Datsuzoku

[Eidolon]

She had already written a script in her head for how Kiyohito might respond, and how she might navigate it in response. Should he still believe there was a debt to be settled, she decided she would consent to something small, but there would be relief and not any offence if he agreed nothing more was owed. Eido studied the teacup in her hand, watching the unblemished surface of the liquid. There was a stillness inside. For all her discomfort at having to resolve the fragile account between them, there were parts she also wished to remember.

But then he actually spoke, and all her careful considerations swept away, leaving the isolation of a here-and-now moment she really didn’t want to step into. Nonetheless, her gaze drew up, and met his squarely for the first time. Surprise had widened the liquid dark of her eyes, the emotion both genuine and complex for a pledge she did not ask him to make, and could not accept. He had perhaps not been quite real to her before then; a face caught in her periphery, a severe voice, the shield of a suit.

“Peace, Kiyohito-san.” The words came soft, her calmness resolute and imploring. She had been using the formality of his name with respectful purpose, choosing to identify him by his people as he had chosen to identify himself to her in the first place. The formality remained. She did not intend to blur the lines of familiarity in using his given name for the first time, but rather, it was to acknowledge that the face he showed now was not the carefully weighted judgement of a Yakuza driving hard business – the what he was. It was whoever dwelt within. The face of the man he had not wished to share.

He seemed ready to move, but she was glad that he had not. The I am not afraid of them settled somewhere inside her that was dangerous to acknowledge, invoking questions about his past she could not ask and that he could not answer even if she did. Her gaze moved slightly to the side, away from sight of his injuries and what they might inspire like kindling inside, though her straight-backed poise did not diminish. She did not owe him anything further, and she did not think he would press, but it was no longer the balance of debt that she considered. He had misunderstood, and she did not deserve the kindness. Eidolon was not something to be protected – she was something to protect others from.

By now she already knew she must confess. It was the only reasonable way to deny him without also offending or embarrassing his honour, and she had no wish to do either of those things. Her bargain with Zephyr cleared her name from the Atharim databases, minimising the immediate danger, but lacking that protection she still would not have lied now. Even knowing, as he had told her clearly at the bar, that any information she gave him was leverage he could use against her. In truth she did not expect it of him, but what would be would be. She accepted the hand of fate, even as she proved too cowardice for that hand to be her own.

“I do not wish to be free of my obligation. The sentence is not unreasonable. But it is what I am,” she told him. She was not being oblique with the purpose of being evasive. Rather, it was difficult to speak of without also freeing the deep weight of shame she carried, and it pulled at the words. Her fingers itched to touch the kaiken; to remind herself of its weight, but the teacup did not move in her delicate grip. “It is too much power to be enshrined in a single person. That cannot be atoned. I only live the best way I can.”

Part of her wanted to perceive his reaction, but she was more sensible than to risk it. Not because she anticipated any horror from him, but because she could not bear to witness any pity for the beliefs she had been raised with. One not raised amongst the Atharim was unlikely to truly understand the conflicted duty hung around her neck, and Kiyohito’s description of his brother suggested his own loved one shared the power of which she spoke. Which at least meant he would understand there was real danger involved in her acquaintance.

“It has been a very long time since I have allowed myself to enjoy another’s hospitality.” Her gaze returned to the tea. Her appreciation for that was thoughtful and true, and she did value the quiet simplicity of it. “This is enough, and I ask for no more, you have my word.”