The three moons still hung above the city when the night began to retreat.
The Violet one – deep and contemplative, like an eye that remembers things for which people have no words.The White – the moon of the Almighty, pure and cold, like a law that never forgives.The Blood-red – restless, trembling, as if someone's fear pulsed inside its very light.
Their light lay upon the rooftops like three different shadows that intertwined, but never truly merged.
Hinokami stood by the gate, where moments ago he had spoken with the Grey Watcher.The man's words were still ringing inside him:
"The fire within you does not want to burn. It wants to understand."
Understand what? he asked himself. The world? Me? Them? Or the one who is sealed within the moons?
Something stirred faintly in his chest.
It wasn't pain.It wasn't ordinary magic.
It was an answer that still refused to become words.
"You'll have time to ask… if you survive," the fire within him whispered.
The night air was cool. It smelled of stone, rotting timber, and distant hearths.
Kai looked him over from head to toe.
Teachers who appear out of nowhere at the gates in the middle of the night, with eyes like the Blood moon… Yes, that's safe. Completely. Exactly what every normal situation in this city looks like.
"Warnings are cheaper than lessons," he muttered. "But both usually hurt. Come on. Lisan will eat us alive if we're not back before sunrise."
They headed through the streets toward the Guild.
Behind their backs the three moons slowly began to blur.
Morning did not begin with the usual shouting of merchants.
It began with a whisper.
The Adventurers' Guild—an enormous stone hall with heavy columns, a smoke-darkened ceiling, and banners of long-gone parties—was quieter than usual.Normally, at this hour, the Metal-ranks jostled each other for cheap jobs, the Copper-ranks boasted about new scars, the Silver-ranks counted coins, and the Gold-ranks pretended to be above it all while listening carefully.
Now everyone was talking about the same thing.
"Did you hear? A Metal-rank," a young adventurer whispered, clutching his wooden tag. "First mission, and his sword crumbled to ash… and thanked him."
"Nonsense," a Copper-rank with a scar across one eye snorted. "Swords don't say 'thank you'. They break bones and stay quiet."
"They say his fire didn't burn flesh," another chimed in. "It burned something off the goblins… a black shell… then they just walked away on their own."
"Living fire," a Silver-rank in the corner murmured. "Not elemental magic. One of those… old ones."
The words old ones and living fire hung in the air.
Someone in the back laughed nervously.
"Keep listening like that and you'll decide the First Flame became a Metal-rank and went out picking herbs. Ha-ha…"
His laughter died quickly.
All eyes slid toward the door.
Hinokami crossed the threshold, and Kai walked beside him as always—with his hands in his pockets and the expression of a man who could fall asleep, start a fight, or argue with the gods with equal ease.
With his very first step Hinokami felt the stares.
Not direct.
Sideways.Through the handles of tankards, from under lowered brows, from beneath hoods.Even the three Gold-ranks in the distance—with emblems of gilt metal and armor polished to a shine—didn't look at him openly, but through his reflection in a polished plate.
Whispers have eyes, he thought. And many ears.
In his chest, the fire trembled lightly.
"Don't shrink," it whispered. "They don't know me. They only know their own fears. And those always speak louder."
Kai leaned slightly toward him.
"Don't pay them any mind," he said quietly. "Yesterday they were arguing about which Silver-rank passed out drunk in the stables. Today they're talking about you. Tomorrow it'll be the price of beer. The world has a short memory when you're not marked."
"And if I am?" Hinokami asked.
Kai didn't answer right away.
If you are… then this city will either raise you as a legend, or bury you as a dangerous mistake. And in both cases, Metal-rank, you'll be the one who hurts the most.
"Then we'll just have to be faster than the rumors," he said at last.
From the central table came a voice that did not tolerate being ignored:
"Hinokami. Over here. Now."
Lisan.
Keeper of the Metal-ranks, the person who held the ledgers, the seals, and the first steps of every new adventurer.
