The memory began as a whisper in the depths of Hikari's mind, a fragment of the past surfacing unbidden as she faced Hakari in the cold shadows of Kurohana. The glow of her judgment beads pulsed against her chest, their warmth a sharp contrast to the chill of her brother's corrupted aura.
It had been a bright spring morning in Yamaoka when Hikari's life had irrevocably changed. The village was alive with celebration as the elders prepared to bestow the sacred beads of the Kanshisha upon their next Arbiter. Cherry blossoms drifted lazily through the air, and the villagers had gathered around the shrine, their faces alight with expectation.
Hikari stood at the side of the shrine steps, her own hands awkwardly clasped in her lap. Being the youngest to ever be a candidate in living memory at the age of seven, she barely understood the magnitude of what was happening outside of the fact that the beads themselves symbolized huge strength and responsibility.
Standing beside her, Hakari was unflustered and confident, his robes immaculate and his face a quiet mask of pride. At twelve years old, he was already the village favorite—the smartest of the archives, the most compliant in training. He was always the one everyone looked at and predicted would get the beads, the one who would get far in life.
As Elder Miyako progressed, the shrine fell silent. The judgment beads, gently emitting a pearl-like light, rested on a ceremonial pillow in her hand.
"The authority of the Kanshisha is not assigned by tradition or expectation," the elder announced, her voice ringing out over the crowd gathered in front of her. "Nor is it a title given by the hands of mortals, to be usurped by ambition alone. It is the spirits that give it, through the will of the ancestors who watch over us, guiding us from the unseen plane. It is a calling—a burden and a responsibility entwined."
"The Kanshisha is not chosen for power, but for purpose. Not for bloodline, but for the weight of their soul, measured against the fires of judgment. To bear this title is to stand between the living and the forgotten, between light and darkness, between what is and what must never be. The ancestors do not bestow their favor lightly, nor do they bestow it on those who seek only glory."
"And today, they have spoken. Today, they have chosen."
Hakari straightened, his chest puffing slightly as he prepared to step forward.
"Hikari Tsukimura."
The name hung in the air like a thunderclap.
Hikari's breath caught in her throat. She froze, unsure if she had heard correctly. The murmurs of the crowd swirled around her, a mix of surprise and confusion.
Hakari's face, so confident just moments before, fell into a mask of stunned disbelief.
"Hikari," the old woman said once more, smiling softly and motioning her to draw closer. "The beads are yours, child."
Hikari glanced up at her brother, hoping for some indication of encouragement, but his face was tense, his jaw clenched.
"Go on," he snarled, his voice strained and hard.
Reluctantly, Hikari stepped forward, shivering in her dainty hands as Elder Miyako tied the judgment beads around her neck. Their warmth seeped through to her like sunlight, and for a strange sense of cleanness, as if the world had crystallized.
The crowd clapped wildly, but Hikari hardly noticed it. She had glanced back one last time for a glimpse of pride in his eyes, and she saw she had been fooled; he stood facing away now, his back straight as he descended the steps of the shrine.
The remainder of the days were a blur of ceremony and drill, but there was one thing that was sure: Hakari was no longer the same. He no longer smiled for her at mealtimes or helped her with lessons. He only addressed her when he had to, his tone curt and aloof.
At first, Hikari tried to cover the distance, searching for him in the records or training yards, but always had a good reason to leave.
One evening, she found him in the woods just outside their village, perched upon a fallen tree and carving intricate patterns into a wooden board. She crept up slowly, her judgment beads softly aglow in the diminishing light.
"Hakari?" she breathed.
He didn't look up. "Aren't you practicing with your beads?"
"I've practiced enough today," she replied, sitting beside him. "I... I wanted to see you."
He was quiet for a moment, the knife sliding effortlessly over the wood. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and bitter. "It should have been me."
Hikari flinched. "Hakari, I didn't—"
"I read every book, learned every way," he continued, his tone as keen as the knife itself. "I did it for myself. And you? You didn't even know what the beads were until the elders informed you."
Hikari's tears flowed. "I didn't ask for this. I never wanted to steal anything from you."
Hakari's sword halted, and for a moment, his features eased. But then he stood up, leaving the half-whittled wood behind. "Willingly or not is irrelevant. You now got power, Hikari. And I have nothing."
He turned away and vanished into the encroaching shadows.
The recollection shattered like glass as Hikari's focus returned to the present.
"You still despise me," she spat, her face trembling with anger as she glared at her brother. "After all these years, you still begrudge me for something I had no control over."
Hakari's laugh was acidic, echoing through the ruined village. "Despise you? No, little sister. I feel sorry for you. You've lived your whole life held in thrall by those beads, by conditioning in a village too small to see the truth."
"A-and what truth is that?" Hikari asked, her voice shaking slightly.
"Power isn't awarded," Hakari said, moving forward. The runes on his arms burst into dark light, twisting themselves like living tendrils. "It's taken."
The darkness that filled around him churned and Hikari remained taut, her beads pulsating with alarm. The battle was hardly at an end, and the night that stood between them had extremely deep roots—roots that had been laid since that spring day when everything had turned different.
The forest seemed unnaturally quiet as Hikari and Takashi stood in the clearing, the echoes of Hakari's laughter fading into the distance. The air was thick with an oppressive weight, the faint scent of decay mingling with the hum of malevolent energy that still lingered after Hakari's disappearance.
"What was that?" Hikari asked, her voice trembling as she clutched her judgment beads.
Takashi's grip on his katana tightened. His jaw was set, his sharp features lined with tension. "Something far worse than ambition. He's carrying something powerful—something cursed."
Hikari's beads pulsed faintly as if echoing her father's words. "The markings on his arms… and the way the shadows moved. It wasn't just his power, was it?"
No, Takashi replied firmly, his eyes scanning the trees as if expecting Hakari to suddenly pop back out. "It's the artifact. The Immortal Mask. I should have suspected when you mentioned Kurohana. That thing has tainted him."
Hikari's breathing came out in a harsh rush. "The Immortal Mask? But that's. I-i saw it get destroyed. B-by Rinne. And with the holow queen."
Takashi unsheathed his katana in a quick motion. "Even it is disappear. That power consumed Hakari—and now, he is the immortal mask. If Rinne didnt also slay the soul of the Kurohana villager. He can consume it again."
He didn't get a chance to speak another sentence before a torrent of dark energy washed through the air, so powerful that the trees were bending in its grip. Hikari staggered, the judgment beads around her own neck scorched with fierce heat.
