A Forgotten Saga, Part 2

By Shawn Carman
Editing & Assistance by Fred Wan

The city of Shaiga, the spring of 1152
The warm spring air was full of pollen and butterflies. Birds chirped incessantly. Some found the atmosphere peaceful, but to Kaneka it was interminable. He struggled to focus in the face of such distraction, ignoring the cacophony of noises he had never even noticed before his studies had begun. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and tried to empty his mind. He did not think, only acted.

Kaneka opened his eyes. He was standing in the proper stance to have completed the kata he was performing. His blade was at the correct angle. His feet were spaced perfectly. For the first time, he felt as though he had finished it properly. He stole a glance up at his sensei.

Otoya’s expression was sour, causing a sinking sensation in Kaneka’s chest. “Abysmal,” the old man condemned. “A shameful display!” A wry smile tugged at one corner of the old man’s mouth. “Still, by far the best to date. You are improving, young Kaneka. Although I suppose that is not saying a great deal, is it?”

Kaneka bowed quickly to hide the victorious grin he could not suppress. In the six months he had studied with Otoya, he had never heard the old man say anything particularly pleasant. Even faint praise was grand to hear. “I apologize, sensei,” he said on reflex. “I will attempt to do better next time.”

Otoya waved the comment away. “Come,” he said. “Let us continue our discussion from before your recent absence.” He paused for a moment. “How was your visit to Shoan-sama’s shrine, by the way?”

“Fine, sensei,” Kaneka answered carefully. He knew Otoya disapproved of his interest in the orphanage, although he was not certain why.

“Lady Shoan is well?” Seeing the young man’s nod, he smiled. “She is an exceptional woman. Why she squanders her time with such frivolities, I do not know.”

Kaneka bristled at the comment. He pursed his lips for a moment, but could not remain silent. “They have no one else,” he burst out.

“True,” Otoya said. “Perhaps she intends to offer them a place in her family? The older ones are growing close to the age of gempukku. Interesting.” He paused for a moment. “Still, I see no reason for your interest. They offer you nothing.”

“They need me,” Kaneka said quietly.

Otoya laughed. “Do you really believe that? That Shoan is so incapable of providing them with sustenance that they need the meager sum you are able to provide? Ridiculous.” The old man rubbed his chin. “They can offer you nothing. Any of them with a modicum of intelligence will accept Shoan’s offer. Any of them that choose to pass such up such an opportunity to follow you on your path would be so foolish as to be completely useless.” He shook his head again. “A pointless pursuit.”

“It is not pointless,” Kaneka said.

“There is a use for such people, I suppose,” Otoya continued. “If one is particularly ruthless, pawns have use in war. The Steel Chrysanthemum used such troops in his strategies. He sacrificed them by the thousands to achieve his objectives. A dangerous ploy, of course, and good only for short term campaigns. If he had not had the Stone Crab, his war would have failed far earlier. There are a finite amount of wave men to fill the gaps left by the dead, after all.”

Kaneka frowned. “Did you not serve in the Chrysanthemum’s armies?”

“Briefly,” the sensei admitted. “The rewards were ample, but I saw death in my future. So I betrayed his plans to another. The profit was less, but I survived. And, if I am to be truthful, I learned much from his tactics.”

“He was a madman,” Kaneka insisted. “A murderous, evil wraith.”

“What if he was?” Otoya said. “His coin spent as well as any other. What else matters?”

“There are things more important than wealth,” Kaneka said.

Otoya laughed uproariously. “Magnificent! I shall miss our conversations, Kaneka. You are always entertaining.”

Kaneka stopped short. “Miss?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“Tomorrow shall be your final session,” Otoya explained. “I have new students arriving from Nanashi Mura in a matter of days.”

The young ronin stood, dumbstruck. “We… we haven’t finished.”