The wooden tags of the Metal-ranks hung on the wall behind her, neatly arranged—small pieces of someone's life, reduced to names, numbers, and brief notes: "calm", "hot-headed", "overconfident", "afraid of heights".
In her place, Hinokami thought, someone else would have left long ago. But she stayed. And watched.
He and Kai approached.
"Metal-ranks," Kai raised his hands. "If I don't come back, tell Lisan I died heroically, suffocated by her disapproval."
"She's right here," Hinokami pointed out.
"I know," Kai grinned and stepped aside, leaving the two of them.
Lisan looked at them in silence.
Her eyes were tired in that particular way—not from lack of sleep, but from years spent counting who comes back and who doesn't.
"I hate rumors," she began. "But I hate it even more when I lack information about people I'm responsible for."
Her gaze dropped to the sword's hilt at his belt.
"You came back without a blade," she stated. "At the same time, half the Guild is already telling stories about fire that strips goblins of something black and gives them their eyes back. And about a sword that crumbles and 'thanks' its wielder."
She tilted her head slightly.
"I have the right to know how much of that is true, Metal-rank."
I'm not the Order. I'm not a temple. I'm the Guild. My people die on the roads, not on altars. If this boy carries a fire that can set those roads ablaze—then I'm the one who needs to know first. Not the scribes in the archives.
Hinokami unhooked his wooden tag from his belt and set it on the table.
Beside it lay ledgers, seals, mission lists, and a scroll of Guild rules where it clearly read:
"RANKS: METAL, COPPER, SILVER, GOLD."And below that, in smaller letters, someone had added in pencil: "PURPLE EYE – rumors, legends, not to be used officially."
Lisan had sealed that note with silence, but not with ink.
"Look," Hinokami said quietly. "I'm giving you permission."
She stretched out her hand.
As soon as her fingers touched the tag, warmth ran along the wood. The symbol burned into it after the meeting with the Grey Watcher flared for a moment—not with light, but with feeling.
Lisan closed her eyes.
Fragmented images and sensations rushed into her mind:
…a boy holding a sword, and the sword recognizing him;…a flame that does not crawl along wood and flesh, but passes through something black that falls from goblins like burnt husk;…a quiet male voice from the metal itself: "Thank you… for using me as I should be used."…a grey figure at the gate, with eyes the color of the Blood moon;…three moons above the world, connected not to the sky, but with chains of light.
Then—a word that was not exactly a word.
The concept of "smith's gift" stretches until it splits. This is not just form. This is choice. A fire that says 'no'.
Lisan opened her eyes.A thin wrinkle had appeared on her forehead.
"This isn't an accident," she said quietly. "And it isn't just a blessing."
Hinokami watched her.
Now she'll ask if I'm dangerous. Do you control your fire, Hinokami? Can I send you out with other Metal-ranks without wondering if fewer will come back?
She did not ask any of those questions.
"Do you know what they say about the ranks outside the registers?" she asked instead.
He shook his head.
"Metal is the beginning," she said. "Soft, easy to bend, easy to break. Metal-ranks die the most.""Copper," she went on, "is the first resilience. The Copper-ranks start thinking like parties, not individuals.""Silver"—her eyes slid toward the table where two Silver-ranks sat, their armor worn but proudly carried—"is precision. They know the price of every strike.""Gold"—she glanced toward the far corner—"is weight. They carry not only weapons, but decisions."
Lisan fell silent for a moment.
"And somewhere above them, in the old men's tales, there is something that isn't a rank, but… a sentence. The Purple Eye.Not for the Guild. For the world."
She placed the tag back into his hand.
"I don't know if you're walking toward that, Metal-rank," her eyes softened for a heartbeat. "But I know that if you don't survive as a Metal-rank… no one will ever find out."
Before she could continue, the Guild's door slammed open.
A guard strode in, his armor worn from long hours on the walls, marked with the insignia of the city watch. Not the Order, not the Guild—one of those who actually hold the city up.