"He's drawing upon it," Takashi breathed, his voice tight with alarm. "He's drawing its power.".
In the distance, the forest began to twist and writhe. The trees bent unnaturally, their branches elongating into jagged, claw-like shapes. The air itself grew heavy, crackling with dark energy that made Hikari's skin crawl.
"We have to stop him," Hikari said, determination hardening her voice.
Takashi nodded, already exiting. "Keep close. The mask is tightly sealed, but a shattering fragment of its power would still blow everything apart.".
The source of the discomfort was not far away. As they approached the border of the ruin of Kurohana, the earth shifted under their feet, the rocks groaning and cracking as if protesting their presence. They sensed a pulsating black energy emanating from the village, and at its center, he stood.
Hakari stood in the middle of where the village square used to be, his arms raised and head flung back. The Immortal Mask hung from his waist, its polish like lacquered bone but marred by heavy veins of dark red that pulsed with a soft, inner light.
The runes on Hakari's arms were glowing brighter than ever, their movements almost hypnotic. The air around him shimmered, warped by the immense energy radiating from the mask.
"Hakari!" Takashi's voice boomed across the clearing, drawing his son's attention.
Hakari turned slowly, a smile dancing across his lips. His eyes glowed with an unearthly light, their depths boiling with darkness. "Father. Sister. How kind of you to drop in."
"Get away from the mask! Throw it off now!" Takashi shouted, flashing out his katana once more.
Hakari chuckled, his laughter low and ominous. "Throw it off? My artifact?" He stroked his fingers across the artifact at his waist, caressing it gently. "This is power, Father. Real power. Not the power you maintain through your katana and your worn-out methods. This is what will reverse fortunes."
"It's changing you already," she said to Hakari, trying to keep her voice even amid the fear clawing its way around her chest. "Look at yourself, Hakari. That thing's distorting you into something else."
"Something I'm not?" Hakari's voice rose, and a wave of anger washed over his face. "No, Hikari. It's revealing what I truly am. What I always was. While you played flawless Arbiter, clutching your beads and your criticisms, I have been wrestling with power that matters."
"That relic won't make you strong," Takashi snapped, voice hard. "It will kill you. It's a cursed relic, hidden away for a reason. Even the Kurohana people couldn't master it."
Hakari laughed, his fingers around the mask tightening. "They were below me. They didn't have the vision of it. But I do. And soon, so will you."
Before either Hikari or Takashi had a chance to react, Hakari waved the mask in the air. The red veins tracing along its surface pulsed furiously, and a jag of dark energy shot out of it, cracking the air like a thunderclap.
Hikari staggered, holding up her hands over her eyes as the ground beneath her feet trembled and split. When she lifted her eyes, her breath caught in her throat.
The mask's power had begun to take hold. The veins along its surface spread like living things, climbing up Hakari's arms and weaving into the runes that marked his skin. His body trembled with the force of the energy coursing through him, his features contorting as the artifact's influence deepened.
"Hakari, stop!" Hikari shouted, desperation in her voice.
But he just laughed, his voice echoing and funereal. "Why stop now? This is just the beginning."
His body shifted, dark tendrils of energy curling around him like armor plating. His body grew heavier, his presence constricting. The earth cracked and crumbled beneath him as the energy of the mask hit ten percent, its aura so thick that even the air seemed to darken.
Takashi pressed forward, katana glinting in the polluted light. "You believe this power makes you invincible, Hakari? Let's see how good it is when it's facing someone who fought actual wars."
Hakari's smirk stretched. "You'll find I'm not quite so easy to beat anymore, Father."
In a stroke so swift that it was nigh on indistinguishable, Hakari attacked, his corrupted energy flashing like a tempest. Takashi awaited him. With trained grace, his own katana moved to parry each strike in calculated force.
The battle was fierce, the clash of steel against shadow echoing through the glade. Hikari watched, her judgment beads beating in time with her racing heart. She felt the strength of the mask growing, its dominance spreading wider with each passing second.
"This isn't over," she breathed, her beads clutched against her chest. She stepped forward, calling upon her chain of judgment. No matter how powerful Hakari had become, she would not let the mask consume him—or the world they lived in.
The Immortal's dawn had arrived, but Hikari vowed it would not reach its peak. Not if she had anything to do with it.
The air thrummed with tension as the dark tendrils of Hakari wrapped around his son, trembling with power generated from the Immortal Mask. Takashi maintained his stance, his katana shining with righteously clear intent as he confronted his own corrupted son. Hikari, her judging beads softly luminous, stayed where she stood, conflicted between fear and resolve.
"You can't help it, Father," Hakari sneered, his voice heavy with a full, resonating distortion that did not belong to him. "This is what you would not accept, what strength you refused to seek. You're merely a relic, clinging to antiquities that will die with you.".
"And you," Takashi declared, his voice firm but with an undercurrent of steel, "are a fool, blinded by the promises of a cursed relic. Power for its own sake is destruction. You do not command the mask—it's commanding you."
Hakari's grin expanded. "Then let me show you how it feels to be powerless."
His surrounding darkness seethed forward, heavy and writhing like living things. In the space of a heartbeat, Hakari melted into the darkness, his shape consumed by the black cloud.
"Stay back, Hikari!" Takashi snarled, his eyes scanning the boiling shadows.
Hikari's heart raced as the oppressive energy grew heavier. She gripped her beads tightly, their warmth a small comfort against the chill of the cursed aura. "Where did he go?"
A low, mocking laugh echoed from all around them. "I'm everywhere, little sister," Hakari's voice whispered, disembodied and sinister.
Suddenly, the shadows behind Hikari coalesced, forming Hakari's twisted figure. His eyes burned with malevolent light as he lunged toward her, his corrupted arm outstretched, claws glinting with dark energy.
"Hikari, move!" Takashi's voice roared like thunder.
Before Hakari could strike, Takashi was there, his katana flashing in a deadly arc. The blade bit into Hakari's arm, severing it cleanly at the elbow.
Hakari shouted, a howl of rage and pain, as his severed arm thumped to the floor, twitching for a moment before fading into darkness. Black power flowed out of the stump, but before Hikari could stand frozen in terror, the wound began to heal, the flesh repairing itself at unnatural speed.
In awe-inspiring, Hakari spit, grasping the partially restored arm. His smirking smile crept back, though with his eyes flashing a wince of caution. "But it'll only slow me down."
