"I brought this," she said, holding out a small bowl of water and a cloth. Her voice was quiet. Almost apologetic. "For the bruises."
Kato didn't move. Didn't look at her. "I'm fine."
She walked closer, placing the bowl gently on the table. "No, you're not."
Silence pressed down, but she sat beside him anyway. Close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
"I hate this," she said, her words a soft confession. "I hate watching you fight." Hate knowing that no matter what you say, you'll lose."
Kato turned, his gaze meeting hers. "Maybe losing isn't the worst thing."
Nyasha's brow furrowed. "And what is?"
He looked back to the window, to the darkness beyond. "Never fighting at all."
Her hand found his then, a hesitant, uncertain gesture. She didn't speak. Didn't argue. Just held on, as though afraid that letting go would mean losing him completely. He was everything she had in a way.
---
The morning light crept gently into the vast halls of the mansion, but for Kato, the warmth of the sun did little to ease the sting of the previous day. The echoes of his father's harsh words and the sharpness of the punishment still lingered in his mind, heavy and sharp.
He sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders tense, hands clasped tightly. The silence of his room was suffocating. Every knock of the wind against the window reminded him of the silence that had followed his punishment—a silence from his father that spoke louder than anger.
A knock came at his door. Sharp. Measured. It wasn't a servant.
Kato's heart clenched.
"Come," he said, though his voice was barely more than a whisper.
The door creaked open, and there stood his father. Stern as always, his presence filled the room, his gaze cool and unreadable. He didn't step inside, but his voice was firm.
"Kato. To the dining hall. Now."
No explanation. No softening.
Kato stood, his body aching—not from the bruises, but from the tension that never left him. He followed in silence, the echo of his footsteps chasing after his father.
---
The grand dining hall was as it always was—vast, cold, and intimidating. The long table stretched endlessly, and only a single place had been set. His father stood by the window, hands behind his back, his gaze on the distant horizon.
Kato hesitated at the entrance, waiting.
"Sit," his father said, without turning.
Kato obeyed, lowering himself onto the chair, spine straight, hands resting on his lap. Silence pressed against him, thick and heavy.
Then, his father spoke.
"You are a son of this house, Kato. You carry the weight of more than just your name. You carry our legacy."
Kato swallowed but said nothing.
His father turned then, eyes sharp, cutting through the distance between them.
"You disappointed me yesterday." The words were calm, but they struck like a blade. "But worse than that, you disappointed yourself."
Kato's throat tightened, but still, he stayed silent.
"You are young," his father continued. "And youth is reckless. But you must understand—there are mistakes that cost more than just bruises. There are mistakes that can cost you your place, your life, or your family's name. Do you understand that?"
Kato nodded slowly. "Yes, Father." His voice was low, laced with restraint.
A long pause followed. His father's gaze held him there, pinned beneath its weight.
Then, unexpectedly, his father's voice shifted, not softer, but cooler.
"Good. Then prepare yourself. Today, you will accompany me and your grandfather to the Big Seven meeting."
Kato's heart skipped. His eyes flicked upward, searching his father's face.
"But I thought—"
"It is not a crucial meeting," his father said, cutting him off. "You will be present. You will observe. You will learn."
The statement left no room for argument.
But beneath the authority, there was something else—a test. A silent demand that Kato prove his place, that he show yesterday was a lesson learned.
"Get dressed," his father ordered, stepping past him. "We leave soon."
And with that, his father strode from the hall, his footsteps fading but his expectations lingering, heavy as iron.
Kato sat still, his pulse heavy in his ears. The words echoed inside him.
You carry our legacy.
He rose, stiff and steady. Today would be his test.
---
The grand hall of the Big Seven echoed with low murmurs as the gathering commenced. The walls stood tall, ancient, and heavy with the weight of legacy. Each member of the Seven sat in their designated seats, their family emblems engraved in the wood. These were the men and women who shaped the world's order—each representing power, wealth, and control.
Kamau, the patriarch of his family, entered with the quiet authority of a man accustomed to respect. Beside him walked his son, Barasa, the appointed heir, and Barasa's son, Kato. The three figures cut a striking line, a symbol of continuity within one of the most powerful families.