"All Metal-ranks assigned to today's missions—east gate in half an hour!" he shouted. "By new decree—no Metal-rank leaves the city alone. All exits are under watch!"
Another day of counting children with swords instead of monsters at the walls, he thought. As if the enemy is inside, not outside… or maybe I just can't see the difference anymore.
The whisper in the hall rose like smoke.
"Metal-ranks under watch?""So the rumors have reached the archives too…""If the watch is keeping us on a leash, what must the Order be thinking?"
Lisan clenched her jaw.
"Go," she said quietly to Hinokami. "We'll talk when you come back.And don't die. If you're going to leave me in the middle of a legend, at least make it one I can understand."
And if the Order decides to take you from the Guild… passed through her mind. I'll have to choose whether to stay silent… or fight for you.
Hinokami fastened the wooden tag back to his belt.
The fire in his chest smiled softly:
"Survive first. Worry about legends later."
Kai appeared from somewhere, as he always did.
"Ready, Metal-rank?" he asked. "New day, new problems, same sleep-deprived Guild."
"As ready as a man can be with a voice in his chest that sometimes knows more than he does," Hinokami answered.
"Perfect," Kai grinned. "That makes you almost normal for this city."
The two of them headed for the east gate.
The east gate was not as impressive as the western one, where caravans and companies passed.But it had something else—an air of a threshold through which questions passed, not armies.
Today there were more guards than usual.
Their shields leaned against the wall, spears in hand. Some looked toward the horizon, others—at the Metal-ranks.
The officer in charge—a man with graying hair and dark eyes—studied them.
Metal-ranks. Young. One with eyes that see too much. The other with a mouth that talks too much. And they want me to "watch" them. They might as well have given me a nursery instead of a city to guard.
"Your mission is simple," he said. "The old sewer shafts under the northeastern districts. Complaints of noises, lights, 'ghosts'."He underlined the last word with a hint of disdain.
"My men will wait at the entry. You two go down, look around, report back. Don't play at being Gold-ranks. You're Metal."
Kai nodded respectfully.
"He's the Metal-rank," he pointed at Hinokami. "I'm special—a Metal-rank with a shade of trouble."
The commander gave him a dark look.
"And trouble rusts if you keep it long enough underground," he replied. "So… go."
The shaft leading into the old sewers was round, lined with stone in which ancient runes could still be seen.
Hinokami paused at the edge and lifted his gaze.
The three moons had begun to fade in the daylight, but still lingered like pale imprints.
The Violet—like an old wound in the sky.The White—like a cold eye of a god.The Blood-red—like a promise of something yet to come.
"Three seals," the fire whispered. "Three locks. Three fears."
"If you keep staring up, you'll fall down," Kai remarked. "And I don't think 'suicide by shaft' is on your first-mission list."
Hinokami sighed and started down the stairs.
The farther they descended, the more muffled the city became.Soon only their footsteps remained, and the distant rumble of water battering old stone walls.
"Welcome beneath the memories," Kai whispered. "The city has two lives—one above ground and one below. The upper remembers its victories, the lower—its mistakes."
A strange echo came back from the walls, as if the stone itself repeated the last word: "mistakes…"
Hinokami listened.
He heard no voices, but he felt a presence.
"Things are hidden here," the fire said quietly. "And not all of them are dead."
The tunnels branched.
Some were filled with water, others with dust and cobwebs.In places, symbols were carved into the walls, ones he did not recognize, but the fire within him reacted—slightly, like to an old acquaintance.
"These runes…" Hinokami whispered. "They're not like the ones on the temples."
"They're older," Kai replied. "The language of the first builders. Of the smiths who poured the foundations. The Order calls them 'poorly thought-out symbols from pre-enlightened times'."He smirked.
"I call them 'records of people who did real work instead of writing reports'."
At one point, a light appeared ahead, different from their torches.
Cold. Bluish.
"There it is," Kai said. "Some shafts are just shafts. Others… lead to places no one wants to admit they built."