Takashi stood between Hakari and Hikari, his sword held high and unmoving. "You've lost sight of your own mentor, child. You're powerful in that mask, perhaps, but there remains skin you wear as thin as their tears. And I'll defend my blood whatever it costs to do so.".
Hikari's voice trembled as she took a step forward. "Father, we can't continue fighting him like this! The mask is powering him—he'll just grow more powerful."
"That's why you have to go," Takashi declared, his tone allowing no argument. He didn't blink away from Hakari, his stance unyielding. "Go to the village. Inform the elders. Prepare the guardians."
"What? No!" Hikari say, her beads erupting in a blaze of light. "I can assist you!"
"You will assist more by living to do battle another day," Takashi growled, his tone authoritative but with an unusual gentleness. "This is my battle now. Be gone, Hikari. You are vulnurable."
Hakari laughed, cold and mocking, in the clearing. "Running away, little sister? I didn't think the chosen one, the perfect Kanshisha, would do that. Or are you frightened?"
Hikari stood before him, fists clenched with rage. But Takashi swung around to face her for a moment, piercing but gentle. "Hikari. Go."
She swallowed hard, her vision blurring with tears. "Be careful, Father."
She did not pause for a reply but turned and ran, her beads softly aglow as they illuminated her path back toward the security of Yamaoka. Behind her, she heard the ring of steel and the roar of dark energy as Takashi held fast against the advancing shadow.
When Hikari reached the boundary of the forest, the oppressive air of the mask was already beginning to fade, although its wicked power still lingered in her thoughts. Her mind was filled with questions and fear, but one thing was certain: the battle was far from over.
She gripped her hand into a fist over her beads, their warmth a reassuring reminder of what was hers to do. "I'll be back, Hakari," she whispered into the distance.
The battle between Takashi and Hakari slashed through the hulk of ruins of Kurohana, their every blow jarring the air and earth with the intensity of their conflicting wills. Shadows were wracked and lashing around Hakari like snakes, chaotic and dangerous. Takashi was steady in his turn, unflustered and unthinking, but deadly precise in the slash of his katana cutting through attacks.
"You think you're stronger than me now?" Takashi called out, his voice calm despite the storm of dark energy swirling around him. "Because you've wrapped yourself in shadows and curses? Power without discipline is nothing but a child's tantrum."
Hakari sneered, his eyes shining as he cast a wave of dark tendrils at his father. "You don't get it, old man. This isn't a village practice bout. Your tricks and reflexes are nothing compared to true power!"
Takashi's katana cut through the tendrils effortlessly, scattering them into strands of fading shadow. He sidestepped Hakari's next attack with a smooth smoothness, his movements honed from decades of training and fighting.
"You've always relied on brute force, Hakari," Takashi replied, his voice tinged with a soft hint of disappointment. "That's why you always lost to me. You never understood the beauty of precision and patience."
"Lost?" Hakari snarled, his anger growing. "That was then. This is now!"
He lashed out, his corrupted arm molding itself into a sword of pure shadow. The blow was quick, lethal—but too late.
Takashi's katana met the shadow-blade with a ringing clash, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the clearing. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he redirected the blade's momentum, forcing Hakari off balance.
The elder warrior's movements were seamless, flowing from one strike to the next like water. He followed up with a precise slash that cut across Hakari's chest, the blade sparking as it met the cursed runes etched into his skin.
Hakari recoiled, the snarl of frustration and agony slipping past his lips. The wound across his chest healed almost at once, the energy of the mask healing his skin back to normal. But the blow rocked him—not because it hurt him, but because he hadn't expected it.
"How?" Hakari snarled, his eyes growing narrower. "How are you keeping up with me? You have no magic, no demon ability—only that damned sword!"
Takashi's grip on his katana hardened, his position unyielding. "A sword is enough when wielded with purpose. You've forgotten what true power is, Hakari. It's not in the ability you steal—it's in the ability you forge."
Hakari's eyes flared with fury. "Don't lecture me!" He raised his arms, the runes glowing brighter as the mask pulsed with dark energy at his belt.
The shadows surged around him, coalescing into a massive clawed hand that loomed over Takashi like a living storm. With a roar, Hakari brought it crashing down, intent on crushing his father beneath its weight.
But Takashi didn't blink. His eyes didn't skip a beat, his muscles taut as a coiled spring. When the shadow-claw descended, he was a burst of speed to the side and an upward slash with his katana.
The katana cut through the claw, severing it in two clean pieces. The pieces dissipated into wisps of black vapor, leaving Hakari on the ground by himself, his chest heaving with exertion.
Takashi sheathed his sword, his expression calm but firm. "You're reckless, Hakari. You think your magic makes you invincible, but it's only made you reckless."
"Reckless?" Hakari's voice shattered with rage. "Do you think I'm reckless?!"
He charged at Takashi again, his strikes wild and brutal. Launching tendrils of darkness in all directions, the ground shattering beneath him as the corrupted power surged through him.
But however fast or vicious his assault, Takashi was faster. He moved with the assurance of a man who had spent decades mastering his craft, each step measured, each strike precisely timed.
Hakari swung his shadow-blade in a wide arc, but Takashi ducked beneath it, his katana slicing through another tendril. He pivoted, his blade flashing as it cut through the chaos, always one step ahead of Hakari's assault.
"Enough!" Hakari roared, leaping back to put distance between them. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, his frustration written across his face.
Takashi stood tall, his katana solid in his hand. Although he had just been in a fight, his breathing was still level, his movements still restrained and calm.
"You've lost control, Hakari," Takashi said softly now but no less firmly. "That mask is siphoning off your rage, your fear, your desperation. It's turning you into something you're not. Is this really the strength you were looking for?
Hakari's grip on the mask tightened, his expression faltering for a brief moment. But then the runes along his arms flared, and the mask pulsed violently at his belt, its crimson veins glowing like molten lava.
"It doesn't matter what I am," Hakari snarled, his words cold and low. "All that matters is what I shall do. And I shall not allow you to stand in my way."
The shadows churned once more, and Takashi steeled himself, his katana glinting in the damned light. The fight was far from finished, and both father and son knew there was to be no easy conclusion.
But as Hakari prepared to strike again, a flash of doubt crossed his face—a fleeting, evanescent reminder of the boy Takashi had once instructed.
The clash of katana against shadow echoed through the corrupted village remnants of Kurohana. Takashi moved like a force of nature and rigor, his blade carving through Hakari's wild shadow onslaught with precision begotten of years of discipline. But no matter how his body fought, his mind was elsewhere, clouded by the weight of regret, memories long buried.