This wasn't a crucial meeting, so Kamau allowed his bloodline to accompany him. Still, as they stepped into the hall, all conversation quieted for a brief moment—acknowledgment of Kamau's status, though not without the weight of old rivalries beneath polite greetings.
The air was thick with tradition, but tension always lurked. And today, it found its voice.
As Kamau exchanged pleasantries with the other elders, Elder Takahashi one of the Big seven members, owner of Takahashi Empire—a man known for his sharp eyes and sharper tongue—approached. His gaze, cool and calculating, flickered from Kamau to Barasa, then finally settled on Kato.
"It is always an honor to see the strength of Kamau's lineage," Takahashi said smoothly, though there was an undertone beneath the words. "A family that carries itself with such pride… and discipline."
Kamau inclined his head, his face a mask of calm. "Discipline has always been our foundation."
Takahashi's lips curved slightly, though it was not a smile. "And yet, I have heard whispers. Unpleasant ones. That a young blood of Kamau wanders where he should not. Down… into the Low Bones."
The words struck the air sharply. Conversations nearby faltered. Silence stretched, thin and tight.
Kamau's expression didn't shift. Not a flicker. "Rumors are like leaves in the wind, Elder Takahashi. They drift from nowhere and mean nothing."
Takahashi's eyes lingered, sharp and knowing. "Indeed. And yet… the wind does not blow without reason."
There was a moment's pause, thick with unsaid meaning. Kamau's gaze remained steady, unwavering.
"If I believed every rumor that reached my ears, I would spend my days chasing shadows," he said, a subtle finality to his tone.
Takahashi offered a slow nod, but his eyes held their scrutiny. "Of course. Shadows are nothing… unless they hide something."
And with that, he turned, stepping away with the grace of a man who had said exactly what he intended.
The silence lingered a breath longer before conversation resumed, though it was more cautious now, more measured.
Kamau stood still for a moment, then turned slightly, his gaze finding Barasa. The weight of expectation, of legacy, pressed heavy in that glance.
Barasa bowed his head slightly, masking the tension building in his chest. "A mere rumor," he said quietly. "Nothing more."
Kamau held his gaze, silent. Measuring. Calculating. And then he nodded, though the gesture held the weight of a warning.
"Good," Kamau said, his voice low and even. "Because if there is truth in shadows, they will be burned away."
Without another word, he stepped forward, his presence steady and unyielding as he moved deeper into the hall.
Barasa stood frozen for a moment, but it was Kato who broke the stillness. The boy's lips quirked, his gaze dark with amusement.
"Shadows burn," Kato murmured, stepping past his father. "But only if caught."
Barasa's jaw tightened, and he reached out, seizing Kato's arm in a firm grip. His voice was low, sharp, and deadly calm.
"You're reckless, Kato. And you forget who you risk. This isn't just your game."
Kato turned his gaze to his father, cool and unbothered. "It's not a game, Father. Not for me."
Barasa's grip tightened. "If your grandfather learns the truth, it won't just be your life that burns. Mine will fall with it. Think on that."
For a moment, Kato held his father's stare. Then, slowly, he pulled his arm free. "Then lie better," he said, his voice soft but edged. "Or keep me hidden better."
And with that, he walked away, leaving Barasa standing in the shadow of a threat neither of them could outrun.
Meanwhile, Sena is back home. The door creaked open, and Sena stepped inside, her face shadowed with worry. The familiar warmth of home greeted her—the aroma of simmering stew, the soft crackle of firewood. But tonight, comfort felt distant. Her mind churned with confusion, weighed by the vision that still lingered like a ghost behind her eyes.
Her older brother, Darel, lounged by the doorway, whittling a piece of wood into some rough shape. He glanced up and grinned.
"Back from your secret women's working place?" he teased, flashing his usual easy smile.
Sena hesitated, unsure of how to start. Her lips parted, but no words came. She stepped further inside, her eyes finding her mother, Laina, by the cooking pot, and her father, Darim, sharpening a blade by the window.
"What's with the face?" Darel pressed, tossing the half-carved wood into his lap. "You look like you saw a ghost—or did you fall into a mud pit again and you're just embarrassed to tell us?"
Sena managed a weak smile, but it quickly faded. "It's not that. I… I saw something today."