Hirano and Veil

The evening descends slowly on the shore: the Milky Ocean shimmers with silver, and the waves, crashing against the black stones, leave glowing streaks on the sand. Behind, the edge of the Ashen Forest darkens — charred trunks smolder with a warm light from cracks in the bark, and it smells of ash and something sweet, like cooled bull's blood. Hirano walks right at the edge of the surf — an arm's length away from the water, but he walks. Nine tails are unfurled behind him, their tips twitching with nervous fire.

— Tell me again why we are searching for a mirror shell on the shore? On the shore. Of water. Do you even understand that I can hear it breathing?

Veyl strides beside him, wrapped in a heavy cloak, looking not at the ocean — but at the forest. His tail twitches when a wave rolls too close, but his face remains still.

— The mirror shell does not show the past and does not predict the future. It shows what a person has forgotten — and what hides deeper in memory. Rumors say: one washed up on the shore at the edge of the Ashen Forest. And forgotten things always have an owner, fox. And I want to know who.

(I walk along the shore because something was cast up from the depths. And if it came from the depths, then I should be going there, not him. He won't say it out loud. And I won't say it.)

— "Rumors say" — Veyl, do you believe rumors from this edge? Even ash lies here.

(And yet he still walks a meter ahead of me. Stepping between me and the water. Proud, warm, impossible fox.)

— Exactly why you are here. If the shell shows me the abyss — you will pull me out by my ears. If it shows what is forgotten — then it's about the forest.

Hirano snorts — a golden bell slips from his ear and rings in the air. Both freeze. The fox fire at the tips of their tails dims to embers. Veyl's shadows — even his own — stop listening to him and look at the water.

— Fox...

— I see. Hirano slowly steps back a pace from the surf, looking at who has appeared before them