He was born on a night that was blind.

The eclipse had begun just before his very first cry, shrouding the sky in an abyss so pure that it felt as though the earth had been swallowed whole. The air tasted of needles—cold and sharp—spicy at the touch of its whisper, a sting. Reux was meant for the purest form of darkness, untainted by light.

"What does it mean?" Said the nurse as she scanned the letters written in upper-case, smiling at the mother and her child.

"To be generous," she laughed weakly, holding the boy close to her chest. "This boy will do good, even in the absence of light."

__________________________

They had not arranged to meet under the tree that faced the empty field eastwards of the island, bracing against a wind that had blades of grass bend to its will; cutting the surface of his skin with a deadly chill.

Bare feet were not meant to walk on glass, or so Iolani Tori had come to observe having stepped on a path littered with shards of grief. They belonged to a heart so torn, battered by the wind; crushed by slings and arrows and left behind.

Approaching it required a terrible courage that the majority of humankind did not possess, washed away by the fear of sadness and the quest to rid of its existence, completely. He sat not far away from the other who awaited the return of his master, silent.

Neither of them spoke amidst the wind, watching as it trampled over blades of grass until the presence of another was felt from behind.

Would you mind being the medium? Io turned to see the snowy owl perched on the lowest branch of the tree, staring at the lonesome back of her friend. I thought I'd never get to see him again.

The Avian landed soundlessly beside her still and unmoving pet, observing the eyes that stared into the distance as though waiting for something to appear at the edge of the forest. His back was straight despite the hours and nights of kneeling by the tree, bracing the wind that threatened to undo all manner and discipline.

I was afraid to speak to you, pet.

"I was...afraid to speak to you, pet," Io began quietly, watching as the ice began to thaw. Slowly but surely, Jiro began to lower his head; meeting the eyes of the snowy owl. I was afraid that you would cry.

He repeated the words in his head and found it nearly impossible to remain as an impartial medium. The bitter lump in his throat was large and thick.

Will you hear me out?

The nightingale stared with eyes wide, stung by the wind as his curtains parted to reveal emotion—warm and wet—streaming down his face like droplets of the rain. "おりがみ..." He raised his gaze to the skies as though willing it to provide an answer, sobbing quietly as he did.

The strangest, most human grief stirred within the owl and she closed the distance between them both, careful with her talons as she stood before the human. No. Don't cry, Jiro. Please don't. She raised a wing and brushed the corner of his eyes with the tip of her feathers. One so pure and untainted should be meant for nothing but happiness.

Io watched, unwilling to interfere even if it meant that Jiro could not hear the words of affection. The moment was a secret, picked from the depths of a heart; two souls peering out of their windows, closed.

I thought I'd... she sounded to him weak; weak with emotion. Never get to see you again.

Her voice shivered with every gust of the wind as though struggling to be heard over the chaos of adversity. He said them with equal weight, repeating her every word before she arrived at the final instance—the closing of his windows.

Words cut and bruised the keenest nerve, piercing through skin and flesh before it attacked the creature within. Jiro could only shake his head at the unspoken words he'd already imagined, knowing that tragedies were often written in ink.

He could not erase them, no matter how hard he tried to do so. The most he could afford was a postponing of emotions, scheduled to arrive at the very next gust of wind only to brace himself against something that had doubled in strength. After all, denial was fuel for the flames of despair.

"会いたい," the nightingale shivered in the wind, cold and alone. Drawn towards the abyss. His voice mimicked blades of grass, thin, thrown about unfairly and against his will. "Slayne...Slayne... Slayne...Slayne."

I'm sorry! Papercrane gazed at the one, true master of all; the spirit that resided within the eyes of those who suffered the most. The conductor of mankind—Love itself.

I'm sorry you were left behind, I—

I'm so, so sorry.

___________________________

"Bir."

His gaze followed the swallow that hopped across the counter, singing as it did. "Bir."

