Ryu stood in the clearing, a wooden sword gripped tight in his calloused hands. Kaze had carved it from solid oak, its balance near-perfect, the hilt worn smooth from use. For the past month, this forest had been his world—training until his limbs shook, waking from dreams of Taro's death, fighting the ache of Hana and Yumi's absence. He swung, fell, got up, swung again. And through it all, Kaze's voice cut through like steel.
"Again," the man said, his tone firm, unwavering. "Strike like you mean it."
Ryu's feet shifted, grounding him as Kaze had drilled into him. His black hair was tied back, face leaner, body sharper. He slashed forward, the wooden blade hissing through the air toward Kaze's shoulder.
Kaze stepped aside with fluid ease, his scabbard snapping down against Ryu's wrist.
"Too slow," he said. "You're stronger now—but your mind's everywhere. Pull it back."
Ryu bit down on frustration, sweat stinging his eyes. He exhaled, narrowed his focus, and swung again. The wood cracked against Kaze's scabbard, solid and clean. Kaze's mouth twitched in something close to approval.
"Better. Feel that? Not just muscle—intention. That's where it starts. Sword Aura isn't something you force. It's something you become."
Ryu lowered the sword, chest rising and falling. His arms ached. His legs shook. But inside, something simmered—restless and rising. "Tell me again," he said. "About Aura. And the Sun-Harness. I want to understand it—really understand it."
Kaze studied him. The fire in the kid's eyes hadn't dimmed since that night by the stream—it had only grown brighter.
"Sword Aura," he said slowly, walking a short circle around Ryu, "is your will turned outward. A spark lit by your pain, your vow, your self. It's the first fire, drawn from the sun inside you. Color, strength—that all comes from who you are."
He stopped in front of Ryu, his voice lower now. "Mine's silver. Because I refuse to be chained again. I'll move like the wind, go where I choose. That's my truth. Yours? Still sleeping. But it's there."
Ryu's fingers tightened on the grip. "And the Sun-Harness?"
Kaze crouched, drawing a circle in the dirt with the edge of his scabbard. "Aura's the blade," he said. "But the Sun-Harness… that's the forge. It's ancient. Rare. A true connection to the sun's energy—a fire in your veins. Only a handful ever touch it."
Ryu stared at the circle, voice quiet. "How do I reach it?"
"You don't reach it," Kaze said, standing again. "You build toward it. Day by day. Swing by swing. Pain, purpose, clarity—it all adds up. When your will burns hot enough, the sun answers."
Ryu nodded. The warmth inside him, the feeling that flickered during drills—it meant something. He didn't just want power. He wanted to earn it.
The training deepened. Mornings started before sunrise. Kaze pushed him until his limbs trembled. They sparred until Ryu could hold his ground for full minutes. They ran through pine thickets, barefoot on jagged rock. Ryu balanced on logs in the river, water rushing beneath. And always, Kaze made him close his eyes, sit still, and feel—not think, not dream. Just feel.
Ryu pictured Yumi's trembling hands, Hana's laugh echoing in alleyways, Taro's blue aura glowing in that final stand. The warmth stirred more often now—a flicker, a breath. Still no Aura. Not yet. But it was coming.
One morning, Kaze handed him a bow and led him deeper into the forest. "You won't survive on skill alone," he said. "Learn to track. Learn to kill."
They followed fresh boar tracks, crouched low in the brush. As they waited, Kaze spoke, his voice low and clear.
"There's more out there than Hikari," he said. "Whole clans fighting for scraps. Warlords. Monks guarding mountains. Samurai bleeding for lords who've forgotten them. And beasts—yokai—born from shadows."
Ryu blinked. "Yokai? You believe in that?"
Kaze's expression turned grim. "I've seen them. They don't care if you believe. Some are tricksters. Others… predators. Spirits of war, sorrow, rage. If one's hungry enough, no armor can save you."
Ryu didn't speak. He notched an arrow, let it fly. It missed—but it grazed the boar's flank. Kaze gave a nod.
"Closer," he said. "You'll learn."
Weeks passed. The forest honed Ryu into something new. His wooden sword moved like an extension of him. His eyes stayed steady in a fight. No flinching, no fear. Not a master—but no longer a boy either.
One evening, Kaze sat by the fire, arms crossed. "It's time," he said. "You need steel. And we need news."
They traveled to Yamato, a city north of Hikari. It pulsed with life—merchants shouting prices, armor clinking down narrow alleys, prayers floating on incense smoke. Ryu wore a hooded cloak, his amber eyes scanning everything. Kaze moved with purpose, taking them straight to a blacksmith's stall.
The smith, broad and soot-covered, didn't ask questions. From a rack, he lifted a katana—clean, unadorned, deadly. Its scabbard was matte black.
Kaze dropped coins from a hidden pouch. "It's not Taro's," he said, placing the sword in Ryu's hands, "but it's yours now. Earn it."
Ryu felt the weight. Not just the steel—but the promise in it. He nodded, voice steady. "I will."
They stopped at a teahouse near the market square, rice wine in earthen cups. Kaze stayed alert. Ryu listened.
At a nearby table, a group of rough-looking ronin drank and traded stories. One, a big man with a missing ear, leaned in, voice rising.
"Whole village wiped out," he said. "Hills west of here. Said it was a yokai—claws like blades, eyes like fire. Moved like smoke. Left no one breathing."
His companion laughed nervously. "You mean a Kage-Oni?"
The big man nodded. "Yeah. Lord's put up gold for anyone who kills it. But they say it takes Aura—or something more."
Ryu leaned in close to Kaze. "That's real? A Kage-Oni?"
Kaze didn't look away from his cup. "Real enough. They're yokai born from places soaked in blood and hate. Half-spirit, half-nightmare. You can wound them, but steel's not enough. It takes will. Aura. If you've got the Sun-Harness, it burns them from the inside out."
"And if you don't?"
"Then they break you. Mind first. Then body."
The mercenaries talked more—about claw marks, vanishing scouts, whole caravans disappearing. Ryu's pulse quickened.
He turned to Kaze. "We should go. I need to face something real."
Kaze studied him. Then gave a small, grim smile. "That's not training. That's war. But… it's time you bled for more than drills."
They stood and approached the ronin's table. Kaze pulled back his hood, his presence commanding. "Two blades," he said. "We're in."
The big man squinted, shrugged. "Fine. Meet at the west gate at dawn. Don't slow us down."
Ryu's grip tightened on his new katana. The road ahead felt sharper, colder. But he was ready.
Taro's voice echoed—Protect them.
And now, the shadow was calling.
The cherry blossoms drifted along Yamato's crowded streets, catching in rooftops and gutters. As they fell, Ryu felt it again—that faint warmth, flickering in his chest.