Falling just like every other time in that part of town, the rain came down slow and sure, peeling layers from the stones yet leaving grime behind.
A stillness held Haruto Takeda where he knelt, palms resting on thighs, back straight as a fence post. Rain tapped the tiles above, steady as an old clock ticking through memory. In the room's edge, beside wooden swords lined up like sentinels, a thin trail of smoke rose from dying incense - wavering, then vanishing into shadow.
Now he stood at fifty-three. Each battle lived on in his bones, each stumble etched deep, each pupil raised by his grip left its mark. Gray first touched his temples, slowly spreading like frost across winter soil. Yet his fingers did not shake. The line of his back stayed unbent. When those eyes unclosed, they carried what only comes after watching your teacher die - and seeing foes vanish before you.
Well, nearly all. Still, a few slipped through.
Stillness filled the training hall. Not a soul inside. Just silence - for the moment.
Two hours until class begins. First comes Zane - early again - as always, stepping inside without a sound, driven not by skill but decision. Twenty minutes later, Anthony appears, rushing, clutching a device, talking under his breath about an idea born in the early dawn that refused to stay put. Then there's Lucy….
A small hitch tugged at Haruto's breathing. Not loud - just there.
Five years passed without her showing up. Lucy stayed away.
Floating there, the soreness stayed put. Notice it, that's what he did. Air moved near it, slow and steady. The Takeda method? Not pushing hurt away. Instead, room grew around it - held, but never taken over.
Fog rolled in slow. Smoke curled upward through cracks in the roof. Quiet stayed put inside those old walls.
Then Haruto stood there, watching the path, waiting for his family to show up.
---
Two hours later
Out came Zane Omar Ali into the quiet light, each motion shaped like a promise kept without speaking. His body followed lines only discipline could draw so clean. Not fast, not slow - just exact, as if balance were something borrowed and had to be returned unchanged. The air didn't stir much, yet answered every shift. Every stance landed as though weight mattered less than intent. Routine? Maybe. But never mindless. There was gravity in how he refused to slip. Morning after morning, it stayed this way: no show, just doing.
A quiet power stirred inside him - gentle, not forceful, though already there. Something waiting beneath his ribs, buzzing each time he shifted position. Jin gave might. Healing came by way of Jang. Inherited forces from unnamed mother and father, carried in veins he could not recall, did not recognize, had never met.
Seventeen years had passed since that night. When Haruto stepped into the narrow path between buildings, rain soaking his coat, he saw a small bundle near overflowing bins. Three months of life were all the child had seen so far. A rough wool blanket held him tight against the cold. Attached by a rusted safety pin - two names stitched unevenly: Omar Ali. No note explained who left him there. Blood ties vanished like smoke. The past remained blank, untouched, unspoken. Whatever came next would be shaped entirely by the man who carried him home without hesitation.
Nighttime brought quiet thoughts. Maybe they had dark eyes like his. Or maybe not. Reasons drifted through, then faded. Haruto tied his shoes each morning. Lucy left cereal boxes on the counter. Anthony hogged the bathroom before school. Floors creaked under bare feet at the dojo. That place held every memory he needed.
Families form through decisions, not just DNA. What you choose shapes who belongs.
A breath slipped out as he finished the last line. Calm followed, like embers cooling after flame.
"Your transitions are getting smoother."
Zane shifted. There stood Haruto in the frame of the door, quiet, almost smiling - an uncommon light in his worn features.
"Sensei." Zane bowed. "I didn't hear you come in."
"You weren't supposed to." Haruto stepped onto the training floor, his bare feet silent on the polished wood. "That's the point. If an enemy can hear you move, you've already lost."
Okay came the quiet reply, head dipping once as understanding settled in like it usually did - deep and thankful. Practice will happen, was all he said
"I know you will." Haruto's eyes warmed. "You always do."
A loud bang echoed as the dojo's front door flew open. Before Zane had time to speak, dust swirled in through the gap.
"GOOD MORNING, FELLOW MARTIAL ARTISTS!"
A figure filled the door's opening, limbs stretched outward as if drawing energy from the walls. Wild strands of dark hair leaned at odd angles across his forehead. The frames on his face tilted slightly, one ear higher than the other. Cloth hung unevenly - black garment fastened out of order, red sash tied without care.
A thin machine dangled from his fingers, shaped like something meant to fly. It sat oddly still despite its tiny propellers. The air around it felt heavier than before.
