The pain was immediate—a sharp, searing line drawn across his skin. Blood beaded, then trickled in thin crimson threads down Kuro's leg, staining the white fabric of his hakama pants. The gash itself wasn't deep, but it burned with a cruel intensity, the sting radiating into the muscle beneath.
"Honestly, brother. I warned you about racing down that slope." A voice, melodious like distant chimes yet carrying a gentle note of exasperation, reached him.
He looked up, blinking against the soft, otherworldly luminescence of the valley. A girl knelt before him, her expression a blend of worry and mild reprimand. Recognition surfaced swiftly, painfully sweet. Sanae. His sister.
Twin souls beneath the same heavens. They were returning home from... yes, from the deep woods, searching for rare mosses their father used in his remedies.
With practised care, she produced a small square of fine linen—a handkerchief that had been their mother's, delicately embroidered with tiny, soaring cranes—and began dabbing gently at the bleeding scrape. The pungent antiseptic from her pouch bit sharply, drawing a hiss from Kuro, but her touch remained feather-light. "Stay still," she murmured, deftly wrapping the linen around his leg and securing it with a precise knot.
Above them, a full, luminous moon presided over the ink-black sky, casting an ethereal, alabaster glow across the winding valley path. Twisted branches of ancient plum trees, heavy with blossoms, arched overhead, perfuming the air with an intoxicating, delicate sweetness. Petals drifted lazily downward, like silent snowfall in the gentle night breeze.
Kuro walked beside Sanae. She seemed to gather the moonlight, her laughter occasionally bubbling up—bright and clear—sound that had become his mooring after silence had claimed their home. Sanae carried their mother's inherent grace, the same tranquil depths mirrored in her blue eyes, though Sanae's held a vital, dancing spark where their mother's had held quiet pools of wisdom.
Her laugh punctuated the stillness now and again, buoyant and unrestrained, like wind playfully stirring chimes. Her joy was infectious, her inner light seemingly untouched by the shadows that had fallen over their lives. In her presence, Kuro felt a flicker of his former self.
They reached their dwelling as the valley deepened into velvety night.
The familiar scent of sandalwood incense greeted them—rich, fragrant, seeming to weave itself into the very grain of the wooden pillars of their ancestral home. A profound stillness permeated the air, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the faint, cicada-like hum of unseen nocturnal creatures.
Beneath the spreading boughs of the great cherrywood tree, their father sat cross-legged, still as sculpted stone, his shadow elongated behind him. Before him rested their mother's grave marker, nestled in the earth and adorned with simple, dried offerings.
Each evening, this was their ritual ground. Here they convened, sharing the day's quiet triumphs and unspoken burdens. Their father spoke infrequently but listened intently. And though the stone offered no reply, the atmosphere often felt imbued with her presence—a watchful calm, tinged with an indefinable ache.
Sanae darted ahead, her bare feet silent on the smooth stepping stones.
"Father!" she called, her voice bright.
He turned, the severity in his gaze momentarily softening as he looked at her.
"It grows late, Sanae. Go now. Time for sleep."
She pouted, a fleeting expression of playful resistance. "But I wish to stay—"
"No." His tone, though quiet, held an undeniable finality.
Yielding, she grinned and leaned conspiratorially towards her father, whispering loud enough for Kuro to hear, "Then ensure you punish Kuro properly, Father. He disregarded your warnings again today."
Her laughter, bright and clear, felt like the last spark of light before an encroaching darkness. She vanished inside.
When she was gone, the silence in the valley felt heavier, the tranquillity suddenly fragile. His father's gaze returned to Kuro, sharpened now, the contemplative stillness replaced by a profound, unsettling solemnity. His eyes looked ancient, weary, carrying burdens Kuro couldn't comprehend.
"Kuro," he began, his voice low, imbued with a gravity that seemed to draw the warmth from the spring air. "I have failed you."
The declaration hung between them, stark and confusing. Kuro opened his mouth to question, but his father pressed on, a strange, urgent undercurrent in his tone.
"There is no time remaining. Chaos gathers, Kuro. It approaches far faster than I foresaw. The preparations... they are no longer sufficient." He stared towards the mist-shrouded horizon, as if perceiving dreadful shapes within the gloom. "The age of chaos is dawning."
His father leaned closer, the sheer intensity in his gaze almost unnerving. "You have no time, Kuro. None.
Strength is now demanded, absolute strength, and you must seize it with brutal velocity. Curse me for this weight I place upon you, but you must listen! Find the Duelist's Circle in the city's lower sectors. Submit to their crucible. Endure their particular hell. It will forge you in fires I can no longer tend for you. Months of agony there might purchase the years needed when the true storm breaks." His voice held a raw edge of strain. "I cannot remain beside you anymore . You must become strong enough to stand alone."
He paused, his expression briefly turning inward, softening with a flicker of deep pain. "Beware temptations, my son. They will borrow familiar faces, whisper comforting falsehoods. Trust the steel within your spirit, and trust the bell."
His father gestured towards Kuro's left wrist. Only then did Kuro consciously register it – the small, intricately crafted silver bell tied there with a simple red leather cord. He hadn't even noticed its faint chime earlier, lost in the memory's embrace. Now, under his father's intense gaze, it felt suddenly significant, cool against his skin.
"That was your mother's final gift," his father continued, his voice softening momentarily before hardening again with grim finality. "Infused with her enduring hope. Our time... my time... draws to its close."
His gaze locked with Kuro's once more, and the boy saw it clearly now – a single tear carving a slow path down his father's cheek. Not water, but a thick, dark crimson tear, shockingly vivid against his pale complexion. The sight jolted Kuro with a sickening sense of déjà vu, blurring the edges of this serene memory with the raw pain of another, more final departure.
"Father... why are you crying?" Kuro managed to ask, his own eyes stinging, a knot of cold dread tightening low in his stomach.
His father's carefully controlled composure fractured, his face crumpling into an expression of raw, profound sorrow. "Forgive me, my child," he whispered, his voice choked with anguish. "I am truly, sorry. This is a final good bye son. But you must survive. Whatever the cost... survive, Kuro!"
Then, with a speed that defied the tranquillity of the moment, his father's hand darted forward. Not driven by anger, not by malice, but propelled by a desperate, surgical certainty. His fingers, imbued with an unnatural strength, thrust directly towards Kuro's chest, aimed unerringly at his heart.
There was no accompanying sensation of pain. Instead, Kuro heard it—a sound impossibly clear amidst the quiet night, yet utterly dissonant: the distinct, crystalline shattering of delicate glass breaking, collapsing violently inward. Simultaneously, a choked, pained wail seemed to tear through the air, echoing as if from somewhere deep within Kuro himself, or perhaps from the memory's dying essence.
The serene valley dissolved into fractured light. The watchful moon shattered like flawed crystal. The world collapsed inward, consumed by absolute blackness.