"Your son, he has gone through a great loss." The room filled with lamps and candles encased a sleeping Mirai, his breath slow and at peace as his mother and a strange man spoke above him. Incense and the faint smell of smoke carried through the room, almost suffocating.
Mirai's mother's hand brushed lightly over the boy's hair as he lay content with the world, if only for a moment. She knew soon enough he would have to wake up to the harsh realities he'd been dealt.
"His yang has been ripped from him, disrupting the soul he once shared," the man declared, his round, stubby body adorned in talismans and the traditional wear of those who cross the bridge between the yokai and the living.
"I don't understand—what are you saying?" Her brows furrowed with worry, her gentle strokes in his hair pressing down slightly from the stress of the news.
"It's said that when someone is stripped of their twin, especially so young, half their soul is taken too," the man explained, his hands gesturing along with his words. "In turn, that will leave your son vulnerable to curses."
"I'm sorry, but a grim fate awaits your son in the near future." He lowered his head as he delivered the grim tale, his ornaments clinking softly with his bow.
"Isn't there anything we can do?" she pleaded, desperation flooding her gaze.
"Well…" he murmured, deep in thought as he glanced at the boy's peaceful sleeping form, the young hands clinging to her kimono, riddled with scrapes and bruises from the destruction that surrounded him.
"A demon blade…" the masked figure murmured with surprise glinting past his mask. "How does a child like you possess such an artifact?"
"I think we've done our fair share of talking, yeah?" Mirai hissed, his grip tightening around the hilt, his blade eager to deliver his rage.
The man gave a slight nod. "Hmph, I suppose you're right." Though hidden, a weary smile seemed to appear beneath his mask. "Come at me!"
The two warriors wasted no more time with frivolous words, their blades clashing with a fierce urgency. Each strike weighed more heavily on the masked man, the pressure building with every swing of Mirai's blade.
'Impossible,' he thought, his gaze locked on the cyan aura emanating from the weapon. 'To wield a demon blade requires immense hatred.'
'This kid–' His sword flew back, clattering against the ground behind him. 'How could he hate me this much?'
Before Mirai could land another strike, the masked man darted toward his katana, gripping the hilt and rising into a ready stance once more. His eyes narrowed as Mirai approached, step by slow step.
It was as if time had frozen, every heartbeat like a thunderous drum in his ears. Mirai advanced, his steps carrying an unearthly silence as he moved, disappearing like a wisp in the cold night breeze.
The masked samurai's eyes darted around, scanning the field for any trace of his opponent, but there was nothing.
"Checkmate," a grim whisper cut through the stillness, a voice like death itself. Beads of sweat trickled down the man's temple as Mirai poised for the strike just behind him.
The masked man twisted quickly, shifting his weight and narrowly dodging Mirai's blade. In retaliation, he swung his own katana, the two of them freezing in their strike poses, neither daring to move, lest they expose a wound inflicted.
They held still, heads low, blades raised to the endless sky as the soft chirping of crickets returned, slowly filling the air once more.
A distant door creaked open, interrupting the charged silence. The masked man's gaze shot to the sound, seizing the opportunity to flee.
"H-Hey! Don't run—" Mirai protested, his voice ragged as his legs buckled, sending him to his knees.
"Bastard!" he choked, his words thick with unshed blood. "You'll die—you hear me? You'll die by my hands!"
His hair cascaded down his back as the tie he wore snapped in his exertion.
"Are you alright? What are you doing out so late?" Shou's mother rushed to his side, her eyes widening as she noticed his torn clothes but found no wounds beneath.
"I… I'm fine," Mirai winced, the phantom pain still lingering in his side as he rose once more. "Some guy has been watching your house for who knows how long."
Mirai's words sent a chill through her. She pressed a hand to her lips, then lowered it, her face settling into one of resolve.
"Mirai, you aren't planning to fight these bandits, are you?" She hesitated, concern filling her voice.
"Is there a problem with that?" Mirai's tone held a note of irritation.
"But… you're just a child."
"Child or not, I made a promise." Mirai sheathed his blade, glancing away as he spoke, his voice laced with both shame and resolve.
"Don't get me wrong—I'm not doing this out of the kindness of my heart." He lifted his gaze, determination and bloodlust flaring as he stared in the direction the masked man had fled. "This is personal, and I won't tolerate anyone getting in my way."
"Thank you for the hospitality. I do appreciate it," he said, giving her a faint smile as the grass stirred around them.
"Tell Shou I'm sorry for leaving so suddenly. He knows where to find me."
Off in the distance, the masked man leaned against a tree, clutching the wound in his abdomen. His breaths slowed as he tried to stifle the bleeding, blood slipping through his fingers and onto the earth below.
"So… that's his reason," he muttered, his voice weakening as he closed his eyes. "Maybe I'll… rest here for a while."