Reux tugged on his mother's sleeve before pointing at the tiny creature, humming as he did. It caught her attention briefly, removing her gaze from the papers whilst giving his head a gentle pat. "Bird. Bir-d."

Her smile disappeared as she returned to the news.

"Birb." Birds were everywhere—in Reux's life, they were. They were on his windowsill; by the kitchen counter; in his cage and on the walls, hung up across the wooden logs in cases for display and in the lounge for a song but the birds in his world were never in the sky, no.

They were inside.

Pretty little things they were, to him and his family. He noticed that they provided some form of happiness, observed from the many smiles that their presence would bring. He would later understand that what the little creatures in their cages brought was something much more than happiness. It was entertainment.

Birds were so highly-prized in his household that they were considered the most respectful form of gifting. Visitors dropping by with wine and cakes out of courtesy did not so much as exist in the entirety of Reux's childhood—he was familiar with the sight of a cage.

A cage that contained the song of a joyous bird, trapped behind bars with its head cocked, looking at him as though he was the world. He watched it move with a gleam in his eyes and the thinning of lips hiding a dreadful smile of pure, untainted innocence till the age of five when he finally saw that tales and magic never did exist in childish books of witches and fairies.

They existed here,

In these little cages.

Those were the signs of an artist in making. Where beauty was, to any ordinary child, the vigour of life and freedom; love and happiness, it was to Reux the imminence of death; of grief and tragic perfection—a world where his birds would never fly.

___________________________

Both owl and nightingale were fast asleep on the bed of their previous master, each holding the other close in an embrace, seeking the warmth of inseparable souls. Together, always.

Io sat by the window on a couch that was oddly positioned, as though there was nothing to watch but that which lay beyond the glass. Hours were invested in persuading the broken-hearted to return inside, away from the wind and towards the comfort of a bed. Jiro had not slept in days and appetite had become, to him, a word so foreign that no response was attributed to the stomach that was empty and loud.

Io searched the cabinets for food, hoping to find a packet of oats for porridge only to recall that the Japanese preferred rice as their main source of fiber. He decided to give it a try.

The process was tedious to recall and as the boy searched for a saucepan to begin his attempt, he came across a notebook, battered and torn at the sides. A strange character—a white cat without a mouth—was printed on the glossy cover, which Io found oddly endearing despite its lack of an important feature. The promise of knowledge, coupled with an innate curiosity, willed Io to turn the page.

Recipes for a happy soul (' u ')/

He stopped there. The title itself was enough for a thoughtful mind to foresee what was written beyond the very first page and Io did not wish to be swallowed by the monster within when a reasoned mind was needed the most. He had to attend to a friend in need.

"Iolani?"

The boy heard his name, muffled by the front door but nevertheless, audible. He instructed Lyra to watch the stove (he was waiting for the water in the saucepan to come to a boil) while Luna kept her eye on the sleeping pair, tottering towards the front door before rising on his toes to peer through the peephole.

Oh.

"Vaughn?" Io's head popped out from behind the door. "How did you know I was here? Jiro's sleeping, so I can't invite you in."

The vulture appeared mildly surprised. "He's...sleeping? So, he's alright?"

"Well, he hasn't been able to for the past couple of days but," Io dismissed the topic with a wave. "He and Papercrane talked and he's feeling calm enough for some rest now."

At once, he could tell that Vaughn was reluctant to voice his intentions having assessed the current situation. Io was perceptive enough to prompt him.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes," the vulture said without a second's consideration before discomfort and unease rose above his struggle. "And no. But I suppose things can wait. Sullivan told me you'd gone to check on the nightingale and brought the owl along, which explains my...coming here, if you insist. Either way, you should perhaps finish whatever it is that you are doing before we talk, I—" Vaughn paused at last, staring over Io's head and into the room.

"Is something burning?"

___________________________

He wanted a fairywren for his fifth birthday and would not settle for anything less.

