[275. By the light of a million stars - “Burial by the Sea”]
In order to write for Kanone, I need to have his song playing. Always. On repeat.
Kanone doesn’t talk to the rest of the Blade Children. There is a tension between them that he is not willing to name, so he spends most of his time with Kiyotaka. They sit by the sea side and look at the waves, at the stars that have fallen through them; they say hardly a word to each other, for which Kanone is glad.
He would have spent time with Eyes, if he was still his Eyes.
(He belonged with Yzak now, and everyone but Kanone notices how they had the same golden eyes)
Kanone doesn’t talk to the younger Narumi, to Ray Inoue. Kanone doesn’t talk much at all, actually.
And he spends the night time digging up bones.
---
The spade he uses is small; the sand is pliant enough, and he likes to take his time, sifting through it.
At first, he kept the bones in a hidden alcove, carrying them by the armful and arranging them so no one else would notice them. But the time came when he’d found too many for the alcove, and he set about looking for a space big enough for it.
Kanone didn’t know Ray had been watching him. The older Blade Child met him just as he was returning from the beach. When Kanone reached him, he took his hand and pressed a key into his palm.
“There’s an old chest in the basement,” he’d said, and smiled. Kanone thought it was a sad smile, but then Ray had thanked him. His voice was strained, as if he was holding back tears. Kanone kept the key in his pocket, then reached out to embrace the older Blade Child.
It had been a long time since Kanone had held anyone as they cried. He tried his best, though, to comfort Ray, and by the time the sun rose properly over the horizon, the smile on his face looked happier. Kanone couldn’t help but smile as well.
---
He works by the light of stars, both the ones in heaven and the ones who settled in the sea.
Kanone hardly sleeps; he only lays in bed to wait for the rest of the children to close their eyes, and then he’s off, attending to their siblings.
He doesn’t mind the chill of the night or the lull of the waves. He works diligently, silently, all focus narrowed down on his task.
If anyone, say Kousuke, were to ask him what he was doing this for, Kanone would be forced to answer with a lie, as the truth was that he didn’t know why himself.
He never knew these children whose bones he handled with the utmost care. He only knows that they’d shared the same father and were destined for the same end.
He doesn’t know if they’d died screaming or crying, or if they went quietly. He doesn’t know how they lived.
The one thing that Kanone knows about the bones of these Blade Children was that they weren’t afraid of him.
And for that, he would have done everything for them.