Shadows conflicted once more, and Takashi had to parry, his movements reflexive as a ghost memory of the past claimed him.
The practice courtyard was lit by the waning light of late evening, lanterns casting long, waffling silhouette on the parched earth. Hikari, little more than seven years old, sat cross-legged on the ground, her small hands clasped around her judgment beads. Their soft light illuminated her face, her eyebrows knitted in intense concentration.
Hakari waited near, his practice sword belted loosely at his waist. He was twelve, and already tall, but the hunch of his shoulders made him seem smaller than he was. His face was sulky, his eyes riveted on Hikari as she talked to herself in soft focus.
Mizuki watched them both from the edge of the yard, her silver hair glinting softly in the light of the lanterns. Her own hands, clasped tightly in front of her healer's robes, were the only indication of her nervousness.
"Why does she get to learn something special?" Hakari spoke out suddenly, his voice bitter and low. "All I get is just a wooden sword. And also, don't forget the sparring, train, sparring, train, sparring, train and also. sparring."
"Hakari..." Mizuki's breath hitched at the question. She hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, her bare feet whispering against the ground. "Because... because the beads chose her," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Just as the sword chose you. Your paths are different. but they're both important."
Hakari gazed at her, his face hidden in the illumination of the lantern. "So why does hers sound more matter now?"
Mizuki's fist tightened on the material of her robe. "It's not that hers matters. It's... it's simply different. Judgment beads have their own weights, Hakari. Hikari had no choice here any more than you did."
Hakari's hand clenched on the sword, his knuckles white. "But all the others treat her like she is special. The elders, the people in the village, even Father. He demands more of me than anyone, but if she's present, I might as well not be."
Mizuki edged closer, his arm going around her shoulders as he placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. "Hakari, your father... because he believes in you. He knows that you have a potential... At using sword."
Hakari pushed her hand away, his voice escalating. "Or maybe he just expects me to be perfect or I am not good enough. Maybe that is why he talks to me in a different way than he talks to her."
Mizuki flinched, her shoulders sagging as she struggled for the right words. "H-Hakari, that's not—"
"It doesn't matter," he interrupted, his voice flat. He turned away, his shadow stretching across the dirt as he walked toward the edge of the yard. "If he doesn't believe in me, then I'll just have to prove him wrong." he said as he walk away, leaving his mother.
"H-Hakari..." She call his name but, she uncertain. Mizuki stood frozen, the lantern light casting a faint glow on her pale face. Her hands trembled as she watched Hakari disappear into the night, his words echoing in the quiet stillness. While Takashi just watching from the window inside.
The memory shifted, a new scene rising unbidden in Takashi's mind.
It was midday, the sun hammering down on the courtyard as Hakari stood before him, sweat streaming from his brow. His stance was firm but not steady, his wooden practice sword trembling in his hand.
"Again!" Takashi yelled, his voice gruff and unyielding.
Hakari attacked, his strikes swift but untamed. Takashi sidestepped easily, counterattacking with a strike that sent the boy tumbling to the ground.
"Sloppy," Takashi said coldly. "You're not thinking. Pick up the sword and do it again."
"Takashi."
Mizuki's voice, trembling but resolute, cut through the tension. Takashi turned to find her standing at the edge of the yard, her silver hair shimmering like molten moonlight. Her pale hands clutched the folds of her robes, her knuckles white.
"That's enough," she said, taking a step forward. Her voice trembled, but her eyes were resolute.
"He needs discipline," Takashi told her, his tone icy. "If he doesn't learn now, he'll never survive out there."
Mizuki shook her head, her expression pained. "You're not teaching him discipline, Takashi. You're teaching him fear. Look at him—he's exhausted, humiliated. How can he learn anything if all he sees is your disappointment?"
"He'll learn because he has to," Takashi snapped back, anger rising. "The world is not going to wait for him to catch up, Mizuki. He needs to drive himself, or he's going to fall behind and lose everything."
She shook her head, moving closer, and her voice broke with emotion. "And what will it cost him now, Takashi? His heart? His passion? For you? For himself?
Takashi stiffened, his gaze flying to Hakari, who spoke not a word, shoulders bowed and head lowered.
"He's just a child," Mizuki interrupted, her voice trembling. "He needs your strength, yes, but your mercy too. If you give him only your wrath, what will he bring into the world if you keep doing this? Takashi. Stop this right now."
Takashi opened his mouth to say something but there were no words. He turned his back, his grip on his practice sword tight.
"Get the sword. Get it," he snarled.
Hakari slumped over to pick up the sword, as though it hurt him to do it. His movements were slow and reluctant. Mizuki said nothing, watching, her shaking hands clutched around herself.
The memory shattered as Hakari's laughter rang through the ruins, mocking and venomous.
"You can't stop me, Father," Hakari growled, his voice distorted by the mask's power. "Not with rules, not with your sword. You never could."
Takashi was silent. His katana cut the darkness with lethal precision, but his thoughts were a whirlwind of regret and doubt.
The boy who had once looked to him for approval now stood as his greatest failure. And no amount of skill or discipline could silence the haunting question in Takashi's mind.
Had he been the one to push Hakari into darkness?
Hakari's corrupted energy surged again, the shadows twisting and writhing like living creatures. Takashi's body reacted on instinct, his katana flashing as he deflected another tendril aimed at his chest. But his focus wavered, his thoughts consumed by a single, haunting question:
Is this my fault?
The words cut deeper than any blade, a painful memory in his mind. He had trained so many, built so many soldiers who'd fought well and honorably. And with his own son, he'd failed.
Hakari's maniacal laugh sliced through the air, cold and derisive, as he chased after his father. "You're slowing down, old man," he taunted, venom dripping from his voice. "What's the matter? Finally realizing that you're not so perfect after all, as you let everyone think you were?
Takashi dodged another blow, but his grip relaxed slightly. The blade of his katana sliced the shadow a fraction too slowly, and a searing tendril seared his shoulder, tearing a jagged gash in his robes. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but it was not the wound that unsettled him—it was the doubt.
Did I push him too far? Did I forge this fury? This hatred?
And another flashback forced its way into his mind: Mizuki's trembling voice, her white-knuckled hands grasped on the hem of her healer's robes as she pleaded with him to understand what he was doing to their son.
"He's not your son, Takashi. He's a boy who respects you for guidance, for love."