The underground opened into a chamber.
Crystals were set into the walls, glowing in different shades: pale blue, milky white, faint violet.Their light did not burn like fire; it glowed like memory—weak, yet stubborn.
There were people in the hall.
A dozen figures, dressed in a mix of old temple robes, crumpled guild shirts, bronze breastplates with worn insignia.Their eyes were… strange. Not empty. Simply turned inward.
"Who brought foreign flame here?" asked a woman with graying hair, her face cut through with fine lines—not from laughter, but from years spent in doubt.
"I did," Kai answered. "This is Hinokami. Metal-rank on paper. Bearer of… something that doesn't fit well into the 'skills' column."
A man with hands scored by scars looked at him with suspicion.
"The city cast us out," he growled. "We don't need to invite every spark that might set the remaining stones on fire."
The woman raised her hand.
"That's enough, Toren," she said. "We're the ones who chose to stare too deeply into the light. Not him."
Her gaze locked on Hinokami.
"Step forward, boy."
Hinokami came closer, feeling the walls.
Symbols of the three moons were carved into the stone—one above another, intertwined lines resembling chains.
"What do you see in us?" the woman asked.
He studied them carefully.
The cut-off Order emblems on their clothes.The burned runes on their hands.The cold light in their eyes that did not come from the crystals.
"People who have been too close to light," Hinokami said. "And paid not because they were weak… but because they asked 'why'."
In the corner, an old man with a gray beard smiled faintly.
"Good beginning," he whispered. "Most just call us 'fallen mages'."
Inside, he thought:
A spark. A quiet spark. Not like the ones we knew—drunk on their own power. This one still doubts. That might save him. Or break him.
"We are the Exiles of the Light," the woman said. "Once, we served the Order. Some as priests, others as chroniclers, others as warriors with blessed blades."She pointed at the scars on her hands.
"Then we started asking the wrong questions. Or the right ones, in front of the wrong people."
The old man rose with effort.
"We asked why the First Flame was sealed," he said. "If it truly wished to destroy the world, why did it first try to give it weapons that say 'no'? Swords that refuse to cut the innocent. Fires that refuse to burn for lies."
Toren laughed without mirth.
"We asked why the oldest archives mention a rank above Gold—the Purple Eye," he growled. "And why it doesn't exist in the new records. Erased. As if it was never written."
The Purple Eye… Hinokami thought. A rank not for the Guild, but for the world. A sign that something greater than the person is burning within them.
The fire in his chest smiled faintly.
"Don't be so quick to call yourself that. Names aren't made to be worn, but to be earned."
The woman went on:
"In answer to our questions…" her voice grew dry, "…the Order decided we were dangerous. Not because of what we could do, but because of what we asked."
"Here is where they sent us," the old man added. "Under the city. Under its memories."
They sat in a circle.
The floor was cold stone, but the crystals' glow made the air softer.
"You've heard the legend of the First Flame," the old man said. "Through the mouth of the boy beside you."
Kai flinched slightly.
Of course they know. Nothing stays just between two people in this city. Even thoughts sometimes drain into the sewers.
"I've heard… parts," Hinokami answered. "A man who gave life to fire. The world grew afraid. They sealed him in the three moons."
The old man nodded.
"That is… the convenient version," he said. "The short one. The one told to children and Metal-ranks, so they know there are things they shouldn't touch."
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, as if he could see through it.
"The truth is heavier," he continued. "The First Flame wasn't the first mage, nor the strongest. He was the first who wanted fire to have a choice. To say 'yes' and 'no'."
The woman added:
"He forged weapons that refused to be raised against the innocent. Armor that fell from the back of a traitor on its own. Flames that turned upon those who lied."
Hinokami's eyes widened slightly.
His sword crumbling into ash, the goblins shedding their black shell…
This… is already happening. Through me.
"The rulers back then grew afraid," the old man said. "'If fire can choose, how will we wage wars? How will we command?' they asked.He gave them an answer: 'You won't.'"