The splash of cobalt against an inky darkness, the shade almost magical under the light of the sun—perfect by the window in every cage. Beauty held captive fulfilled a part of his artistic dream; tragic perfection in its essence and being without having to lift a finger for all he had to do was ask.

Delighted by his request, Aunt Meredith sought the markets for a splendid fairywren. She was not the only one he had pleased at an age so young and unripe; the bird was presented to him before the cake and soon enough, the latter did not matter to him so much as the former did.

Reux was said to have had an eye for beauty. Children of Hunters resembled every other, hankering for dolls and toys while he had his gaze fixed upon caged creatures of artistry that were beautiful only inside the cage—outside, it wasn't. Only inside.

They say that he was ripe, already. Reux was meant for greatness; he was made for aesthetic judgement and the like, a mind that understood the essential truths of life and beauty, or at least how the Hunters had come to understand it.

At the age of ten, Reux encountered what he soon termed as his awakening.

The Sullivan House was a case that precipitated a mass sentencing of Hunters and the resultant disappearance of families—of which included his own. Forced into hiding, the Yvones lived underground for months until the light of the day was buried by words and time; the heat of the sun long forgotten.

All this did not matter very much to young Reux. Not until the creatures in his cages began to die.

He soon began to understand what it meant to be alive and that was to have an end. Life did not constitute freedom or will, nor did it have anything to do with emotion and purpose. It did not feel to Reux as though he had been left behind by the things that he loved. All he saw was the privilege of observation; that he had lived to see the shrivelling of a soul that was once ablaze.

One by one, the flames around him were put out by the wind that was loud and strong. His mother never did return from the grocery store and his father who'd went in search for her never did either. Between Reux and his aunt, there was no space for grief and pause. Time was short for the living and even shorter for the hidden.

They moved at once, travelling far and without notice. The best place to go was the very place they'd never think of going for plans could be foiled and secrets found but not if there was never one to begin with.

"I've always wanted to show you just what it is you were meant for," said Aunt Meredith to him before the opening of his eyes. Those were her words, the last of which he'd heard while his heart was asleep.

Past the black market and through a door into a bar hidden between two narrow alleys was a stairwell that led him into the deep. There, he confirmed his beliefs.

Life did not constitute freedom or will, nor did it have anything to do with emotion and purpose. The spirit within was incomplete and every sense-experience was partial and false; as everything on earth was. Predator and prey did not exist above or below one another for they were the same. False and forged on the surface, masking a nature that was raw and real; hearts locked away—creatures behind bars.

The truth was enchanting.

He was, all of a sudden, the bird in the cage—captivated by the birds that could never fly, the creatures within. The heart of a human.

It was believed that consuming one would reveal the truth of its nature and it was this that he was meant to seek for all his life. The truth of the creatures inside the cage.

He was rewarded with a heart for his very first meal and it was said to belong to a shrike. The boy believed this to be a part of his journey towards the greater truth and every step was deemed by him necessary despite each being a means to an end that remained unbeknownst to him.

He was granted a true name, however. A name befitting for one who was born on a night without a moon, blind.

Kupera—eclipse.

_____________________________

The stove had to be cleared of all evidence and the smell of charred rice grains masked by multiple air fresheners, courtesy of Vaughn himself. He'd come to the rescue with a total of four bottles—each of a unique and delightful note—to offer, snapping at the moon phoenix for his apparent lack of basic culinary skills.

"I'll do it," he decided in the end, unable to resist his natural obligation to correct disorder. "You check in on the boy and see if he's awake."

"Thanks Vaughn. Do you mind if I...?" Io hinted at the air fresheners, just in case. "Jiro might like the Sakura one."

The vulture dismissed his question with a wave, giving the saucepan a rinse before placing it back on the stove. "It doesn't matter."

*

Io was relieved to find the nightingale fast asleep in the exact same position as before; the only difference being that Papercrane had her eyes wide open and stared at Io as he entered the room.

Are you keen on setting the entire kitchen on fire? She hooted in displeasure, turning to the human holding her in his arms. Fortunately, the poor boy's exhausted. Not even a stir!

