Chapter Two: The Stirring of the Mountain Spirits
The mountains of Tenkazan had long held their silence. But silence, like winter, is never eternal.
Tatsuo had grown into a man of quiet strength. The villagers often spoke of his strange presence—how the rain seemed to follow him like a loyal dog, how injured animals healed faster in his hands, how no fire dared burn him, not even in childhood. He laughed it off, saying only that he was "touched by mountain air." But even he could feel it now—something inside him was waking.
One evening, as mist thickened over Mizukawa, a group of samurai bearing the imperial crest arrived. Their leader, Lord Akechi, wore an expression as cold as river stone.
"We seek a boy," he announced. "One born under the storm of twin thunders. He is of interest to the Crown."
Tatsuo, leaning against a wooden post, eyes shadowed by dusk, said nothing. His mother Tame's hands trembled on the edge of her kimono.
That night, she finally spoke the truth.
"You were not born to me, Tatsuo. You came with the storm—wrapped in royal cloth, with the mark of the dragon burned into your chest. I... I thought I was saving you from a cursed life."
The wind fell still. Tatsuo's eyes—gentle, curious eyes—no longer looked like those of a farmer's son. They looked like sky before lightning.
In the imperial palace, Prince Ryoma—now heir apparent—grew restless. He was admired, yes, revered even. But mirrors frightened him. Dreams haunted him. And sometimes, the koi in the garden pond swam away when he drew near.
At the Spring Festival, a blind poet performed a tale of the "True King exchanged with a farmer's child." It was meant as fiction. But Ryoma stood and left midway, his fingers twitching at his side.
Even his shadow seemed to hesitate.
Meanwhile, deep in the northern woods, a masked monk with silver beads in his hair gathered fallen leaves and whispered to the wind:
"Both boys are kings. But only one is a dragon."
He poured sake into a stone bowl and set it before a weathered altar of coiled wood and bone.
"The storm must return," he said. "For the land has forgotten the roar of its guardian."