The Legion: Heartson

The sun hung low in the sky, its rays weak against the creeping gray of evening. The old man shifted his weight, his knees groaning with every step. Ahead stood his target—a crumbling relic of neglect. Its walls were cracked, its windows dirt-caked, and ivy coiled tightly around its frame.

He stopped in his tracks, squinting at the dismal sight. His lips curled into a scowl. 

Old Man: What a dump. 

The front door creaked open reluctantly, a sound like a groan of protest from the structure itself. Inside, the air was stale, thick with dust that danced in the dim light filtering through grimy windows. The old man sneezed and waved his free hand dismissively at the nearest web.

Old Man: Ugh, nothing's worse than a lazy caretaker.

A young man behind the desk near the entrance jerked to attention at the noise. He was barely past his twenties, his expression a mix of surprise and concern as he rushed toward the old man. 

Young Man: Sir, are you alright? Let me help—

Old Man: Kakakaka! 

He swatted the young man's hand away with surprising strength. 

Old Man: Help? What're you doing, boy? Trying to smother me with kindness? Coddling the elderly is why we all die young.

The young man stepped back, blinking in confusion.

Young Man: …I—uh—sorry?

Old Man: Sorry for what? Being foolish and unhelpful? Don't apologize for things outside of your control, it puts an ugly look on your face.

The assistant frowned, clearly torn between offense and concern.

Young Man: Sir, if I may ask… what brings you to the Haven's Light Foundation?

The old man stopped, turning slowly. His grin softened into something unreadable, and for a moment, the weight of his gaze seemed far heavier than his frail body suggested.

Old Man: I'm here because of your problem upstairs. Take me to the one they call Grace.

The young man swallowed hard, his confusion replaced by unease, before retreating back to his desk. The old man watched him go, his grin fading into something closer to a smirk.

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The assistant shuffled awkwardly as he guided the old man through the remains of the haven. The old man grumbled under his breath, his cane clacking sharply against the uneven wooden steps. 

Old Man: You'd think a place like this could afford basic repairs right? Where's all that money going huh?

Young Man: It's, uh… It's not usually like this.

Old Man: Kakaka! A liar and a fool. Get moving, boy. I haven't got time to die in this rickety coffin.

The assistant didn't dare respond, pressing on with an awkward stumble as they reached the top of the stairs. The hallway stretched out before them like the maw of some decaying beast. The walls were warped with rot, black mold clawing its way up the corners. Bugs skittered along the cracked floorboards, vanishing into the shadows as the two passed by. 

At the very end of the hallway stood a single door. Unlike the others, which sagged with age and neglect, this door was polished and new. The stark contrast made it feel out of place. There was no nameplate, no number—just the door, standing alone in silent defiance of the decay around it.

The assistant hesitated, his hand hovering near the knob. He opened his mouth to speak but he never got the chance.

The old man didn't wait for permission. His hand shot forward, turning the knob with surprising force for his wiry frame.

The assistant let out a startled cry of protest, but it was too late. The door swung open with a loud creak, revealing the room beyond.

Before the old man could take another step, a heavy wooden staff hurtled toward his face. His reflexes kicked in instantly. He caught the staff mid-swing, the force of the impact sending a jolt up his arm. His eyes flicked down to the other end of the weapon.

There, clutching the staff with both hands, was a little girl. 

She was tiny and slight, her frame almost drowning in the oversized hoodie she wore. Her pale skin was fair, and her eyes shot up, a beautiful deep shade of green.

The old man tightened his grip on the staff, easily wrenching it from her grasp. 

Old Man: What a greeting! 

He leaned forward to loom over her.

Old Man: Swinging before introductions. Rude guts, but guts all the same.

He straightened, examining the staff in his hand with a raised brow before tossing it aside with a careless flick of his wrist. The weapon clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop by the wall.

He turned his sharp gaze back to the girl, his expression unreadable as the assistant finally stumbled into the room behind him.

Young Man: S-Sir, you can't just—

Old Man: Shut it. 

Silencing the assistant with a glare he fixed his attention back on the girl.

Old Man: You're the one they call Grace, aren't you?

The girl didn't respond immediately, her eyes darting to the assistant and back to the old man. Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like she might lash out again. But then she sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the far wall.

