As news of a mother's pregnancy spread through the Akatsuki clan, a flicker of hope ignited in the hearts of its members. In a land where death held dominion over life, the promise of new beginnings was a rare and precious gift—a fragile thread of light in the suffocatingly rude and dangerous land.
But that thread was soon torn asunder by the cruel hands of fate. As the mother's belly swelled with the life growing within her, so too did the weight of the Thalasor bear down upon her fragile frame. Her once vibrant spirit was slowly consumed by the illness that ravaged her health, her laughter replaced by a sad smile.
And then, in that moment, the Akatsuki clan was struck by tragedy. The husband's cohort, the stalwart defenders of the clan, fell victim to the assassin's blade—a casualty in the ceaseless struggle for power that gripped the Thalasor in its icy grasp. His cohort's death sent shockwaves through the clan, leaving them reeling in disbelief and despair.
But the worst was yet to come. The mother's time drew near, and the dread land claimed her as its own, her life slipping away like sand through the fingers of time. The clan watched helplessly as she faded before their eyes, her once radiant beauty now but a shadow of its former self.
In the graveyard, the air was heavy with sorrow. The white-petaled sakura tree, its branches twisted and gnarled with age, stood as a silent witness to the tragedy unfolding beneath its boughs. Clan members, dressed in black traditional Japanese attire, carried swords at their sides, symbols of their heritage and the solemn duty they bore.
As they laid the mother against the trunk of the sakura tree, making her body appear to stand, a sense of foreboding settled over the gathered clan members. White shrouds, draped over makeshift tombstones, fluttered in the chilly breeze, bearing silent witness to the solemn occasion.
Above, a murder of crows circled ominously in the cloudy sky, their caws mingling with the mournful dirge of the graveyard. Despite the gloom that surrounded them, the clan pressed on, their hearts heavy with grief but resolved to honor the memory of their fallen kin.
And then, in a macabre twist of fate, from the bulging belly of the woman, the child entered the world—a child born from the womb of death itself, his cries mingling with the mournful dirge of the graveyard.
In that moment, the Akatsuki clan knew that their lives would never be the same—that the darkness that had claimed the small family had now set its sights on their own. And as they buried her beneath the cold earth of the graveyard, even as they adopted the child as their own, they couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in their hearts.
Only one among them, Ayaka Akatsuki, a widow who was once the wife of Hiroshi Akatsuki, a colleague of the child's father, dared to see beyond the omen. Sharing in the grief of the dead mother, she took the child under her wing, embracing him as her own despite the whispers of superstition that surrounded him. amidst the somber landscape of the Akatsuki clan.
15 years later, in a corridor of the clan house, Reyoma stood tall and angular-faced, his pitch-black hair cropped short. The most striking feature of his face was his large, beautiful black-pupiled eyes, which seemed to hold a depth of emotion beneath their surface. Clad in white Katabami armor, with its edges painted a stark red, Reyoma cut an imposing figure. The emblem of the Akatsuki clan, intricately written in calligraphy, adorned the back of his armor, a testament to his lineage.
Despite his commanding presence, Reyoma appeared distant, his gaze fixed ahead as if lost in thought. Indifferent to his surroundings, he exuded an air of aloofness that seemed to repel those around him.
As he stood there, straight as a spear, the corridor buzzed with activity as children of his age bustled past, eager to enter the dojo and hone their swordsmanship skills.
"Look, isn't that the dark omen of the clan?" whispered a female classmate, casting a wary glance at Reyoma.
"Yeah, that's him..." murmured another, eyes filled with apprehension.
"Guys, we should stay away from him. That curse takes everyone to their death. Don't you know he is the reason for both of his parents' deaths? And I've also heard that Miss Ayaka has been ill recently," cautioned a third, his voice tinged with fear.
Despite the hushed whispers around him, Reyoma remained unmoved, his expression impassive. The corridor, dimly lit by flickering torches, cast long shadows along the walls, adding to the eerie atmosphere that permeated the clan house.
Outside the windows, the landscape stretched out, bathed in the soft glow of twilight. The sprawling grounds of the clan house boasted numerous beautiful gardens and ponds, a stark contrast to the tension that simmered within its walls.
As Reyoma lingered in the corridor, the whispers of his peers echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the stigma that surrounded him. Yet, despite the rumors and accusations, he remained resolute, his determination unwavering as he stared out of the window, his thoughts known only to himself.
As Reyoma stood in the corridor, sighing in disbelief, his thoughts swirling with frustration.
"Ahh, this girl, I can't believe it. How can a girl be so unpunctual?" he muttered under his breath.
Aimi, Reyoma's only childhood friend, stood slightly above average height for her age, her lithe figure bearing the subtle strength of someone who's spent their childhood exploring the rugged terrain of their homeland. Her long, obsidian hair flowed like liquid silk down her back, and her eyes, the color of obsidian, sparkled with mischief and intelligence, framed by delicate lashes that fluttered with every sly glance.
Aimi trailed behind him, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Catching up to him, she slammed her palm on his back, causing him to stumble slightly.
"Hey, watch it!" Reyoma exclaimed, shooting Aimi a pointed look.
Ignoring his protest, Aimi stepped in front of him, locking eyes with him defiantly. "Look, I know I'm late, but it's because of you I'm late. If you had woken me up, I wouldn't—" she began, but Reyoma interrupted her.
"Shut up, Aimi. We're already very late. Let's hurry," Reyoma commanded, his tone firm as he continued walking.
Aimi huffed in annoyance but fell into step behind him, muttering under her breath about being unfairly blamed.
As they walked, Reyoma felt compelled to defend himself. "You know, I couldn't have woken you up even if I wanted to. You live in the dormitory now, remember? I can't just barge in whenever I feel like it."
Aimi rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of understanding in her voice. "I know, I know. We can't afford to be late."
With that, they quickened their pace, knowing they would have to face the consequences of their tardiness when they reached the dojo.
Reyoma and Aimi hurried into the dojo just before Sensei Renjiro Akatsuki arrived, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden floor. The air hummed with anticipation as the students prepared for their training session, the atmosphere thick with a mixture of nerves and excitement.