“Do not be foolish,” the sensei admonished. “I accepted you as a favor to Shoan, and because I had no prospects over the winter season. The students from Nanashi Mura pay well enough, and they require secrecy.” He shrugged. “Thus we are finished. You would not have been an apt pupil in any regard. Your talent is considerable, but your judgment is clouded.”

Kaneka brooded for a moment. “I am not the wisest man,” he said in a low voice, “but my judgment is good enough. I know right from wrong.”

“There are no such things,” Otoya admonished.

“Then perhaps you are right,” Kaneka said. “Perhaps there is nothing more I can learn from you.”

Otoya smiled. “For now, perhaps.”

The plains north of the Shinomen Mori, eight months later
Booming laughter filled the evening air as the ronin shared tales of conquest and failure around the fire at their evening meal. Kaneka grinned widely as his friend Etsushi finished his tale of a young geisha he had met in the Crane provinces. A distant memory fluttered near the back of his mind, but Kaneka shoved it away as the older men sitting with them doubled over with laughter. Etsushi had always had a talent for spinning tales.

“So what did you do?” one of the older men asked

Etsushi grinned from ear to ear. “What else could I do? I went out the window. And let me tell you, friends, it is mightily cold in the Crane provinces if one is only wearing a jingasa, a sumotori wrap, and this handsome smile.”

The entire group howled, and Kaneka wiped tears from his eyes. Etsushi was a bit young to have landed such a conquest as he described, particularly since he claimed it was some summers back, but he did not wish to insult his friend by saying so. “What was the name of the geisha house?” Kaneka asked. “In case I am in the area, I’ll see if the magistrates are still looking for you.”

Etsushi grinned even wider. “The House of the Drifting Leaves,” he said. “Don’t drink the tea. It’s awful.”

There was a sound of something clattering on the stones. Kaneka turned around to see Uchito, Etsushi’s brother, looking at them, horrified. “The House of the Drifting Leaves?” he asked.

“That’s the one!” Etsushi smiled.

“Tsuchiko,” Uchito said flatly. “You were the one who was with Tsuchiko that night.”

“I was the one with Tsuchiko many nights!” Etsushi claimed to his friends’ delight.

“Traitor!” Uchito shrieked, leaping atop his twin and pummeling him about the head and shoulders. “You stole her from me! You filthy scum!”

The two brothers continued beating one another mercilessly, although it seemed to only increase the enjoyment the other ronin took from the situation. Kaneka grinned, but the conflict had drained much of his amusement. The two brothers fought endlessly, despite their father’s constant admonishment. Kaneka idly wondered if, had he been blessed with a brother, they would fight in the same manner. He seriously doubted it.

The sound of hooves thudding in the grass put an instant stop to the laughter, although the two brothers did not seem to notice. A lone rider emerged from the twilight, his face a mask of anger. “What are you fools doing?” he demanded, glancing around the camp. “Did you hear nothing I said?” The older man leapt down and grabbed Uchito by the collar, hurling him across the clearing away from his brother.

“Ryuta-sama,” one of the other ronin in the group said. “Your sons explained…”

“My sons?” Ryuta bellowed. “These two buffoons? What did they have to say that could possibly be of interest?”

“Father,” Etsushi said, rubbing his throat, “I know you are concerned about the Forest Killers. But trust us, they are not in this area.”

“What?” Ryuta demanded. “How would you know that?”

“The Eyes of Nanashi Mura,” Uchito said, dusting his clothing off. “We compared accounts when we were last in the village.”

“One of them used to be an outrider with the Unicorn,” Etsushi continued. “He patrolled this entire region for years before moving on.”

“And another was a yoriki in Shaiga,” Uchito said. “We talked to both, and they confirmed the pattern we spoke about earlier. The Forest Killers are migratory. They’re simply too large to stay in one place for too long. They would draw too much attention to themselves and run all their victims off in the process.”

“Yes,” Etsushi nodded. “At this time of year they are likely near the northern Crab lands, near the Toritaka provinces. One of our contacts with the Yasuki confirmed that they tend to have a lot of caravans attacked this time of year.”

