Chapter Text
“I can give you 15 silver pieces,” says the balding stall owner with a bored tone, picking at his fingernails.
“What the hell? These furs are all in perfect condition! They’re worth 30!” exclaims the spiky blonde-haired man. The shouting draws the stares of the people walking by with heads down through the market. The man’s ragged leather and fur clothes and explosive behavior stand out, but the people quickly avert their eyes and continue walking - albeit a bit more hurried than before.
“No can do, boy. Taxes are up and crops down. 18 pieces,” The stall owner stares down the angry man. “And that’s being generous.”
“Make it 20 or I’m fucking leaving,” the man snarls, already reaching to take back his pile of furs.
“Fine! ” The owner quickly put his hand atop the pile, bringing the other up with a handful of silver, “Fine. 20 silver pieces. Are you satisfied?”
“Fuck no, asshole.” The man roughly snatches the pieces and counts 20 before dropping them into a leather pouch. Without another word he spins and stomps across the market, towards the metalwork shops, scowling the entire way.
Lost in thoughts of stingy asshole, fuck taxes, and those were deepwoods furs; the man doesn’t notice the sudden lack of people in the market. A few paces later he looks up and realizes his mistake, but it’s already too late. Guards flood the street around him, running from alleys in all directions, swords and spears and crossbows at the ready - all aimed directly at him.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Kirishima hangs his head in his hands and deflates with a long, mournful sigh. He had been careless, stupid - so stupid - and now he’s going to die for it. He drops his hands onto the cold dungeon floor, chains rattling.
Don’t cry, Eijirou. Come on, you knew this could happen when you took the job. You were an idiot and this is what happens. Why are you surprised? He throws his head back onto the rough stone walls of his cell and squeezes his eyes shut. Despite his silent pleas, a tear works its way from his eye.
If only he hadn’t taken that godforsaken job. If only he hadn’t been careless. If only, if only. There’s no use worrying about what could have been, Kirishima knows this. But it’s so hard when he could have so easily avoided everything. Just a step to the left, just a tiny bit more awareness and he’d be fine, no one would know. He would still be at work right now - probably, time is hard to tell in a perpetually dark and cold dungeon - learning to smith and trying to impress his cool senior apprentice. But no, one stupid mistake and everything came crashing down around him.
He had been messing around, of course, and missed his footing and his head fell directly on the blade of a fresh, sharp silver katana. He still remembers the shock, and pain, as he had realized what had happened. He remembers his senior apprentice’s worried face as he sat up and blood poured from his eye. He remembers the disorientation of losing sight in one eye when he knew it was open. He remembers the brief flicker of shock that passed his sensei's expression before it was quickly replaced with a forced, impassive mask. He also remembers the sensation of his skin quickly knitting back together as his accelerated healing kicked in. That was when the screaming began.
Maybe, if no one had been in the shop, he would have been okay. But it had been a busy day, people coming in and out constantly, checking on their orders or contemplating new ones. As it was, any upstanding citizen would call the guards when something that was so obviously magical was happening right in front of their eyes. A Were’s healing factor was pretty hard to miss. If they didn’t catch the wound nearly completely healing in a few seconds, they surely wouldn’t miss the glowing gold shine of his eyes. Everyone saw it. The guards had been called.
The rest was a blur. At some point Kirishima realized he had fucked up, and that it was over. Next he knew he was being chained and pulled along.
What he does remember, in vivid detail, is glancing back to see the sadness in his senior’s eyes, and the tense, inscrutable gaze in his sensei’s eyes. And now he’s been here in a dungeon for 2 days, trapped, cold, and alone. What is there left to do except think about all the things he did wrong?
