Notes: Episode 99, "The Kindness of a Man! Yuuichiro, Heartbroken by Rei". Or: "The one with Yuuichiro's heart crystal".
Episode 99
The first time he knew she was special, he was deep in meditation. The fire showed him little – the fire rarely did – but he drew comfort from it all the same. His heart was clear and his mind was open, and when the flames surged his vision was consumed. Terrifying creatures. The moon, full and heavy. A symbol, burning through it all, still burning behind his eyes as they snapped open.
It was 17 April, and his granddaughter had arrived.
... ... ...
The second time he knew she was special, she'd eluded him during a game of hide-and-seek. He finally found her in standing before the Sacred Fire, the intensity of her gaze strange on a two-year old's face. Her constant companion, Toshi, slipped from her tiny fingers as she reached toward the flame. The flame, it seemed, reached back. He scooped her up in time to save her from burning. The spell was broken. She giggled and threw her arms around his neck, but her eyes did not leave the fire.
"What did you see?" he asked casually.
"A bunny!"
He retrieved Toshi and shook the toy free of ash. "Not a bear?"
"Bunny," she insisted.
She waved goodbye to the Sacred Fire as he carried her from the room. Glancing back, for a moment he saw a familiar, nearly forgotten symbol, already fading into the flames.
... ... ...
The third time he knew she was special, she was six and he was welcoming her into his home. Her home, now. She was sullen. Angry. Her eyes were red and shining, but no tears fell. He set aside his own grief and embraced her.
"I knew," she said.
"Knew?" he repeated.
"When she died. Before they told me. I knew."
He asked her questions, tried to learn more, but she would say nothing else.
She knew, and he believed her.
... ... ...
The fourth time he knew she was special, she was eleven and there were crows. There had always been crows, even when he was a boy, but never like these. She was throwing corn into the courtyard, a habit he had encouraged when she seemed to find so little solace in the company of people.
"That's Phobos," she informed him, pointing out one crow from the dozen in a nearby cherry tree. She indicated a second bird, near identical to the first. "And that's Deimos."
"Crows don't have names," he said, a laugh in his voice.
Her head snapped around and she glared. "These do. They told me. Phobos! Deimos! Come!"
He watched as the exact birds she had named took flight. The first landed on her shoulder, the second at her feet where it began to peck at the corn.
He was mostly surprised at his lack of surprise.
... ... ...
The fifth time he knew she was special, he had been sweeping one of the side paths. He was struck with a vision so intense he dropped his broom and staggered with the force of it. He had never had a waking vision before, but this was strong and would not wait. The symbol, first seen all those years ago, consumed his sight. It burned. It raged. An inferno, finally free.
He knew it for what it was, and named it Mars.
That night she told him there would be no more trouble with buses and missing people. He said that was good and asked what she would like for dinner.
... ... ...
As he watched her before the Sacred Fire, he relived all of these moments. He was an old man wishing his granddaughter peace and happiness. Wishing she was not special.
He smiled up at his earnest young apprentice. A practiced, happy smile. "We have to let her do it until she's satisfied," he counseled, and hoped that day would come before the flames consumed her.