I remember that night by the sound before anything else.
It wasn't the crack of fire or the clash of blades. It was the silence before all of it. The kind of silence that feels wrong, heavy. My eyes opened before I even realized why. The air smelled like smoke.
For a second, I thought I was still dreaming. The paper walls were glowing faint orange, shadows moving behind them. Then a scream broke through. A short one—cut off too quick to echo.
I threw the sheets off and ran to the door.
The courtyard was chaos. Flames climbed the outer walls, painting everything red. Soldiers—our soldiers—lay across the stones, some still moving, most not. I froze.
"Aya!" I yelled, but my voice was swallowed by the fire.
She came from the east wing, her white robe half-burned, katana dripping crimson. Her face looked nothing like the sister I knew. Calm. Cold.
"Ryu, inside!" she shouted. "They've come for Father!"
Before I could speak, a masked figure dropped from the roof behind her. I didn't even see him move—just a blur, and Aya twisted, parried, and sliced his neck open in one breath. The body fell face-first.
"Who are they?" I asked, my voice shaking.
She looked at me, eyes burning blue with Ki. "The Lord's assassins."
The words didn't make sense. The Shogun's assassins? We were his sworn vassals. Father sat beside him at court.
I ran after her, through the halls I'd grown up in, now cracked and burning. Scrolls torn from the walls. The paintings of our ancestors melting under fire. It didn't feel real.
When we reached the main hall, Father was already there, blade drawn. He stood in front of Lord Kenshiro and six Shinobi dressed in black armor. Kenshiro didn't even raise his sword. He just stood there with that same look of disgust he always had.
"Ryoma Hiroto," Kenshiro said, his voice steady. "By order of the Shogun, you and your line are condemned for treason. You've defied your lord's will. You've hoarded forbidden knowledge."
Father didn't move. "You call it treason to protect our people?"
Kenshiro's expression didn't change. "You call it protection to defy the throne."
Then everything happened at once.
The Shinobi moved—six shadows at once. Father's golden Ki flared, blinding in the dark hall. He cut through two in a single swing, his blade singing like thunder. Aya leapt forward beside him, blue Ki bursting from her feet as she met another strike.
I stood there frozen. Every sound, every motion felt slowed. Sparks of Ki collided in the air, slicing through pillars, tearing the tatami mats apart. I'd never seen real battle—never felt the weight of Ki shaking the ground.
A shockwave sent me flying into a wall. My ears rang. My vision blurred.
I pushed myself up and saw Father bleeding from his shoulder, Aya covering him. Kenshiro hadn't moved an inch. He just watched as his men died. Then, when Father stumbled, he finally drew his blade.
The air changed.
Even from where I stood, I could feel it—like the whole hall was holding its breath. Kenshiro's Ki wasn't bright or loud. It was silent. Heavy. A still pressure that made the flames bend around him.
He moved once. I didn't even see the swing—just the flash, then Father falling to one knee. His sword broke clean in half.
Aya screamed. She rushed him, but Kenshiro only tilted his head. His sheath struck her ribs before she got close. She collapsed beside Father.
I ran forward before thinking, but someone grabbed me by the collar—a guard, half-dead and bleeding. "Go!" he shouted. "Your mother's waiting!"
I didn't argue. I just ran.
The corridors twisted in smoke. I tripped twice over bodies I didn't stop to look at. My chest burned, my eyes stung. Every breath felt heavier than the last.
When I reached the garden gate, she was there. Mother.
Her white kimono was soaked in red, her hair unbound, but she was smiling. That same gentle smile that always made the world feel safe.
"Ryu," she said softly. "Come here."
I dropped to my knees beside her. "Mother—what's happening? Why is this—"
She pressed her hand to my cheek, leaving a streak of blood. "Listen to me. The world won't be kind to you after this. They'll call us traitors. They'll try to erase our name. Don't let them."
"I can fight!" I said. "I can help Father—Aya—"
"You'll die," she whispered. "And our name dies with you."
I didn't understand what she was doing until she took a deep breath and her Ki flared. Warm, soft—but powerful. She looked at me one last time.
"Live, my son."
Before I could say anything, a pulse of energy slammed into me. The ground cracked beneath my feet. I was thrown backward—off balance—toward the cliff behind the garden.
"Mother!"
Her face vanished as the light from her Ki exploded. Then I was falling.
The cliff felt endless. Rocks scraped my arms, branches tore at my clothes. I reached for anything, but the air just swallowed me whole.
When I hit the bottom, all sound disappeared. My body screamed, but I couldn't move. The air was cold and wet. I tried to lift my head, but the world spun. Above me, I could barely see the red glow of the burning estate, like a dying star fading into black.
Then even that disappeared.
Darkness. No light. No sound. Just the slow echo of my heartbeat in my ears.
I thought I was dead. I almost wished I was.
Then I heard it—faint, distant, like it came from the earth itself.
A voice. Deep, old, not human.
"…Boy."
My eyes widened. My chest tightened. I tried to look around, but there was nothing—no flame, no reflection, not even a shimmer of light. Just black.
The word repeated again, closer this time.
"Boy."
The last thing I remember was the sound of it vibrating through my bones—like it wasn't heard, but felt.
Then everything went silent again.
And I passed out.