Io apologized for the ruckus and explained the reason behind his failed attempt at making porridge. Vaughn came to tell me something. I was at the door when Lyra tried to turn the stove off but knocked the packet of rice over instead...I'm so sorry.

Papercrane expressed her disapproval for excuses, claiming that Jiro could prepare the bath and set the table whilst cooking up a feast. Anyway, what is that you have there?

It's an air freshener, Io lowered his gaze to the spray bottle in his hands. Sakura-scented. I thought Jiro would like it, so. You know, calm him a little so that he wouldn't have any nightmares.

The owl stared. I can foresee how the people who love you will have a hard time. She looked away, watching the sleeping frame at her side.

Io laughed.

I wouldn't call it the most typical problem that any member of the human race would face in their lifetime, Papercrane went on amidst singing crickets and night whispers. Most of them belong to someone or someplace but you. You belong to everyone.

The boy did not say a word in return. He thought of many ways to say yes and agree but each sounded as though it was the very first time he'd thought of something so dull and alone when that was not the case.

I am not the best person to fall in love with, yes. Io raised the spray bottle above his head and spritzed twice into the air. I find that very hard to change.

*

He left the pair to sleep and find comfort in each other's company, closing the door behind him with utmost care before popping by the stove to check on Vaughn's progress with porridge.

He was pleasantly surprised. "Wow Vaughn. It smells really good."

"Of course it does," the vulture spared him a sideway glance after taking the porridge off the heat and giving it a stir. "I suppose you were expecting another round of air fresheners. Ha, you thought wrong."

"Thank goodness I was!" Io played along, handing him a wooden bowl that he'd found in one of the cabinets. "Jiro will love it."

"You bring it to his bed."

Io blinked. "Me? But you were the one who made it—"

"Yes, I know that," Vaughn snapped, short of adding the scallions that he'd chopped earlier on. "But who would have liked to see the person who'd left their loved one to die? Have some common sense, Io."

"Well...Jiro may be sad, but he's not made of irrational hate," the moon phoenix pointed out. Lyra gazed longingly at the bowl of porridge, seemingly hungry. "Papercrane's told him what happened."

Vaughn's lips drew thin as he shook his head. "Having somebody to blame would have made things a little easier for him."

"Sure it would," Io could not help but agree. "But just because it's easier doesn't necessarily mean it is the right thing to do, does it?"

They were back to questions—square one, for the vulture—and he was reminded of the reason for his visit in the first place. Vaughn set the bowl of porridge on a tray and placed a plate on top of it to keep the contents warm.

"We are very obviously veering away from the topic at hand so I'd like to direct your attention to...whatever it is that I have come to tell you."

"Oh, right." Io smiled, lunar and sheepish. "We were having so much fun that I forgot."

Convincing himself that he was absolutely appalled by Io's offhanded remark, Vaughn dismissed it with a skywards gaze and proceeded to fill him in on the creature behind bars. The metal tag with a number and a word; his refusal to speak or answer any question posed regardless of its relevance, and then it was the request.

"He wants to see you."

The moon phoenix was quiet, head lowered in thought. "I want to see him too."

____________________________

The dungeons were green and ice, deafening with every slam and rattle of the bars inside its cage; cages that housed the quietest creatures for those were the ones who made the torment endless in its pursuit. Chains dragged across the flagged stone floor every now and then as he passed a cell or two, behind bars, the shadow of a person—or was it a creature?—hidden in the darkest corner, away from the light.

Vaughn did not once turn behind to observe the expression on Io's face. It was nearly tragic how he would never see the end of his ordeal; and that his enemy did not fear death's embrace nullified the effects of a death sentence entirely. There was no punishment fit for a creature like the eclipse. It evaded pain altogether.

Even chained to walls and shackled to weights, the creature in the cage remained indifferent to pain and suffering—precisely because they did not have a place in his world of beliefs. He raised his head at an uncanny angle, sensing the presence of another. His most anticipated guest.

