The Prism That Shouldn't Shine

Shizukesa arrived at the academy gates the next morning fifteen minutes earlier than required. He expected a quieter start—something calm to ease him into his new routine.

Instead, someone shouted his name with the intensity of a fire alarm.

“Shizukesa!”

He turned just in time for Aki to sprint across the courtyard, waving both arms as if signalling a rescue helicopter.

“Good morning! Did you sleep? Did you eat? Do you need a snack? I forgot snacks but I can buy snacks! Oh no, what if you skipped breakfast? Do you want mine? I didn’t eat it yet—”

Shizukesa stared at her barrage of panic with the same calm he used for most things.

“…I slept,” he answered.

Aki deflated with relief. “Oh thank goodness. Brilliant. Perfect. Right, good start.”

She bounced slightly on her heels. “We’re in the same Guild block! Isn’t that amazing? I thought Prism would be full of floating, mysterious, sparkly types, but apparently it’s just… us!”

She paused, then leaned closer with wide eyes.

“…What actually happened yesterday?”

Shizukesa looked down at his hand, remembering the flash of colour, the strange pulse inside him, the Core screaming with light.

“I’m not sure,” he said quietly.

Aki nodded far too confidently, as if that made perfect sense. “Well, it was very cool. And slightly terrifying. But mostly cool.”

“Mostly terrifying,” someone interrupted.

Rin stepped into view with his sword bag slung over his back, wearing the uniform like he’d trained in it since birth. He gave Shizukesa a once-over.

“You caused a machine meltdown with one touch,” Rin said. “That’s either dangerous or impressive. I haven’t decided which yet.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Shizukesa replied.

“That’s the worrying part.”

Rin folded his arms. “Anyway, don’t get cocky. Power or no power, I’ll still surpass you.”

Aki frowned. “No one said anyone was getting cocky.”

Rin pointed at himself with his thumb. “I’m pre-emptively preventing it.”

Before Shizukesa could respond, Mira approached with her usual quiet grace. The morning light caught the mint green of her hair, giving her almost an ethereal glow.

“Good morning,” she said. “Shizukesa. Aki. Rin.”

Aki waved so enthusiastically she nearly smacked a passing student. Rin gave a respectable nod, suddenly much less cocky. Shizukesa returned Mira’s greeting with a small nod.

“You feel different today,” Mira said softly, looking at Shizukesa.

“Different how?” he asked.

“There’s more movement inside you,” she replied. “Not much. But something shifted.”

Shizukesa didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply walked with them into the Prism Guild building.

The Prism Guild classroom was tucked into a quiet corner of the academy, as if whoever designed the school didn’t quite know where to place students who didn’t fit into tidy emotional categories.

The room was smaller than the others, lined with monitors that displayed faint shifting colours. Only eight students sat inside—far fewer than the other guilds.

A man entered moments later. Thin, sharp-eyed, wearing spectacles and an expression that suggested he trusted nobody under the age of forty.

“Good morning, Prism students,” he said. “I am Instructor Kurobane. I will be overseeing your training, emotional stability, and general safety.”

He paused, his eyes settling briefly on Shizukesa.

“For some of you, safety will be… particularly important.”

Aki leaned towards Shizukesa and whispered loudly, “He’s definitely talking about you.”

Shizukesa kept his gaze forward. “I assumed.”

Kurobane placed his clipboard on the desk.

“We begin today with the fundamentals. Most Soul Ink users resonate with a single emotional spectrum. Anger, fear, joy, desire, hope. These define their type.”

He swept his gaze across the class.

“Prism users, however, do not align with any one category. You are anomalies. Irregulars. Unpredictable by nature.”

Aki raised her hand almost immediately. “Sir, with all respect, I don’t think I’m unstable. I think I’m just enthusiastic.”

Her pencil case slid off her desk and scattered its contents across the floor.

Kurobane stared at her. “You are a statistical outlier.”

Rin coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.

Mira crouched to help Aki recover her stationery, murmuring something gentle.

Kurobane continued once the chaos subsided.

“Your first task is simple. Close your eyes and focus on your emotional wavelength. Feel for movement within you.”

Aki closed her eyes with intense concentration.
Rin crossed his arms and pretended not to try.
Mira breathed evenly, peaceful as ever.
Shizukesa simply sat quietly and did as instructed.

Silence wrapped the room.

He listened to the soft breaths around him, the hum of the monitors, his own heartbeat—a steady, familiar rhythm.

He waited for something to stir.

At first, nothing.

Then a glow.
A warmth.
A soft flutter in the darkness behind his eyelids.

A faint presence.

Shizukesa opened his eyes.

A small, pale petal drifted up from his hand, colourless and delicate, as if unsure of itself.

Aki gasped. Rin’s eyes widened. Mira’s breath caught.

Instructor Kurobane took an immediate step forward. “That should not be possible.”

The petal pulsed softly… then vanished.

Silence rang through the room.

Rin was the first to speak. “That is definitely not normal.”

Aki whispered, “It was beautiful…”

Mira looked at Shizukesa with a mixture of awe and concern.

Kurobane cleared his throat, visibly unsettled. “Shizukesa Hana. That was an uncontrolled emotional manifestation. A spontaneous projection without any identifiable wavelength.”

Shizukesa lowered his gaze. “I didn’t feel anything.”

“That,” Kurobane said grimly, “is exactly the problem.”

Aki leaned closer and murmured, “You’re like a mystery box with petals.”

“I don’t know if that’s good,” Shizukesa replied.

“No idea,” Aki whispered. “But very cool.”

Rin folded his arms again. “Just don’t explode and we’re fine.”

Mira gave Shizukesa a small encouraging smile. “You’re not going to explode.”

Shizukesa wasn’t sure.

Something inside him was waking. Quietly. Gradually. Inevitably.

And whatever it was…
it wasn’t staying still.