Dawn bled into Higaru's perpetual fog, staining the cracks in Aki's shack walls a watery, sickly grey.
Shiro adjusted the carved plank depicting Polaris above her pallet, his fingers tracing grooves still raw and splintered. The air hung thick with damp earth, cheap medicine, and the faint herbal scent Valeria had left behind.
Aki stirred, her breath shallow but easier now. She opened her eyes, catching Shiro's nervous pacing. "You'll wear a hole in the floor," she rasped, but her voice carried warmth.
Shiro stopped, embarrassed, clutching the rolled blanket and the bundle of star charts Kuro had given him. "I can't help it. Today... today's different."
Aki pushed herself upright, wrapped in the thick wool blanket Valeria had brought. Her eyes were bright, alive. "It is," she agreed softly. "You're going beyond these walls. Beyond Higaru. Beyond rot and smoke. You'll learn things I never could. You'll see stars without ash between you and them." Her hand, thin and trembling, reached for his wrist. "Promise me you'll learn. Not just their lies. Learn the cracks. Learn the truths hidden in their cages. If you can do that, maybe... maybe you can change your fate."
Shiro swallowed hard, his chest tight. "I promise."
Valeria arrived soon after, her soldier's poise filling the doorway. She carried tea for Aki, stew for Shiro, her calm presence steadying the room. "It's time," she said simply.
Aki smiled faintly. "Go, little brother. Go and carve your destiny. I'll be waiting at House Malkor. I'll be safe. You don't have to carry me alone anymore."
Shiro knelt beside her, pressing his forehead to hers. "I'll come back stronger. I'll come back with more than crooked stars."
She chuckled weakly. "Crooked stars are the truest ones. Don't forget that."
"I love you Shiro be safe remember write to me like Valeria said ok?"
"I love you too Aki, I promise I will everyday, you too be safe"
He left with Valeria's guidance, his heart pounding with excitement. This was it. A turn in destiny. A chance to change his fate.
The walk to the Celestial Academy was a blur of grit, frost, and rising anticipation. The alleys of Higaru gave way to wider streets, then to avenues lined with frescoes depicting constellations Shiro only half recognized. The air grew cleaner, colder, laced with perfumes instead of rot. Each step away from the slum was a physical ache, but also a thrill.
Finally, the Academy gates loomed. Towering iron forged into Orion's constellation, Rigel elongated into a cruel sword tip at throat height. It wasn't decoration; it was a warning. Enter at your peril. Shiro squared his shoulders, clutching his meagre belongings. This was destiny. This was freedom.
Beyond the gates lay the courtyard. Statues of star gazing kings crumbled, moss devouring their crowns. Weeds sprouted defiantly between cracked flagstones. The Academy was a mausoleum to faded power, pride rotting from the inside out. Nobles in silk robes drifted across the courtyard, their laughter sharp as cracked bells. Their eyes raked over Shiro's patched tunic and worn boots with undisguised contempt. But he was Shiro Malkor now, a name that carried weight. Their whispers quieter, but their disdain was no less sharp.
Shiro spotted Kuro across the courtyard, storm grey eyes sharp, silver streak catching the light. Relief surged in his chest. His brother. The boy who had laughed at crooked swans, who had spoken of betrayal in the stars. He approached, charts clutched tight. "Kuro"
But as he neared, Kuro shifted deliberately, his polished boot sliding out. Shiro stumbled, tripping hard, his charts scattering into the mud. Laughter rippled through the nobles. Shiro froze, staring up at him. "Kuro...?"
Kuro's smirk widened, cruel. "Careful, cousin. Try not to embarrass House Malkor before you've even stepped inside." He turned, his stride aristocratic, joining a cluster of nobles.
Shiro knelt in the mud, clutching his ruined charts, his mind racing. Was it all fake? The carving, the stories, the warmth? Had he been nothing more than a pawn, a footnote in Kuro's existence? Aki's warning echoed in his skull, merciless: Stars are liars.
Then another voice, soft and steady. "Here."
A hand reached down. Shiro looked up into the face of a boy his age, uniform neat but not ostentatious, eyes gentle. He lifted Shiro's chart from the mud, brushing it clean with careful fingers.
"Reo of House Veyne," the boy said quietly.
Shiro blinked, stunned by the kindness. Reo's voice was calm, his movements deliberate, as if he knew exactly how fragile Shiro felt. He helped Shiro to his feet, steadying him. "Don't let them break you. Not yet." Reo guided him towards the classrooms.
