Kumi Amayo

The rain had been falling since morning, but it waited until they lowered Mum’s coffin into the ground to turn mean. It came harder and heavier, flattening the grass, drumming on black umbrellas, running in cold rivers down the back of Kumi’s neck. The collar of her new black dress stuck to her skin. The single red lily she held bent under the weight of the water, petals drooping toward the mud.

She stared at the photograph propped against the headstone. Mum smiled out of it in last year’s sunshine, head tipped back, hair caught mid‑laugh. Someone had wiped the glass once already, but water kept sliding over Mum’s face, breaking it into shivery pieces. Kumi blinked until her eyes stung. She couldn’t tell which drops were on the frame and which ones were in her eyes.

An umbrella hovered over her, a dark curve blocking part of the sky. A hand settled on her shoulder, careful and heavy. The weight was familiar. Dad’s fingers always shook a little when he was trying very hard to be steady.

She didn’t look up. His sad face wouldn’t offer any comfort here. Voices murmured around the grave, flattened by the rain into one low buzz. The priest’s words floated in and out: peace, rest, better place. Kumi heard them the way she ignored Teacher when she talked to Rin and Yuna in class – they slid past without sticking.

Mud clung stubbornly to her shoes. Water seeped into her tights, icy and slow. A trickle that had started at the back of her neck now crawled between her shoulder blades, causing a shiver, but she didn’t notice.

“Ms Amaya.” Her name in a boy’s careful voice. Kumi shifted to her left. A boy stood on the muddy path beside her, a step back from the cluster of adults. His black suit jacket sat perfectly on his shoulders, every line sharp, as if it had been tailored just for him. Dark hair fell neatly across his forehead despite the rain, more artfully damp than messy. Raindrops slid down his cheekbones and into his collar without making him look rumpled at all, like the weather had decided not to touch him properly.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. The sentence came out neat and rehearsed, like it was something he said every day. Kumi’s jaw clenched. The red lily stem creaked in her hand. The boy dipped his head, rain drumming on his hair, and stepped back into the blur of dark coats and plastic sleeves. In a moment, the crowd swallowed him.

The priest said something about flowers. A bouquet tipped from someone’s grip and slid off the coffin lid. Earth thudded softly on wood. Kumi couldn’t breathe. The air under the umbrella felt thick and used up. Adults murmured around her, a soft wall of sound that pressed in from every side. Somewhere behind her, Dad’s hand squeezed her shoulder a fraction tighter.

Kumi jerked out from under the umbrella. Dad’s fingers slid off her shoulder. Cold water hit the back of her neck like a bucket being tipped.

“Kumi?” Dad’s voice cracked. “Don’t go!”

She went. She shoved through the front row, bumping against wet coats and plastic sleeves, the red lily crushed in her fist. Someone gasped her name. A lady Kumi didn’t know brushed a hand against her arm and missed. The smell of damp wool and flowers closed in for a second, then snapped away as she broke out of the circle around the grave and onto the gravel path.

The cemetery gate loomed ahead, iron bars streaked with rust and rain. The ground squelched under her shoes. Her brand-new dress, blacker than her hair, slapped against her knees, already heavy with water.

“Kumi, come back!” Dad called again, thinner this time under the rain, the priest and the murmurs. She pushed him and everyone else behind her.

Gravel gave way to slick pavement. Puddles filled every dip in the road, shining pale under the grey sky. Kumi crashed straight through the first one, cold water splashing up her shins. She dodged the next, then the next, picking a frantic path between them on quick, stinging legs.

A wide puddle ahead looked shallow, just another dark patch on the asphalt. Her foot plunged in up to her knee. The shock yanked a yelp out of her. She lurched forward, arms windmilling, and hit the ground hard on her hands. Dirty water soaked her tights and palms.