Uchito frowned. “That information cost me my last bottle of Friendly Traveler sake,” he grumbled.

“Only because you lost the others in that game of Winds & Fortunes while trying to find out the name of that Daidoji merchant who supposedly had the Kaiu blade for sale,” Etsushi mocked. “Honestly, as if you could have afforded it.”

Seeing Uchito’s face grow red, Ryuta held up a hand. “Perhaps you are right,” he admitted, “but that doesn’t mean there aren’t dangers. Drawing too much attention to ourselves in this area is a bad idea, and you two should know better.”

The two young men both looked down and muttered “Yes, father.”

“The rest of you should know better as well,” Ryuta said sternly. “If you can’t do a better job, we shall have to change our names. The Hidden Storm just won’t work. Perhaps the Obnoxious Storm, or the Drunken Storm would be better.”

There were a few laughs at the last suggestion, and Kaneka could tell from the look in Ryuta’s eyes that his anger was largely passed. “Get some rest, men,” he ordered. “We have a long ride ahead of us this week, and I don’t want to listen to you complain like a bunch of old women.”

It was three days later when the attack came. Months after it was over, Kaneka would discover that the Forest Killers were in fact responsible, and that they had changed their pattern of travel for the express purpose of eliminating the Hidden Storm. On some level, perhaps, if the men who died had known, they would have been proud.

The riders came from the east, out of the green depths of the forest. They were lightly armored and bore no packs so that they could strike with speed, and their tactic was terribly effective. They crashed into the Hidden Storm’s flank. Even as they turned to face them, another group rode from the west, this time much heavier armed and armored. When they struck the Storm’s other flank, the group shattered and was split into pieces.

“Ryuta!” Kaneka shouted, leaping from his horse even as it was cut from beneath him. “Etsushi! Uchito! Where are you?”

“Kaneka!”

He ducked beneath a clumsy strike from a no-dachi and cut the legs out from under the man who was wielding it. “Etsushi!” He saw the brothers now, fighting back to back as they always did. Uchito was fighting with his naginata, trying to cover himself as well as Etsushi. Kaneka saw with a sickening chill that blood was streaming from Etsushi’s right eye. For his part, the young ronin did not seem to even notice, but was tearing through anyone who came near him, a feral grimace on his face. “I’m coming!”

Kaneka fought through the seemingly endless adversaries to reach the two brothers, and together they formed a circle. Each protected the others as they fought for what seemed like hours, but was most likely no more than a few minutes. “Where is Ryuta?” Kaneka bellowed.

“I don’t know!” Uchito shouted. “I can’t see him!”

“We can’t stay here!” Kaneka shouted. “We can’t kill them all!”

“I can!” Etsushi roared. “I’ll kill until there’s no one left!”

“Uchito,” Kaneka said, “if we stay here we all die!”

“He’s right!” Uchito said. “We have to go!”
“No!” Etsushi shouted. “Not without father!”

“If he sees you two leave, he’ll flee!” Kaneka says. “He’ll stay until he knows you’re safe!”

“Alright!” Etsushi screamed “Alright, let’s go!”

Uchito hefted his naginata and hurled it, impaling a bandit riding toward them, lifting him out of the saddle and sending him rolling on the ground behind it. The ever graceful Uchito leapt atop the horse as it ran by, then doubled around for the others. “Go!” Kaneka shouted. “Etsushi, go!”

Etsushi leapt up behind his brother even as Kaneka buried a knife in another bandit’s throat and wrested him from atop his steed. Crouched low to avoid any thrown weapons, he followed the two brothers as they rode away from the massacre.

The plain where the fight had taken place less than a day before reeked. The combat had been a slaughter, even though Kaneka was certain the Forest Killers had drastically underestimated the losses they would take when fighting the Storm. The carrion birds had already come, more than Kaneka had ever seen, and they were feasting.

