Souta had been in the trees.
Perched high above the clearing like a hawk with no allegiance, he had watched the entire fight unfold beneath him in silence, his eyes reflecting moonlight and blood. He hadn't interfered. He hadn't even flinched. Only after the final strike had landed and after the rogue dacoit's body hit the ground like a collapsed shrine -- did he murmur a single word under his breath.
"Release."
Then, without a sound, he vanished from the branches.
By morning, the entire clan compound was whispering.
I could feel it in the glances that trailed me across the courtyard, in the sudden hush that fell when I entered the supply hall. Everywhere I walked, heads turned. The whispers weren't cruel this time. They were sharp-edged, reverent, unsure. The boy who swept floors had returned from the forest carrying the weight of a dead man and not just any man. A dacoit leader, head of the Fangless, slain with a single strike.
No one asked me directly. But the way they looked said it all.
Something had changed.
And they knew it.
Before midday, I was summoned.
A page found me near the north garden, where I'd gone to hide from the stares. His face was pale as he handed me the scroll with shaking fingers. The emblem sealed in red wax was unmistakable-- the crest of the Hoto Clan head.
I was to report to the central hall. Immediately.
The great chamber was colder than I remembered. Stone pillars lined the room like silent guards. An incense brazier glowed near the dais, the scent of iron root smoke was thick and medicinal. At the far end stood Lord Kaito, the current head of the Hoto Clan, a tall, gray-eyed man, with a sharp nose and the bearing of someone who had never bent for anything.
He wasn't alone.
Beside him stood a visiting elder from the Kamakura Clan, robed in darker silk, face unreadable beneath a hood of trimmed fur. His hands were tucked calmly into his sleeves, but his eyes were dark and narrow and fixed entirely on me.
I bowed low. My heartbeat thrummed against my ribs.
"You slew him?" Lord Kaito asked, voice low but clear.
"Yes, my lord," I answered, keeping my gaze respectfully down.
"With a single draw."
"Yes."
He nodded, slowly. His next words carried weight. "You awakened your Kettai?"
"I… I believe so."
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft crackle of the brazier. Then Lord Kaito descended from his dais and stopped three paces from me. He looked me over, not with contempt, but with something closer to calculation.
"I've seen many awakenings," he said, his voice now quieter. "But never one like this. The strike left no burn but the blade crackled with heat. Your aura spiked the elders' detection threads across the compound. You shattered a dacoit's rib cage with a pulse that shouldn't be possible at a basic level." He paused, brow furrowing slightly. "This Kettai of yours... it doesn't resemble any recorded within our clan."
My breath caught. I didn't know what to say. Even if I did, I wasn't sure it would've mattered. He wasn't looking for answers. He was watching for signs.
Lord Kaito's tone shifted then, it was more measured, more human. "A word of caution, Aoto. Kettai, especially those outside the ancestral frame, can harm as much as they protect. Without proper cultivation, misalignment may tear through your meridian lines and warp the nervous core. I've seen gifted warriors collapse from using powers their bodies could not yet understand."
"I understand, my lord," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"You are not forbidden from using it," he added after a moment. "But I urge restraint. Train with supervision and learn its rhythm. A flame burns brighter when it knows when to breathe."
He turned then, stepping back toward the dais. The Kamakura elder leaned slightly toward him and whispered something I couldn't hear. But I could feel it--those eyes were still watching me, still dissecting me like I was a weapon newly forged and untested.
I bowed again, it was lower this time, and was dismissed with a wave.
As I turned to leave, I couldn't help but glance up at the elder's face one last time. There was no malice there. But there was interest. Quiet, calculating interest. I had been marked--maybe not for danger, but certainly for something.
Outside, the sky was pale with winter light, and the snow hadn't yet begun to melt from the roof tiles. As I stepped onto the courtyard stones, someone was already there waiting.
"Are you alright?" came the voice, gentle and firm.
Rika.
She stood with arms crossed, brow creased slightly, concern softening her otherwise confident stance. Her braid swung gently with the breeze, and for the first time, I noticed that her eyes matched the cold -- clear, piercing, but never cruel.
"I'm fine," I replied, a bit too quickly.
She looked at me a moment longer, as if trying to decide whether to believe me. Then she nodded once. "I knew you weren't just a floor sweeper." Ouch! That hurts....
I almost smiled. Almost.
As I made my way across the compound, the stares returned but this time, they stung less. The bullies, the ones who once knocked trays from my hands and laughed when I dropped them, were now standing stiffly by the training posts, eyes narrow and their jaws tight. They didn't speak. They didn't have to. Their silence was a better reward than any insult.
Near the Pavilion, Master Genzo passed by, deep in conversation with one of the junior instructors but stopped as soon as he saw me and excused himself without looking away, and walked directly up to where I stood.
His expression was unreadable but his presence held weight.
"Come to the upper hall tomorrow morning," he said, his voice level. "You'll begin Kekkei training with the others. I'll assess your flow structure personally."
He didn't wait for a response.
Just like that, he was gone.
And I was left standing alone in the courtyard, surrounded by the ghosts of everything I used to be.