He had rejected her then, dismissed her words as weakness that would destroy Hakari. And now... with his son's tainted eyes he gazed into, he felt the weight of the decision like the blade stuck in his throat.
Hakari attacked once more, the cursed runes on his arms ablaze as a wave of darkness was unleashed on Takashi. He blocked it, but the force of it pushed him backward, his feet scraping against the ruined earth.
"You can't even keep up anymore," Hakari sneered, his smirk wide and unpleasant. "You always thought you were better than me, but look at you now. Weak. Hesitating."
Takashi clenched his fist on his katana, trying to slow his breathing. Yet his son's words stung. Was that what Hakari perceived when he looked at him? Not a father who was trying to teach and protect him, but a man who criticized and ordered without ever offering comfort?
"All I see is a boy who's learning to hate himself—and you."
Mizuki's voice again, like a ghost whispering in his ear.
"Stay focused," Takashi muttered to himself, shaking his head as though to dispel the memories.
But his momentary distraction was not left unpunished. Hakari charged forward, the darkness around him churning into whipping, claw-like tendrils. One of these struck quicker than Takashi had opportunity to defend himself against and slammed into his ribs, sending him stumbling off balance. He crashed to the ground, the weight of his own culpability pressing down on him.
"Hmm. You're pathetic," sneered Hakari, his voice a revolting mix of glee and rage. "You've spent your whole life teaching me the importance of discipline and strength, and for what? Now... Look at you, barely able to stand."
Takashi gritted his teeth, pulling himself onto his feet once more. His side hurt from the blow, and his hand on his katana wasn't as secure as it should have been. He locked eyes with Hakari, and for a moment, he saw boy Hakari as he had been—the boy who had looked for approval from him, and found only scorn.
Is this what I have made? A monster? Is this all i want?
The memory came close to undoing him, his shaking hands as he brought his knife up again. But another one came into his mind, one that calmed him.
It was years ago, when Hakari's bitterness had not yet taken root. Mizuki sat on the porch with Hakari, her silver hair cascading down her back as she braided a wreath of wildflowers. Hakari, a boy of ten at the time, watched her hands with silent wonder.
"Mom, will Father like it?" Hakari asked, his voice small but hopeful.
Mizuki smiled, her hands never pausing. "Of course he will. He just doesn't always show it, but he loves you, Hakari. Never doubt that."
"Then why doesn't he say it?" Hakari's question was so soft it was almost lost in the breeze.
Mizuki's hands clenched, her eyes falling for a moment. Then she reached out, cupping Hakari's cheek with a gentleness that was as if she held the weight of the world. "Because sometimes... the people we love most are the very people we find it hardest to show it to. And the person is you Hakari."
The scene back at Hakari and Takashi now
"No," he whispered, his voice low but resolute.
Hakari stopped, his sneer falling away. "What?"
Takashi raised his head, his eyes burning and unwavering. "You're right, Hakari. I wasn't perfect. I messed up. But I never fell out of love with you. Not then, and not now.".
" What are you talking about." Hakari a bit confused his father suddenly speak like that. The words seemed to catch Hakari off guard, his corrupted aura flickering for a split second. But then the mask at his belt pulsed, and the shadows surged again, more violent and erratic than before.
"No. You're lying!" Hakari spat, though there was a faint tremor in his voice. "You're just trying to make me hesitate!"
Takashi steeled himself, his katana steady once more. "I don't need to make you doubt. I am still your father, Hakari. And I will stop you—even if it's saving you from yourself."
The fight had continued, but this time the strides of Takashi had more vigor. Nonetheless, he questioned whether all of this was his fault, but now the blame spurred him hard. He couldn't undo the past, but he still could fight to recover what of his son's humanity remained.
The battle raged on, each strike of Takashi's katana meeting Hakari's shadowy tendrils with an ear-splitting clash. The clearing around them was a tempest of movement—shadows coiling like living serpents, the gleam of steel slicing through the air, and the ground itself trembling beneath the force of their blows.
Hakari, however powerful he might be, couldn't help but become more and more enraged. His father moved slowly, smoothly, and annoyingly practiced. Each step, each riposte, was something Hakari had seen before in all his years of training under the old man's merciless tutelage.
He darted to the side, summoning a jagged spear of shadow and hurling it at Takashi with brutal force. Takashi's katana flashed, slicing through the attack effortlessly. Hakari surged forward, his corrupted arm glowing with cursed energy as he swung it toward Takashi's chest.
But Takashi was already in motion. He turned around, dodging the attack by a whisker, and counterattacked with an accurate swing of his sword that pushed Hakari back.
"How?" Hakari snarled, his own breath coming in tattered gasps as he bared his teeth at his father. "How are you still standing? You're old, you have no magic, no cursed power—and you're keeping up with me?"
Takashi did not answer, his expression calm and inscrutable as he changed foot. But within him a maelstrom raged.
It was noon, the training ground ringing with the sharp snap of wooden swords as Takashi sparred with Hakari. The boy, twelve then, had been hitting harder, his strikes fast but untamed, his technique crumbling under the pressure of his anger.
"You're exposing yourself again!" Takashi growled, deflecting Hakari's strike with a swift, economical motion. He struck, his own practice sword smashing into the boy's wrist and sending his own sword flying out of his hand. "How many times must I tell you? Precision! Discipline! And focus!"
Hakari rocked back on his heels, clutching his wrist. His eyes burned with unshed tears that he refused to let fall, his chest heaving with the effort. "I'm trying, Father!"
"Not hard enough!" Takashi roared, his voice ringing up. "Do you think that's effort enough when your killer comes for you? Do you think they'll wait if you're tired, if you're scared? They'll cut you down where you stand!"
"Takashi!"
Mizuki's voice, trembling and now raise her voice, interrupted him. Takashi turned to see her standing at the edge of the yard, her silver hair catching the sunlight like a halo. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her healer's robes fluttering in the breeze.
"That's enough," she said, stepping forward. Her voice quivered, but her eyes were steady, meeting Takashi's gaze with quiet determination. "He's done for today."
"No, he isn't," Takashi replied abruptly, turning back to Hakari. "Take up the sword."
"He's tired!" Mizuki cried, her voice somewhat louder but still shaking. "Can't you see what you're doing to him? He's just a child, Takashi. He doesn't need this—"
"He does need this!" Takashi shouted, the sound making him jump almost as much as it made her. He whirled around to face him, his eyes blazing. "Do you think the world is going to care if he's tired? Waiting him till he up again? Do you think it's going to cut him some slack because his mother makes him get sleep? If I don't push him now, it'll be his life that's on the line later! Enemy did not wait nor show mercy to its oppenent!"
