The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant hearths. Kyoto stirred awake under the gentle glow of dawn, but within the Fujiwara estate, the day had long begun. Servants moved swiftly through the wooden corridors, their voices hushed as they prepared for the morning routines of the noble family.
In the courtyard, Renjiro Fujiwara stood motionless, his wooden bokken resting at his side. His long, dark hair was tied neatly behind him, framing a face that held neither warmth nor joy. His sokutai, embroidered with golden patterns, reflected his wealth and status, yet the man himself seemed utterly detached from the luxuries he possessed.
A servant stood across from him, gripping his own bokken with a mixture of fear and determination. He had sparred with Renjiro before, and he knew this would not be a fair match.
Renjiro exhaled slowly. Then, he moved.
The wooden swords cracked against each other, the sharp thwack echoing through the courtyard. Renjiro's strikes were swift, methodical—perfectly timed, yet lacking the fire of someone fighting for purpose. The servant struggled to keep up, but it was clear he was merely delaying the inevitable.
A final strike disarmed the servant, sending his bokken clattering to the ground. The match was over.
The servant bowed deeply. "Your form is unmatched, Fujiwara-sama."
Renjiro said nothing. With a nod, he dismissed the man and turned toward the main building.
As he walked through the wooden corridors of his estate, he felt the weight of unseen eyes. The servants—they all watched him with a quiet unease. They had noticed the change in him.
He did not care.
---
The kitchen was warm, filled with the aroma of steaming rice and fresh miso soup. Renjiro knelt beside a low wooden table, picking up a knife. The familiar resistance of daikon beneath the blade was strangely grounding.
As he sliced, his mind drifted.
There was a time when I was different.
I was ambitious. I wanted power, wealth, and pleasure. As the second son of the Fujiwara clan, I was not entitled to inherit my father's position. My older brother, the rightful heir, walked his path with the confidence of someone who had everything handed to him. But I would not be content in his shadow.
I built influence through charm, through manipulation. I surrounded myself with people who could be used and discarded. Women were conquests. Money was a tool. Everything was a means to an end.
And then, I met her.
She was unlike the others. Where most women sought my favor, she ignored me. Where others bent to my will, she resisted. At first, it was a challenge—one I was determined to win. But somewhere along the way, I lost control.
She saw through my deception. She called out my greed, my empty pursuits. And yet, she did not hate me.
For the first time in my life, someone believed I could be more.
And for a time, I was.
I let go of my ambition, my hunger for power. With her, I found peace. A life without deception, without the endless chase for something more.
But peace is fragile.
And when she was taken from me, that life crumbled.
I do not remember when I stopped feeling. Only that the world became colorless.
Now, I no longer desire women. I no longer seek wealth.
There is only silence. And the blood that stains my hands.
---
The moment came without warning.
A strange force gripped him, an unnatural pull that seized his entire being. The warmth of the kitchen vanished. The wooden floor beneath him disappeared.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
When his vision returned, he found himself standing in an endless void. A space without direction, without time—where reality itself seemed suspended.
Before him stood a figure draped in shifting shadows.
Noctis.
Renjiro met the god's gaze with neither fear nor curiosity. His face remained impassive, his stance unshaken.
Noctis studied him for a moment before speaking. "You are different."
Renjiro said nothing.
"Most react with confusion, disbelief," Noctis continued. "Yet you stand here as if none of this concerns you."
Renjiro tilted his head slightly. "Does it?"
A chuckle escaped the god. "I like you." He stepped closer, his form shifting with each movement. "Renjiro Fujiwara, I have chosen you for a purpose greater than this world. The gods above rule without challenge, their will absolute. But I seek to change that."
Renjiro remained silent, waiting.
"I offer you power beyond mortal reach," Noctis said, his voice carrying an undeniable weight. "But first, you must choose."
With a flick of his hand, symbols appeared in the void, each glowing with a different hue.
"There are seven elements—Light, Dark, Earth, Fire, Air, Water, and Knowledge. Choose one, and it shall become yours."
Renjiro's gaze passed over the choices. Light, knowledge—these were gifts for philosophers, for idealists. Dark? He already knew the void too well. Earth, air, and water were nothing more than the world's natural forces.
Then, there was fire.
Fire did not yield. It consumed, destroyed, and reduced all to ash. It burned away weakness.
"Fire," he said simply.
Noctis smirked. "Interesting."
"And your second gift?" the god asked. "Something beyond elemental mastery. A power that will define you."
Renjiro considered this. He had no need for brute strength or immortality. But there was something fitting for a man like him—someone who had built his life upon observation, upon adaptation.
"The ability to copy another's skill," he said. "To replicate what I see, once witnessed."
A pause. Then, laughter.
Noctis laughed, deep and resonant, the sound reverberating through the void. "A cunning choice. One fitting for a man who once sought the throne through wit and manipulation." He extended his hand. "It is granted."
A surge of energy coursed through Renjiro's body. It was warm, powerful, yet oddly familiar. He did not flinch.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back.
---
The kitchen was unchanged. The wooden board, the sliced daikon, the faint glow of lanterns.
As though nothing had happened.
Renjiro rolled his fingers, feeling the strange sensation of fire stirring beneath his skin. He was not surprised. He did not question it.
With quiet precision, he finished his task. He cleaned the knife, set the daikon aside, and rose to his feet. His daily routine awaited.
And so, as though his summoning had never occurred, Renjiro continued his chores.
But deep within him, something had shifted.
The embers of change had been lit.
And in time, they would burn.
---
End of Chapter 3