Toren clenched his fists.
"And what does the world do when it meets something it can't control?" he growled. "It calls it heresy. A disease. A threat."
The old man continued:
"The world couldn't kill the First Flame easily. So it did something else. It bargained. It asked him to seal himself. Told him people weren't ready. That if he didn't hide, they'd burn the world in his name."
"And he agreed," Hinokami whispered.
"Yes," the old man replied. "He gathered his fire, shattered it into three seals, and hurled them into the sky. Three moons. Three eyes to watch the world while he slept."
The woman looked at him.
"But a part of his fire…" she said quietly, "…refused to sleep. It stayed below. In this world. It wanted to see… whether someone would ever choose not to use it as a weapon."
The fire in Hinokami's chest pulsed warmly.
"I am… a piece of that stubbornness," it whispered.
Hinokami closed his eyes for a moment.
If this is true… then I am not just a coincidence. But I'm not some chosen hero either. I am… a test. For myself. For them. For the world.
The old man stood and led them to one of the walls.
There, beneath layers of dust and mold, a bas-relief had been carved.
He wiped it clean with his sleeve as if lifting a veil.
The three moons appeared—Violet, White, and Blood-red—carved as three interwoven circles.Below them—an eye, carved deep, as if the stone itself had been afraid to take that shape.In its pupil—a flame.
"The Forge of the Purple Eye," Kai whispered, almost reverently.
"Once, we believed the First Flame would leave a trace," the woman said. "Not a man, but a spark. We wanted to prepare a place for it. Not a temple. Not a prison. A forge."
Toren continued in her stead:
"We gathered. In secret. Mages, smiths, priests, even a few soldiers who had seen too much to believe blindly. We built a forge off the maps.Not to shape swords for war, but keys for choices."
The old man nodded.
"Keys that could speak to the fire without breaking the seals on the moons.At least… that's what we thought."
There was weariness in his voice.
"Then, of course, people did what they always do," Toren added. "Some wanted to understand. Others—to rule. The keys could unlock… more than the fire. A door to power. A door to control."
The woman pressed her lips together.
"The Order found out," she said. "They sent men. Accused us of treason. Of trying to awaken the First Flame.Some of us they killed. Others… hid. The rest—they sent here."
Hinokami stared at the bas-relief.
The eye in the stone seemed to stare back.
"The Smith of Smiths…" he whispered. "What was he here?"
The old man sighed.
"He was one of the first who heard the fire," he said. "And one of the first who refused to command it. Instead he asked it, 'Do you want to burn this? Do you want to protect that?'The Order decided that was dangerous. That fire shouldn't have a voice. They removed him. On paper. Called him…"
"The Grey Watcher," Hinokami finished.
The woman gave him a surprised look.
"You've seen him," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Last night," Hinokami answered. "At the gate."
Toren snorted.
"I knew it," he muttered. "The walls wouldn't bring him back on their own. Not without a reason."
The fire in Hinokami's chest stirred stronger.
"He… also carried a part of me. But differently. Older. More tired."
"What do you want from me?" Hinokami asked. "To search for the forge? To become a key… or a door?"
The woman regarded him for a long time.
"We want nothing," she said finally. "We only want you to know that your choice won't be yours alone.In you burns an echo—of the one who gave up power… and of those who locked him away."
Silence thickened.
Then—a sound.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Rhythmic.From above, through the stone.
Then voices. Commands.
Kai tensed.
"That's not just the city watch," he whispered. "Listen to the rhythm. That's the tread of men who've trained to move as one. The Order is with them."
The woman paled slightly.
"We've heard them before," she said. "Usually they pass by. Today…"She closed her eyes for a moment.
Today they're not passing. Today they're descending.
The old man gripped Hinokami's shoulders with surprising strength.
"Go," he said. "You and the boy."
"I won't leave you," Hinokami protested.