Something soft slid off her head and bounced away – her beret, the one her grandmother had bought to “match the serious dress.” It tumbled once on the wet road and vanished behind her in the rain. Kumi pushed herself up, grit sticking to her skin. Her scraped palms burned. She didn’t go back for the silly little hat.

Her breath came in sharp, ragged pulls that tasted like metal. Cars hissed past at the far end of the street, tyres slicing through puddles. A distant siren wailed and then faded, just part of the city noise. Every time the road dipped, another puddle waited. Every time it slanted the slightest bit uphill, she followed it without thinking.

Away, she thought, the word pounding in time with her footsteps. Away from the umbrellas and flowers and the miserable faces. Away from Dad’s shaking hand. Away from the photograph of Mum smiling like nothing bad could ever happen. She didn’t know where she was going. Just away. A quiet place would be nice.

Every time the road curved even a little uphill, she followed it. Left at the corner where the pavement slanted away from the main street. Right where the houses sat higher than their neighbours. The further she went, the fewer cars she heard. The rows of shops thinned to small apartment blocks, then to older houses with sloping roofs and narrow gardens.

By the time the last of the houses fell behind her, her dress was plastered to her skin and her tights squelched in her shoes. Her legs ached in a way that felt hollow, somewhere deep in the muscles. Her lungs burned.

A narrow path split off from the road and began to climb the hill. A strip of wet concrete bordered by low bushes and slick rocks that Kumi took without thinking about where it led.

The path wound upwards in short, steep zigzags. Rain tapped on the leaves and ran in little streams along the edges of the concrete. Twice her shoes slipped, and she grabbed the cold metal rail that ran along one side, fingers squeaking on the wet bar. The city sank away behind her, turning into a blurred patchwork of grey blocks and faint neon, smeared by the curtain of rain.

At the top of the hill, a viewing platform jutted out over the slope: a rectangle of concrete with a waist‑high safety rail. She imagined you could see almost everything from up here. The world below today was a washed‑out smear under a lid of cloud.

Kumi slowed. Her run collapsed into a wobbling walk as she stepped onto the platform. The rain sounded different up here, louder on the metal roof behind her, softer where it hit the open concrete in front. Wind tugged at the hem of her dress and pushed cold fingers through her wet hair.

She walked to the edge and rested her forearms on the rail - the metal bit through the thin fabric of her sleeves. Down in the distance, the buildings in the city centre looked like toy blocks, their lights fuzzy and small in the rain. Somewhere beyond them, out of sight, the pit sank into the ground like a plughole where the city was draining away. Her throat tightened.

Kumi tipped her head back. The sky above was a solid ceiling of dark cloud, pressed low over the hill. No gaps. No lighter patches. Just grey, pouring and pouring and pouring. The drops hit her face and slid into the corners of her eyes until the whole world blurred at the edges.

“Stupid,” she muttered, though she wasn’t sure if she meant the sky or the funeral or all of it together. Her voice vanished into the weather.

She ducked under the railing carefully, palms slick on the cold bars, and eased herself down onto the concrete lip, back against the rail, legs dangling over the drop. Her hands curled around the bars on either side. The support pole overhead was supposed to act like a roof if you tucked yourself right underneath, but the water just chased along the metal and dripped steadily onto the top of her head.

Fine. Let it. She kicked her shoes out into the empty air, heels knocking against each other, and stared straight ahead at nothing. The red lily dangled from her fingers for a moment longer, then she flicked her hand and sent it spinning out into the grey. It tumbled, a small streak of colour, and dropped out of sight. Thunder grumbled somewhere far off, a low, tired sound that rolled over the hill and settled in her ribs.

“Mind if I join you?” The voice came from just behind the railing, light and amused, as if this were a park on a sunny afternoon and not a soaking hill on the worst day of her life. Kumi jolted. Her hands tightened on the bars. She craned her neck around, heart thumping a little faster than before. A young man – maybe 20 – that she didn’t recognise stood just beyond the rail, close enough that she should have heard his footsteps on the wet concrete, but hadn’t. He wore a dark suit and a green tie, colours oddly sharp against the washed‑out grey around them. A matching fedora shaded his face, a narrow band of green circling the brim. He took the hat off with a small bow, like they were at some fancy party. Underneath, his hair was grey, streaked with black, neat despite the rain. One of his green eyes closed in a quick, knowing wink. “Hi,” he said, smiling.