"I have made a breakthrough," he announced, striding inside. "Last night, at approximately 2:47 AM, I solved the calibration issue that's been plaguing the perimeter defense system for weeks. Behold!" He held up the drone. "It can now distinguish between intruders and squirrels."
One brow lifted. Squirrels caused trouble?
"THEY KEPT TRIPPING THE MOTION SENSORS." Anthony set the drone down, pulling up schematics on his tablet. "Do you know how many squirrels live in this neighborhood? A LOT. And they're vindictive. I swear they gather at night and plan their assaults."
Zane let out a short laugh through his nose. That idea sounds too extreme to be real
I'm ready. That matters." His gaze found Haruto, then changed - subtle, brief. A flash of softness tucked away fast. "Morning, Sensei," he said, almost quiet
Haruto's voice softened almost imperceptibly. "Good morning, Anthony. Did you sleep at all?"
"Define sleep."
"A state of rest in which - "
"I know what sleep means, I'm asking for a more flexible definition that accommodates my lifestyle choices." Anthony busied himself with the drone, not meeting Haruto's eyes. "I got maybe three hours. Four if you count the time I passed out on my keyboard."
"Anthony."
"I'm FINE. I'm seventeen. I'm invincible. Science says so."
"Science says no such thing."
"Science says whatever I want it to say. I'm a genius. I outrank science."
For nine years they'd handled Anthony Takeda - Zane and Haruto shared that worn-out glance, the kind born from endless futility. Arguing never helped, and both knew it too well.
Nine years.
A kid named Anthony, that age just hitting double digits - eight - when someone finally noticed he existed. Years stacking up, one after another, while he moved from house to house, never sticking long enough for wallpaper to peel under his fingers. Four tries at belonging, four doors closing behind him. Sent back, every single time - not broken, not loud, but simply… excessive. Brighter than comfortable. Always asking why. Built unlike the others.
That moment stayed with Haruto - the first time they saw the kid curled up by the wall, nose buried in a book too hard for his age. A thick science text, pages full of equations no child should know. Their feet stopped moving when he lifted his head. Brown eyes met theirs, not bright with curiosity but worn down, quiet. Like he already knew how stories like this usually ended. Hope wasn't something he carried anymore.
That kid spoke without emotion. Just stated it like facts do when they're known too well. Nobody ever held on to him before
On his knees next to the man sat Haruto. A fact now, is it?
"It's a pattern. Patterns are facts."
"Patterns can be broken."
A silence sat between them before he spoke. Softly, the words came: "What makes you think that's something you'd even choose?"
Quiet, he stayed. His fingers opened - waiting. Not a sound came from him. The space between them filled with that gesture alone. Stillness spoke louder.
Five steps behind time, Anthony stayed put. Sharp as ever. Quietly braced, far beneath the surface, for something to finally crack.
Fear might fade, Haruto thought, if only time stretched far enough. He waited.
A noise came in from beyond the walls, snapping the silence. Steps followed. Slow. Not known here.
Anthony's drone beeped urgently. "INTRUDER ALERT! Wait, no - squirrel? No, it's - "
A sudden movement broke the silence as the door slipped aside.
Footsteps echoed as Lucy Takeda stepped inside.
---
She looked different.
Time spent living rough in Kayoopa left her tougher, edged like a blade drawn too often. Her dark hair still tied up, same way it always was, neat behind the head. Those violet eyes stayed unchanged - passed down from her dad, from Shen Long, filled with memories no kid should carry. Now, though, small marks crease the skin near the corners, faint but deep enough to notice. A sharp line now shapes her jaw. Yet she stands without motion.
A brown leather crop top, marked with yellow lines, hung on her along with gray shorts. Her forearms stayed bound in close wraps, like always. Street gear, really. Not fancy. That blue belt clipped at her side? Same one Haruto passed to her long before. Time faded it. Use wore it thin. Yet here it remained.
Stillness held them, one breath stretching into silence.
A flicker ran through Zane, sharp but calm - no threat, only alertness. Silence hung around Anthony as his lips moved like he forgot how words worked. Right where he stood on the mat, Haruto locked up, every rule he ever learned slipping away in one breath.
Lucy spoke first.
"Door's still ugly," she said. "I always hated that color."
That familiar rasp still lived in her words. Not smooth, never slow to crack a joke, holding tight what stayed unspoken.
Anthony found his voice first. "YOU'RE - " He stopped, visibly recalibrating. "You're back. You're actually back. Standing there. In the dojo. Like a - like a person who's standing in a dojo."
"Eloquent as always, Anthony."
