The room smelled of new life and something else – something sharp and ominous. Usama lifted his son higher, a proud fatherly smile spreading across his face. "All right, our little miracle. Your father has chosen a perfect name for you. Your name will be Ronin Hirata", Usama declared.
Miraya's smile was soft but puzzled. She asked, "Ronin? A masterless wanderer? You can't think of something... grander for our son?"
Usama smirked as he gently rocked the boy. "I did not choose it for the dictionary, my love. But..." He looked at his son, who giggled again, trying to catch the shimmering lights from nearby enchanted lanterns reflected in his eyes.
Usama pressed a soft kiss on his forehead, eliciting another giggle. "Because I chose it for the legacy it carries. It speaks of my strength, and... your heart. It is a name of purpose, not just a title".
Ronin Hirata
The name was chosen for an heir.
And in those perfect moments of happiness, Usama's mind shattered.
His father.
He had forgotten. His father, Ryujin Hirata, was in the medical chambers —clinging to the final threads of life.
With a word to Miraya, Usama gathered Ronin against his chest and ran.
It was a race against time. His footsteps, heavy and desperate, thundered through the vast corridors of the grand hall. He burst into the medical chamber.
He was too late.
The air reeked of ozone and the metallic tang of blood. The medical Alchemists across the room sat around the bed, their postures slumped in defeat and disappointment. The healing glow that had once haloed their hands had faded. On the bed lay a figure wrapped in a pure white shroud.
Ryujin Hirata.
The man whose name alone sent primal shivers of dread through the hearts of enemies. The strict, loving pillar who had taught Usama everything. The ruler who had commanded the Arcane Kingdom with his iron fist for twenty centuries.
Now he was still.
Usama's breath was stuck in his lungs. He couldn't believe his eyes. No, it's a lie... an illusion. But the truth was a physical weight, crushing him down until he dropped to one knee. Tears did not fall —they crystallized in his eyes, drops of pure, desolate grief.
An alchemist approached and knelt beside him. His voice hollow, "We exhausted every art, my lord. Every method, every spark of energy. We could not cheat time itself".
A single tear from Usama's eye traced down to his cheek and fell on Ronin's cheek. It glistened like a diamond. The baby, whose eyes were always bright and filled with amusement, had fallen utterly silent, sensing the despair in the atmosphere.
Usama forced himself to his feet. He moved to the bedside and sank into a nearby chair, his voice thick with sorrow and a broken promise, "I promised you... — you would see your grandchild. You wished it. It's your... last wish to see your grandchild, and... I cannot fulfill that. Shame on me! Damn my soul!". His voice dropped low, and he bowed his head, the words a dying ember. "I failed you... I failed you as a son. Fo... forgive me, Father".
He had found the greatest happiness of his life. And lost the hand that had always guided him towards it.
A new life took its first breath in the Hirata Estate.
At the same moment, the old life took its last breath.
***
Usama walked back to Miraya's room, he held Ronin carefully in his arms. His steps were heavier than any physical weight, the enchanted lantern lights casting long, mournful shadows across the wall. He pushed open the door and sank silently onto the edge of the bed.
Miraya, confused by his desperate departure, searched his face "Usama? What's wrong?"
He shut his eyes, exhaled a breath he'd held too long, "My father..."
Her concern sharpened " 'Lord Ryujin?' Has his condition changed? Did they see the baby?"
Each question was a precise strike on his heart, a pain no spell could replicate. He slowly lifted his head, his eyes fixed on Miraya's. "He is gone".
Miraya's breath caught. The man who had loved her as his own daughter — now wrapped in a shroud. A deep, cold sorrow shivered down her spine. She did not cry. She fell into a hollow, shared silence.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was Ronin's soft breathing.
Then, Miraya took Ronin back from Usama's arms with infinite gentleness. She settled him in his crib, tucking the small silk blanket around his tiny form. She watched him for a heartbeat longer before turning her gaze to her husband.
"We must call the elders", she said softly, her voice firm beneath the grief. "The blessing ritual. I know this is a difficult time, my love. But... tradition is our anchor. Their blessings will grant him strength and safety in this dangerous world".
Usama nodded slowly. He straightened his spine, the movement shifting his composure from grieving son to clan head. "You are right. It cannot be delayed". His voice, through thick, took on command "Fujii!"
A young sorcerer at the doorway, breathless. He bowed deeply, "My lord? Any orders for me?"
He didn't turn to look at him. He slowly turned his head and glanced over his shoulder. "Summon the elders of the Hirata Clan. Our heir awaits their sacred blessings.
"At once, my lord". Fujii bowed again and turned to leave. His striding steps faded into silence.
They arrived within moments.
The Elders of the Hirata Clan. Their faces were maps of wrinkles etched by a lifetime of wisdom. Their silk-white robes glimmered like captured moonlight.
The mighty ruler of the Arcane Kingdom bowed in respect. They returned the gesture, then turned their collective gaze at him.
One elder stepped forward. Ronin's wide eyes met the elder's wise, weathered gaze. The elder gently pressed his palm to Ronin's small forehead. Ronin, ever an energetic tornado, reached to grab the elder's sleeve; the elder's palm faintly glowed with the golden light of Arcane Energy.
The elder's lips curl at the corners of his mouth into a warm smile. "By the Tree of Infinity, I grant you wisdom."
One by one, they stepped forward. Blessings of strength, protection from curses, promises of success—each a layer of ancient magic woven around the child.
Then, the Grand Elder approached forward.
The man whose every word was considered the fruit of wisdom itself looked down at Ronin. His eyes widened, almost imperceptibly.
He felt it— an unnaturally powerful, ominous aura clinging to the child. Around Ronin's hands that were trying to catch the elder's hanging sleeve, the very air seemed to wrap, space compressing into a singular, dense point. The Grand Elder noted, with a chill, how the motes of dust in the air slowed to a crawl near the baby's skin.
Yet, his composure did not break. He offered his blessing, his voice steady and calm. As he turned to leave, he leaned close to Usama and low whispered, a blade of ice cutting through the quiet room.
"Lord Hirata. We must speak. In private. It's concerns about Ronin.
Usama's pupils narrowed; he watched Grand Elder, melted back into the corridor's shadows.
Usama stood frozen, his mind now a battlefield of emotions. On one side, the devastating loss of his father. On the other side, a dawning, chilling dread about the truth of his son.