Rooftop | Shinjuku | Night
A cool night wind sweeps across the rooftop terrace making yellowed ad posters flutter in the backyard below. The terrace itself is nothing more than raw concrete that is enclosed by a chest-high railing of brushed steel. Tiny shards of glass sparkle between the gravel—silent witnesses of broken beer bottles from past nights. In the distance the endless glow of the Shinjuku skyline shines; flickering holograms dance across the skyline as if trying to drive away the full moon—in vain.
A boy in a blood-red jacket stands by the railing. His jacket's hood is half-way up, letting in the moonlight which highlights the delicate rose pattern on the back and sleeves as if it had just been drawn in fresh ink. The wind blows his ruby red hair onto his face, the thick strands stubbornly sticking. Black cargo pants with brass-colored clips and worn-out sneakers complete the dark street look.
A few steps away another boy is sitting on the railing. His jacket wrapped around his slim torso shining almost like liquid metal; each fold reflecting silver light upon the concrete. Under the hood shimmers his equally silver-white hair which waves in the breeze like shards of ice in water. He taps his fingers impatiently against the railing—tik tik tik—a metallic echo that rhythmically cuts through the silence.
The silver-haired boy looks up, his voice rough and almost sleepy.
"Full moon again, Lucil…"
Lucil flips open a slim metal case; the silicone lining rustles as he reveals a row of cigarettes. Clack—shft. With a crooked grin, he holds one up between two fingers.
"You in, Silver?"
Silver waves it off as if the smell alone were enough.
"Not a fan of smoking. Let's talk about the plan instead, yeah?"
Lucil's lips twitch—a smile, half joke, half warning.
"The plan…? Real simple: we take each other out."
Silver rolls his eyes silently, his hood bobbing with the motion.
"Bro, seriously? This again?"
Suddenly a police helicopter's spotlight sweeps across the edge of the rooftop casting Lucil's rose pattern into the light for a brief moment. He shrugs his shoulders as if he had expected exactly that.
"Until then we just keep on living. You're protecting someone too, aren't you?"
Silver leans back.
"Yeah. And you?"
For a heartbeat both remain silent.
Lucil sighs but the fire in his eyes doesn't fade.
"We never lose sight of the plan."
Silver nods his voice now as hard as titanium.
"Then let's make sure both of ours stay safe. Less headache, more focus."
He lowers his voice to a whisper as if Berlin were a cursed word.
"Berlin can't repeat again…"
Lucil's expression hardens but still sparks of determination flicker in his eyes.
"It won't. Everything's in place. It's going to be a tough run."
Lucil and Silver lean against the railing, the moonlight carving sharp contours into their faces.
Silver lifts his head, his gaze trailing along the silvery stars.
"How did all of this even start?"
Lucil shuts his eyes close as if listening to a distant voice.
"I only remember a desert." he says, as soft as polished sand.
"I… a stony city." murmurs Silver and the wind carries the words away.
Lucil laughs dryly.
"It's all too much at once. No one can expect us to know when it began."
Silver pulls a face.
"Fact is: it keeps going until we pull off the plan."
The glow of Lucil's cigarette flares up one last time then he flicks it into the void.
"How old are you now?"
"Seventeen."
"Sixteen," replies Lucil while placing one foot on the railing. For a brief moment he balances over the depth as if nothing could hold him.
"In two years, everything goes into motion. See you there."
With a flawless grin he pushes off and vanishes into the darkness.
Silver takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and jumps after him.
Two shadows detach silently from the edge of the rooftop.
Two Years Later — Headquarters of the Red Dragon Clan
A sprawling manor nestled in the suburbs with a crowned bronze emblem : a dragon curled around a sword. Behind the cherrywood veranda a living space opens up—almost ballet-hall like in size. Beside it a dojo stretches its tatami mats scented with rice straw and incense. Upstairs lie the family's rooms with simple yet beautifully carved wood.
A girl with blue-reddish hair darts across the floorboards. Her white dress embroidered with roses and fluttering like a banner, her ruby-red eyes sparkling.
"Mai! Don't run!" calls a woman from the kitchen—long blue hair in a sweater and apron.
Mai responds to her by slamming a sliding door as she storms up the stairs and throws open Lucil's door as if her life depended on it.
"Lucil! Get up!"
The room looks like a battlefield: a splintered wall gapes towards the morning sun. Clothes are strewn everywhere and a half unrolled futon lays about. A single charging partially ripped cable still reliably charges an old phone.
Lucil surfaces from under the covers—disheveled in a tank top and shorts. Without a word he puts on black pants and a white shirt. And most importantly his red jacket with glowing red roses along the back.
Mai crosses her arms.
"You're oversleeping!"
"It only starts in half an hour," he replies calmly.
