As always, the light of dusk shone warmly upon the village, though this time stormy clouds loomed in the distance.
Miyuki was inside the house, apron on, preparing some food when she heard the sound of people talking in the distance.
She paused and stepped outside to see who it was, and to nobody's surprise it was just Izumi, Takae, and Yuriko, followed by her father.
Yuriko's constant complaining could be heard as she walked unsteadily, panting between steps.
"Woah, are you okay, Yuriko?" Miyuki asked, but she only grunted as she headed inside.
"Don't worry about her," Izumi replied in her stead. "She thought she could take the old man on, and we all know what happened next."
"Is that right?" she replied. "Why would she do that though?"
"He said that he would make our drills shorter if she won," Takae replied.
"So I take that to mean they won't be getting shorter," Miyuki said as they walked in.
"No, they're longer now," Izumi replied.
She looked back to see Ichiro entering the house, silently closing the door behind him and heading to his room. She didn't say anything and simply turned back around and returned to the kitchen.
"Finally," Yuriko said, suddenly more energetic once Miyuki served them some food. "Nothing makes me feel better than Miyuki's cooking."
"You guys praise me too much," she replied as she sat down with them. "If it was that good, we would get more customers."
With that reply, the group began digging in.
"I almost beat him this tim—" Yuriko commented with her mouth full.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Izumi said, cutting her off.
She swallowed all the food in one go and continued, "I'm telling you guys, he was way off his game today."
"You say that every time he beats you," Takae replied.
"I'm being serious this time," she said, pointing her chopsticks at her. "It was like there was something on his mind that kept him from being fully focused."
"He still beat you regardless," Izumi commented between bites.
"Shut up!" she yelled. "I'll beat him next time, just you watch."
"Anyway, at least we're making some progress," she continued. "But Vahir still doesn't make sense to me. How are you so good at it, Takae?"
The sudden question choked her.
"What do you mean, me?" she replied after a series of coughs. "I'm not that good. I barely know the basics."
"Well that's more than the both of us combined," Izumi said.
Yuriko sighed and said, "Maybe it's just not our thing."
"Don't worry," Miyuki reassured her. "I'm sure you'll get it sooner or later."
"Whatever you say, I guess," she replied, slightly downcast.
Meanwhile, Miyuki couldn't get what Yuriko had said earlier out of her mind.
"What was he thinking about?" she wondered. "Nothing too bad, I hope."
These thoughts kept gnawing at her as they finished eating and she gathered the utensils to clean them.
Thunder rolled across the sky as a light drizzle began to fall. The breeze that followed felt cold and uneasy.
After washing the cutlery, she prepared a tray and took some food to Ichiro's room.
She knocked on the door and slid it open. Ichiro sat facing the wall, not even turning to see who it was. There was a large, black box infront of him.
She quietly placed the tray of food beside him and turned to leave.
"Wait," he called out, stopping her dead in her tracks. "How's the hand?"
She looked down at her bandaged left arm, unsure of what to say.
"It feels better," she replied nervously, trying to leave.
"Come sit down. I want to take a look at it," he said as he turned to face her.
"It's not that bad, I promise," she said, still attempting to step away. But one look in his eyes told her she wasn't going anywhere.
"I just want to see it for myself," he said, his tone more serious.
She knew there was nothing she could say to get out of the situation, so she gave in and sat down in front of him.
Slowly, she began untying the bandages, hesitating after every turn.
The last strip of cloth fell away from her hand.
For a moment, Ichiro said nothing.
He simply stared.
There was no burn on her hand. The skin was perfectly fine.
But something else stood out.
On the back of her left hand was a mark: two crescent moons curving inward, a large star resting at their intersection, surrounded by smaller stars scattered around the crescents.
"It's not what you think," she said quickly, trying to defend herself.
But Ichiro didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the mark.
"When did it start appearing?" he asked, still staring at her hand.
She remained silent for a moment processing her response.
"It started around three weeks ago," she finally responded," but I didn't do anything, I swear."
He didn't reply to her last statement instead he asked,"What else is new?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, dodging his question.
"You can lie to me," he said, looking back up at her. "I already know about your ascension."
Hearing that, she didn't know what to say and remained silent.
"Why did you feel the need to hide this from me?" he asked. "I thought we kept no secrets."
"I didn't think," she replied, "that it would change what you told me, but I still wanted to try to become one."
"Why do you want to become an Ashura Samurai?" he asked. "Is it because you feel guilty about your mother's death?"
She clenched her fists, looked at him, and said, "Of course not."
"Then why?" he asked. "Do you think that you have to atone somehow?"
She looked away and said,"It isn't that either."
"Then tell me," he said, his tone softer.
"Ever since you told me the truth," she said, "I couldn't stop thinking about the world she hoped for."
"I used to imagine what it would be like if she were here—doing all the mother-daughter things the other kids did. But over time I accepted that she wasn't coming back. After that, only one thought remained: a world where children didn't have to grow up without their parents."
"And maybe one day," she continued, "when I have kids of my own, they won't have to grow up without their mother like I did."
"So that's when I decided," she said, opening her palm and staring into it, "that I would become an Ashura Samurai too one day, so that I could fight to make such a world possible."
Ichiro remained silent as he listened.
"And I'm not a fool either. I know it's not that simple," she continued. "But I still want to try, because if I don't… then what right do I have to dream of a better future?"
Clenching her fist again, she said, "So please… I'm going to ask you again. Let me chase this dream, because without it I'm nothing."
For a moment, the room fell silent.
Ichiro sighed and said, "If only we were born in a world where we could keep our promises. Then I wouldn't be forced to choose like this."
He paused before continuing.
"But I also understand that imposing your own desires onto your children is hypocritical, especially if it stands in the way of their hopes and dreams."
He then turned and picked up the large black box behind him and placed it between them.
He opened it. Inside were some robes and a long object wrapped in a white cloth, though she couldn't make out what it was.
He lifted it from the box and set it on his lap, beginning to untie the string that held the cloth in place.
Slowly, the object began to take a familiar shape, and when the cloth was fully undone, it became clear.
It was an Ikkion blade—an old one at that, with many scratches on its black sheath and a worn-down hilt.
"When an Ashura Samurai dies," he said, breaking the silence, "they're usually buried with their Ikkion blade."
"Though many opposed it," he continued, "I decided to keep your mother's sword. I didn't know why at first. I thought maybe I just wanted something to remember her by, but deep down I knew that wasn't the reason."
Holding it firmly with both hands, he reached out and handed it to her.
"Maybe it was because I hoped I could give it to you one day," he continued. "It's strange, isn't it—the way people's desires can clash with each other. On one hand, I hoped you would never choose this life. On the other, I wanted to give this sword to you if you did."
She stared down at it, passing her hand over every scratch. She held the hilt gently and partially unsheathed the blade.
"I don't think I ever told you this about her," he said as she looked down at the blade, "but she always believed you were special. Even when the physician told us you might not make it, she was certain you would."
"She said," he continued, "that her daughter wouldn't be set back by something like that."
She slowly sheathed the blade.
"And like I told you once before," he continued, "she's watching you from wherever she is, rooting for you all the way. Now her will will move alongside you."
"So please accept her as your guiding light."
She didn't say anything. Instead, a tear rolled down her cheek and fell onto the mark on the back of her left hand. Then another followed, and another, until they became small streams flowing down from her eyes.