Nearly a year had passed, and in that time, much had changed for Ao. For the first four months, he spent most of his days at home, engrossed in books and quiet contemplation. It was during this period that he began to notice a significant change—his mother's stomach had grown, swelling like that of a woman in the late months of pregnancy. The realization struck him with a mix of shock and curiosity. He had never noticed before, but now it was undeniable.
When he confided in Kuro about his bewilderment, the older man simply chuckled and explained that demi-humans, particularly those of coyote descent, had much shorter gestation periods than other races. This revelation only deepened Ao's understanding of the world around him, another lesson added to the growing collection of knowledge he had accumulated over the year. But amidst all these discoveries, one change loomed the largest—Shiro.
Shiro had grown distant, not in the way of physical space, but in the sense that he spent more time lost in his own mind. He moved through his daily routine—practicing his swordsmanship, cooking, cleaning—but his usual energy had dulled. He had always been reserved, but this was different. He was quieter, more withdrawn, and burdened by an invisible weight. It was Koi who first noticed and pressed him about it, trying to piece together what troubled him so deeply. After many nights of quiet conversation, they came to the conclusion that it stemmed from Kori's words. The idea that Shiro had, in some way, become a parent to Ao weighed on him more than he had let on. The responsibility of being the only guardian in Ao's life at the time had left him questioning everything—his choices, his role, his very ability to be enough.
Ao, in turn, felt utterly worthless. Not because of anything Koi or Shiro had done, but because, deep down, he didn't feel like he was enough for Shiro. He saw the way Shiro's lips would twitch into a faint smile when he glanced at Koi's stomach, as if anticipating the arrival of the new life growing within her. Ao wanted—desperately—to be the reason for one of those smiles. Just once.
Determined to better himself, he made a decision—he would leave with Kuro for a time, distancing himself from the others to focus on strengthening his spiritual energy and improving his skills without distraction. He hoped that by the time he returned, he would have become someone Shiro could be proud of.
Kuro agreed, but not without first informing Koi and Shiro. Once preparations were made, he led Ao to the very edges of Death Valley, where the land was harsh, yet teeming with spiritual energy. Their base was set near the springs, where the earth pulsed with raw vitality.
The training was rigorous. The first four months were spent solely on improving Ao's ability to cycle spiritual energy both through his essence and through his body completely—Respira and Spirit Cycle. Meditation became his foundation, forcing him to channel the energy through his spirit veins, refining it, shaping it. This wasn't just about drawing in energy but making his body a vessel capable of housing greater power. To prevent bottlenecks, Kuro balanced his meditation with grueling physical exercise, ensuring Ao's muscles and bones would develop to match the strengthening of his spiritual core. The rich energy of the valley accelerated his progress, enhancing the evolution of his spiritual veins, making them wider, stronger—more capable of holding the refined essence within him.
Still, bottlenecks came. He hit walls where his progress stagnated, but Kuro pushed him past them, forcing him to break through his limits.
The next phase of his training shifted to mental discipline. Kuro drilled into him the art of manifestation—shaping spiritual energy with his will, not just channeling it, but controlling it with precision. He had to calculate every movement, every pulse, refining his energy into orbs that were not just stronger, but faster, more efficient, and capable of precise destruction. The strain was immense, but with each failure, he learned. With each misstep, he grew.
Finally, Kuro introduced him to elemental signatures—coating his body in different elements: wind, fire, water, earth. He taught Ao the intricacies of their use, how to wield them effectively in combat, how to manipulate them in battle. Yet when it came to fire—the element that resonated with Ao the most—Kuro hesitated. He explained that Ao's affinity for fire wasn't just a mimicry of the element's properties, like the others. No, Ao had the ability to manifest fire into reality itself. This was called Convergence, a rare ability where an individual could bring forth true elemental force, rather than just imitating its flow through spiritual energy.
Kuro, however, refused to teach him more. "You're not ready," he stated firmly. "Not yet. Your fire is… strong. Perhaps too strong." And that was all he said on the matter.
Ao didn't question him. He simply resolved to be ready when the time came.
What he didn't know, however, was that while he trained, something far greater had taken place back home.
Koi had gone into labor.
The birthing was difficult—far more so than anyone had anticipated. She bled heavily, her body weakened from the strain, and for a moment, it seemed as though she would not make it. But with the help of the midwives, they managed to stabilize her, guiding her through the pain until, finally, the child entered the world.
Ao had a sister.
He was unaware of any of it, of the pain Koi had endured, of the cries that had echoed through the home he had left behind. To him, the year had been one of brutal training, of self-imposed exile. But in reality, it had been a year of change. A year where he had grown stronger, while back home, his family had grown larger.
It was, in every sense, a strange and unforgettable year.