For the past day, Kaneka and the two brothers had ridden throughout the area surrounding the battle site, searching for any indicating that Ryuta or any of the others had survived. Thus far, they had found none. Twice, they found small groups of the Forest Killers that had gotten separated from the main group. The three ronin had taken bloody vengeance on those men, and Kaneka did not regret the butchery.

The battleground was moist with blood and viscera. Kaneka grimaced as he walked through it, checking the faces of the dead for anyone he knew. Too many were familiar. He searched for what seemed like hours, until he heard the anguished cry of Etsushi. He knew what that meant.

The brothers knelt in the wet grass near the mutilated body of their father. Etsushi wept uncontrollably, the bloodied bandages covering his face making it all the more gruesome a sight to behold. Uchito said nothing, but there was no color in his face. “I am sorry,” Kaneka said softly. “Ryuta was the closest thing to a father I have ever had.”

“He was a good man,” Uchito said. He glanced around at the half dozen bodies surrounding him. “He took many of his enemies with him.”

“I’ll kill them,” Etsushi snarled. “I will find them, whoever they are, wherever they run. I will find them, and I will kill every soul among them. Their families too, if I must. Their line will end for this! Their lives for my father’s!”

“Yes,” Kaneka hissed. “I am with you.”

“No,” Uchito said. “First we must take his body back to the village of our birth. It is where all men of our line have been born, from the days of my grandfather’s grandfather. His ashes must rest in the tomb with our ancestors.”

Kaneka nodded. “How long will it take us to get there?”

Uchito frowned. “I am sorry, Kaneka. You cannot come with us.”

Kaneka stood unmoving, confused. “Why?”

“It is a private ritual,” Uchito explained. “No one outside our family can participate. It is tradition. I am sorry.”

“I see,” Kaneka said. “Where shall I meet you again?”

“Kaeru Toshi,” Etsushi said. “We will look for you there when our father’s ashes have been put to rest. And then, we shall seek our destiny in the blood of our enemies.”

Kaeru Toshi, 1153
Kaneka finished another cup of sake and slammed it loudly down onto the table. The serving girl approached, but his glare sent her scurrying away. He had not yet consumed enough sake to ease his troubled mind, but he was devoted to the cause.

Six months. Six months had passed and he had heard nothing from Etsushi and Uchito. Had something happened to them? Had they forgotten him? He could not be sure, and the uncertainty was almost more than he could bear. He jostled the bottle slightly, dismayed at the meager amount remaining. He reached to his money bag, only to be further distressed at its similarly light nature. There wasn’t enough for another bottle, and his current bottle lacked enough sake to finish what he had started. Frowning, he downed what was left in one gulp and stormed toward the door.

The sun outside was surprisingly bright, probably as a result of his current state. He squinted and held his hand up to block the light, staggering for a moment as he did so. In that moment of semi-blindness, he bumped into something and took a poor step, twisting his ankle slightly as he stepped off of the slight rise on which the sake house had been constructed. He grunted loudly as he hit the ground, causing a cloud of dust to fly up into the dry summer air. There was laughter from a group of older men across the street, and Kaneka felt blood rushing to his face.

He leapt up from the dirt and turned to face the man that had bumped into him. “You idiot!” he roared. “Can you not watch what you are doing?” He faltered at the end of the question as he realized that he was addressing a woman, several years younger than he was.

The young woman raised an eyebrow slightly. “You staggered out of the sake house half-drunk,” she said in a conversational tone. “I tried to avoid you, but you lurched into my path. The fault is yours.”

The laughter from across the street grew louder at the exchange, and Kaneka felt himself growing angrier by the moment. “Don’t correct me, girl!” he snarled. “You should learn to respect your betters.”

“My elder, perhaps,” the girl replied. “Whether you are my better or not is a matter of opinion.”

“How dare you?” Kaneka nearly shouted. “How dare you speak to me like that?” His hand drifted to the hilt of his blade.

