"Takero!" Called a man with dark shaggy hair. A young boy, no older than eight responded eagerly, bouncing over to the older man's side like a cub.
"Yes?" The young boy asked as he looked up at his tall father. His eyes wide like a kitten and his hair shone a dark red in the glaring sunlight above.
The fathers eyes crinkled as a smile poured onto his gentle face. The older man dropped to a knee, meeting Takero's wide amber eyes with his older, wiser green ones.
"Just remember where we are okay?" The man said, his tone gentle but stern.
They were at the entrance to a large clan compound. Surrounded by thick, dark forest that spilled out for miles in each direction.
The entrance to the compound was large, daunting almost.
But one thing bothered Takero.
"Why isn't our house this big?!" He complained with a huff. "We're a fancy clan aren't we?"
His father only snorted as he got back to his feet "We're by no means fancy Takero."
Takero huffed again, crossing his arms tightly around his chest. "Why?"
His father only rolled his green eyes. "We're not half as prestigious as this clan, not even a third as rich, and we don't even have a fourth of their population Takero."
"Yeah, yeah, but you're stronger than them right?" Takero asked, a sudden excited glint in his eyes. The young boy leaned forward, as if to tell a secret and whispered loudly "Let's steal it!"
The young boy's father suddenly stiffened, his steel gaze snapping down at his only son.
"None of that." He warned, his tone calm but Takero immediately dropped his head, a red tint coming to his pale cheeks. "The Zen'ins are proud, we are not here to insult them."
Takero nodded shamefully, bowing his head. "Sorry Father."
The large, dark green gates suddenly opened with a creak that echoed through the forest.
A dark haired, tall man awaited them.
He stood with a straight back, a blank expression settled onto his face.
"Naobito is waiting for you, Masahiro."
Masahiro Akatora nodded, stepping into the dragon's den, his son following behind with wide, curious eyes.
The older man didn't want to bring his son with him, he'd rather his son never step foot into the field of politics surrounding cursed energy.
But he also wanted his son to live, and as an heir it was crucial he knew just what he was dealing with when it came to other clans.
Especially The Zen'in.
Takero's eyes snapped around the compound as they were led through winding halls, connected to dozens of other rooms and halls.
It was massive!
People walked by, each steering clear of the blank faced Zen'in.
Their gazes either stuck to the ground or hesitantly snapped to Takero and his Father. Takero couldn't help but raise his chin high, a sense of misplaced pride filling him at the sight.
His dad eyed him, a hint of subtle worry clear in his sharp gaze. Takero had the family's cursed technique, that was for sure.
He recognised that pride, he saw it in the mirror everyday while he was growing up.
One of the Zen'in paused, their dark eyes glaring at the raised chin of the child. But quickly dropped his eyes when Masahiro Akatora gave him a flat look.
Takero continued forward, oblivious.
Masahiro was on edge, he had to admit the air was tense.
He could feel the dense cursed energy vibrate in the air, and noticed just how many guards lined the halls.
The muscles in his jaw tensed.
The hallway eventually came to an end, two Zen'in sorcerers stood at attention, guarding the door. Masahiro slowed, grabbing Takero by the shoulder and coming to a stop before the men.
A second of tense silence passed.
The hair on Takero's arm raised, goosebumps rising on his neck at a sudden building pressure in the air.
The door opened.
Cursed energy spilled from the opening doors like a tsunami. Takero had frozen, every cell in his body screaming at him to run.
Yet he couldn't even twitch.
Masahiro scowled, tightening his grip on his son's shoulder. They'd exerted their cursed energy, on purpose.
Takero's nails dug into his palm.
Masahiro took a casual step forward, keeping the building anger under his skin. He pulled Takero along with him, the young boy stumbling forward.
A group of seven Zen'in sat, facing the standing Akatora duo.
In the centre of the table, Naobito Zen'in sat all too casually, lazily scanning the visitors with his hawk-like gaze.
"You called?" Masahiro started, a few of the older Zen'in bristling at the blunt words.
One of the younger Zen'in smirked. Naobito's nephew, a brute of a man with a dark star shaped scar on his forehead.
"We need a land evaluation." An older man said, his eyes narrow and sharp. A large wart stuck to his drooping chin took away from any real attempt of intimidation.
Masahiro frowned. "I sent the annual evaluation, months ago."
"We haven't received it." Naobito's brother, Ogi, cut in.
Masahiro sighed. "Well there's been no changes from the last year, we've kept the land healthy and the amount of cursed spirits—"
"We have a proposal." Naobito suddenly interrupted.
Masahiro's grip on Takero's shoulder tightened.
There it was.
The real reason he was here.
"And that is?" Masahiro sighed.
Takero took a step closer to his father, almost hiding entirely behind him. The older man, Ogi, was staring at the young boy intently.
His dark sharp eyes left Takero unsettled.
He didn't know what to do but held firmly onto his fathers leg.
"Your son, he has your technique?" Naobito asked, though it wasn't a question.
They already knew the answer.
Masahiro's cursed energy fluxed tightly beneath his skin.
But he answered.
"Yes." The father gritted out.
One of the older men nodded more to himself than anyone else and then spoke. "How long have the Akatora clan lived under Zen'in protection, on Zen'in land?"
Before Masahiro could answer, another member sitting at the table answered for him. "It's been around 500 years I believe, and yet you've repaid us with nothing."
This was a trap, a play they'd orchestrated and practiced behind closed doors, to corner him.
Masahiro gritted his teeth, struggling to keep himself from pouncing at the Zen'in.
"Our ancestors have invested, we now collect." Ogi Zen'in said. "We only have one ask, it's not cruel, it could even be seen as a…favour."
Masahiro didn't respond, he knew they'd simply interrupt to only further unbalance him, they were crafty—
"Marriage."
Silence.
Masahiro went still, his grip tightening instinctively on his son's shoulder. Takero whimpered beneath the crushing grip, his father didn't notice.
"Of course, we would take him in, train him to be strong, worthy of such a clan, it's an honour—"
"No." Masahiro interrupted Ogi, staring Naobito in the eyes. "No."
"You forget your position—" Ogi began to speak, his tone harsh, unforgiving.
"You forget yours." Masahiro snapped, a deep growl building in his throat. "I am not my father, nor his."
"I am not desperate, nor in need of your protection." Masahiro continued, looking directly at Naobito. "My people will move, we'll be off your land by the next full moon."
Takero couldn't take his eyes off the table of people, he swallowed as the brute of a Zen'in gave him a grin, showing all of his teeth.
Masahiro took a step back, dragging his son with him as he burst through the doors he came through.
One of the old Zen'in stood to his feet, cursed energy building and roiling in the air at the insult.
"Enough" Naobito said, his voice cutting the cursed energy in half. The clan head watched the Akatora duo leave with sharp, deep eyes.
"He has made his choice." Naobito said, leaning back against his chair. "He will be gone by the next full moon."