In the rolling hills of Settsu Province, Minamoto no Yorimitsu woke to the sensation of fire. A sharp, throbbing pain burned through his hands, pulsing in time with the heavy beat of his heart.
"Tch—what the hell…?"
He struggled to sit up, but his body was a leaden weight. Rough hemp rope bit into his wrists, bound so tightly that the fibres were already slick with blood. His palms screamed.
Beside him stood three shadows.
They wore black garments cinched with white sashes, their faces masked by cloth painted with a single, staring eye. They didn't speak. Their presence was suffocating, silent, deliberate, and chillingly professional.
"How?" The thought raced through his mind. "How did they get past the gates? Where are the guards?"
"What do they want?"
Panic, cold and sharp, surged through him.
"Hikaru!!"
His breath hitched. His eyes darted wildly, searching the dim room. He pressed his face against the tatami mats, feeling for the familiar weight of his dagger. His mouth moved along the grooves of the floor, teeth scraping wood as he scavenged for the weapon.
Nothing.
One of the masked men stepped forward, reaching for him. Yorimitsu didn't think; he reacted. With a guttural roar, he twisted his body, slamming his shoulder into the man's knees. Ropes tore at his skin as he rolled, teeth snapping like a cornered dog, knees driving upward. He managed to sink his heel into an attacker's shin.
The man hissed in pain, but the retaliation was instant.
A fist crashed into Yorimitsu's temple. Another buried itself in his ribs. Something heavy, the pommel of a blade, slammed against the base of his skull. The world spun. He was driven to the floor again and again until the copper taste of blood filled his mouth, and his vision blurred into a hazy red.
The sliding door creaked open. Footsteps slow, rhythmic, and heavy approached. The masked men stepped back.
Through swollen eyes, Yorimitsu looked up. His father stood in the doorway.
Minamoto did not shout. He did not ask questions. He stood like a statue of weathered stone, his expression unreadable.
"Fa… Father…" Yorimitsu choked on his own blood. He strained against the bonds, dragging himself across the floor toward the man he had once feared and admired. "Please—"
Minamoto's gaze met his for a fraction of a second. Then, with a coldness that hurt worse than the beating, his eyes slid away. Without a word, he turned his back.
Something inside Yorimitsu broke.
The men hauled him to his feet. His bare toes scraped against the wood of the veranda, then hit the cold, damp dirt of the yard.
That was when he saw her.
"Hikaru!"
She was on her knees, tears carving tracks through the dust on her face, clutching desperately at their mother's silk robes.
"Please! Please don't let them take him!" she wailed. "He's done nothing! Father, please!"
Yorimitsu's eyes scanned the yard, finally landing on his father's hands. One of the masked men withdrew a heavy silk pouch. As it was handed over, gold coins spilt out, clinking softly as they struck one another.
To Yorimitsu, the sound was louder than thunder.
"A fair price," the masked man muttered. "The Lord needs more for the front lines. The yōkai are hungry, and the vagabond stock is running low. This one looks like he has enough spite to last a while."
Minamoto accepted the gold without hesitation.
"You sold me…" Yorimitsu's voice cracked, then rose into a raw, jagged howl. "You sold me for gold?!"
He thrashed, muscles screaming as he fought with a strength born of pure hatred. He slammed his forehead into a captor's chest, baring his teeth. "I'M YOUR SON! I'M YOUR BLOOD!"
The men tightened their grip, fists raining down to subdue him, but the pain only fed the furnace in his chest. Behind him, Hikaru's sobbing grew hysterical.
"Brother!"
The sight of her small, shaking form, pale with a terror no child should know, shattered the last of his restraint.
"Hikaru!" he screamed. "Don't look! Close your eyes! Don't look at this!"
Her breathing became a frantic wheeze. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed, her body striking the earth with a dull, hollow thud.
A sound tore from Yorimitsu's throat, not a scream, but the howl of a dying animal. He surged forward, the ropes cutting deep into the meat of his wrists, blood streaming down his arms.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" he shrieked at his father's retreating back. "I'LL KILL ALL OF YOU!"
A heavy blow struck the back of his neck. Darkness flickered at the edges of his sight, but he forced himself to stay conscious. He was forced to watch.
His mother stood frozen near the doorway. For a brief moment, their eyes met. Her lips parted, but no words came. No tears fell. In her eyes, there was only a chilling, quiet contempt.
Yorimitsu turned his face away. He was done looking for mercy.
They dragged him through the village as dawn began to bleed across the sky. The iron gates of the estate groaned open, and the dirt roads of the province stretched ahead. The air smelled of woodsmoke and damp earth, the smell of a home that no longer existed.
He was thrown into a wooden carriage, iron bars sealing him in like a beast for market. Heavy chains were hammered around his ankles.
The carriage lurched.
As it passed through the outskirts, the common folk stopped to stare.
"Who is that?"
"Another one sold to the Lord's draft," a merchant whispered. "Better him than us. At least he'll die with a blade in his hand instead of being eaten in his sleep."
Banners appeared as the road widened crimson and white, bearing the crest of the Settsu Lord. The carriage climbed toward the stone-paved heights of the city.
At first, Yorimitsu raged. He screamed until his vocal cords frayed. He slammed his bloodied knuckles against the iron bars until his hands went numb. He cursed the gods, cursed the stars, and cursed the day he was born weak.
But rage is a fire that requires fuel. When there is nothing left to burn, it leaves only ash.
Hours passed. His breathing slowed. The shaking stopped.
By the time the carriage reached the shadow of the great fortress, Yorimitsu sat motionless in the corner. His head was lowered, his eyes dull and glassy. The boy who loved his sister and feared his father was gone.
Ahead, the Lord's manor rose above the city walls, a fortress of timber and steel, its gates towering like the jaws of a waiting beast.
The carriage slowed. Yorimitsu lifted his gaze.
He felt nothing at all.