The king and the sudden wind

Rain lashed the city in ugly sheets, mirroring the churn in Kumi’s chest. She trudged to school under a silly-looking raincoat, hood pulled low, the hood’s plastic rim dripping steadily onto her collar. Every step squelched. Rin and Yuna fell in beside her at the gates, matching her silence at first.

“Crazy night yesterday, huh?” Rin said, nudging her elbow. “You look terrible. Get any sleep?” Kumi shrugged.

“No, this rain’s driving me crazy,” she said. Yuna glanced skyward, where the clouds hung like wet cement.

“Wait, is this yours or actual?” No answer. They puzzledly shuffled inside. Kumi caught Rin and Yuna up on her and Hiro’s conversation the night before as she hung up her dripping raincoat.

They settled into their seats, and Teacher walked in. She said it was her birthday. Some kids came forward shyly with gifts they’d prepared – a lopsided paper crown plopped proudly on her desk, three boxes of chocolates that Teacher urged everyone else to eat from, even Hiro slipping up to hand her a neatly folded poem he’d scribbled. Kumi blinked in full surprise; she hadn’t heard a whisper about it. The class launched into a flat but cheerful “Happy Birthday,” voices wobbling off-key before dissolving into giggles.

Kumi stared at her notebook, pencil hovering. Outside, the grey pressed against the windows. While Teacher had her back to the class, she nudged the weather without disturbing the rain. Only a dash of sunlight stabbed through, fracturing into a perfect rainbow that arced across the sky and pooled right on her desk in shimmering oilslick colours. Teacher turned to find Kumi’s surprise for her. She blinked at her table and then smiled like a little schoolgirl herself, eyes sparkling. The class wowed. Hiro, two rows over, met her eyes for half a second with a gentle smile.

Class continued as normal until the sirens blared. Conversations died. Heads swivelled. Hiro’s chair screeched back. He shot to his feet, already squinting through the classroom window toward the city centre. The biggest Kaen in history heaved itself over the rim of the pit. Even hunched, it loomed taller than the office blocks around it – easily over a hundred meters. Flames rolled off its back in greasy waves, painting half the skyline orange. It wasn’t even fully upright yet – just testing the air with a head the size of a plane. Teacher’s birthday crown fluttered to the floor.

“Oh my,” Teacher uttered, clutching her face. “Okay, children, don’t panic. We’ll follow regular procedure.” But nobody moved. All eyes stayed on the window, on the monster unfolding itself against the city. On Hiro, who stood frozen, knuckles white on the windowsill.

Hiro turned, eyes heavy on Kumi. Then he slid the window open, stepped up onto the sill, and launched himself out into the clear blue sky. Kumi watched the arc of his body against the light, a single small figure racing toward the blazing shape hunched over the pit. Her heart hammered. Her skin prickled. Only then did she realise the rain had stopped. Completely. Not a cloud in sight. It had slipped away despite her commands.

“Up, everyone. You know the procedure. Line up at the door. Leave your bags. We’re going to the designated area.” Chairs scraped, and kids scrambled to their feet. Students formed crooked lines as they’d practised a hundred times in drills, except this time their eyes were wide, and nobody was laughing. Kumi stood, then stepped out of her row. She slipped past the line, dodged around another class spilling out into the corridor, and bolted for the stairwell. Up. Past their floor, past the next, lungs burning. The siren’s howl bled into the background for her. All she could hear was her feet on the steps and the rush of blood in her ears. The rooftop air hit her like a slap once she threw the door aside. The city sprawled under her in dizzying detail, high-rises glinting like toys but dominated by the monster over the pit: a marching volcano erupting with every breath. Kumi ran to the rail and threw both hands up. Rain. Heavy. Right now.

But nothing. The sky stared back, wide and blank, a hard, dazzling blue without even a scrap of grey. No friendly little clouds waiting to be tugged into place. No weight in the air. Just light.

“Kumi!” Rin and Yuna burst through the door behind her, breathless. They halted when they saw her stance.

“Are you going to make it rain again?” Yuna asked, stepping forward.

