expressive of raw longing. It was more elegant than anything he had ever seen in the ballroom only moments ago.
A profound, urgent curiosity replaced his weariness. The feeling blooming in Shu's chest intensified into a frantic need for this strange and alluring dancer. He didn't walk; he sprinted, the heavily embroidered coat shifting in his movement. His boots echoed loudly on the ancient, polished stone as he ran, racing along the cold stone walkway of the castle walls, driven by the need to see closer, to understand this sudden spark of light in his dark world.
He reached the closest turret wall, his heart hammering as he peered down. But the light had already retracted, swallowed up by a passing cloud. The rooftop was now just another blank space of stone. The dancer had vanished along with the light of the moon, and a chilling sense of loss settled over him. He clenched his fist, not knowing what to do with his new-found muse vanishing into the night.
A guard stood nearby, stoic in the shadows along the castle walls. The prince wondered if the guard was a fellow witness, so he approached him impatiently. “Did you see?” he asked, his voice tight with impatience as he pointed at the empty roof. “The one dancing just a moment ago on that roof, did you see them?”
The guard blinked slowly then quickly realized that the man speaking to him was the prince, causing his form to firmly stiffen. Looking where the royal pointed he answered with a tremor in his voice, “y-yes, your Highness! I saw the dancer!”
“Do you know about them?! Are they famous in the city?!” Shu continued to aggressively probe the young guard with questions, causing the man to tremble with nervousness.
“N-no, your Highness! I’ve never seen that dancer before!”
The prince furrowed his eyebrows, the dancer’s identity is a complete mystery then. However, this did not deter him, he needed to see that dancer again, no matter what. As he thought of what to do next, an idea surfaced in his mind, causing a determined flame to burn in his eyes.
“In the morning,” the prince began, his voice sharp with new purpose, tinged with a dangerous excitement, “Find anyone that matches the appearance of the dancer you saw. I don’t care if they’re a man or a woman, bring them in!”
A burst of heavy footsteps broke their private conversation as a tall and imposing shadow fell over the prince. His striking appearance—a wild cascade of red and black hair and piercing, green eyes—did little to help his reputation as an intimidating sentinel. He was breathing heavily, a rarity for the man known for his unflappable endurance. “Prince Shu,” the man began, his deep voice carrying a note of controlled exasperation. “I wish you didn’t run off like that…I was looking everywhere for you outside the grand hall.” He straightened his ornate steel breastplate, the metal clicking softly. “The king has been looking for you as well. He insists that you go back to the ballroom, there are still lots of men and women waiting for an introduction.”
Shu felt a familiar spike of irritation at the mention of the ball and its tedious obligations, especially after the adrenaline rush of seeing the mysterious dancer. He kept his expression smooth, turning to face his retainer, the intense violet of his eyes meeting the steady green gaze.
“The introductions are over, Kuro. Tell my father that I developed a sudden headache,” Shu said dismissively, waving a hand toward the direction of his private chambers. “And ensure the guard follows the orders I gave him!”
Kuro’s expression, usually stoic, flickered with mild concern. “Was there some kind of incident that you saw in the city?”
“There was no incident.” Shu replied as he walked past his retainer, a possessive gleam glowing in his eyes. “Just see to it, Kuro, for now, I require solitude.”
Kuro bowed, his strong frame radiating subtle confusion as he watched the back of the prince’s pink hair disappear around the corner, leaving him alone with the silent, rigid guard. Kuro knew that particular fire in the prince’s violet eyes—a mixture of fevered inspiration and self-destructive recklessness. It was a look that always preceded either a brilliant new garment or a diplomatic disaster. Whichever it was, it had certainly captured Shu’s immediate and possessive interest.
Kuro adjusted the grip on his sword hilt and approached the lone soldier who had witnessed the exchange. “Report, soldier.”
The guard shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Kuro’s harsh emerald gaze, “C-Captain Kuro,” the guard began, “On the rooftop of the general store, there was a dancer. Their clothes shined like silver. It was… beautiful, sir.”
Kuro’s expression remained stoic, thankfully there was no security threat; it was just one of the prince’s aesthetic obsessions. Staying beside Prince Shu for so long—as his personal guard, childhood friend, and fellow craftsman— he had seen this happen before, but never with such urgency, such intensity.
The prince hadn't just seen a dancer; he saw a raw, untainted source of beauty that he craved, a feeling Kuro could instantly relate to. He focused on the guard's mention of the shimmering fabric, physical details that would help identify the mysterious dancer.
“Very well, soldier, please tell me everything in detail about the dancer’s appearance. No matter how insignificant, tell me.” Kuro said, his voice flat and resolute, but now tinged with genuine interest. He pulled out a parchment, quickly writing down all the details that the guard could remember. “Report all the findings to me, and once we have narrowed down the possible identity of the dancer, I will bring them to the prince.”
Kuro turned, his cloak swirling around his muscular frame. First, he needed to report to the King that Shu would no longer come back to the party, and second, he needed to prepare a search party to find this alluring and mysterious dancer.