Mizuki flinched, her hands trembling as she took a step back. Her silver hair framed her pale face, her eyes wide with something that might have been fear. For a moment, the training yard was silent, save for the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze.
"You're scaring him," Mizuki whispered, her voice breaking. "And you're scaring me."
Takashi glared, his rage trembling at the sting of her words. His gaze flicked to Hakari, still looming there, eyes downcast, slight frame trembling at the violence of his father's anger toward his mother.
In response, however, Takashi spun on his heel and strode away, jaws locked tightly together. "Take up the sword," he growled, voice empty.
Hakari obeyed, but reluctantly and slowly, his spirit good and duly broken. Mizuki had nothing else to say as she turned on her heel and left, her footsteps quiet but her hand is shaking.
The flashback struck Takashi like a blow, his chest tightening as the battle continued around him.
Had that been the moment? The turning point where his son's admiration turned to resentment? Where his wife's love for him became shadowed by fear?
Another strike from Hakari's shadow blade forced him to snap back to the present. Takashi blocked the blow, but his movements were just a fraction slower, his mind too preoccupied with the weight of his guilt.
Hakari detected the slip instantly. "You're slipping, old man," he taunted, his tainted aura flaring. "What's wrong? Realizing at last that you're not so invincible after all? Not great enough? Pathetic. You should notice it before you Were born!"
Takashi clenched his teeth, forcing his body to continue moving even as his aching limbs and racing heart protested. His katana sliced through another wave of darkness, but Hakari struck with growing strength, his attacks more brutal, more ruthless.
The boy had learned well, Takashi thought bitterly. He had drilled these movements into Hakari's body over years of relentless training. Now, that very training was being turned against him.
Was this my fault? The question lingered, sharp and unrelenting.
Another tendril struck, raking across Takashi's side and tearing through his robes. He stumbled but recovered easily, his katana rising to parry the next attack. But Hakari saw the hesitation, the weakness, and his smile widened.
"Always thought you were better than me," Hakari growled, his attacks growing more vicious. "But you're not. You're a relic clinging to his tradition. Didnt know what real power are!"
Takashi's hand tightened on his katana, his breath coming in ragged but steady gasps. He didn't answer Hakari's jibes—not with words. He couldn't.
For in his heart, he was afraid that his son was right. He is bound by tradition.
The clearing was vibrant with chaos as the fight between father and son achieved its boiling point. Takashi's katana, once pristine and unyielding, now bore cracks along its gleaming surface, the strain of countless deflections and counters taking its toll. Hakari's movements, once fueled by boundless cursed energy, were slowing. The runes along his arms flickered like a dying flame, his breaths ragged as his mana waned.
But they did not weaken, their blows striking with more force and velocity as if strength will and would take the place of the gap between weariness and shattered equipment.
Hakari gritted his teeth tightly as the battle raged and charged with his shadow sword cocked right against Takashi's chest. "You're still alive?!" he snarled, voice grating. "How aren't you broken yet?!!"
Takashi sidestepped, the side of his katana meeting the dark weapon with a resounding clash. The force sent both of them skidding backward, but Takashi recovered first, his stance unwavering and unyielding.
"neither are you, Hakari." Takashi said under his breath, his eyes locked on Hakari, never letting his guard down even his mind is fighting aswell. "I can't break now. Not... when you're still standing in front of me."
The memory flashed like lightning as Takashi squared his position once more.
Hakari was just fourteen. The training grounds, where so many spars and bellowed orders had occurred, were now almost peaceful in the sunlight. Takashi stood on the porch, arms crossed, observing Hakari perform forms with a wooden sword. The boy's attacks were fluid, precise—testament to hours upon hours of training.
"This is how it's done," Hakari boasted, his voice tinged with a note of self-satisfied pride.
He was no longer the bumbling child of years gone by, stumbling under the burden of his father's expectations. He had matured into a competent young man, his movements precise and calculated.
Takashi couldn't help but reject the swell of pride he felt at seeing his son. But there was something else, too—a shadow of unease.
Later that evening, Takashi overheard Hakari conversing with his daughter Haruka near the border of the yard. His daughter sat cross-legged on the ground, her big eyes fixed on her brother as he showed her something... Something that glowed dimly in his hand.
"What's that?" Haruka asked, leaning closer curious, she had never seen anything like this.
Hakari grinned, the excitement in his expression contagious. "It's a rune. I've been studying them in the archives. They're connected to mana flow. Here, watch this."
He muttered something under his breath, and the glowing symbol shifted, a faint tendril of light extending from it like a living thing.
Haruka gasped, clasping her hands in astonishment. "Wow that is amazing, Hakari! How did you learn to do that?"
"Well i've been digging through some old scrolls," Hakari replied, his tone carefree but with an undercurrent of pride. "The elders don't want folks seeing them, but I wanted to know more. Magic like this—it's real power. Not like waving a sword about all day. Isnt that intresting?"
"Well I dont know," Haruka's expression faltered. "Does... Father know this?"
Hakari's grin faded slightly, and he shrugged. "Haha! Why would he care? He's too busy making sure Hikari is ready for her precious judgment beads. It's not like he's ever noticed what I've been doing all this time."
Haruka frowned, reaching out to touch his arm. "That's not true, Hakari. Father—"
"It doesn't matter," Hakari interrupted, his tone firm. "One day, I'll show him. I'll show everyone. This isn't just something to study. It's something to use."
Takashi exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience is thin. His fists clenched, and before he could stop himself from his anger, he took a step forward. Another. His boots hit the ground with purpose, anger rolling off him in waves.
But before he could get any closer, a hand caught his shoulder. Soft one.
Takashi flinched, turning sharply—Mizuki stood behind him, her grip firm yet trembling. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeve, holding him back, not with strength but with silent pleading. He met her gaze, expecting something, but instead, he found worry, hesitation. A quiet fear.
Her lips parted and trembling slightly as if searching for the right words before she finally whispered to him, "L-let him be, Takashi."
Her voice was soft, but the slight quiver in it stopped him cold.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The tension in his body fought against her touch, but slowly, his shoulders sank, his breath evening out. Mizuki's hand lingered before she gently withdrew it, her expression unreadable.
Takashi turned away, exhaling through clenched teeth as he walk away.
The memory shattered as Takashi parried another blow, his katana cracking further under the force of Hakari's attack.