Ao returned home about two months into the new year, marking nearly ten months since he had left. As he stepped through the front door, Kuro remained outside, finishing the meal he had caught on the way back. The moment Ao entered, he immediately noticed something was… off.
The house had been rearranged. Not in a way that suggested simple tidying up, but rather, it had been modified—with purpose. The knives, once easily accessible, were now secured out of reach. The fireplace was cold, its coal and wood absent. Clothes were scattered across the floor, mingled with pillows, forming what looked like makeshift bedding. The sight was confusing, more than Ao cared to admit.
What the hell is all this? I know I was gone for a while, but that doesn't mean we just go and change everything. He carefully stepped around the mess, doing his best to avoid treading on the cloth and pillows. Questionable taste, Mom…
As he made his way toward the kitchen, something else caught his attention—the dishes. Normally, the household was kept spotless, a rule ingrained into the very foundation of the Hinote home. Yet now, unwashed plates and bowls sat stacked by the sink, remnants of past meals still clinging to them. It was… odd. Mom never lets the dishes pile up. Ever.
With his curiosity piqued and a growing sense of unease, he navigated through the house, finally stopping in front of his parents' bedroom. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open.
What he saw made his brain stall completely.
His mother was sitting on the bed, her robe slightly loose, cradling a small child in her arms. The child—tiny, fragile, and barely more than a bundle of soft, dark hair—was latched onto her breast, nursing peacefully.
"Oh! Ao—"
Before she could finish speaking, Ao slammed the door shut on pure reflex. His heart pounded in his chest, his face instantly heating up.
W-what the hell?! Why is Mom's—was that a… a baby?! His thoughts raced, tumbling over one another in chaos. What happened while I was gone?!
Despite knowing, logically, that there was nothing unnatural about the scene, he couldn't help but feel a deep, inexplicable embarrassment. Even when he had been a baby himself, he had never been entirely comfortable with breastfeeding, often turning away sooner than expected. And now, seeing it with his own eyes—it just felt weird.
Okay… okay… just breathe, he told himself, forcing his hands into his pockets as he inhaled deeply. She's a mother. This is normal. Hell, she breastfed me too. I just… wasn't expecting it. That's all.
After a few more steadying breaths, he reached for the doorknob again, hesitating only for a moment before reopening the door.
Koi was exactly as he had left her—calm, unbothered, her soft smile unchanged. If anything, the light in her eyes seemed even warmer than before.
"Ao," she greeted, her voice carrying the same gentle warmth as always. "I didn't know you'd be coming back so soon. I would have cleaned up and made you a meal to welcome you home, at the very least."
He swallowed hard, still trying to process everything. "I… uh… I mean, it's fine. I just—" He glanced at the child in her arms, his mind struggling to bridge the gap between the home he had left and the one he had just returned to. "I guess I missed a lot, huh?"
"A lot would be an understatement, dear." Koi chuckled softly, her voice carrying the warmth of a mother who had seen and understood more than her son could put into words.
But Ao? He could barely believe his eyes. Even though he had known she was pregnant, had understood that demi-humans like his mother gave birth faster than most, the reality of it—of this—felt impossible. Unreal. For as long as he could remember, he had been the only child. The idea that he suddenly wasn't, that his world had permanently changed in ways he hadn't prepared for, made his chest feel tight.
Would his mother still have time for him? Would she love him the same way now that she had someone else to take care of? Would he have to work harder, become stronger, just to make sure this tiny, fragile thing never experienced what he had?
His eyes locked onto the baby's face—round, soft, and chubby, her small mouth slightly parted as she breathed peacefully against Koi's chest. She looked… content. Like she belonged.
Unlike him.
His mind raced. What if she finds out about me? About what I am? What if she hates me? What if she's afraid of me?
He swallowed hard. His mouth felt unbearably dry, his throat tight. He wanted to speak, to say something, but no words would come out. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, fingers curling so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. He hated this feeling—the uncertainty, the storm brewing in his head, the gnawing fear that he'd already lost something he didn't even realize he was holding onto.
Then, his mother's voice cut through the noise.
"Would you like to see her?"
Her…
The word echoed in his mind, heavy with realization. He had a sister. A sister. His mother said it so easily, so gently, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Did she not worry? Was she not afraid that he might hurt the baby by accident? That his mere existence—his very presence—might put her in danger?
His gaze flickered between Koi's expectant, patient eyes and the tiny bundle nestled against her. He felt like a stranger in his own home, standing on the edge of something he couldn't fully grasp, something terrifying and unfamiliar.
And yet, before he could even think to stop himself, the words left his mouth.
"Y... yes."
It was barely more than a whisper, a single, fragile word that carried the weight of everything he couldn't say.