The classroom was a cavern of cold marble and grudging light. Shiro took a seat beside Reo, whispers stabbing at his back.
Professor Kael entered, tall and severe, his robes embroidered with constellations, his high collar stiff and unyielding, rising almost to the base of his jaw. A faint, breathy whistle escaped him as he turned, a sound like wind through a narrow crevice, unnoticed by most.
His eyes swept the room, landing on Shiro. “House Malkor’s newest addition,” he announced, his voice dry but underscored by that subtle, rasping airflow. “Stand.”
Shiro stood, legs weak. “Shiro Malkor, sir.”
Kael’s lips curled faintly. “We’ll see if the name carries more than dust. Sit.”
Humiliation burned hot in Shiro’s chest.
He focused on the grain of the desk, the sting behind his eyes.
Stars are liars.
Kael prowled, his posture rigid, more like a soldier at rest than a scholar at ease. “Recite Polaris’s declination.”
Shiro’s mind blanked, then Kuro’s stolen charts flashed in memory. “Sixty one degrees north, sir.”
“Correct,” Kael said, but his tone was dismissive, and again there was that soft, whistling exhale as he turned away. “Memorization is nothing. Application is everything. We’ll see if you can do more than parrot numbers.”
Shiro risked a glance.
Kuro sat near the front, carving into his desk with deliberate desecration. His silver streak flared like a blade. He muttered just loud enough for Shiro to hear: "Let's see if Malkor dogs know the stars rot."
The classroom emptied with a rustle of silk and a low hum of conversation. Shiro lingered, pretending to organize his mud stained charts, his heart hammering against his ribs. As the last noble filed out, a shadow fell across his desk.
"You look lost, cousin."
Shiro didn't look up. "I know the way out."
Kuro's polished boot tapped the leg of Shiro's chair. "Do you? This place is a maze. The wrong turn can lead you somewhere... unpleasant. A drafty tower. A closed courtyard. Somewhere no one hears you call for help."
Finally, Shiro met his gaze. The storm grey eyes were flat, polished stone. No crack. No recognition. Which one are you? The question screamed inside Shiro's skull. The brother who traced a misaligned star with reverence, or this bastard with a smile like a shard of glass? "What do you want, Kuro? You made your point in the courtyard. I'm the mud on your boot. We established that."
"Did we?" Kuro leaned down, bracing his hands on the desk, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper that felt more dangerous than his public mockery. "Because you're still here. You're still looking at me like I owe you an explanation. Like we shared something other than a bit of gutter theatre."
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Shiro sat frozen, the word echoing like a hammer blow. Theatre. He replayed every moment in the shack, the brittle laugh over crooked swans, the carved wood pressed into his palm, the whispered truths about brotherhood, family, Valeria. Each memory twisted under the weight of doubt. Was it all performance? A cruel rehearsal for this humiliation? His chest tightened, breath shallow, as paranoia gnawed at him. Every warmth now felt suspect, every kindness a mask. "Had it all been a performance? A sick, drawn out joke?"
"Of course," Kuro continued, his smile a thin, cruel line. "Did you think it was real? The carving? The star talk? A diversion. A way to pass the time. You were a mildly interesting pet. And now you're here, in my house, wearing a name that doesn't fit, expecting... what? Brotherhood?"
Shiro's hands curled into fists under the desk. He said my wrong stars were beautiful. He said they were free. "You said I carved wrong stars."
"I said they were interesting," Kuro corrected, straightening up. "Like watching a dog walk on its hind legs. The fact that it can do it at all is novel. But it's still a dog. And eventually, it tires and goes back to the gutter." He flicked a piece of wood shaving from his own carving off Shiro's chart. "You're in the kennel now, Shiro. Learn to belly crawl before someone decides to put a boot on your neck for good."
For a heartbeat, Kuro's storm grey eyes flickered, not with warmth, but with something raw, almost uncertain. It vanished instantly, buried under the polished cruelty of his smirk, but Shiro saw it. A crack. A hesitation. Proof that the mask wasn't seamless, even if it was merciless. Why? The question burned. If it was all a lie, why give me the piece? Why look at me like I was a person? "Why even bother with the act?"
