Let Them Feel Hope

The ceremonial robe itched like hell.

Rokuro tugged at the collar again, earning a silent elbow from Kagi. They moved with the slow procession under pale morning sunlight, white hoods pulled low, just two more sheep in a flock of fanatics. The city gates stood open ahead. The bells from the inner city had already rung.

Rokuro hated this already.

His gauntlet arm was tightly bandaged and hidden beneath the robe’s oversized sleeve. It felt like stuffing a lit firecracker in his pocket and praying no one sneezed.

The guards near the gate scanned each group as they passed.

Rokuro lowered his head.

Wanted posters had gone up across the entire city. Lock and Key. Enemies of Crystalor. Harbingers of Demise. The kind of faces you stop and report immediately.

And yet here they were.

Walking straight into the beating heart of it all.

The night before, he’d stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

“You want us to sneak past the guards during a ceremony?” he hissed. “With what robes, exactly?”

Kagi had answered by holding up a folded pair already.

“Found these in the chest near the bed. Pretty sure the son used to be one of them before he joined the rebels. He even kept his old prayer notes.”

She dropped a small, leather-bound notebook onto the table. Hymns. Ceremonial rites. Even the morning schedule.

“You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little. There’s a rite just before sunrise. Open entry—robes only, no questions asked. The procession circles the outer city wall. That’s when we slip out.”

Rokuro crossed his arms. “Still doesn’t explain how we’re supposed to walk past armed guards.”

“They won’t see us. Not if we blend in. Praise Luminastra, bow when they do, walk quiet. When the path curves… we disappear.”

“Won’t there be inspections? What if they ask about the gauntlet?”

“We bandage it and hide it. If they do ask… You’ve been injured. Cursed. You can make something up.”

“…That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You underestimate how little they question things in societies like this.”

The line moved forward. With every step onwards Rokuro could feel his heart beat faster.

“I can’t believe I let you rope me into this bullshit…” Rokuro muttered under his breath.

Not long ago, he was just a Tokyo dropout dodging homeroom. Now? He was a fugitive hiding in plain sight—hunted by a kingdom that wanted his head on a pike.

As the line moved Rokuro thought back to the last words the elderly couple gave them when they saw them off.

“If you do find him… Our boy. Tell him we never stopped waiting. We just want him to be safe. His name is… Lykos.”

They at least owed them that much for letting them spend the night there.

Now they only had to survive this ordeal and actually meet those rebels…

The checkpoint was a few paces away now. Two guards on either side. One looked half-asleep. The other looked too awake. They were checking every worshipper quickly as they passed out of the gates. Were they aware of their plan?

Stop thinking. Just roll with it you coward. Rokuro mentally psyched himself.

Kagi moved first. Bowed low. “Praise be to Luminastra.”

The sleepy guard grunted. The other squinted. But then he simply nodded.

“Hm?” However his eyes shifted to Rokuro and stopped.

“You. What’s with the arm?”

Rokuro slowly raised his bandaged arm and whispered, “The light, uh… showed me too much truth… or something.”

The guard blinked, “what are you saying?“

The other guard perked up too, “Light?”

He reached out but before he could, Rokuro pulled back.

“Do not…” he glanced at Kagi briefly, before coughing, “It’s cursed. Really… cursed. You don’t want to touch it.”

The guard retreated.

“Fanatic lunatic…” The other one grimaced.

Nobody wanted to get cursed for no reason it seemed. Or at least nobody had the energy to fight a delusional fanatic of Luminastra.

For a second Rokuro couldn’t believe it had actually worked. But then…

A figure beyond the guards turned toward him. Standing than the rest. Broader. Cloaked in a crimson cape that rippled with authority.

His armor gleamed, silver etched with glowing yellow sigils—far too refined for a common soldier.

No helmet. Just short white hair and a face chiseled by years of unbending discipline.

And those eyes—golden and unblinking—cut through Rokuro like a blade.

Rokuro instinctively lowered his head and looked away. But the man’s eyes had already singled him out from the rest. 

“Halt.” The figure said, and the guards cleared a path for him. Rokuro attempted to walk away but the man’s voice cut through the air.

“You. Don’t move.”

Kagi’s hand was ready to materialize her blade.

Rokuro’s heel shifted back.

“Lift your hood. Now.” The man’s voice was measured. He clearly wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“There’s been a… mistake…”

Rokuro met his eyes.

He didn’t move. He simply stared.

What do I do? Run? Beg for my life? Even the air surrounding that general looked like it warped. Rokuro couldn’t hope to take him on even if his gauntlet was perfectly in sync with his mind.

“I told you to—“

The general reached for him, and instinctively Rokuro snapped his hand away. That’s when it happened. His gauntlet flared to life with stunning magic, burning through his bandages and tied sleeve. The crackle of magic caused the general to take a step back.

“Roku!”

Before the guards could unsheathe their swords, Kagi had already materialized her keyblade in one swift motion and blinked forward with her magic dash.

“Tch!”

She had aimed for a surprise attack to the general while he was preoccupied with Rokuro but the man’s reflexes were on another level. He parried without a blink of an eye with his own claymore.

However the surprise attack had earned them the time needed.

Kagi grabbed his sleeve and dashed. “Run!”

And just like that, the hymn was replaced by shouting, and the chase began.

Boots slammed against stone, then dirt.

Rokuro didn’t look back—didn’t need to. The shouting, the alarms, everything painted a clear enough picture.

“Keep going!” Kagi’s voice cut through the chaos.

The white ceremonial robes flapped uselessly behind them like idiot flags of guilt. Rokuro ripped his off mid-sprint, tossing it aside. The forest’s edge was ahead, just past the outer wall. He could already taste the air turning damp and green.

“They’re not giving up!” he shouted.

“No,” Kagi snapped, “but they’re not gaining either.”

They vaulted a low fence, brushed past a broken stone arch, and dove into the treeline. The world narrowed to branches, bark, and sunlight.

For a moment, it felt like escape.

Back at the gate, the guards scrambled like kicked ants. One turned toward the figure still standing above them all.

“General Solon! Awaiting orders!”

Solon didn’t move. His crimson cloak fluttered once in the breeze. He didn’t watch the fugitives—he watched the forest ahead.

That bend.

That ravine.

That eastward slope.

He knew it like breath. He’d trained in those woods since youth—walked every shortcut before he ever wore the armor.

“Dispatch a unit. Eastern ridge. Now,” Solon said, voice flat as steel. “They’ll take the main trail. At the hollow log, the forest splits. Send the unit down and around. Cut them off where they think they’re safe.”

The guard hesitated. “Should we pursue directly?”

“No.”

He finally turned, golden eyes gleaming like polished steel.

“They’ll run harder if they see us. Let them feel hope.”

He pointed again.

“I want them surrounded by the time it breaks.”

Back in the woods, Rokuro vaulted over a fallen branch, lungs burning. Kagi kept pace, silent but tense.

“We’re almost out,” Rokuro muttered. “This path has to lead somewhere, right? Maybe the edge of that… Ironwood thing?”

Kagi slowed. Her eyes swept the treeline.

“No,” she said quietly. “This isn’t right…”

Rokuro turned. “What do you mean—”

Then steel glinted ahead.

More than a dozen guards stepped from the trees like ghosts. Well-armored. Positioned to block every escape.

Kagi’s eyes widened.

“They led us straight into this.”

Rokuro’s jaw clenched. “…A trap.”