“Yeah, kill that thing, Kumi!” Rin yelled, arms punching the air toward the distant Kaen, fists clenched in desperate fury.

“It’s not listening to me!” Kumi said. Her voice cracked.

“What?!” both girls yelled. She held her arms up for another long moment, reaching for that familiar latch in her chest, the place where sky and feeling met. It stayed just out of reach. Kumi let her hands drop. She thought smaller. Kumi focused on the air at her feet instead, and that at least still obeyed. A compact cloud puffed into existence under her shoes, lifting her a few centimetres off the concrete. It felt steady, simple. She jumped on board.

“What are you going to do?” Yuna asked.

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong,” Kumi said, voice low. “I’ll try the same spot as before. Maybe it’s easier there.”

“Let us come,” Rin said immediately.

“What are we going to do?” Yuna hissed at her. Kumi stretched her cloud sideways until it was long enough for all three of them. Rin hopped on without hesitation, already tugging her water pistol out of her bag.

“You don’t have to come,” Kumi told Yuna. “It might be dangerous.” Yuna scowled, then stepped onto the cloud anyway.

“Let’s just hurry,” she said. “Before Teacher notices we’ve gone.” Kumi didn’t argue. She pushed the cloud into a speed she didn’t know it had, wind whipping their hair back as they skimmed above the school roofs. She risked a look over her shoulder.

The giant Kaen was fully upright now, towering over the city. It hurled enormous fireballs at Hiro, each one big enough to flatten a house. Hiro cut through them or bent them back, turning the blasts aside with sweeping arcs of his arms. A chunk of building flew toward him. It caught his shoulder; he dropped, falling fast, then flared into fire and spun out of the way of the next blow.

Kumi’s stomach twisted. She wrenched her attention back to the hill. The familiar shape of the viewing platform rose ahead. She neared the little rectangle of concrete and rail where her wish had first torn the sky open. Kumi dropped the cloud as they reached close enough and jumped, landing hard but upright. Yuna and Rin tumbled off behind her. Kumi sprinted to the front.

She wasn’t alone. A boy about her age lay on his back on the platform, head tipped up to the empty blue above. He wore an unbuttoned blue raincoat and a black cap. He didn’t even flinch when she skidded to a stop beside him.

“Are you the other weather person the guy was talking about?” he asked, still watching the sky.

“What?” Kumi stared. He rolled his head to look at her properly. “The guy in the suit told me about you,” he said. Kumi’s shoulder shifted. “Listen,” the boy said, sitting up. “I’m not going to let you make it rain again.”

“Why the hell not?!” Kumi snapped. He lifted his right arm. The left hung stiff and useless at his side, wrapped in a brace that disappeared under his sleeve.

“Because your rain the other day killed my mum,” he said. The words hit harder than any fireball. Kumi froze. She hadn’t thought about what that wall of water might have done to anyone caught on a low street, or in a basement, or in a car near a flooded underpass. She’d only seen the Kaen. She’d meant to just kill them.

“I…” Her throat closed. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I didn’t mean to-“ The Kaen roared, and Hiro somehow dealt with lava that spewed out onto the nearest building. “Okay,” Kumi said, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry about your mum. I really am. But a giant Kaen is destroying the city right now. We have to make it rain, or it’ll kill people!” He flinched but didn’t back down.

“If you make it rain like that again, people will die anyway!” he snapped. He pushed himself all the way up to sitting, bracing on his good hand. “I’ve got a little brother in the hospital, and I can’t have you taking him away from me as well.” Kumi shakingly raised her hands. He raised just his good one.

Kumi dragged the skies above closer and quickly darkened them into something dense enough to matter. It shivered into existence, a thin, ragged patch of grey. Air tugged the other way. The boy frowned up at the same scrap of cloud, fingers curled. The vapour unravelled between them like a rope being tugged from both ends, then snapped into nothing with a faint hiss.

She gritted her teeth and pivoted, trying her hand at the opposite end of the sky. Fingers splayed wide, she swirled together a massive structure. It bulked up fast, edges roiling. The boy noticed instantly, eyes narrowing. He swept his hand upward effortlessly, brushing her work away with clear blue sky like paint over ink. Her storm dissolved in streaks of azure, leaving mocking wisps.