"I thought we would train!"
"Today's a rest day Mai."
He reaches into his jacket's pocket and pulls out a rose-shaped hair clip that he quickly clips into her hair.
"Hey... what's going on?"
"Take good care of it," he whispers.
Mai's cheeks flush and yet her stomach growls from hunger. Without hesitation she grabs Lucil's hand and pulls him downstairs toward the living area. He lets himself be pulled – half amused, half touched – and as he watches her overflow with energy a trace of warmth sneaks into his eyes.
They walk down into the living space. Books in peculiar scripts line the floor to ceiling shelves of the room. Some have etched runes on them, some have jagged glyphs and some are in flowing brushstrokes. In the center stands a low wooden table already set for breakfast: steaming bowls of rice, miso-scented soup cups and artfully arranged omelet roses.
Rei – Mai and Lucil's mother – moves briskly around the table arranging the plates like sculptures. A glow lights up her face as she sees the two enter.
The sliding door opens a second time. This time a man in a snow-white suit steps in with a golden silk dragon winding around his lapels and cuffs. Short black hair, blue eyes as deep as inkwells. His name is Ryujin. He approaches the table with heavy steps that made the table tremble slightly – every movement deliberate as if he wore armor on his body.
Lucil raises a hand.
"Mai, I'll head out first—"
"Mama, Lucil's eating with us!" Mai cuts him off and beams like she's just declared victory.
Rei pumps a triumphant fist into the air.
"Ha! Caught you!"
Lucil sighs and takes a seat—directly across from his father. Ryujin's gaze is as cold as steel.
"What's eating you up old man?" Lucil actinging calm but the air is tense.
Ryujin's voice rumbles.
"You're missing the preparations. The White Dragons are marching."
Lucil yawns exaggeratedly, leaning back.
"They're always marching."
A flash across Ryujin's eyes as his hand shoots forward—a slap coming for Lucil but he catches his wrist almost feather-like in mid-air. His fingers are cold and not even flinching.
"Breathe in and out. Father."
"Just because you're a prodigy doesn't mean your ego—" Ryujin begins.
"—can support a pointless conflict?" Lucil's voice stays flat.
The old dragon rears up with rage burning in his eyes.
"The White Dragons are clawing at the crown of our little world! And you—"
"You're really risking death just for a seat in the tower?" Lucil glances toward Rei.
"I like Mai. I like Mother. That's enough for me."
Ryujin's shoulders slump.
"You'll fight with us. You're irreplaceable."
Lucil rises not having touched a single bite but then Mai's warm hand wraps around his fingers.
"Not today Lucil," she whispers.
He simply nods.
"Understood."
Morning light floods the room.
Rei steps to the table and places two steaming omelets on rustic ceramic plates.
Ryujin keeps his eyes locked on his son.
"You're still teaching Mai, aren't you?"
Lucil scratches the back of his head.
"Yeah. Is that wrong?"
"Mai is a woman. She should serve and not learn magic." Ryujin's voice trails off into a reluctant growl.
Lucil gives a thin smile.
"Right—old tradition crap. Don't worry Ryujin. She's learning my magic."
Ryujin strokes his chin while his head jumps between the faces of his family. Finally he lets out a long breath.
"I tolerate a lot, Lucil but we will fight—the White Dragons…"
Lucil picks up his fork and tastes his omelet as if he has all the time in the world.
Rei places a hand on his shoulder.
"Oh, Ryujin, let's talk about something else. All this hatred will swallow you."
Ryujin sighs and lowers his head.
"Understood… I'm sorry, Rei."
A shadow flashes across Ryujin's face — barely there. Lucil glances at his sister. Her eyes are shining peacefully in the morning light.
"To protect something… right?" he murmurs.
He finishes his plate and stands up then gives a short bow. Mai jumps up and follows him to the door.
"Bye, Mama! Bye, Papa!"
Rei stays behind at the table, her eyes resting on Ryujin's clenched hands.
"Ryujin you know this means death in the end. Lucil is strong but the White Dragons have Silver. Wouldn't it be better if we just leave and live?"
Ryujin closes his eyes as images begin to flash. A dojo in flames, faceless people dying and chaos all around.
"It's not that simple. They'd hunt us - and make sure to kill each and everyone one."
Rei presses her hand to her chest.
"And we do the same."
"I can't help it Rei." his voice trembles with unbreakable resolve mixed in it.
"I'll do whatever it takes to wipe them out."
Rei runs her fingers along the wooden table as if she is searching on it for answers.
"Life is more than hate. Do you not understand that?"
Ryujin looks aside, deep wrinkles in his forehead.
"And even if I do - our actions will never be forgiven."
A long, heavy-weighted breath passes through the quiet room before Rei finally just sighs.