Kiran: The White Beast

Part 7: Shackles of Judgement

"Has anyone ever told you that you have the eye of a Spirit?"

  Kai Ino shuffled down the street. He made eye contact with everyone, greeting them with a smile and a "good morning". Even though he had no job to go to, no home to even call his own.

  So much for his Spirit eye.

  His doting mother often pointed it out to all family and friends, proud that she had a son with a red eye. The other was blue, so it didn't go very well with the red, but she showed it off anyway. After a time, he began to point it out himself, proudly shoving his finger in his face to show off to classmates, colleagues.

  It was endearing when he was five. Less so forty years later, nearing the middle of his life. Despite having the color that meant purity and goodness, he had never actually seen a Spirit.

  Kai stopped and leaned against a wall to rest. The sun was starting to peak over the horizon. He shoved his hands in his pockets, fighting off the early morning chill. They were empty, as they had been for the past two months.

  In an attempt to do good deeds, he'd donated everything he owned, out of the goodness of his heart. Yet, a Red Spirit eluded him, like morning fog. It was there, but fizzled out as soon as he was within reach.

  What was it going to take to actually see one in his life? He wasn't young anymore.

  His hands started to shake, and he couldn't tell if it was from hunger or fear. What if he went all his life, only to never see the Spirit his eye so resembled? Would all his good deeds really amount to nothing in the end? He would die alone and starved.

  Kai peeled off the wall and walked faster down the street, light- headed. He rounded the corner, and a small garden caught his eye. His mis- matched colors drifted skyward, running over the rough stone. It was in disrepair, and a man was on the roof, whistling to himself. A beautiful woman tended the garden.

  A temple.

  Kai advanced. Back on the wall he had been leaning against, a black mark began to form, like a puddle of crude oil.

***

  Kiran pulled the bandages from his torso, pleased to find no blood spotting them this morning. Just three days and it had already stopped. Sleeping on his stomach at night had definitely helped, and he was less sore, save for some pressure on his ribs from sleeping on them.

  He smiled to himself at the sun coming in through his small window. He was volunteering at the temple again. Work on the roof was almost complete.

  It would be a good day.

  He'd walked Rumi home every day since he started, even if it was in the middle of the afternoon. She often got there early, with Felix. Being around her soothed his emotions, especially with everything that had transpired. He was still restless of course, wanting to get back into the Corps as soon as possible, but at least she made it bearable.

  Kiran quickly dressed, taking the basement stairs two at a time to the lobby. He left the building, his cheeks immediately tingling with cold. He rubbed his hands together. It was a cold one.

  He jogged on his way to the temple. With his injuries healing, he needed to get back into shape.

  The quiet reached his ears first, and he slowed his pace. His skin prickled at the back of his neck. His heart kicked up a notch. He carefully approached the temple, which was now bathed in sun. Felix was not on the roof, as he had been. In fact, no one was visible.

  He swallowed, trying to keep his jaw from clenching. He crept forward, most of the street traffic simply going around him and paying no heed to the temple.