“I’ve got someone I’m not ready to lose either!” She doubled down, stitching three smaller thunderheads into a ring around him. Winds howled in preview, whipping her hair. He smirked, palm pressing outward in a slow circle. His counter-blast ripped through the formation; clouds wafting away, sucked into a vortex that spat them back as harmless mist lazily drifting his way.

Breath ragged, she went high. She summoned a vast cumulonimbus miles overhead, fat with hail, its belly glowing ominous. Lightning flickered deep inside. The boy tilted his head, then pushed a dome of iron-blue sky that bloomed upward, smothering her giant from the top down. It collapsed in on itself, rumbling defeated as it shrank to puffs, raining itself out in pathetic sprinkles far off target.

They locked eyes across the gap, both sweating now. Kumi's hands trembled; the air felt alive, taut between them like a bowstring. He cracked his knuckles. She bared her teeth. Round after round, the sky became their battlefield. Clouds birthed and banished, blue reclaimed and devoured, neither fighter yielding an inch.​

“Listen, guy. Your stopping me is literally causing deaths as we speak.” Kumi spat through gritted teeth. The boy rolled his eyes.

“The guy in the suit told me they only want a little rock,” Hayate shot back. “He said the hero has it. I say we let them take it, and the Kaen will leave us alone.” A rock. The words yanked Kumi back to last night. Hiro’s precious stone. Her hands slumped beside her. Whatever fragile clouds she’d managed to gather blurred and thinned away into the bright, uncaring blue.

“What’s your name, boy?” Kumi asked, looking back at the Kaen Hiro battled over the city skyline.

“Hayate,” he said, chin lifted defiant.

“Hayate,” Kumi repeated. “You do what you want with the rain. Make it, stop it, whatever.” She turned back toward the edge, toward the distant fire. “I’m going to help Hiro fight that thing.”

“Kumi!” Yuna and Rin shouted together. Kumi called up a small cloud and stepped onto it. It felt steadier now she wasn’t trying to drag half the sky with her. She shot forward, wind tearing at her eyes, aiming straight for the wall of flame hovering over the pit.

“I didn’t hear anything you two said. Can you catch me up?” Rin whispered in Hayate's ear.

The colossal Kaen dwarfed everything around it. Its arms were as thick as towers, its torso a mass of never-ending flames. Fireballs the size of houses exploded from its hands and jaws. Kumi dodged one that strayed from Hiro’s fight, then banked hard to evade another, heat singeing the air behind her.

“Hiro!” she yelled once she fell within shouting range. “Why is this Kaen so big?” He glanced her way mid‑flight, looking desperate. “He’s the king of the Kaen,” Hiro shouted back. “And my father.”

“Of course he is,” Kumi muttered. The Kaen king heaved open its mouth and exhaled a wave of fire. Kumi veered off to the side; Hiro scooped the fire up with a sweep of his arms, bending it back in a blazing arc.

The redirected blast smashed into the Kaen’s neck. A huge section of flame blew away, exposing the dark, rocky structure underneath in a brief flash. The Kaen roared and tore a chunk of building from the street, hurling it at Hiro. Hiro slashed through the flying rubble with a hot edge of fire, turning wood and glass into falling ash, but had to dodge the bits of reinforced concrete that refused to melt.

Kumi gathered a storm cloud over the Kaen’s head, as big as she dared. A bolt of lightning speared down into its crown. She squinted, trying to see if it flinched. It didn’t.

“Fine,” she muttered. She spun another cloud into being off to one side and drove hail out of it – sharp, icy spikes that hammered at where she guessed its eyes should be. They vanished into the fire, some striking the rocky skull beneath with dull thuds, most melting before they landed. The Kaen barely reacted. It kept swinging its massive arms at Hiro, trying to swat him out of the air. Hiro slipped in close, fire coating his hands like claws. He sapped the fire from the Kaen’s arm. It flickered and died, leaving bare, black stone.