“Be careful,” she said quietly. “Do not do something foolish because you are half-drunk.” She paused for a moment and looked at him strangely. “Or are you? Something worries you. I apologize for mistaking it for drunkenness. What weighs upon you so?”

For just a moment, there had been a glint of something in her eyes, something that set off an alarm deep inside Kaneka. His old sensei Otoya had warned him about such instincts, and he struggled to heed them. Her questions, though, were so much worse. It caused the frustration and concern to well up in him once again, and he was unwilling to confront the truths they might represent. “Face me,” he said quietly.

There was no surprise or concern in her face, only a slight hint of sorrow. “If that is what you wish,” she said. “At dawn, then.”

“Now!” he insisted.

“No,” she said. “I must pray in the temple, in the unlikely event that you kill me. Dawn. Not before.”

“I will be ready,” he hissed.

He was not ready.

Kaneka’s head ached almost unbearably from the sake he had consumed the day before. After his confrontation with the girl, whose name he still did not know, he had vented his anger with hours of practice in the fields outside the city. So much so, in fact, that his arms and legs ached nearly as badly as his head. None of it mattered. He would win. He had to.

His opponent was there when he arrived, kneeling toward the sunrise, deep in prayer. Kaneka did not interrupt her. It did not seem proper. He half expected the men who had taken such pleasure from their collision to be present to watch, but they were alone. Perhaps it was simply too early to seek amusement. Or perhaps they, like Kaneka, sensed something about his opponent. There would be no laughter in this, regardless of the outcome.

“I am glad to see you,” the woman said. “I thought perhaps the sake…”

“I said that I would be here,” Kaneka said irritably. “That is all that matters.”

For the first time, she smiled. “I am glad to hear that. Shall we begin?”

Kaneka nodded, and the two took their places only a few feet apart. He bowed to her, never taking his eyes from her face. On the other hand, she bowed deeply, closing her eyes. The two adopted their stances, and the waiting began.

The waiting was the worse part for Kaneka. Patience was never his strong suit, and although Otoya and Ryuta had taught him much about such things, it remained a weakness. He focused on her eyes, her hips, and the hilt of her blade. She was like a statue. If she blinked, he could not see it. He struggled to remain as motionless, as perfect, as she was. There had never been anything in his life at which he had been perfect. Maybe in this one moment, this one duel, he could finally do something worth remembering.

It happened so quickly that later he did not even remember who moved first. They both seemed to move at once, drawing their blades in almost perfect unison. There was a crisp, pristine note as the steel resonated against the wooden saya, and then a sharp crash as the two blades met. There was a crack, and Kaneka felt a stinging sensation in his arm, then searing agony raced through his shoulder. A garbled cry of pain escaped him, and he dropped to the ground. He could see his blood flowing into the dirt, turning his very vision red with it.

The woman was on her knee beside him. “Do not move,” she said softly. “Your blade has broken. A shard of it is in your shoulder. I have to remove it.”

Kaneka made an inarticulate noise of consent, and then howled in pain as she tore the metal free from his mangled flesh. The woman tore the sleeve from her kimono and attempted to stop the bleeding. The pain was almost more than he could comprehend, but this time he managed to stop from crying out.  “Are… are you injured?” he gasped.

“No,” she said. “The blade broke when we struck. A shard scratched my arm, but nothing more. Try not to move.”

“My arm,” he mumbled gesturing to the elbow of his injured arm. “Another shard.”

“No,” she corrected. “That is where I cut you. It is not deep.”

“You won,” he said flatly.

“By very little,” she admitted. “You are talented. More so than anyone I have ever faced. If your blade had not broken…” she left the thought unfinished.

“My sword.” The weight of what had happened settled over Kaneka. The pain in his shoulder seemed to fade away to nothing as a sick, cold sensation filled him from within. “My blade is broken.”

“It can be re-forged,” she said. “Replaced, if necessary.”