"I'm a GENIUS. I don't have time for eloquence." He was already moving toward her, tablet forgotten. "Five years. FIVE YEARS. Do you know how many upgrades I've made? How many inventions? How many times I've had to explain to people that yes, I do in fact have a sister, no she's not dead, she just... left?"
Lucy's expression flickered. "I had to go."
Really? You did that. Standing there with arms folded, Anthony aimed for fury. His gaze betrayed him instead - warm, wide, achingly boyish. All gone past. Zane taming the White Dragon slipped right through your fingers. That moment I made the Purple Fang. Nearly torched the dojo once, thanks to me frying the -
"Anthony." Zane's voice was gentle. "Give her a minute."
His jaw tightened. Suddenly - arms around her - he pulled her close.
Still as stone, Lucy froze. Up came her hands - old reflexes, guard rising - but she held back from shoving him off. Then, after silence hung between them, slow and clumsy like learning to move again, her arms closed around his frame.
"I'm not crying," Anthony mumbled into her shoulder. "This is just... allergies. To emotions."
Loud silence sat between them. Her words came out cracked, like glass under weight. Same goes for me, he thought, but didn't say it loud
Not far off, Zane moved at a quieter pace. As her gaze found his above Anthony's shoulder, he dipped his head - just once, like old lessons had shaped him.
"Welcome home, Lucy."
A thud in the chest - that's what hearing home felt like.
Lucy pulled back from Anthony, clearing her throat. "I'm not - I didn't come back to stay. I just... needed to see. To understand."
What does that mean? Haruto spoke softly. Still standing in place, he stayed exactly where he had been.
Her gaze found his. A long quiet sat where words should have been. Time had piled up, heavy and unspoken. Things left hanging, never framed the right way.
What made you stay silent," she asked. Not one word on my dad. On Shen Long. Or - Her fingers moved to her belt, drawing out a tiny bundle wrapped in fabric. Silk, once bright but now worn pale. This too went unspoken
Haruto's breath caught.
Carefully, Lucy peeled back the layers of cloth. A jade pendant rested there, shaped like a serpent curled tight, old yet striking. Below that, something else: an old photo waited in silence.
A grin spread across his face, purple eyes bright while cradling the infant. Standing just behind, Haruto at a smaller age watched quietly. Next to that child version, an elder appeared, long white beard trailing down, his gaze heavy with time.
"My father," Lucy said. "My grandfather. My family." Her voice cracked, just slightly. "You never told me."
Sleep pulled him under without warning. Darkness arrived like a curtain dropping mid-thought.
A hush fell across the training hall. Stillness settled like dust after motion ceased.
When the room quieted, Haruto Tasteda started speaking - words he had held back since two decades past slowly found their way into the air.
---
"Shen Long was more than my master. He was the closest thing to a father I ever had."
Now they were seated together, forming a ring - Haruto, then Lucy, Zine, Anthony. Rain still fell beyond the windows, soaking everything into silence. Within these walls, old moments slipped loose, unraveling slow, one after another.
"I came to him when I was seventeen. Angry. Lost. Looking for something to fight." Haruto's eyes were distant, seeing things none of them could see. "He took me in anyway. Trained me. Shaped me. Taught me that strength without purpose is just violence."
A stare fixed on the old man in the picture, Lucy kept it close. Her eyes stayed locked, not drifting once from his weathered features.
"He had a son. Your father, Lucy. Ryu." Haruto smiled faintly. "Ryu was everything I wasn't - gentle, patient, kind. He didn't want to fight. He wanted to heal. Shen Long was disappointed at first, but he came to understand. Ryu's path was different, but no less important."
Quietly, Zane said, "What happened?".
"The White Swan Swordsmen." Haruto's voice hardened. "A cult of assassins who believed Shen Long's techniques held the secret to immortality. They'd been hunting him for years, ever since he refused to teach them. But they couldn't reach him - he was too strong, too well-protected."
Anthony leaned forward. "So they went after his family instead."
Haruto nodded slowly. "They attacked Ryu's home. His wife - your mother, Lucy - was killed. Ryu escaped with you, barely. He ran for three days, wounded, dying, until he found me."
The photo crumpled slightly under Lucy's fingers. A sudden pressure built where her hands met the edge.
"He made me promise." Haruto's voice cracked. "Not to train you. Not to make you a fighter. To love you. To raise you as my own. To give you the childhood he couldn't." He met her eyes. "I tried. God knows I tried."
"You did." Lucy's voice was barely a whisper. "I remember. I remember being happy."
