A/N: Wow, the first story of this category - I really feel like I've contributed to the website today. Children of the Whales is an absolutely beautiful story with an equally beautiful anime. I can't wait to see it get the attention it deserves.

• Marks beneath Unmarked Eyes •

Suou was a simple person. He was content on the Mud Whale, even if the marks on his knuckles said otherwise. Always compassionate, ever empathetic. In such a caring, loving, gentle figure, all the marked children saw their sweet elder brother. They would wave to him when they saw him walk past, jubilant when he would wave back without fail with a small smile. He took comfort in the peculiar customs that the society maintained, even thought most of the inhabitant themselves questioned them, despite having nothing else to compare them to. He worked hard eagerly, whether on the maize fields or on his desk.

Oh yes, he was contented. But not happy. Never happy. Perhaps unbeknownst to all, at every marked one's passing, he would be the one who would grieve the most. Of course, he would not cry in front of everyone; he would remain strong, but never rigid. He would be tender and open such that the youngest would be drawn towards him. He would hold the hand of whoever needed a hand to hold, or maybe they would need a smile, or a soft touch on the shoulder, a few words, or even a solemn nod. Then much later at night, when alone, he would cry, cry away all his pains and sorrows, the whole night, leaving marks beneath his eyes, because someone would need someone to be strong for them tomorrow.

Long ago he had come to accept that his people, who he kept so close to his heart, would die before him. He would see no less than five generations pass aways before his eyes, and more. He had even come to accept that his own blood sister, younger by nine years, would be sent off by him too. In the deepest depths of his heart, he knew. Not a hundred of his long lifetime would be enough to find a cure. You would find that his smile, albeit genuine, rarely held warmth.

But with everything there is a but, an exception, an inspiration or a calling to doom. A reason to say no, or a startling revelation to give up.

He could not remember the day anymore when he looked upon the marks underneath the boy's young eyes, marks, all too familiar to him, and decided that this boy, Chakuro, would not die before he himself would.