Kumi shuffled along the ledge, putting a little more distance between them. Strangers she was supposedly meant to remember from baby photos were one thing. Strangers on isolated hills like this were much worse.

“I'm not alone here, by the way. My dad’s going to be here any minute,” she warned. Her voice came out hoarser than she meant, scraped raw by running and not crying.

“What?” He pressed a hand over his chest as if she’d insulted him. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me, little Ms Amaya.” Maybe he wasn’t as malicious as he looked.

“Can’t you just leave me alone today, mister…” Kumi muttered. She pulled her arms in and folded them on the bar in front of her, tucking her face down into the crook of her elbows like a bird hiding its head. If she couldn’t see him, maybe he’d go away.

“Well, that’s rude. Also, I know for a fact your Dad doesn’t get here in time.” His gaze flicked to the empty path behind her, eyes going distant for a second as if checking a clock only he could see.

“In time for what?” Kumi pushed herself up to her feet to face this suspicious man. Her heel skidded on a film of water. She slipped. The world tilted. For one awful heartbeat, there was nothing under her but open air and wet sky. The man in the suit snapped his fingers.

Kumi blinked and found herself upright behind the safety rail, both hands gripping cold metal. Her heart thudded against her ribs. The man now balanced on the thin rail, knees bent, hunched like it was the most natural seat in the world.

“In time for that, actually,” he said lightly. “As it happens, you now owe me your life. But I won’t hold it against you.”

“What…? I only slipped because you were creeping me out!” Kumi shrieked.

“I can see how it may have looked like that to you… But you’re wrong.” What the hell did that mean?

“Also, back up. What was that just now? Magic?! And how are you standing on that?” Kumi demanded, swinging her weight about.

“Don’t you worry your little head about the details, Ms Amaya,” he said endearingly. Kumi hesitated, then curled down into a ball, one arm braced against the support.

“How do you know my name?” Kumi asked, her fingers tightening around the rail.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just know.” Kumi stared at him in utter bewilderment, but he didn’t look like he was about to explain himself. He tipped the fedora back onto his head at a jaunty angle. “Anyway, this place is really weird, isn’t it?” He put his hand over his eyes and peered into the distance.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kumi asked.

“It’s different from the place I came from, is what I mean. Tell you what. I’m going to ask you a few questions about this world, and you tell me what you know, okay? There’s a reward in it for you.” Another wink and smug grin.

“What’s the reward?” Kumi crossed her arms.

“You’re literally a minute away from finding out. Learn some patience.” Kumi’s mouth twisted.

Metal creaked softly as he shifted his weight. When Kumi risked a sideways glance, he had hooked his fingers under his lower eyelids and tugged them down slightly, peering at the air in front of him as if an invisible sheet of paper had just appeared there.

“Let’s see,” he murmured, unravelling an imaginary scroll Kumi couldn’t see. “It says here you people have some kind of monster problem. What’s up with that?”

Kumi’s head came up before she could stop it. “Are you talking about the Kaen?” she asked. “How do you not know about that? Are you not from here or something?”

“Look at you go! Ms Detective Amayo!” he teased, mouth quirking into a wide, delighted grin. “Anyway, keep on talking about those things you mentioned.”

Kumi frowned at him. He’d dragged her mind away from the grave and the coffin, and she hated that she was almost glad he was there. “The Kaen, they come up from the pit sometimes and attack the city,” she said. “Like people, but they’re huge and made of fire.” She looked away, down at the blurred city blocks below the hill. Somewhere out there, warning lights would be circling the rim of the pit even now, blinking red no matter what the weather did.