“No,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “You cannot replace such things. I cannot afford it if I wished to do so.” He stared down at his hands. “My station is lost. I am lost. I have nothing.”

“You have nothing only if you allow it,” she said. “What is your name?”

“I am Kaneka,” he said.

“Kaneka, I am Fusami,” she replied. “Let me help you back to the city.

The two duelists rose, one gingerly, and slowly walked toward Kaeru Toshi. The plain where they stood was left empty, with sunlight glinting off of tiny shards of steel amid a lake of blood.

The Shinomen Mori, two months later
Kaneka stopped and sat on an overturned tree, eager to rest for a moment after the arduous miles he had traveled. It was ridiculous to rest so soon, and he knew it. The lion’s share of his trip was yet to be made, and it would be far more difficult than this, but it had been quite some time since he traveled at length through the Shinomen. He had forgotten how exhausting it could be. He sipped at the clay bottle he carried on his hip, cautious not to drink too much. It was several miles yet until he reached the next available source of fresh water, and he did not wish to deplete his reserves too soon.

As he sat, Kaneka’s hand reflexively drifted toward the hilt of his blade. But of course it was no longer there. The length of blade left above the hilt had been too little to make anything more than a knife, and frankly it had seemed blasphemous to do such a thing. And so his saya remained empty, a never-ending reminder that to the world, he was nothing. He could not prove his station. He could not claim his birthright as a samurai. Unless he discovered something in the remains of his childhood home, he would be lost forever.

Fusami had attempted to talk him out of returning. The two had spent a handful of days in Kaeru Toshi while he healed. She seemed to feel rather strongly that nothing could be gained from returning home. He suspected there was something preventing her from doing exactly that, hence her objection, but he had respected her enough not to inquire into her past.

Still, despite her objections, Kaneka felt lost. He did not think he could bear the company of others until he found his center again, and there was but one place he could imagine finding peace: the childhood home he and his mother had shared, deep inside the vast Shinomen Mori. As a child, he had loved the forest. He had been cautious, in accordance with his mother’s wishes, but it had never occurred to him to know fear until he had traveled beyond the forest. There, people spoke of the terrible, unknown things that dwelled within the forest. Kaneka had never seen them, but he now wondered if perhaps they did exist.

As if on cue, something crashed through the vegetation not far from where Kaneka sat. He tried to draw his weapon, then cursed and withdrew the short knife he kept tucked in his obi. He wondered if perhaps he should run, but with the speed whatever he heard was moving, there seemed little point. If he must die, then at least he would die facing the predator that hunted him.

Something brightly colored dropped from the trees, spinning at an odd angle before it landed deftly on the ground perhaps twenty feet away. So great was Kaneka’s confusion that at first he did not recognize what it was. Then it stood and smiled, and he realized that the thing was only a man clad in rather odd colors. “Hello!” the newcomer said brightly. “I haven’t seen anyone else in the entire forest. What are you doing here?”

Kaneka spat and collapsed back on the tree, his breath coming quick. “You surprised me,” he said angrily. “What are you doing in the trees? What are you, some sort of monkey spirit in human form?”

The young man’s face took on an interested look. “I had not considered that before,” he said earnestly. “I have to admit, it is possible. My mother was rather generous with her favors, or so the men in my village used to say.”

Kaneka stared at the young man, more of a boy, really, in shock. “What kind of man would say such things about his own mother?”

The young man shrugged. “I never met her. Well, except at birth I suppose, but I hardly recall that. I am Kazumasa.”

“Kaneka,” he grunted. “Why are you in the forest?”

“Why not?” Kazumasa asked. “Look at it.” He gestured wide, encompassing the entire forest. “The treetops are like a completely different world. There are cliffs and lakes, chasms and swamps. There is so much to see and experience. It is like a world unto itself, and until this moment, I had it completely to myself.”