Old Man: Kakaka! Then I'd say it's time you and I had a little chat.

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The old man leaned back against the soft embrace of Grace's bed, letting out a satisfied sigh as if he'd just found the world's best-kept secret. His hands stretched above his head, his legs sprawled carelessly, and a look of childlike wonder danced across his wrinkled face. 

The mattress was far too comfortable for a place like this. It should've been stiff, lumpy, barely fit for someone to sleep on—but no, it was springy, cozy, downright luxurious. It clashed with everything he'd seen of the dilapidated building. His gaze lazily scanned the room. Polished walls, a neat array of colorful decorations, and toys scattered across the bed and floor as if it belonged to a pampered child in a loving household, not some forgotten corner of a crumbling foundation.

Old Man: What a life you've got here. 

He shifted his weight, bouncing on the bed like an overgrown child testing its springs. His antics were so absurdly out of place that Grace, standing rigid near the door, couldn't help but stare at him in disbelief.

Old Man: Something wrong?

Grace didn't answer, her lips pursed into a tight line.

Seeing her frozen silence, the old man sprang up suddenly—his movements unnaturally swift for someone his age. He landed in a sitting position, hands gripping the edge of the bed. Grace flinched, her shoulders stiffening under the weight of his scrutiny. His eyes weren't just looking at her; they were peering into her.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, Grace broke the stalemate, her gaze dropping to the floor.

Old Man: Kakaka! I knew it. You really are guilty, huh?

Grace's head snapped up, her expression defiant despite the pink flush creeping into her cheeks.

Grace: You should leave. Now.

Old Man: Oh, not yet.

The old man strode leisurely across the room, examining the decorations on the wall as if he hadn't just been dismissed. He laughed again, before turning to face her with a grin that stretched unnervingly wide. 

Old Man: You haven't even asked who I'm supposed to be yet.

Grace's brow furrowed.

Grace: You're here to punish me, aren't you? 

Old Man: Punish you? Not quite.

 His grin softened into something almost fond as he gestured around the room.

Old Man: You've made the most of your situation here. I can't really fault you for that, even if your methods were quite poor. After all, a hated child thrives in this world, don't they?

The phrase caught Grace off guard, her expression faltering.

Grace: Hated child…?

The old man crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall. 

Old Man: My name is Kazuki. I was waiting for you to ask but it seems you're not going to. Even if you're young, you still need to learn the basics of manners you know. 

Without giving her a chance to even respond, he continued.

Kazuki: I've traveled like hell to get here because it's about time I took you out of this place.

Grace: Why would you—wait. You know what I've done, don't you?

Kazuki's grin widened, sharp and knowing.

Kazuki: Of course, I know. You've been using that nasty little ability of yours to take and take. Coercing the other kids in this foundation into cleaning your room, handing over their toys, making them your little servants. A clever setup for someone your age. But with that ability of yours, it's easy, isn't it? 

Grace stiffened, her breath hitching. 

Grace: Ability?

Kazuki waved a hand dismissively. 

Kazuki: Oh, don't bother lying, girl. You're just starting to grow on me the way things are going. I can see it—the very thing in your soul that makes you special. You've been using it like a damn yōkai.

Grace's fists clenched at her sides. 

Grace: What are you going to do with me then? I won't let you take it away… no I won't let you.

Kazuki: Take it away?

He stepped closer, his grin fading into something more serious.

Kazuki: Why would I go and do something like that? I told you already—I'm taking you out of here. 

Kazuki: And I've decided, I'm gonna give you a taste of the real world.

Grace blinked, completely at a loss. 

Grace: The real world…? …Why? You're going to reward me for all the things I've done? You don't even know the half of what…

Kazuki crouched down in front of her, his face now level with hers. His grin returned, more mischievous than ever.

Kazuki: Reward you?

He poked her forehead with a bony finger. She stumbled back a step, her eyes wide.

Kazuki: Don't misunderstand, little miss. I never said a word about rewards. In fact, you're going to wish you were back here, taking it easy, getting everything you wanted handed to you.

He rose to his feet, towering over her small frame. 

Kazuki: No, I'm going to work you to the bone and use your ability until you've got lines on your face as deep as mine. Kakakaka! What do you say to that, little miss.