The Enemy of My Enemy

Rokuro stared into a pale green, almost glowing liquid with purple chunks floating in it. It didn’t smell weird. And yet…

“Are we sure this is edible?” he whispered to Kagi, who was already sipping it with elegant ease.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Because it looks like shampoo?

He glanced at the elderly couple across the table. They were eating it like it was nothing. Rokuro hesitated—then brought the spoon to his lips. He couldn’t really do otherwise. When somebody offered you a meal while your face was in wanted posters all over town you couldn’t really afford to be picky.

The taste was earthy. Kinda light. The purple bits were sour. Not bad, just… strange.

“The color comes from a local plant,” the old woman said casually, probably catching the look on his face.

“Ye don’t like it?” the old man raised a brow.

Before Rokuro could answer, Kagi cut in.

“It will suffice. Thank you for the meal.”

As the slurping settled in, the old man broke the silence.

“Are ye really the prophesized harbinger of destruction?” He looked at Rokuro’s appearance, “You look…”

Spit it out old man. Rokuro glared. What will it be? Dangerous? Irresponsible? Unstable?

“…Innocent,” the woman filled in gently.

“…And weird,” her husband added.

Kagi stifled a laugh behind her hand.

“What was that?!” Rokuro snapped, glaring.

“Don’t mind him,” the woman said, sighing, “The Lock’s the least of our problems in this city. Crystalor’s got bigger curses.”

“By that you mean?” Kagi raised a brow, intrigued. This was a great chance to finally get information on more than that preacher had let on.

“The plague.” The old man said bitterly, “Corrosion, they call it.”

Rokuro and Kagi furrowed their brows.

“There’s a plague?”

“Oh, there is,” the woman nodded. “It starts with gray metallic marks across the skin. Then it spreads—slowly. Painfully. Until one day, you’re just… gone. The more it spreads the faster it takes you.”

Rokuro swallowed hard.

“There’s no cure?”

She shook her head. “Unfortunately…”

The old man suddenly stood, slamming his empty bowl down a little too hard.

“Dear—?”

“I forgot my errands.”

He grabbed his coat, swung it over his shoulders, and walked out the door without another word.

It slammed shut behind him.

The woman sat still for a moment, then quietly rolled up her sleeve. A faded metallic spot sat on her wrist like a curse.

“Sorry about that. He can’t stand talking about it,” she said softly, an apologetic smile on her face. “Because I…”

“We understand,” Kagi said, her voice low. Rokuro nodded.

Damn it, I asked something stupid… he thought, clenching his fists.

“Since our son left, it’s just been the two of us.” Her smile was small, tired. “And now… I just feel bad I’ll be the one to leave him.”

“Your son?” Rokuro leaned forward. “Where’d he go?”

“He joined the rebels. In the Ironwood Forest.”

Rebels? Kagi and Rokuro locked eyes.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the woman said, amused. “The Ironwood Rebels oppose the Crystalor throne. They reject the king, the priests, all of it. The state calls them enemies.”

Enemies of the state. A state that already ostracized Rokuro and Kagi…

Rokuro almost smiled. If the kingdom saw them as enemies… Maybe the rebels saw them as allies.

“Is there any way to contact them?” Kagi seemed to have thought the same.

The woman hesitated, then shook her head. “They’re in the forest. That’s all I know. Any more would be considered treason.”

Silence settled over the table. Rokuro leaned back, arms crossed.

They had to get out of the city. And they had to reach those rebels and potentially form an alliance. They were in need of allies and as the saying goes…

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend…” Kagi whispered, “is that not what you humans say?”

The woman stood to clear the dishes. Rokuro and Kagi moved to help, but she waved them off.

“You’re good kids. Don’t be in a rush to leave.”

Rokuro didn’t answer.

But in his chest, something clenched.

The woman may have said otherwise but… they had to leave. And soon.

╒ 🗝 ╛

The old bed creaked under Kagi’s weight as she sat near the window, moonlight tracing pale lines across her face. Across the small room—probably once the son’s—Rokuro paced back and forth like a caged animal.

“The city’s on high alert. Those guards are crawling every street,” he muttered. “We need a way out. A plan. Something. And we still don’t even know how to contact the rebels.”

Kagi didn’t reply.

He stopped, spinning to face her. “Oi! How are you even so calm right now?!”

Without a word, she lifted the small, leather-bound book she’d been reading and tossed it into his chest.

Rokuro caught it, stumbling a little. “The hell is this?”

“Page forty-two.”

Grumbling, he flipped it open. His eyes scanned the passage. The words were faded, but legible enough.

“When the Lock appears, do not open your gates. Do not offer shelter. For he is the harbinger of our end. Thus spoke Luminastra—protector of Crystalor.”

His fingers tightened around the pages.

“What in the blue hell is this bullshit...”

“That broadcast didn’t label us as criminals for no reason. Their history books clearly state what the Lock is to them.”

A silence followed. Rokuro gripped the edge of the pages tighter.

“Then Portalia… the stuff they told me there—was that a lie too?”

“No.” Kagi shook her head firmly, “What you were told there is the true, authentic meaning of what the Lock is. The same one that’s been passed down in every realm.” Kagi turned to the city, “The fact they’ve rewritten that… it means whatever this city is doing is wrong.”

Kagi turned again, speaking quietly. “Across every realm, every text, the Lock is the beginning of salvation. Not destruction.”

Rokuro exhaled sharply through his nose. “Then we really do need to find those rebels.”

Kagi nodded. “I’ll think of a way to get us out. Quietly.”

He nodded, then glanced down at the gauntlet on his arm, flexing his fingers.

“They all think I’m some world-ending monster… but I don’t even know what this thing’s capable of to even start feeling useful.”

“It’s not separate from you,” Kagi said, stepping closer. “The gauntlet of the Gatekeeper responds to will. The fist you threw earlier—it hit harder because your intent was clear. You were in danger and needed to fight back.”

“So it’s all about intention now? Great.” He clicked his tongue. “Magic’s complicated.”

“For now, maybe.” Her smirk faded, just slightly. “But you’ll figure it out. You are the Lock. I’ve no doubt you’ll master it.”

He looked up, surprised by the honesty in her tone.

She pointed to the gauntlet. “Channel everything into it. Focus. Visualize what you want. Let your will shape the result.”

Rokuro stared down at the core embedded in his palm. The faint purple glow pulsed like a heartbeat.

“…Alright,” he muttered. “Guess we’ll see what this thing’s made of.”

The silence that followed was steady. Not heavy. Not tense.

Just the quiet of two fugitives, already choosing their next step.

And beyond the window, the moon continued to rise over a city that had already marked them as enemies.