“Ms Amaya!” he yelled. “Strike here!” Kumi understood. She sent a blizzard screaming over the exposed limb, ice forming in thick plates along the Kaen’s arm. The monster roared, shaking, trying to fling the cold away. Kumi brought down thunder, and the Kaen shuddered hard. That had hurt it.

The strategy going forward became clear as day. Hiro drained the flames from the Kaen king’s neck; Kumi hammered it with a precision lightning strike. The beast swatted wildly with its free hand, belting magma from its jagged teeth. Kumi dodged, dragging her cloud higher.

Hiro stood on the monster’s head and danced with those flames. Kumi hovered over its head and sent a blizzard from over. Brain freeze, she thought grimly. When she got a glimpse of the body beneath the fire, Hiro jumped off, and she rained down a flash of yellow lightning, sizzling straight into the wound. Hiro tried the manoeuvre again.

He’d gotten too greedy. The Kaen read their rhythm perfectly and snatched him mid-leap – massive fingers curling tight around his little body. And then to cement the horror Kumi had already seen too much of, the king yanked him toward its jagged teeth, maw gaping wide with furnace breath.

“Hiro!” He twisted in agony, scavenging every ounce of strength to rip his own arm clean off at the shoulder – bone cracking, flames spurting. Blood-fire trailed as he hurled the severed limb toward her like a desperate spear.

“Kumi!” he roared, his human face flickering away to raw Kaen bone beneath.

The severed arm disintegrated mid-air in a burst of embers, ashes scattering. From the fading glow, Hiro's fire token emerged, shining fierce. It plummeted well out of Kumi’s reach, but she snarled and dragged at the air, hooking wind around the stone and pulling it up into her palm. Heat flared through her fingers, and her eyes flickered with her own flames. The token sank into her fist, and she felt the surge of Hiro’s power touch her heart. Fire she couldn’t even feel roared up her arm and flowed through her hair. Cool.

The Kaen, standing more than two hundred meters tall, turned to meet her for the first time. It howled at her in some guttural alien tongue and reached out with its other massive arm. Its hand blotted out the clouds behind like an eclipse. Kumi tugged hard, and all the flames coating that giant hand became hers to control. With her other hand, she unleashed a jagged bolt of lightning that seared the Kaen’s arm – blackened flesh exploding in a shower of sparks. The massive limb convulsed and fell out of sight, crashing down back into the pit it had come from.

She raised herself higher, fanning the stolen flames with a rush of oxygen-rich wind, then hurled a jet of white‑hot fire at the Kaen’s other wrist, wrapped in a spiralling vortex and flecked with razor ice. The Kaen’s grip spasmed. Hiro dropped free. His fire too weak, he had nothing to control his descent with and sank fast toward the pit’s yawning radius below. Kumi sped her cloud downward, diving sharp.

She dropped below the pit’s jagged lip, confronting the hellfire below in person for the first time. The world below the pit was a seething orange abyss, heat blasting up like an open furnace, jagged rocks glowing molten red. Many smaller Kaen – thirty‑meter wretches that paled beside their king – clawed at the walls, scrambling toward the surface.

Arm outstretched, Kumi lunged for Hiro. Hiro grabbed her hand with his one good one, grip vice-tight.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she yelled down at him, her voice cracking with fury and frayed relief – a cold smile flickering through her terror as she hauled with everything she had.

“Thank you,” he croaked. A shine of red pulsed under her palm, flowing into his. Humanity snapped back over him like a second skin; his flames roared strong again. A new arm flickered out from his shoulder, reforming in a burst of heat. Kumi’s flames died out just as fast.

“By the way, some kid said the Kaen are after your fire token. What happens if they get it?”

“My father will set the surface world ablaze,” he said flatly.

“Yeah, that’s not good.” She turned just as the smaller Kaen roared and hurled themselves at their little cloud. Hiro drew in all their fire with the sway of his arm and held it overhead, a blazing mass that made the air shudder. Kumi shrouded them in a blinding haze blizzard, then unleashed a thunderous lightning strike that hurled the shrieking Kaen back into the literal hell below. Above, the Kaen king heaved open its jaw, magma building in its throat to put an end to the pests.