"Then the cult found us again. When you were eight. They didn't attack - they watched. Waited. I knew they'd come eventually. So I started training you. Not because I wanted a fighter, but because I needed you to survive."
Something settled in Zane's mind. Not just the long hours Lucy spent drilling as a kid, but how Haruto drove her past limits others wouldn't touch. Then there was that brief shadow across his face - panic slipping through before he masked it.
"You were preparing her," Zane said. "For a war she didn't know existed."
"Yes." Haruto's shoulders sagged. "And in doing so, I lost her. She left at fifteen, convinced I saw her only as a weapon. As Shen Long's legacy, not as Lucy."
Silence.
Out of nowhere, Anthony broke the silence, words barely above a whisper. Not like him at all. Right? That can't be how it happened
"Never." Haruto looked at Lucy. "You are my daughter. Shen Long's blood runs in your veins, yes. But the girl who demanded I keep a crying baby? The girl who taught herself the Blue Serpent because she wanted to protect, not destroy? That girl is yours. She always has been."
Stillness held her for what felt like ages. Only after that did a slow motion begin, fingers stretching across the space between them. His palm met hers without rush.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "For leaving. For not understanding."
"You came back." Haruto's eyes glistened. "That's all that matters."
Anthony sniffled audibly. "Okay, this is getting too emotional. I need to recalibrate with some SCIENCE." He pulled out his tablet, clearly trying to hide how moved he was. "Speaking of which, I've been working on this thing that - "
Flying glass filled the air when the dojo's windows burst apart.
---
Bursting glass filled the air as shapes surged inside - robes bright, faces hidden, weapons sharp. Into the space they flowed, not a pause between steps. In moments, each position locked into place around those standing still.
Zane shot up, power surging like fire from deep within. Backpedaling fast, Anthony let the device fall, sparks of violet light jumping between his hands. Low to the ground now, Lucy coiled like smoke, gaze darting through the shadows.
Up he got, careful like. Staring hard at the shape moving through what was left of the doorway.
A pale strand of hair catches the light. One cheek marked by old wounds. A smile stretches, sharp with devotion.
Haruto Takeda. Kaelen Vance opened his arms wide. Far more time had passed than either liked to admit. Still, here they stood. A grin broke across his face, sudden but true
Weapons in hand, the cultists moved. Twenty strong - or more - filled the space. A straight fight? Impossible. Only madness stood a chance.
Haruto's voice was ice. "Kaelen. I'd hoped you were dead."
"Disappointed?" Kaelen laughed. "The White Swan Swordsmen don't die easily. Especially not when we're so close to our goal." His eyes found Lucy. "Ah. There she is. The serpent's blood. Shen Long's granddaughter."
Lucy's stance tightened. "Touch me and die."
"Brave words. But we both know how this ends." Kaelen drew his blade - white, gleaming, hungry. "Your grandfather slaughtered dozens of us before he died. Your father escaped our justice. But you... you're right here. Right now. And that secret you carry in your blood? It's finally ours."
Out of nowhere, the cultists stiffened, prepared to attack.
And then -
CRASH.
A blast tore through the rear wall, shoving debris into the room.
Everyone spun.
A shadow moved through the haze, boots crunching on broken stone. Clad in indigo gear built for battle. Weapons alive with a deep pulse, near black. Hair cropped close at the sides. Gaze scanning slow, silent, locking onto each shape in the dim.
Beneath the dim light, she touched down right where the crowd parted - caught between chanting figures and Haruto's kin. The air stilled as dust curled up around her boots.
Kaelen turned ghost white. You
Sharp bursts came from her mouth. Not smooth, but broken into pieces. Every syllable stood alone, ready to cut.
"You. Leave. Now. Or die."
Recognition flickered across Kaelen's features - fear, quickly hidden. "The White Swan's ghost. I thought you were a legend."
"Legend." The girl's lips twitched. "Not ghost. Aiko Takeda. Daughter of Haruto."
Something stuck in Haruto's throat. Aiko -
Her gaze stayed away from his. Up came the blades.
"Last warning. Go. Tell cult. Takeda family protected. Come again..." She met Kaelen's eyes. "All die."
For a moment, Kaelen paused. Facing twenty cultists, just one girl stood there. Numbers like that usually tell the whole story.
Yet each person there understood - numbers held no weight.
Aiko Takeda moved through fire that night like smoke. Sixty-three swords fell without honor under her blade. She stepped past flames licking at broken walls. A slash carved deep into her father's doorway spoke louder than words. Then silence swallowed her whole.
Kaelen stood by what he decided.