"You always dismissed me!" Hakari snarled, his voice low and venomous. "You always saw right through me, straight to Hikari like I was nothing but a worm! All your teaching, all your sermons—none of it was for me! It was for her!!! And when I started making my own path, you didn't even notice... You didn't even care what i am!"
Takashi's silence only made Hakari mad, his attacks more and more wild and relentless as his mana dwindled.
The darkness that surrounded Hakari quivered slightly, and he slowed down. Takashi attacked when he had the opportunity and his katana sliced through a tendril of darkness before the weapon finally snapped.
A deafening crack filled the air, and Takashi's sword shattered, a jagged shard flying loose and dropping down between them. He stepped backward, gasping as he reshuffled his grip on the trimmed weapon.
Hakari's eyes darted to the busted sword, a smile playing upon his lips. "Even your sword is calling it quits, Father. Perhaps you should do the same, too."
Takashi remained silent. His gaze hardened, and he picked up the broken weapon, its edge still glinting despite its condition.
Hakari struck again, but his strikes were now weaker, his movements slower and less precise. Takashi defended the strikes with calculated efficiency, his thoughts spinning.
He's tired. The mana is draining him. If I strike him now, I can sever him and end this all. But...
The thought trailed off, replaced by the memory of Hakari's proud grin as he showed his sister the glowing rune.
When did it start? Was this my failure all along?
As Hakari stumbled, his movements faltering, and slowing down a but. Takashi surged forward, the jagged edge of his blade slicing through the remnants of shadow. Hakari barely managed to block, his corrupted arm trembling as it met the force of Takashi's strike.
For a moment, their eyes met—father and son struggled with a battle no longer over form or power. It was for the unspoken words, the open sores that had infected over years.
"Why didn't you see me?" Hakari growled with gritted teeth, his voice cracking under the pressure of his exhaustion.
Takashi said nothing, he just gazed downwards. his heart was heavy with guilt. The war was lost, but the war in his own mind had already begun. Its hard to just ignore.
Hakari push forward the shadow tendril. Takashi's katana shattered with a final, resounding crack, its once-pristine blade breaking into jagged pieces that scattered across the ground. The ruined weapon now lay in his hands, reduced to a hilt and fragments of steel. He stared at it for a brief moment, his breaths ragged, his body battered from the relentless clash.
Across the clearing, Hakari grinned through his fatigue, his corrupted power fluttering lightly but still intact. "It's done, Father," he rasped, his voice rough but victorious. "Even your sword has yielded. As always, you yielded for me."
Takashi's grip on the broken hilt tightened, his knuckles whitening as he absorbed his son's words. The weight of guilt pressed harder against his chest, but it wasn't the venom in Hakari's voice that hurt—it was the truth buried beneath it.
The memories came unbidden, piercing through the haze of the fight like shards of glass.
The sun was setting, the sky painting itself in vibrant shades of purple and orange. Takashi had been practicing his katana on the porch when Hakari appeared, his fourteen-year-old face radiating excitement.
"Father," Hakari said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, "look at this!"
Takashi whirled about, his sharp eyes narrowing as he saw Hakari holding up his hand. In the boy's palm there danced a small flame... A flame... Its magic... full of life and color, its radiance casting a glow upon the face of the child.
"It's fire magic," said Hakari, pride radiating in his voice. "I found some scrolls in the records, and I figured it out myself. Isn't it amazing?
Takashi stiffened, his expression hardening. "How did you know that?" he bit out, his tone strained.
Hakari's grin faltered, but he went on. "The scrolls in the restricted stacks. I snuck in there, but it was worth it. Magic like this could—"
"Broke the rules?" Takashi interrupted, standing up abruptly. His huge body loomed over Hakari, his voice becoming irate. "You know what the elders are like about magic. It's illegal, Hakari. Risky. You had no right—"
"Why should it matter?" Hakari shot back, his voice escalating to one of defiance. "It's power, Father! Actual power. Is that what you've always wanted me to possess?"
Takashi's face grew dark, his fingers closing hard on the handle of his katana. "That is not the kind of power you would require. Magic is unpredictable. It corrupts, destroys anything you see! That's why it was prohibited!"
"Outlawed by men who don't understand it!" Hakari wept, his anger running hot. "You talk of discipline and strength, and yet the elders are only afraid of things they cannot control. I could do so much more if you'd only—"
"Enough!" Takashi roared, his voice thundering like a storm.
Hakari shrank back, his flames extinguished as his father's fury engulfed him.
"You will not bring that. that corruption in here, or I expeled you from here my house," Takashi said, his tone like ice. "Do you understand me? I don't care what you think magic can do. It does not belong. And neither does disobedience."
Hakari's face darkened, his fists clenched at his sides. "Fine," he growled, his voice bitter and low. "If you won't watch me work, I'll find someone who will."
He turned and walked away, his feet pounding on the wooden porch. Takashi watched him, his rage smoldering in his chest—but beneath it was something he couldn't quite identify, something that writhed in torment as he saw his son's vanishing figure recede into the shadows.
The memory burned as brightly as the flame Hakari had once shown him. Takashi's hands trembled around the broken hilt of his katana. He had ignored his son's gift, dismissed it because of the elders' laws, because of tradition.
But he had never stopped thinking about it.
Since that night, Takashi had spent countless hours in secret, studying the same scrolls Hakari had uncovered. He mastered the nuances of mana currents, the forbidden art of channeling energy into something tangible. It had been a quiet rebellion against the norms that bound him, but he had never used what he learned—never until now.
As Hakari's corrupting energy clasped around him sorrowfully, Takashi drew air into his lungs, his hand tightening on the broken hilt.
"I made a mistake, Hakari, I admit it." he murmured, his voice low and smooth.
Hakari's smile faltered. "What's that you're mumbling about?"
Takashi shooed him away. He closed his eyes, tapping the recollection of the flame Hakari once burned so sure of himself. The scrolls, the diagrams, the exact instructions seared into his mind.
And freed the bonds that had bound him so long.
The hilt of his katana began to glow faintly, its surface heating as Takashi channeled his mana into it. A spark ignited at its center, growing and spreading like wildfire. Within moments, a blade of pure flame extended from the broken hilt, its fiery edge crackling with heat and light.
Hakari's eyes widened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "You. you're using magic?!"
Takashi's eyes opened, his gaze fixed as he drew out the fiery sword. Its heat coursed through him, a reminder every moment of the son that he had not seen.