"Io," Jing watched as the pair were escorted into the cage, keys clanging against metal bars as the gatekeeper locked them inside, together. "You came."

"I told you not to bring him," snapped the headmaster with a hiss, irritable at the very thought of losing his position. "There is no reason for his coming! We cannot oblige to a traitor's every request, can we? What would the Lord say?"

"I too, would like to speak to Reux, sir." Io was not afraid to confess, stepping forth to greet the headmaster with a wave. To Jing, he flashed a smile.

Kirill forced back a scowl, turning to give the shrike a look of disdain before calling for the gatekeeper's attention. "Do as you wish but do not think that this will happen again, Tori. It is on the part of those who celebrate your...noble sacrifice that I permit you the luxury of choice."

He stepped out of the cage and past the arch, shadows merging with the void where the flame of his torch could not reach. They turned to the bare-chested creature, watching as the metal tag swayed with his every movement.

"I haven't seen you in a while, Io." Reux's smile was one that he must have stolen from the devil; small, but carnal in nature. His voice was languid and thick, as though he was swallowing the very words he spoke. "Where have you been?"

"Places that you will never go."

The boy found that his words were sharp, unable to escape from his lips that were tight. "You lack reason in your existence. I think that is why we don't get along."

"Not in this world, no. But maybe in the next," the shrike laughed softly, dangerous. "Mind if I...speak to you alone?"

Jing stared, stunned by the brevity of his bold and unworthy request. Vaughn was about to deny him the privilege when Io overturned expectations—as he tended to do, always—with a nod. "The more we speak, the harder it is to forgive you but I suppose I never intended for the latter to happen in the first place."

The creature laughed with his closed, shaking within. "I like that." Io turned to shoo the vulture and the phoenix out of the cage, assuring them that this would take only a moment or two. The gatekeeper handed him the keys and strolled out accordingly, as though his job here was done. Jing glanced over her shoulder just as she passed the archway, waiting for his nod.

Io smiled.

Her shoulders fell from the tension and she turned into the darkness. Reux began.

"How are you, exactly?" He drawled. "Is there even a word you can use to describe your current...turmoil?"

"I can think of several," the boy admitted without a trace of falsity. "Why? Are you disappointed?"

"Impressed, merely." The creature's eyes followed, hungry and slow. "How does it feel to be praised for something you never did?"

The needle was sharp and it had chosen the weakest spot to prick. "How does it feel to be known by the one you hate the most? To see the imperfections of your perfect self and to be...defeated by it all?"

He waited for the beautiful bird to shiver in his hands before he began to close his palm.

"Do you know?" He asked, laughing low and amused. "The one who knows you best...is me."

Io would not have agreed and yet he could not find it in himself to deny such a far-fetched claim. He was reminded of the ruins within that were in flames, scorching the night and burning every star in the sky. "I am human," his voice trembled despite the absence of wind. "Surely, you would have known."

"Oh no I didn't," Reux smiled from ear to ear. "I didn't at all and in fact, does anyone?"

"Do the people around you really think that you are, as you say?"

No. No, he was playing around, picking up his cage and shaking it as though it was Christmas and this, his present. He tossed the boy around.

"Should you be afraid that they would ever find you guilty and selfish and human," the shrike went on, pale and gaunt but smiling as though he'd perfected his art. "Do not worry. Your secret is safe."

"But if you are also hoping that someone else would dirty their hands and bare your darkest moment, I'm afraid there would be no one to do that for you."

And as though he'd planned this all along—the ultimate end that would eternalize his attempt to torment, perfect and groom Iolani Tori before swallowing him entirely—he bit the capsule that had replaced his molar and awaited for an eternity of unconsciousness, truth and beauty to complete his existence. Unafraid of its embrace.

"You were my greatest masterpiece, Iolani."

He moved in for the eclipse, devouring every beam of his light

"And with this, you will always be."