Above them, the sky finally shifted. Rain started all at once. Not Kumi’s forced sheets, but Hayate’s: a sudden, heavy downpour that zeroed in on the Kaen king. Dark clouds boiled into place over its head, and a volley of water slammed down, filling its eye pits, soaking its joints, hissing where it met fire.

“About time,” Kumi muttered, rising back to the surface. The Kaen staggered. Its flames dimmed, clinging closer to the stone like a shrinking skin. Hiro pushed himself upright on the cloud and drew in a long, shaking breath.

“We might be able to do this!” he called. Kumi nodded, throwing up wind walls and ice sheets to deflect the half‑hearted swipes the weakened king of the Kaen still managed with one arm. Hiro gathered all the surrounding fire in both palms, a shining star comparable to the size of the king himself. It swirled into a dense, pulsing mass, then stretched and coiled into a long, sinuous dragon, its body undulating like living flame, bright and terrible. Hiro sprang up from the cloud, fist guiding the dragon. He shouted, and the dragon dove. He and it speared straight into the Kaen king’s chest, right through his heart. The impact lit the world white. The Kaen cracked. Flames blew outward in a ring, then sucked inward, collapsing into the point where the dragon had entered. The stone shell crumbled, breaking apart into black chunks that disintegrated mid‑air, turning to ash and steam. When the light faded, there was nothing left of the king but scattered, cooling rock and a spreading cloud of vapour.

The token appeared from within Hiro’s hand and jolted. A sharp line formed across its surface, then another, like a spiderweb of fractures.

“No,” Hiro breathed. The gem split. It stayed in one piece, but a deep crack now cut through its centre, dark and final. Hiro’s knees buckled. The flames around his hands sputtered and died. He pitched forward off the edge of the cloud, human form unravelling in mid-air. Kumi dove after him, dragging a new cloud into place under his falling body. He hit it hard, then lay there, dazed, breathing in ragged gulps.

“I got you, hero,” Kumi whispered, more to herself than him. Hiro smiled. She merged their clouds with a sweep of her hand, the two platforms knitting seamlessly.

They drifted back toward the hill where Yuna and Rin were waiting on the platform, waving frantically. Hayate stood a little apart, his summoned rain clouds fraying into wisps. His cap dripped, face slick and wet for some reason. Perhaps Rin's water pistol that lay on the side had something to do with it.

When Kumi and Hiro’s cloud bumped the rail, Rin whooped. Yuna cried outright, grabbing both of them at once. Hayate backed away from what he believed was another monster. They jumped off the cloud. Hiro stared down at the broken fire token cradled in his palm, its glow flickering unsteady.

“Guys, that was awesome!” Rin pumped her fists. Kumi cheered with her for a minute. Hiro eased himself down on the platform’s edge, gazing out at the battered city below, and Kumi turned back towards him.

“Is it broken?” she asked, sitting next to him. Hiro nodded slowly. “So, you can’t turn into a human now?” Hiro’s mouth tightened. He didn’t deny it. Kumi sat there beside him in silence. He’d given up everything, yet there was nothing she could do in return.

Yes, there was. She stepped away from the group, onto the wet concrete, and tilted her head back.

“HEY, GENIE!” she yelled at the sky. “IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, WE NEED YOU!”

For too long, nothing. Then a green flicker spun into existence beside her like someone drawing a doorway in mid‑air. A black‑and‑green umbrella popped out first, followed by the man in the suit, one foot stepping neatly onto the platform. Something exploded behind his portal before it sealed shut.

“Someone called for me?” he asked, eyebrows up. Rin and Yuna gaped. Hayate looked at him with knowing eyes. The man pointed at Kumi. “Hey, what the heck, kid! You killed some other kid’s mum!”

“Yeah, I know! This isn’t about me. Mister…” Kumi began. “Can you give Hiro a wish like you did for me?” He followed her gesture to Hiro, then to the cracked token in his palm.

“Oof,” he said, wincing. “Yeah, that’s seen better days.”

“Can you fix it?” Kumi asked.

