They say our eyes are more than windows; they are gateways, revealing everything we try to hide—our joy, sorrow, anger, fear, and even love. Our eyes reflect what we often bury deep, showing the truth behind words. They see through darkness, unravel illusions, and expose the world in shades of gray. Eye contact can spark connections, pulling people closer or driving them apart.
But for me, eye contact is dangerous. It reveals too much. Since my mother died, I’ve avoided locking eyes with anyone. Losing her taught me one thing—nothing lasts. People, relationships, love—everything fades. So why invite more pain by letting someone in? I’ve built walls ever since.
I am Alsei Akahoshi, from a secluded village hidden deep in the heart of Fatumnia. While my clan, the Akahoshi, are known for their fiery red hair—a symbol of our lineage—I was born different. My jet-black hair, streaked with regal purple, set me apart. From the beginning, I was an outcast.
My grandfather, the clan patriarch, never tried to hide his contempt. He despised me, and the rest of the clan followed his lead. My existence seemed to be an affront to them, something they wished would simply disappear. The only exception was my mother. She loved me fiercely, despite the hatred that surrounded us. She was my only light, my source of strength.
In secret, my mother taught me things my grandfather forbade. She prepared me for a life outside the village, encouraging me to seek refuge elsewhere when things became unbearable. She knew I had no future in a place that despised me. “When the storm comes, Alsei, find your own shelter,” she’d say.
That storm came when I was twelve. My mother died, suddenly and mysteriously. My grandfather told me with a cold, flat tone, “She’s gone.” No explanation, no mourning. Her funeral was a hollow gesture. No one cried. No one cared. The clan turned its back on her death, just as they had turned their backs on her life. And I was left alone, wondering how she really died and why.
After she was gone, the cruelty intensified. The isolation, the rejection—they all worsened. I was treated as if I didn’t exist. The distance between me and the rest of the world grew. I withdrew further, becoming more detached, more inward. My gaze became a shield, cold and unyielding, keeping everyone at arm’s length.
At thirteen, I couldn’t take it anymore. I left the village with what little inheritance my mother had left me. I walked away from everything, never looking back. Within days, I found myself in the sprawling city of Grand City. It was loud, crowded, and fast-paced—everything my village wasn’t. Here, I could disappear into the noise, escape the ghosts of my past.
I enrolled in school, diving into my studies with a focus that came from necessity. I had always been brilliant—my IQ of 230 ensured that—but intelligence did little to ease the loneliness. At sixteen, something changed. I began having vivid dreams of a man with golden eyes and silver-grey hair. His smile was mysterious, lingering in my mind long after I woke. These dreams stirred something in me, a longing I couldn’t explain.
Even at university, I remained an outsider. My peers avoided me, unnerved by my detachment, wary of my cold gaze. It didn’t matter. The distance I had run from my village hadn’t erased the alienation I felt. I was still the outcast, just in a different place. I wore my solitude like armor, never letting anyone close enough to see beneath the surface.
Time passed, and with each year, the weight of my unanswered questions grew heavier. Why did my mother die? Why had I been cast aside by my clan? The pain was always there, just beneath the surface, but I had learned to hide it well. By the time I graduated from university, I had perfected the art of emotional distance.
After graduation, I found a job as an assistant in Grand City. It was mundane, but it allowed me to blend into the background, just as I had always wanted. But deep down, I could feel it—something was about to change. The life I had carefully constructed, the walls I had built, were about to be shattered.
I didn’t know it yet, but the course of my life was shifting. Something—or someone—was about to pull me into a future I couldn’t have imagined.
