Chapter Text
All his life, Light waited. He waited to shed his skin and emerge, something new, something powerful. He felt it bundled under there, like electricity and fire and ice. Something simmering. All his life, Light waited.
And then, one day, he appeared.
The grease paint was not a long-term solution. Light and Sayu Yagami both knew this. Still, they had to make her look different enough to be, believably, the shift-shape of her older brother, and if that meant darkening and slicking up her sleek otter-fur — breathing in the chemical odour and being careful not to touch anything else — then so be it.
Sayu squeaked a little as Light rubbed the grease against the natural direction of the fur, then shuffled and batted her nose with a paw. “I know, I know,” Light said. “Just a bit more.”
Sayu’s otter form sneezed.
“Okay. All done. Now just — make sure Mom sees you, okay?”
Sayu let her otter-eyes roll, then flopped her way to the back of the house, tumbling and rolling in the mud near the kitchen window. Light watched her go, then turned in the other direction and walked. No good convincing his mom the otter playing in the backyard was him if he was standing right there.
This was their fifth time running the con. Light had decided that Sachiko should catch a glimpse of “his” shift-shape at least once every couple of months if they wanted to convince her he really had one. And while his parents had been surprised his shape was the same form as Sayu’s, it wasn’t uncommon for siblings to share a species. The surprise came from the shape itself. Sayu had always been playfully intelligent; the otter made sense. Everyone expected Light to be something more serious: a wolf or a crow or some kind of big cat.
In reality, Light was nothing. And to be nothing was not allowed.
Light walked through the neighbourhood he had grown up in, past the convenience stores where he and his friends had speculated about their shift-shapes as children, the alleys where they had gossiped about who had gone through their first transformation, and who was a late bloomer. The memories wrung him breathless, his gut a twisted dishcloth.
The likelihood of being nothing was 0.08% at that time, and getting lower each year. Being nothing wasn’t something any of his friends speculated about. Not transforming, not having a shape, this was a fate only for bad people, evil people, those who wanted to dominate the world.
People without shapes were, after all, direct connections to the old world, when shape-shifters were murdered and enslaved. People without shapes had to be eradicated.
There were organizations devoted to the purification of society, and to the running of The Ritual. When Light was a kid, he dreamed of life at one of these institutions; of hunting down those who didn’t belong, who kept memories of enslavement in their DNA. He wanted to sacrifice them for the greater good. Now, he didn’t make any plans.
He had thought about killing himself.
But then he had thought about Sayu.
Light’s little sister adored him with the unthinking clarity of glacier water. She watched him, always, and begged him to play with her, to let her into his world of teenaged gossip. Sayu was the first person to suggest he might not have a shape.
They were playing MarioKart and Light was winning. Light was always winning. He hadn’t let Sayu beat him in five years, and then only because his mom had made him. Now, he respected her enough not to condescend. Besides, she didn’t mind. She just enjoyed shooting blue shells at him and watching him grit his teeth.
It was on an afternoon like this that she said it: “What if you don’t have a shape?”
“Shut up. Don’t say that.”
“I’m just saying.” Sayu had gone through her first transformation a couple of months prior, and even though girls tended to experience their first shifts earlier than boys, the genetic likelihood of him being three years behind her was … low.
“I’ll have a shape,” Light said. “I dream about it sometimes.”
“What do you dream about?”
“I don’t know. Just that I’m fast. I’m running and I’m fast.”
“Well,” Sayu said. “If you don’t have a shape, that’s okay.” It wasn’t. “I’ll love you no matter what, you know.” She was young, blinded by hope.
“You’d have to love a dead person,” Light said, and even he wasn’t sure if he meant his sacrifice or his suicide.
Because those were the only options.
But no, no, he had to have a shape. He had to.
He wanted to live.
After forty-five minutes, Light returned home to help Sayu wash the grease paint off her otter form before she went to the bathroom to get the rest off her human self.
Sayu seemed to think they could keep this up forever. She was always scheming, always planning new ways to help Light avoid detection. It wasn’t that difficult, she insisted. He only had to be at home for another year. If they just kept disguising Sayu every once in a while, they could keep up the rouse.
