He woke to lamplight and stone. The forge breathed through a crack in the door, metal and pine together. Sera sat beside him with a bowl of water and strips of clean cloth. His hands rested in her lap. The knuckles were split and swollen, white flecks of teeth caught in the skin.
"Hold still," she said.
She touched a shard with the tip of a needle. The cut tried to close around the steel even as she worked. Flesh pulled toward itself, pink and stubborn.
"How did it do that," she asked, eyes narrowing.
"My gift mends me," he said. "Flesh, bone, breath. It belongs only to me."
She pushed the edges apart with her thumb, pinched the chip free, pressed cloth to keep the skin from sealing on grit. By the time she tied the strip, the split beneath had already drawn into a neat line. Another fleck glinted. She pried again before the wound could knit shut.
"You heal fast," she said. "Good. I want to help you learn to keep the anger quiet while you fight. Estaron will work on the power itself. He says he has never seen anything like what came off you in that street. Between us, we will find the bit that is yours to control and the part that is not."
He watched her hands move. "Kurogane Akito," he said. "Most call me Akito."
"Sera," she answered. "Estaron is outside, counting the ways you make his life harder." A corner of her mouth lifted and fell. Her gaze slid to his chest. "That axe opened you. There should be a ridge. There is nothing."
Akito set his palm to the place that had been cut. Only smooth skin met his fingers. No welt. No seam.
"It closed while I slept," he said.
Her eyes traced the old marks that had not faded. A pale burn along his ribs where fire had licked him. A thin line across the collarbone. Simple scars. Not many, and all from one night.
"Then what about these," she asked.
"They came from the night I lost my family," he said. "I do not let them heal. They remind me what happens when I fail."
She set the bowl on the floor and waited. "Tell me."
He closed his eyes and let the past take him.
A small house with one room too few. A yard of packed dirt. Morning drills that began before the birds. His father Daichi standing with a flat hand, counting through forms while cold air smoked from their mouths. Punch until your arms shake. Stand anyway. Step and cut. Again. No soft words. His mother moving through the room like a quiet wind, ladle in one hand, a hand for a cheek when she could risk it. His little brother Ren trailing two steps behind in shirts that were too big, laughing when he should not, making hard things feel lighter just by being there.
The night it broke, the dog would not come inside. The air tasted like copper. Boots worked down the lane. An officer's braid showed at the threshold. Gold came through the door like daylight with a knife claiming they were here for Daichi on behalf of the council.
Daichi moved first. He always did. A throat opened under his knife. A helmet cracked against the jamb. Then numbers swallowed him. The door tore off the hinges. Mail filled the room and made it small.
Mother pushed Ren behind the stove and yanked Akito after. "Stay," she breathed, a dry thread of a word.
The officer's head turned. He measured the boys as if he were picking fruit. Daichi saw it and went for the man with the braid. He died for it.
Something opened in Akito. The world slowed to a pace he could outrun. He felt strong and fast, fast enough to be everywhere. Hands like iron slammed him to the floor. A black collar closed at the base of his skull. The strength leaked out of him as if the ground had holes. Heat crawled up the walls. The house began to burn.
He woke on the street with his cheek in ash. The roof fell with a mouth sound. Smoke tasted of hair and pitch. A soldier crouched beside him. The voice was almost kind.
"You did that," the man said. "Your blast took your mother and the little one. I am sorry."
The lie slid in deep and stayed. He tried to roll and found his wrists bound. Something small struck his knuckles. A copper ring had skittered out of the ash. Ren had worn it two sizes too big and refused to take it off. Akito closed his fingers over it and did not let go, not even when rope pulled his arms behind him.
The camp was boxes and orders. He hauled water. He scrubbed blood. He held boards while bright boys learned to break wrists. He learned to sleep shallow and wake before the boot landed. Pain became weather. The collar bite at his neck went from raw to pale. The burn along his ribs taught him how to turn when he rolled. He carried the apology like a stone because the man had sounded sorry and he wanted it to be true.
When he was seventeen a sergeant stumbled drunk into a tent and forgot to lock a chest. Akito lifted the lid and found a leather folder with the Exalted mark. After action for Widowmaker. Target Daichi Kurogane. Subject Hana Kurogane, neutralized during post sweep. Asset Ren K, nonviable, terminated. Asset Akito K, contained with black frame collar. Output below one percent. Residence destroyed per protocol.
A glass bead lay tucked inside. He breathed on it and color woke. Boots on boards. A woman saying please. A man's eager voice too close. The bead cracked rather than finish. That was mercy, or it was not.
He put everything back where it had been. He did not sleep. In the morning the sergeant kicked a bucket at his shin and laughed when it bounced. The world looked the same. It was not.
He left at dusk without running. He carried a list in his mouth. Seven names from the page. One died in a mine by chance. Four he found on dark roads. One in a bathhouse. One under a bridge with the moon hidden. One in a stable while the horses shifted and would not look. He did not take glow. He did not count trophies. He crossed off names. The sixth fell in another city. The seventh wore a notched ear and an axe and walked the south lanes like he owned the stones. That one died along with Toma. That one was the last.
The room returned. Sera tied the final strip over his knuckles. The cut beneath had already drawn itself closed. She looked at him, steady and clear.
"You know how to fight," she said. "I will help you learn to keep the anger quiet while you do it. Estaron will dig at the power and name it. He has never seen anything like that heat. If you let it run you, it will kill the ones beside you. If you learn it, it might save them."
Akito met her eyes. "I will learn."
The door stone rasped. Estaron stood in the gap with night at his back and pine on his cloak. He took in the wrapped hands, the calm breath, the room that was missing a boy.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Stillness first. Then the rest."
Sera touched Akito's shoulder once, firm and brief. "Sleep," she said. "We will be here when you wake."
He lay back. The air around him stayed cool. Under his pillow the copper ring warmed to his skin. In the next room a candle burned beside a small marker. He closed his eyes and let the dark take him.