"Fall back," he snapped. "This isn't over, Haruto. We'll be back. With everything."
Out back, the cultists slipped through shattered glass, vanishing where downpour met dark. Rain swallowed them whole. Shadows stretched long across wet ground. Broken panes cracked underfoot. They moved fast, quiet, like smoke pulled sideways by wind. Night took them without sound.
Silence.
Broken tiles littered the floor where rain slipped inside. Water dripped down cracked beams above their heads. A cold wind moved between them as they stayed still. One figure stepped forward, boots crunching on shattered wood. The others watched without speaking.
Aiko stayed frozen. Facing away, she kept her stance firm. The sound of her weapons filled the air without stopping.
"Aiko." Haruto's voice broke. "Aiko... you're alive."
She turned.
Stone covered her face. Yet inside, those eyes cried out.
"Alive," she agreed. "Not same. Not girl who play here. Not girl who laugh." Her voice cracked. "Mother dead because you leave. I taken because you leave. Ten years of hell because you leave."
Haruto's face crumpled. "I searched. For years. I never stopped - "
Aiko let her blades dip a little. Still, it wasn't sufficient. Not anything came close
Forward Lucy moved. Wait Aiko she said
"No." Aiko's gaze snapped to her. "You not know. None know. I kill sixty-three to escape. I kill hundreds since. I am monster. But monster still remember." She looked at Haruto. "Remember love you. Remember want you. Remember hate you."
Folding the steel away, off she went without a word.
Aiko, just wait," came Haruto's broken plea. "Don't go yet. Give me - "
"No." At the broken door, she paused. "I not stay. Not yet. Maybe not ever." Her eyes found each of them in turn. "But I watch. Always watch. Enemy come again, I kill. Family need, I help. But trust?" She shook her head. "Too broken for trust."
Fog swallowed her next breath. The downpour erased footprints fast.
---
EXT. ROOFTOP - DAWN
Aiko stayed by the rooftop's rim, eyes on the training hall below. The downpour ended awhile back. Light now cut between heavy skies.
Beneath her gaze, they were already moving - father first, then brothers and sisters - shaping something new from the broken pieces. Mending began without words. A quiet kind of trust took root where pain had been.
Her fingers brushed the spot above her heart. That name came next. Aiko Takeda.
Daughter.
Felt odd in the mouth, that word. Like a stone. Hard to hold for long.
And yet.
Her back faced the training hall. Not gone for good. Simply - later.
Beneath the broken stones, Lucy lifted her gaze. Across a space too vast to cross, their stares found one another.
Lucy nodded.
Aiko nodded back.
After that, silence settled in her place.
---
INT. DOJO - MORNING
Hours passed without words. Fixing things fell to Anthony. Glass disappeared under Zane's steady push. What remained worth keeping went into Lucy's hands.
There he stayed, Haruto in the middle, eyes on the kids doing their tasks.
Anthony paused, tablet in hand. "She'll come back. Right? I mean... eventually?"
A flicker moved across Lucy's face when she looked at Zane. Not words, but meaning settled in the silence between them instead. Years had piled up, yet now there was a shift - soft, unspoken, real.
"She never really left," Zane said quietly. "She's been watching. Protecting. For two years."
Anthony processed this. "So we just... wait?"
Not yet. Lucy rose, her eyes on the splintered doorway. On the far edge of the sky. On the sibling who had pulled them through. Strength grows. Preparation matters. When that day comes, when she decides to return... they would remain. A small smile touched her lips
Up he got, stepping close to where she stood. Fingers met fingers. A press, firm and quiet.
"I'm proud of you," he said quietly. "All of you."
Anthony snorted. "Even me? The one who almost burned down the dojo?"
"Especially you." Haruto's eyes crinkled. "You're mine. All of you. And no cult - no enemy - will ever take that away."
Up above, light climbed across the sky. Streets stirred into motion. Life moved forward without pause.
A quiet dojo tucked inside the worn streets of the old quarter became where they slowly found their way toward one another again.
Each decision stands alone.
---
Far off somewhere else - right then
Aiko stayed by the cliff's rim, eyes on the sprawl below. Far off, the training hall shrank to nothing. Inside her ribs, kinship pulsed like an old ache.
A glint ran along the steel when she pulled them free. Light caught the edge, bright and sharp.
"White Swan Swordsmen," she whispered. "You took my mother. My childhood. My trust." Her grip tightened. "Now you want my family."
Fingers slid the steel into place along her hip.
"Come find me."
Aiko Takeda stepped into the dark, prepared to track her prey.