Except — the solar eclipse was coming. Eclipse Day was the one time that everyone, everywhere shifted.
“You’ll go to the woods,” Sayu said, breathless and in his bedroom one morning. Light was still sleepy. Seventeen years old and tired all the time. Sayu was too much energy, bright like the sun. She repeated: “You’ll go to the woods and hide. I’ll say you’re transforming with your friends. I’ll stay with Mom and Dad.”
“They won’t allow that,” Light said, drawing the back of his hand across his eyes. He had been dreaming about running again, about running away or towards something. He wasn’t sure, but he knew it was urgent, desperate. He had power in his dreams. An ungodly glow — a view of the world made perfect. “Things get weird on Eclipse Day. You know they’ll want us to be together.”
“You’re a teenager,” Sayu said. “Act like it. Or pretend to. You’ll sneak out. I can tell them you have a girlfriend. They’ll be mad but…”
“It would be better then letting them find out,” Light acceded. “Yeah. Yeah. Let me think about it.”
“One week, Light. Girlfriend rumours will work better if we start them early.”
“Sure. Now get out of my room.”
Sayu glared at him. “So rude from someone who owes me so much.”
“You’re right,” Light said. “Please, princess Sayu, may you get out of my bedroom.”
The upcoming eclipse was the majority of what anyone talked about. A few eclipses happen a year, but a total eclipse only happens once every eighteen months. A big deal. Shops have blowout sales, advertisements become animalian, and people put up solar-themed decorations on their lawns. Over the years, the eclipse — the only event that forced every person to shift at the same time — became a celebration of shifter pride.
The school system took the opportunity to educate students about the history of shifters on earth. There were skits, songs, and slideshows. Students loved to hear about the violence of the old days, the descriptions of atrocities done to shifters, and then cheered at the climax of the shifter uprising, where the animals banded together to rise up against the non-shifters and tear them to shreds. Tales of violence have always been exhilarating, and state-condoned violence a release.
This, of course, was not Light’s first Shifter History Assembly, but this was the first one that tasted like dread. Eighteen months ago, he could still convince himself he was just a little late, that his shift-shape would manifest any moment. Sayu hadn’t shifted then either, so they spent Eclipse Day like most other children, locked into their house with a steady stream of movies, allowed to stay up all night if they wanted to. It had been warm and fun, and they watched wild animals roam the streets from the safety of their parents’ upstairs bedroom. Now, he clutches a wish to go back, to go back, to go back.
This year, the violence wasn’t a thrill. This year, something inside him coiled up and twisted when the students cheered at the images of wolves and panthers and tigers tearing the throats out of non-shifters. Oil paintings, historical recreations, special effects.
“We have a special treat this year,” the principal announced at the end of the regularly scheduled program. “A representative from the International Nonshifter Sacrifice Force is here, and he is going to explain the importance of The Ritual.” There was some chatter, whispers mostly, due to the mention of The Ritual. This was something people their age were usually kept away from — something everyone knew existed, but also speculated about. Like UFO sightings, most assumed the truth was probably boring and bureaucratic. And yet.
They would never reveal anything about the utterly top secret Ritual, Light thought frantically, but he still felt bile rise in his throat. He wished Sayu were here, just so he wasn’t alone in this nightmare. He examined his hands, let his nails dig into his palms. An INSF representative here meant they would, likely, still be in the area for the eclipse. Someone hunting non-shifters during the most vulnerable day of the year. No, no.
“Please give a round of applause to Rue Ryuzaki,” the principal announced, and Light looked up despite himself. The man was … not what he expected. Not that he had expectations but — well, the menace wasn’t there. He was tall, but hunched in such a way that made him seem self-conscious. His hands were shoved into denim pockets and his shirt seemed entirely too large. He wore no shoes.
Strange.
Ryuzaki cleared his throat awkwardly and opened his mouth to speak, then looked across the room until--
His eyes landed on Light.
They both froze.
A lifetime, a moment, a second passed.
Ryuzaki cleared his throat again and began.