"I told you not to use magic," Takashi said, his voice even but firm. "Because I was afraid. Afraid of what the elders would say to me. Afraid of what it would do to you."
Hakari's outrage. "You hypocrite! You spent years telling and yelling at me magic was illegal! and now you're using it on me?!"
"I'm using it to reveal," Takashi said, stepping forward, the flame blade humming with energy. "To reveal to you, Hakari. That I see you, Hakari. That I always have. I was too blind to acknowledge it then, but I'm not blind now.".
Hakari faltered, his spoiled arm trembling as the darkness engulfing him seemed to dance. "You lie," he snarled, but his own voice trembled.
"I'm not lying," Takashi spoke softly now. "This isn't about the elders. It's all about you and I. And I'll demonstrate for you that despite whatever path you've taken, I will never abandon you, Hakari. I see... Everything you did. I did not goes straight to Hikari. I always care about you. Hakari."
The flames of the fire blade were hotter, casting long, moving shadows on the field as Takashi prepared to fight his son once more.
The battlefield was alive with light and shadow. Takashi's fire blade burned with an intensity that seemed to defy the corrupted gloom surrounding the ruins of Kurohana. The flames were not ordinary; they roared with a brightness that felt alive, casting golden rays that illuminated the shattered ground. Each swing of the fiery weapon cut through Hakari's weakening shadows, its heat forcing the younger man back with every strike.
Hakari, for all his defiance, hesitated. The magic his father wielded was unlike anything he had ever seen. It wasn't the flickering, unstable energy of traditional fire magic, but something far more powerful, far more primal. The flames radiated heat so intense it distorted the air around them, their golden hue almost blinding.
"What is this?" Hakari snarled, his voice laced with frustration and confusion. "This isn't normal magic. How are you—"
Takashi didn't answer. His movements were steady and precise, each strike carrying the weight of a lifetime of discipline. But as he pressed forward, the memories returned, each one sharper than the last.
It was late morning, the training yard bathed in sunlight. Hakari, now fourteen, stood with his practice sword at the ready, his posture less rigid than usual. Takashi circled him, his own weapon raised.
"Your stance is sloppy," Takashi barked, his tone cold. "Straighten your back. Hold the sword higher."
Hakari shifted reluctantly, adjusting his grip. His movements were slower than they should have been, his gaze distant.
"Focus," Takashi snapped, stepping forward to strike. His wooden blade connected with Hakari's, the impact jarring but measured. "You're not thinking. If you hesitate like this in a real fight, you're dead."
Hakari gritted his teeth, frustration simmering beneath his calm façade. "I know that, Father."
"Then prove it," Takashi growled, stepping back to let Hakari reset.
But instead of attacking, Hakari lowered his weapon slightly, his stance slackening.
Takashi's brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"
Hakari hesitated, his grip tightening on the sword. "Why does it matter? No matter how hard I try, it's never enough for you."
Takashi's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"You always find something to criticize," Hakari said, his voice rising slightly. "I do everything you tell me, but it's never good enough. Why should I even bother?"
Takashi's jaw tightened, anger flaring in his chest. "Because if you don't, you'll fail. And failure out there doesn't just mean losing—it means dying."
Hakari shook his head, his expression darkening. "Maybe no im not dying, I just don't care anymore."
The words struck Takashi like a blow, but his anger only grew. He stepped forward, his wooden blade dropping to his side as he glared at his son. "You don't care? That's what you're telling me? After everything I've done for you?"
Hakari didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the ground.
Behind them, Mizuki knelt in the garden near the edge of the yard, her silver hair glowing softly in the sunlight. She was carefully tending to a patch of herbs, her hands moving with practiced precision.
"Mizuki!" Takashi's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
She flinched slightly but didn't look up. "Yes, Takashi?"
"What have you been telling him?" he say, his tone accusatory.
Mizuki's hands stilled, and she slowly rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her robes. "I... I haven't been telling him anything." she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.
"Then why is he acting like this?" Takashi barked, gesturing toward Hakari. "Why is he questioning everything I've taught him?"
Mizuki's gaze shifted to Hakari, her expression pained. "Maybe because he really feels like he can't reach you anymore?"
Takashi stiffened, his hand tightening around the hilt of his wooden sword. "Don't blame this on me. He's the one who's refusing to listen. He's the one who's giving up."
Mizuki took a cautious step forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "He's not giving up, Takashi. He's tired. Can't you see that?"
"No," Takashi snapped, his voice rising. "All I see is a boy who's too stubborn to learn. And if you've been coddling him behind my back—"
"I haven't been coddling him!" Mizuki interrupted, her voice breaking. "But someone has to show him that he's more than just a tool for your discipline! Not some..." Mizuki lips parted slightly because of Takashi silence. As she just look down.
For a moment, the yard was silent, the tension between husband and wife palpable. Hakari stood frozen, his shoulders hunched, his expression unreadable.
Takashi turned away abruptly, his face set in a hard mask. "We're done for today," he said coldly.
The memory dissolved as Takashi swung his fire blade, the sun-like flames cutting through Hakari's shadows with ease. The golden light of the weapon burned brighter with each strike, its heat forcing Hakari to retreat.
"This isn't possible," Hakari muttered, his corrupted arm trembling as he tried to summon more mana. The runes along his skin flickered weakly, their glow fading as exhaustion took its toll. "That fire... it's not normal. What did you do?"
Takashi didn't answer immediately. He stepped forward, the flames from his weapon blazing with an intensity that made the air around him shimmer.
"This fire," he said finally, his voice low but steady, "isn't just magic. It's what I learned because of you. I broke the rules to understand you, Hakari. To see the power you wanted me to see."
Hakari froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You—what?"
Takashi raised the blazing blade, its heat casting his face in sharp relief. "The elders told me magic was forbidden. They told me to enforce their rules, to teach you discipline without understanding. But you taught me, Hakari. You taught me to question what they said. This fire... it's proof that I've always seen you, even when I didn't know how to show it. The elder is too scared. If their villager is stronger than them."
The flames roared higher, their golden light filling the clearing. Hakari stumbled back, his corrupted energy faltering under the overwhelming brilliance of his father's fire.
Takashi took another step forward, his gaze locked on his son. "I'm not fighting you because I want to break you, Hakari. I'm fighting because I refuse to... lose my son."
The battle wasn't over, but the sun-blazing fire in Takashi's hands had already shifted the balance. And for the first time, Hakari's anger wavered, replaced by something that almost looked like doubt.