“Isn’t that fun!” He clicked his tongue softly. “You ever see one up close?”

Kumi’s stomach lurched. “Yeah,” she said, the word coming out flat. The man in the suit pulled back and changed gear.

“And… It says there’s a hero,” he prompted, tilting his head away from the invisible pages in front of him. “Someone who fights these Kaen.”

She shrugged, shoulders hunching up towards her ears. “Yeah.”

“And you know him?”

“If you already know all this, stop asking me this stuff.”

“I’m just trying to fill in all the blanks!” Rain beat down between them, filling the space where she didn’t say the rest. The man watched her for a moment, expression smoothing out. “Well, enough of that,” he said at last, voice turning brisk again. He clapped his hands together once, a sharp sound in the damp air. “Back to what I came for.”

Kumi blinked. “What’s that?” She said glumly.

“I’m here to let you make a wish,” he said.

Kumi snapped back to look at him. “A… what?”

“A wish.” He smiled, all white teeth and green eyes. “One wish. Anything you can imagine.”

Her stomach flipped. “Anything I say, you’ll do?”

“That’s right.” He gave a little half‑bow from where he stood. The answer jumped out of her mouth before she could think about it, the same way it had been jumping around in her chest all day.

“Can you bring my mum back?” The smile vanished from his face. He winced, like she’d poked a bruise.

“That’s literally the one thing I can’t do,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how. Sorry.”

The tiny flare of hope that had lit up inside Kumi went out so fast it hurt. Her fingers slipped a little on the wet rail. Rain hammered on her back, soaking through her dress, crawling cold down her spine, dripping off her fringe into her eyes. Every breath tasted like wet metal and mud.​ Kumi dropped her forehead onto her folded arms, hiding her face from him and from the sky.

“Fine,” she whispered into her sleeves. “Then I just wish the rain would stop.” There was a pause. For a heartbeat, nothing changed. Rain still hammered on her shoulders, still dripped from the ends of her hair.

“Alright then,” the man said, straightening up on the metal beam. “I’ll do what I can with that.” He snapped his fingers. The sound was small and sharp, almost lost under the storm. “If you ever need anything else, you know who to ask.”

“What the…” Kumi turned, ready with all sorts of questions, but the space beside her was empty. No suit, no hat, no green tie. Just the railing, beaded with water, and the grey air beyond it. The rest of the word dissolved on her tongue. The noise around her had changed. The constant roar of rain on concrete was thinning, peeling away layer by layer. The hard drumming on the platform softened to a patter. The hiss of the trees around the hill faded, like someone was turning it down with a dial.

Kumi lifted her head. The clouds directly above her were pulling apart. Not slowly, the way the weather usually moved when she watched it from classroom windows, but like someone had grabbed handfuls of grey and was tearing them like wet paper. The edges frayed to white. Between them, startling and clean, a slice of blue sky showed through.

A shaft of sunlight punched down through the opening and hit her straight in the face. She flinched, throwing up a hand. Warmth soaked into her wet dress and tights, chasing the chill from her shoulders. Droplets on the rail turned to tiny mirrors. All around the hill, the rain slackened, then stopped. Drops still clung to the grass and trees, but nothing new fell. The city below gleamed with leftover water, roofs shining, streets stripy with reflected light, but the air between was clear. Kumi’s heart hammered against her ribs.

“Wait…” she whispered.

“Kumi! There you are!” Dad’s voice floated up the path behind her, breathless and thin. She twisted around, the red lily somehow back between her fingers. He was halfway up the hill, one hand white‑knuckled on the rail, his dark suit soaked, his black umbrella hanging uselessly at his side because there was no rain left to shield them from – only a few late drops sliding off the metal roof of the shelter.

“Look, Dad,” Kumi said, squinting up at the torn‑open sky. “I think… It’s clearing up.”

The air around them felt thin and light, as if the whole sky had finally taken a breath.