The words tore out, raw and quiet. For a fraction of a second, something flickered in Kuro's eyes, not warmth, but a cold, calculated intensity. "Because you returned the purse," he said, as if stating a simple, tactical fact. "An anomaly. I needed to measure you. Now I have. You're stubborn. Sentimental. In this place, that's a list of fatal flaws. Consider our... interactions... a mercy. A small, controlled dose of the poison that runs through these halls. If you survive me, you might survive the rest."
He turned and walked away, leaving Shiro alone, his mind a battlefield. Every memory from the shack was now a suspect. Every shared glance, a potential calculation. Which one is the true Kuro? He had no answer. Only the chilling certainty that the boy from the shack was gone, if he had ever existed at all.
At lunch, Reo sat with Shiro, guiding him through the hall's rituals, the seating, the servers, the subtle hierarchies. His kindness was a real light, steadying Shiro's nerves. But Kuro wasn't finished. Performing for the watching nobles, he approached with his tray laden with rich food. His elbow caught Shiro's bowl deliberately, soup cascading into Shiro's lap.
Shiro gasped, pain burning his legs, humiliation freezing his chest.
Reo shot to his feet, fury in his eyes. "Enough, Kuro." His voice carried across the hall. "This isn't strength. It's cruelty."
The nobles fell silent, watching.
Kuro smirked, spreading his arms theatrically. "Ohhh, look everyone, the mighty House Veyne angered. How fucking noble." He laughed, sharp and cruel, the sound echoing off marble.
Reo's fists clenched, but he held back. He turned, helping Shiro up, guiding him out of the hall. Reo's hand trembled slightly as he steadied Shiro, the tremor betraying how much the cruelty unsettled him too. His voice was calm, but his jaw was tight, as if holding back his own fear. "You don't deserve this," he said, softer now, almost to himself. "No one does."
Reo had just guided Shiro into the relative quiet of a stone corridor when a smooth voice cut through the dimness. "Playing the shepherd, Reo? How noble. The weak do love a caretaker."
Reo didn't stop walking. "Move, Kuro. He needs the infirmary."
Kuro fell into step beside them, a study in casual cruelty. "He needs a lesson in his place. You're delaying the inevitable."
Reo stopped short, turning to face him. His gentle eyes were hard. "Your place, you mean. Which seems to be exclusively wherever you can find someone weaker to torment. It's not strength. It's cowardice. It's all you ever do."
Kuro's smirk didn't waver. "I'm curating the environment. Removing flawed elements strengthens the whole. You're clinging to a flaw. Sentiment is a weakness, Reo. One your house can't afford."
"My house isn't built on the broken bones of children," Reo shot back, his voice low and fierce. "And you're not curating anything. You're just a bored bully who's too much of a coward to face anyone who might hit back. You're worse when she's not here, you know. It's pathetic."
A flicker of raw irritation crossed Kuro's face at the implication. "She has nothing to do with this."
"Doesn't she?" Reo pressed, a sharp, knowing glint in his eye. "You're unravelling. The careful, cold control you usually wear? It's slipping. You get... crazy when Valeria's not around to rein you in. Like a child throwing a tantrum when the nursemaid leaves the room. Is that what this is? A tantrum because your guardian isn't here to pinch your cheek and call you 'storm baby' in front of everyone?"
Kuro's composure cracked. The polished marble of his expression shattered into pure, undiluted venom. "You shut your fucking mouth you don't know anything."
"Why? It's the truth. Everyone remembers. Last year in astronomy, Professor Harken's class. You mouthed off one too many times. Valeria marched right in, didn't she? In full view of everyone. Called you her 'little storm cloud.' You turned the colour of a beet and called her an old hag a bitch, whore." Reo almost smiled at the memory, contemptuous. "And what did she do? She laughed. Scooped you right up, both arms, like a toddler having a fit. Carried you kicking and cursing out into the hall. The whole wing heard the scolding. And the ear pinch." Reo's voice dropped to a mocking whisper. "It was Magnificent. We could all hear you whine. So don't talk to me about strength and weakness, Kuro. I've seen yours. And it flinches at a guardians's pinch."
Kuro stood perfectly still, a tremor of rage in his clenched jaw. The storm in his eyes was no longer detached; it was personal, humiliated. "You son of a bitch you've just made a grave fucking mistake, Reo."
"No," Reo said, turning back to help Shiro. "I just reminded you of yours. The infirmary is this way. Try not to trip anyone on your way to find another actual child to pick on."