Kaneka grunted and nodded grudgingly. “When I was a child I used to love to dive from a cliff into the lake below it. I think it is about two miles that way.” He nodded in the direction. A sad smile tugged at his face. “I had not thought about it in years.”

“Excellent,” Kasamazu smiled. “That is exactly why I seek out places like this. To experience them to the fullest. Let’s race to your cliff!”

“What?” Kaneka was taken aback. “Race? Are you mad?”

“I understand,” Kasamazu said with a crestfallen expression. “Few people are willing to race me. I have never lost.”

“I am not afraid of losing,” Kaneka said indignantly. “It’s just that…”

“Wonderful!” Kasamazu interrupted. “Let’s go!” And the young man disappeared into the trees, running in the direction Kaneka had pointed at full speed.

Kaneka cursed and leapt up from the tree. He told himself that he was only trying to stop the younger man, but of course that was a lie. He could not turn away from competition. He had never been able to. He did not understand why, and perhaps he never would, but the notion of failing was anathema to him. If it was a race this Kasamazu wanted, then it was a race he would receive.

The younger man’s laughter rang out through the forest as they ran. “Feel the wind in your hair?” he shouted. “The leaves on your face? This is life!”

Kaneka could not suppress a grin at the young man’s boundless enthusiasm. It quickly faded as he realized that Kasamazu was pulling farther and farther ahead. He grimaced and pushed harder, his body objecting but doing as he demanded.

Three times he staggered as he ran, tripping over something he could not even see. Each time he nearly fell forward while running, something that would surely have resulted in terrible injury if he had not managed to regain his balance. A branch snagged his hair as he ran and tore a chunk out, causing him to hiss in pain. He caught an occasional glimpse of Kasamazu as the young man deftly leapt across obstacles after obstacle, seemingly not the least bit slowed by the treacherous terrain. He knew he could not catch Kasamazu, but he would not give up. He would die before anyone had that satisfaction.

The next few minutes were nothing more than a blur of green and brown as Kaneka forced his body into action, contorting it in means he had never imagined. The race ended rather suddenly, as Kaneka has misjudged the distance in question. He emerged from the brush at a dead run, and his momentum carried him out into the air, far above the lake. He flailed his arms and legs wildly, all the breath escaping his lungs in a very creative series of curses. As he plummeted toward the water, he saw Kasamazu surface from his similar plunge, laughing uncontrollably.

Just as he struck the water, Kaneka began laughing as well.

Only a few short days after he parted ways with Kasamazu, Kaneka returned home to the tiny hut he and his mother had shared for most of his life. It was even smaller than he remembered, and he found nothing within. After his mother’s death, he had not been able to bring himself to search through her meager belongings. Doing so felt… wrong. Now, years later, he had forced himself to do so in hopes of discovering some trace or indication of his father, but to no avail. He had hoped perhaps that if he could discover the truth of his lineage, he could find his family and gain proof of his noble birth. Now, as before, there was nothing for him.

There was a small pond in front of his mother’s house. He had seen her sit before it and meditate often when he was younger. When he had asked her what she was doing, she had smiled and answered only that she sought guidance.

Kaneka sat before the pond and assumed the unfamiliar position of meditation. He had spent very little time attempting to meditate. It had always seemed like a waste of time. Now, he believed there was nothing left. Without guidance, he was lost.

Minutes stretched into hours, and Kaneka felt nothing. He persevered, unwilling to give up on what he considered to be his last hope of finding his path. He focused his will inward, desperate to find something, anything within himself that he could use to find purpose. He found nothing. After most of the afternoon was squandered, he opened his eyes, emptier than he had ever felt in his entire life.

The water of the pond before him was churning. He had been so absorbed that he had not heard it, but now it was like the deafening roar of the ocean upon the shore. His troubles momentarily forgotten, Kaneka could do nothing as he watched the water seethe and writhe, and eventually take shape as something rose from its meager depths.

Carry the Fortunes, my child, a voice boomed inside his head. I have awaited your return.

TO BE CONCLUDED