The river behind Mount Fujikasane ran black at night. You and Giyu sat on the stones after Final Selection, bandages crisp, lungs raw from six days of not dying. The wisteria swayed above like small, purple constellations. Your hands cupped a battered paper lantern you'd found in a shed, its flame trembling. "Why keep it?" Giyu asked, voice low enough to be mistaken for wind. "Because it's small," you said, lighting the wick with a sliver of your palm's glow. "And still refuses the dark." He watched the light steady and did not look away. Back then, you did not understand why the quiet around him made you brave. "We made it," you whispered. He tipped the lantern so the river took your reflection and tore it to lace. "We did." You went down the mountain with a friend you would later lose, with a boy who would become a man made of water and silence, and with the soft, sudden understanding that your power wasn't only blinding, it could be gentle enough to cradle a flame.
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