The sun rose grey over the dojo. Not golden. Not red. Just grey.
Argon stood on the wooden balcony outside his room, staring at the forest below. The carved token from Ishido rested in his palm, its edges smooth from his sleepless fingers turning it over and over.
He was slowly losing his mind due to the constant stress and the whole idea of their master, a simple man who holds the knowledge of the entire galaxy!
He hadn't told anyone about his father watching them.
He wasn't even sure it had happened—maybe it was a shadow. Maybe it was just fear.
But that feeling of being watched… it hadn't left.
Inside the dojo, Kamui and Arma sparred with slow, quiet movements. No jokes. No laughter. Just breath and motion.
Kamui's movements were sharper now—more intentional. His hand-to-hand combat was extraordinary. But he felt something else: a weight, growing in his chest since that night on the mountain. It's not something bad, but it's something stirring up inside him.
He turned mid-step. "Do you feel it too?"
Arma paused, sweat beading along his brow.
"I've felt it since yesterday. Like the walls are listening."
"Yeah…"
They didn't need to say more.
Later that afternoon, Ishido gathered them for meditation. No weapons. No teachings. Just silence beneath the wind-chimes swaying on the deck.
He didn't smile. He didn't speak much.
Only once, halfway through their sitting, he said:
"Peace is always loudest before it dies. It demonstrates how one's soul can be in perfect harmony, as if it understands that its days are numbered. "
Argon sat alone that evening under the great pine near the back of the dojo grounds. His blade rested across his knees.
He tried to repeat what happened on the mountain—the stillness, the flicker of time stopping. But it didn't return.
Instead, a memory surfaced.
His father's voice, colder than the blade.
"The sword is not for peace. It is for control."
Argon gritted his teeth.
"No," he whispered. "It can be something else."
Behind him, Kamui approached, holding two cups of steaming tea.
"You look like you're ready to leave."
"Maybe I am."
"You always say that," Kamui said, sitting beside him. "But you never go."
Argon didn't answer right away. Then:
"I think something's going to happen, Kamui. Something bad. You and Arma are the only ones that I can trust. I think something bad will happen to our Master."
That night, Ishido walked the dojo halls in silence. He passed the faded banners from older days, the cracked wood of the sparring floor, the prayer room still lit with a single candle.
He paused at the door to the boys' sleeping quarters.
He didn't go in. He only placed his hand on the wooden beam.
And whispered something, too soft to be heard.
Meanwhile...
In the city below, in a war room carved into the cold stone of the Ministry of Security, a group of officers gathered around a glowing map.
Argon's father stood tall among them.
"His name is Ishido Shogo," he said firmly. "Once a man of honour, honorary student and later a warrior in the Defence Ministry, he was the right-hand man of back then General Kuzan; now, he is our rightful leader, President Kuzan Shoushiki. I knew Ishido myself. He was a young man destined to succeed, but I don't know what happened now. He has begun training minors in forbidden martial disciplines. He teaches the old philosophies—rooted in rebellion. In resistance. He began teaching them the ways of the sacred and not yet conquered Mabitake. The myth, the worst thing of all, is that he is sharing propaganda, teaching his students that this government is corrupt and not fit to lead this country anymore."
"Do we have proof?" an officer asked.
"You will. Soon. The boy—my son—has changed. They all have. My son was never the same after I let him go to that dojo. I had faith in Ishido. Turns out it was all wrong."
"And the location?"
"A remote dojo, east ridge. It's not hidden nor isolated. Most of the village people don't support it, but he is letting the poor children still educate themselves. That's why the government doesn't want to take it down; it might be a sign of protests, but now we finally have the reason to do it.
There are only 20 of them there, the most are not a problem, except the three, the boy named Kamui, long black hair, extraordinary fighting abilities, capable combatant in hand-to-hand combat, Arma Bunshu, the boy who is the same age as Kamui, 12, and he is built for endurance, he might be our toughest to break, and then there is...Argon...my son.
I will convince him to step down from that Dojo; he will break before me."
"Then we'll move soon. I will report this statement to the Head Commander of the Ministry of Defence."
Back in the dojo, the boys sat around a dimly lit table, eating dinner in silence.
Arma picked at his rice.
Kamui glanced at the token again.
Argon stared at his reflection in his tea.
"Why do you think he gave us those tokens? And what does Yaksha even mean?" Arma asked finally.
Kamui answered, voice low: "Because he knows something is coming, something terrible, but the Yaksha sigil is unknown."
Argon looked up. "We'll be ready for whatever it is. We are a team, we are a family, we will succeed. Even if they throw an entire country against us, we ARE READY."