He had liked his job, he liked learning about metals, exerting his body, turning a lump of iron into a useful item. He had liked his coworkers, his cool, sweet senior, his kind and jovial sensei. They probably hate him now. If not for what he is then for likely getting the store shut down. Ruining his sensei’s job because he had let a creature like Kirishima work there, even if he didn’t even know. Hell he could even be one of them! Smithing is a good job for Were, they are stronger, have better senses, and are less susceptible to fatal or career-ending accidents than humans. But saving Kirishima could have put him at risk of exposure too. And there’s no reason they both needed to die.
Kirishima sighs. His execution is set for tomorrow. Or later today? Whatever, either way he will be gone soon and no one will have to think about him ever again.
Just as he feels the tears threaten to spill over again, Kirishima hears clanging and muffled yells from outside the dungeon. That’s a pretty normal occurrence for a kingdom that habitually convicts and murders innocent people so Kirishima doesn’t pay it any attention. Then he hears the doors swing open and the unmistakable sound of a chained person being forced down the hall. Kirishima sits up to try and get a glance of the new resident. The guards walk past his cell and he sees a strong figure, thick silver mitts on his hands, mouth tightly gagged by leather, heavy cuffs on his ankles, his body radiating tension. His fur and leather clothes are covered in tears, burns, and blood; cuts and bruises mottle his visible skin. But the most surprising fact about this man is not his appearance, but his behavior. Despite being nearly completely immobile, he is still struggling and yelling, although only muffled growls make it through the gag. And his eyes, as the guards roughly push and drag him across the cold stone floor, his eyes whip around furiously. Kirishima can easily see rage and animosity in them, sure, but more importantly, Kirishima sees observations and calculations. He shivers. This man is rationally, if not calmly, cataloguing all of the details of the dungeon for possible escape whilst being dragged by his hair into a cell…
This is the most amazing thing Kirishima has ever seen in his life. That kind of fortitude, that strength, that’s fuckin manly.
If anyone can escape this, it’s gonna be him,’Kirishima silently thinks to himself, a small smile forming on his lips. Though it quickly fades. There’s only one day… maybe less. Even if he could escape, there’s no way he can in just a few hours… Kirishima’s mood plummets again, feeling even worse after experiencing such hope only moments before.
Might as well just sleep the time away. No use thinking anymore, anyway. Kirishima curls into a ball with tears in his eyes and manages to fall into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
Kirishima wakes disoriented to loud noises outside of his cell. ‘ Wh-what’s going on? Is it time? How long did I sleep?’ His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a large explosion and metal falling to the ground nearby. And then another, closer. And another, right outside.
And then a figure is blocking his sight, hand outstretched towards Kirishima’s cell door.
“Get down,” the figure commands through a mask - no a bandana - my bandana they took when they captured me- Kirishima is forced to stop staring when an explosion shatters the lock on his cell door, and he has just a split second to duck away as silver shrapnel embeds the stone behind where he used to be. When he looks up, the figure is already moving on to the next cell. No. Not just a figure, it’s the man from earlier. He really did it.
Kirishima stands and walks through the mangled cell door in a daze. It’s chaos in the dungeon. Creatures of all types and some normal humans are escaping their cells, stronger people helping those who can’t walk on their own step over the bodies of unconscious guards on the floor. Others are searching the storage room for their confiscated belongings.
Kirishima didn’t really have anything he cared about when he was captured except for his favorite bandana, but the incredible stranger already took it so he can just.. Go? Can I really just leave?
He walks outside of the dungeon to find it’s near midnight, moon high in the sky and unconscious guards all over the ground. Wow, he’s incredible.. I wonder where he’s going. Where… am I going? What is there for me to do now? I can never go back.. I don’t have any family, my friends in the city would be in danger if I were to return.. I guess first I just need to get out of the city?
Having made up his mind, Kirishima sneaks around the city, avoiding all people easily with his heightened hearing. He makes it to the edge of town before stopping and turning back. Bidding a silent final farewell to his old life, he bows his head. Then he’s off, running through the gate and into the forest, ignoring the shouts as he leaps and shifts in the air, taking on his full wolf form and leaving only a trail of clothes behind.