In the infirmary, Reo sat beside him, fighting back tears as the burns were treated. "You don't deserve this," he whispered. "You're more than their games. More than his cruelty."
Shiro stared at the bandages, his chest hollow. His mind circled back to Aki's warning. Stars are liars. He realized she was right. He had been na?ve. Destiny wasn't a gift. It was a cage.
The infirmary was a small, sterile room that smelled of antiseptic and dried herbs. Silence stretched, broken only by Shiro's shaky breaths as he stared at the white bandages on his legs.
"He hates you because you stood up to him," Shiro finally said, his voice hoarse.
Reo, sitting on a wooden stool by the cot, shook his head. "He doesn't hate me. He loathes what I represent. A refusal to play his game of predator and prey. He only hunts where he's sure of the kill. The weak, the new, the isolated. It's the only power he feels he has that's entirely his own." Reo rubbed his temples. "And he's worse right now. Unhinged. It's because Valeria isn't here."
Shiro looked up, a new piece of the puzzle slotting into place. So the leash is off. The thought was cold, clarifying. The ruthless guardian was absent, and the wild, silver streaked thing she contained was unleashed. Which is the true chain? The gilded cage, or the woman who could pinch his ear and make him blush? "You know her?" Shiro asked.
"I know of her everyone does. She's his guardian. She's the only one who can... modulate him. Even on academy grounds, she treats him like a child. It drives him mad with embarrassment, which is probably why she does it." Reo gave a faint, grim smile. "I've seen the difference. When she's here, he's colder, sharper, but... contained. Like a blade in a sheath. When she's gone, he's just an edge swinging blindly. He gets reckless. The mask slips sideways and something uglier comes out. He's all performance, but without her as an audience he respects, the performance breaks down into just... cruelty."
A performance. The word echoed in the hollow of Shiro's chest. But which one? The cold noble or the... He cut the thought off, locking the memory of the shack away. That was his to dissect alone.
"So what do I do?" Shiro asked, the weight of it all pressing down.
"You remember that his chaos isn't about you. It's about him. You survive it. You learn from it. You get strong enough that whether he's a friend or a foe stops being the most important question in your day." Reo stood, his expression softening with a kindness that felt alien in this stone place. "And you watch. When Valeria returns, watch him change. It'll tell you more about the truth of him than any cruel word ever could."
Shiro nodded, the advice a raft in a churning sea. "Thanks, Reo. I... I hope my mother gets back soon, then."
The word slipped out, unthinking, borne on a wave of pain and the raw, familiar worry he'd heard in Kuro's own frustrated voice. Mother.
Reo froze, his hand pausing where it had been about to clap Shiro's shoulder. The gentle concern in his eyes iced over into sharp, sudden reassessment. He took a small, almost imperceptible step back. "Your... mother?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Shiro's blood ran cold. He'd forgotten. Here, she was Valeria of House Malkor, a distant patron. Not Mother, the woman who pinched cheeks and scolded like a mother bear. "I... Valeria," Shiro stammered, heat flooding his cheeks. "She's... my sponsor. It's just... a term of respect."
The lie was weak, transparent. Reo didn't call him on it. He just looked at Shiro, really looked, as if seeing him for the first time. The patched tunic, the slum pale skin, the bandages from a noble's tantrum... and now this intimate, familial slip. The pieces didn't fit the story of a distant, charitable kinship.
"I see," Reo said slowly, the words layered with unasked questions. The easy alliance of moments before was gone, replaced by a cautious, calculating distance. "Well. I hope your... sponsor... returns soon as well. For everyone's sake." He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Get some rest, Malkor." The name was the same, but the tone had changed. It was no longer just kindness. It was a searchlight, scanning the dark for the outline of a truth Shiro had just accidentally revealed.
Shiro lay awake that night, the smudged chart in his hand, Reo's quiet kindness echoing in his mind. He thought of Aki, waiting at House Malkor, her hope burning like a fragile star. He thought of Kuro, mask complete, cruelty sharp. And he whispered into the dark, the words tasting of blood and ash. "Stars are liars."
The words left his lips, tasting of blood and ash. And in the silence that followed, he swore he heard Aki's voice, faint and ghostlike, echoing from the shack miles away. Stars are liars. It wasn't just memory, it was prophecy, carved into him as surely as the scars on his hands.
It was no longer Aki's warning.
It was now his truth.
What Do We Think Of Reo?