"You will," his gaze sharpened. "We are already lost to them. On paper we're dead, mad, or 'missing in service'. You they still count. If they see you with us, you'll be put on the same list."
The fire in Hinokami's chest shrank.
"Sometimes the hardest choice is not to burn where everyone expects you to," it whispered.
Kai grabbed Hinokami by the wrist.
"There's an old tunnel," he said. "Once it led to construction shafts under the archives. No one uses it anymore. Officially."
The woman came closer.
"If one day you reach the Forge…" she said quietly. "The real one, not the stone shadows on this wall… don't forget us. The Exiles.Not to avenge us. To decide… whether we were right to ask."
A brief ghost of a smile crossed her face.
"And don't become a Purple Eye just because someone whispers a story in the dark," she added. "That rank is not a title. It's a burden."
The tunnel they took was narrow, damp, and smelled of old rust.
The footsteps above them were growing louder.In places, dust crumbled from the ceiling and fell onto their shoulders like gray snowflakes.
"If this collapses…" Kai muttered, "at least they'll list us as 'fallen in the line of duty'. Sounds better than 'disappeared in the sewers'."
"If this collapses…" Hinokami replied, "at least I won't have to answer more questions about what my fire really is."
The fire chuckled softly.
"You won't get off that easily. Even after death, the questions remain."
At one point, the wall to their left was cracked.
Through the gap they could see a vast space—another chamber, full of metal structures, old chains, skeletons of ancient mechanisms.
Some of them twitched slightly, as if the air itself annoyed them.
"What's that?" Hinokami asked.
Kai didn't stop.
"The city's attempts to make its own monsters," he said. "When people aren't enough. Better not check if it succeeded."
At last, a pale light appeared ahead.
The exit was a small opening, blocked with planks and overgrown with weeds, leading into a back yard squeezed between two old buildings.
Fresh air struck their faces.
Above the rooftops they could see the domes of the temples, the tall windows of the archives, and the distant silhouette of the Guild.
Voices drifted from the other side of the district—orders, marching steps, metal on stone.
"They're searching," Hinokami said.
"Yes," Kai replied. "Down there. And we're already up here."
They walked out onto a busier street.People, carts, children chasing each other, a woman shouting at a vendor about the price of bread.
No one knew that under their feet the Order was hunting truths it didn't want to hear anyway.
The world loves living on top of secrets. As long as they don't surface, Kai thought.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
Hinokami was silent for a while.
"Like someone opened a window inside me," he said at last. "And instead of air… more questions came in."
The fire settled comfortably in his chest.
"And there will be more," it whispered. "But not now. For now, just walk."
He lifted his head.
The Violet moon, though pale in the daylight, was still visible in the sky—like a faint stain, like a scar.
The White and the Blood-red were there too, almost invisible, yet present.
Three seals.Three eyes.Three witnesses.
The Guild was visible in the distance.
Behind one of the second-floor windows, Lisan stood leaning on the sill, an open ledger before her.
On the page—the name "Hinokami", beside it: Rank: Metal.Beside that, an empty space for notes.
The quill in her hand hesitated.
What do I write? "Unstable smith's gift"? "Dangerous"? "Possible bearer of something I don't understand"?
Instead, she drew a small symbol in the corner of the page—three interlocking circles.
An old sign she was not supposed to know.A mark she had once seen in a forbidden scroll about the ranks: beneath Gold—a blank space… and a drawn eye.
"Don't make me be right about you, boy," she whispered. "But don't make me betray you either."
Higher up, on the city wall, the Grey Watcher gazed toward the city.
His cloak fluttered lightly.His hand rested on the hilt of an old sword he had not drawn in a long time.
The flame has stirred, he thought. The city whispers. The Order prowls. The Exiles breathe a little longer.
A thin, barely noticeable smile touched his lips.
"Echo of ash…" he said softly. "Whispers in the Guild…Let's see, Hinokami… whether you'll forge your fate as a weapon… or as a key."