The wind whispered through the aged shrine, carrying the faint scent of incense that clung to the air like a secret. The torii gate stood stoically, its once-bright crimson paint now faded to a muted vermilion, the passage of time etched into its weathered frame. Stone lanterns, their surfaces thick with moss, flickered with the glow of candlelight, casting soft halos that danced over the engraved wooden pillars—each bearing the names of ancestors long gone, their stories interwoven into the fabric of the shrine itself.
Ash Shirogiri knelt before the altar, his eyes locked on the spirals of smoke rising from the incense stick he'd just lit. His posture, a study in reverence, seemed weighed down by something heavier than the air itself—an invisible burden, the legacy of his bloodline pressing down on him. Beside him, Kuro stood still, arms folded, his gaze distant—lost in a sea of memories long buried, unreachable.
The silence between them stretched, thick and tangible—an unspoken understanding that spoke volumes, as if the air itself held its breath.
Finally, Ash's voice broke the stillness, low and uncertain, but edged with determination.
"Father… tell me about my mother."
Kuro did not respond immediately. The flickering candlelight played across his face, casting shadows that deepened the lines of age and hardship. Then, after a slow, deliberate breath, he turned to his son.
"Her name was Tsukiko Takane. She was the last daughter of the Takane Clan."
The name struck Ash like a thunderclap—distant, foreign, yet unmistakably familiar.
"It was on Sekiwa, the Keiretsu homeworld," Kuro continued, his voice hollow, as though the weight of the memory had carved away at him over the years. "I was sent by the Kaishū Imperium to eliminate a high-ranking Keiretsu lord suspected of rebellion. The order was clear—eradicate the entire household."
Ash's breath caught in his throat. His hands curled into fists, the fabric of his hakama trembling beneath his grip.
"When I confronted the lord, he did not beg for himself," Kuro went on, his voice growing quieter, more reflective. "He begged for his daughter."
A long, heavy pause followed. Ash could feel the tension, the weight of the truth being shared.
"Duty demanded his execution," Kuro said, his tone strained. "And I carried it out. But when I looked into her eyes—Tsukiko's eyes—I saw something that shattered the cold logic of the mission. I couldn't kill her."
The wind howled through the shrine's rafters, as if nature itself mourned the pain in Kuro's voice.
"I hid her. Reported that the bloodline had been erased." Kuro's voice dropped, softer now. "I thought that would be the end of it. That I could lock the truth away with the dead."
He rested a hand on the hilt of his katana, his grip tightening.
"But fate, it seems, is not so easily fooled."
His gaze drifted towards the steps leading up to the shrine, where fallen petals lay in quiet repose, like sentinels watching over the past.
"In time, she and I grew close," Kuro continued. "We shared pain, silence... and eventually, something deeper. When she became pregnant with you, I made a vow—a vow I had never made before. To protect. Not for the Imperium, not for the clan. But for her. For you."
Ash's heart pounded, the pulse echoing in his ears.
"But the Keiretsu do not forget," Kuro's voice darkened. "A traitor among us revealed the truth."
The words hit like a hammer, heavy and unforgiving.
"We fled to Kurugami, to this shrine. We thought we could escape retribution. But we were wrong."
He looked up, his eyes hollow, a quiet anguish in his gaze.
"On the night you were born, they came. Shirogiri Manor burned. I fought through the flames with steel and fury. But even my blades could not stem the tide."
Ash remained motionless, breath shallow, as the familiar part of the story unfolded. But there was more, something buried deeper beneath the surface, a truth he hadn't fully grasped.
"She fought beside me… even while carrying you within her. But she was wounded—mortally." Kuro's voice cracked, a sharp tremor of grief breaking through.
"I had a choice. Her... or you."
The air seemed to freeze. The silence that followed was thick, almost unbearable.
"She made the choice for me."
"I will honor her," he said, his voice firm with resolve. "I will carry her fire. And no one—no one—will extinguish it again. Not the Keiretsu. Not the Imperium. Not the darkness that's coming for us. I swear it."
Kuro's gaze flickered away, then he added, his voice softened by memory,
"Your grandfather—my father—was there too. Shirogiri Kenzou. He stood beside us that night, defending the manor with all the fury left in his old bones. When the assassins came for your mother, he shielded her with his own body. Took a blade meant for her."
Ash's breath caught sharply, a cold shiver running down his spine.
"He was gravely wounded. Fought with everything he had. But he survived."
Ash closed his eyes, the image of Tsukiko, the woman in the photograph, sharpening into focus. Not just a face, but a presence—a final breath given so that he might live.
Kuro finally turned his gaze to Ash, the weight of his words hanging between them.
Kuro took a deep breath, his voice quieter now but no less resolute.
"I had to leave you with your grandfather and Kenshiko Ai. The Keiretsu demanded I go on a mission to Raiju Planet. If I refused… the entire Shirogiri Clan would be erased, including you."
Ash's breath caught again, the full weight of his father's sacrifice crashing down upon him like a tidal wave.
Kuro turned away, his figure swallowed by the gathering shadows.
"That was the price I had to pay to keep you alive."
The shrine stood as a witness, enveloping them both—past and future—woven together in smoke, memory, and a vow that would be carried into the coming storm.