“Hmm.” He bent over from behind him and plucked the gem from Hiro’s hand, turned it this way and that, squinted. “Yeah, I don’t know how to do that,” he said finally. Kumi’s hopes dropped. Hiro stared at the ground. “But,” the suited man went on, “I can give you another one.” He reached into a little swirl of green light that opened beside him, rummaged as if through a drawer only he could see, and pulled out a brand‑new red stone. It glowed faintly, clean and uncracked.

“Wait,” Hiro said, standing up. He paused, token held between finger and thumb.

“Yes?”

“Mr Genie, if you’re willing to accept any wish I make,” he said, heart pounding, “can I ask instead, that you close the pit so the Kaen cannot reach the surface?” The man raised his eyebrows.

“Can you do that?” Kumi pressed. He considered for a beat longer than they liked, then sighed.

“Yeah, okay. Did you still want the fire token?” he asked Hiro.

“Uh… If you’d let me have both, I’d certainly be grateful,” he said slowly.

“Great,” he said, and dropped the new stone into Hiro’s hand. Hiro’s fingers closed around it. A soft, steadier warmth flowed through him instantly. The harsh ember-lines scorching under his skin faded completely; his form snapped back – fully human now, just a faint glow lingering around his eyes.

“Right,” the suited man said, clapping his hands once. “Giant pit in the ground. I’m guessing you want me to tidy up the rest of the city, too?” he said. Hiro nodded.

“If you would be so kind.”

The genie sliced a green line in the air that shimmered open like torn fabric. He stepped through without a backward glance. Kumi peered into the distance, watching buildings hoist themselves upright, rubble knitting back into place. A massive, translucent green hand bloomed, fingers like jade pillars, gently righting steel beams and smoothing scarred earth. Scorched walls smoothed. Smashed windows re‑formed. Trees regrew leaves and straightened. The drowned streets around the hill drained, leaving only dampness and a few confused pigeons. A few seconds later, he strolled back through another glowing portal, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. Rin and Yuna ran up to him as soon as he lowered his hand.

“Hey,” Rin said, eyes shining. “Can you give me one of those tokens, too?”

“Sure,” he said, without missing a beat. He flipped open another tiny portal, fished around, and tossed her a small, yellow‑tinted stone. “There’s the Anima token.” Rin squeaked and nearly dropped it. The token sank in her hand, and she turned into a small fish, then began exploring her water pistol from the inside. He dismissed her, turning to Yuna. “And you?”

“I can wish for anything?” Yuna asked cautiously.

“Anything but bringing back the dead,” he said, smiling in that way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Yuna thought for a long second.

“Can I wish for unlimited wishes?” she asked.

“No,” he said immediately.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to give you unlimited wishes,” he said. “I’m not being forced to do this, you know?” They argued for a bit – Yuna trying to find loopholes, him batting them away with lazy, precise logic. In the end, they settled on leaving her a lamp with a whole new genie she could bother in her own time. The man in the suit pulled one out of the green glow of his portal, brass gleaming warm in the fading sunlight. As Kumi and Hiro tried to save a drowning fish-sized Rin, the man in the suit turned to Hayate, who stared at him with wide, searching eyes.

“You good?”

“I don't know what I'm supposed to do now,” Hayate said.

“Well,” he raised his hand with a flourish. “First, I’ll patch up that arm of yours. My bad, I forgot before.” The bandages slipped off, and Hayate rolled his shoulder, good as new. “As for your future?” The man unwrapped scrolls that only he could see and searched for Hayate’s name. “You’ve got this!" He winked, a spark of knowing mischief in his eye. "You turn out alright, kid. Trust me.”

The others began to shift down the hill, laughter booming out in the blue, clear sky. Rin followed behind Kumi in the form of a small otter, paws slapping wetly against the path. Yuna was already planning what to wish for with her lamp. Hayate waved at the man in the suit and scampered off to join them. The suited man watched them for a while, umbrella resting on his shoulder.

“Wait, so you’re a Kaen?” Hayate asked Hiro, slipping into the pack. The man in the suit tipped his hat at Kumi when she glanced back, then stepped sideways into a slice of green light. He vanished through a portal, off to find a new story to be a part of.