The mountain temple lay in ruins behind him, its echoes fading into the winds. The false god, once worshiped and feared, was now just a man—one who had seen the truth and could no longer hide behind illusion.
Renzō did not look back.
He walked as he always did, one step at a time, with no destination, no claim, no need to be anything but what he was.
Yet, the weight of eyes followed him.
The villagers had watched as their prison was undone, as their chains were lifted—not by war, not by conquest, but by something deeper. Some saw him as a savior. Others as something beyond mortal understanding.
And one… simply followed.
A small set of footsteps echoed behind him, barely audible, yet constant.
Renzō did not stop, but his golden eyes flickered with quiet amusement.
"You should return home," he said.
The footsteps hesitated, then continued.
Renzō exhaled softly. He turned his head just enough to see the boy from before—the same child who had stood before him with a rusted kunai, the same one who had asked if he was leaving.
The boy's face was set with quiet determination, though his hands trembled slightly. "I don't have a home anymore," he admitted. "It was his."
Renzō understood. The false god had ruled over this place for years. To a child, his presence had been as unshakable as the mountains. With him gone, the boy was left with a question few ever had to answer:
"What now?"
The sage tilted his head slightly. "And where do you think I am going?"
The boy hesitated, then frowned. "...I don't know."
"Then why follow?"
The child clenched his fists. "Because you're not lost."
Renzō studied him for a long moment. Then, he turned forward again and resumed walking.
The boy continued to follow.
Neither spoke for some time. The forest stretched before them, vast and endless, the path fading into the unknown.
Finally, the child asked, "What do I call you?"
Renzō did not answer immediately. He had abandoned many names in his lifetime. Some were given in honor. Others in fear. All of them, in the end, were left behind.
After a pause, he simply said, "Renzō."
The boy considered this, then nodded. "I'm Taji."
Silence returned.
It was not the silence of emptiness, nor the awkward quiet between strangers. It was the silence of two beings simply walking the same path, neither leading nor following.
Eventually, Taji spoke again.
"Are you a god?"
Renzō exhaled softly. "No."
"...Then what are you?"
The sage's golden eyes flickered toward the sky, watching as the first stars began to emerge.
"A man," he said simply. "One who walks."
And together, they continued forward—two nameless souls, stepping into the unknown.
The path stretched on.
The world waited.
And somewhere, beyond the horizon, another storm was brewing.