Kaze crouched by the stream, his dented armor resting beside him, katana within arm's reach. His long red hair hung loose, sweat-damp and tangled. A sharpened stick flashed in his hand, spearing a fish clean through. Blood ran down the shaft, mixing with the shallow current. His arm was bandaged, still seeping from where the Ox had cut him, but his hands stayed steady.
Behind him, Ryu lay on a bed of moss. His kimono was torn and crusted with dried blood. Bruises lined his face from where Kaze had knocked him out. His breath came slow and shallow, twitching now and then as he drifted in and out of dreams—visions of Taro's blue aura fading, his head rolling, the weight of a promise he hadn't kept.
Kaze shot a glance at him. The kid looked like hell. But in those amber eyes, even unconscious, Kaze had seen something. Something that didn't burn out easy.
He gutted the fish without thinking. His hands moved on habit while his mind spun. Ryu reminded him of Taro—young, hotheaded, full of some half-formed idea of honor. Kaze had seen boys like that get chewed up by Hikari. But Ryu wasn't just another fool. He'd swung a chair leg at Jiro. Faced down Kenta's men. Went after the Ox with nothing but grief and guts.
Foolish, sure. But brave.
Kaze clenched his jaw. Training him would mean getting involved. Again. He wasn't sure he had it in him. He'd tried to leave that life. But Ryu was Taro's legacy now—and Kaze owed him more than silence.
The memory hit hard. Taro, back when they were young samurai—laughing over cheap sake, sparring under spring blossoms. Swearing they'd change the world. Then came the betrayal. Kaze made it out. Taro didn't.
He stabbed another fish, his grip tightening.
Ryu stirred with a groan. His head throbbed, his ribs ached, but he pushed himself upright, blinking at the trees. The forest air felt strange—clean, alive. He spotted Kaze by the fire, turning fish over the flames. His katana rested across his lap.
Everything came rushing back. Taro's death. The Ox. Hana and Yumi running. He sat up slowly.
"You're awake," Kaze said, not turning. "Eat. You're gonna need it."
Ryu crawled closer, every muscle protesting. He took one of the skewered fish, still hot, the skin crisp.
"Where are we?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"Deep forest. Off any path the Ox knows. We've got a few days, if we're lucky."
Ryu stared at the fire. "Hana and Yumi… they made it out?"
"They're smart girls. They'll find a way to stay hidden." Kaze glanced at him. "Unlike you. You stayed. Dumb move."
Ryu's grip tightened on the fish. "I couldn't leave. Not after what happened to Taro."
Kaze looked back at the flames, silent for a beat. "He's gone. You running into a blade won't change that."
"I know," Ryu muttered. "But I'm done running."
They sat in silence, chewing in the firelight. Ryu kept thinking about what he'd seen—Kaze's silver aura like wind, the Ox's red like fire, Taro's calm blue. It was real. Power you could feel in your bones.
"Kaze," Ryu said finally, voice low. "You knew Taro. Really knew him. What was he before… all this?"
Kaze didn't answer right away. He turned the last fish, watching the skin blister. "He was my brother," he said. "Not by blood. By choice. We served the same lord. Young and dumb. Thought we'd leave our mark."
Ryu leaned closer. "So what happened?"
"We fought side by side. Got drunk together. Made promises. Taro was loyal to a fault. Would've taken a sword for anyone he gave a damn about. But our lord—he was betrayed. Everything fell apart. I…" Kaze's voice dipped. "I made my choices. And Taro made his. I ran. He stayed. He lost everything."
Ryu's throat tightened. He thought of Taro's worn hands, how he used to light candles without a word. Always watching, always protecting. "He never said anything."
"He wouldn't. Taro didn't care about glory. He just wanted to protect something. That was enough for him." Kaze gave him a look. "You've got his fire. And his stubborn streak."
Ryu bowed his head, swallowing hard. Then, without thinking, he shifted to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground.
"Train me," he said. "Teach me how to fight. How to protect them. I'll do whatever it takes."
Kaze stood, his expression unreadable. "Get up. You're not the begging type."
"I'm not doing it for me," Ryu said without lifting his head. "This is for Hana. For Yumi. For Taro."
The stream trickled nearby. A breeze moved through the trees. Kaze looked down at the kid, at the fists clenched tight against the moss. His past stirred again—Taro's laugh, the oath they'd sworn, the fire in their hearts. Kaze exhaled through his nose.
"A samurai isn't born with a blade," he said finally. "You build it. With pain. With loss. With everything you're willing to carry." His voice hardened. "If you want to protect them—stand. On your own two feet. Let your will be your sword. Let your scars be the edge."
Ryu looked up. The words hit something deep, something solid. He rose, eyes sharp.
"I'll stand," he said. "I swear it."
Kaze nodded, faint approval in his smirk. "Good. Then we start now."
They moved into a clearing as the last of the sun lit the treetops. Kaze tossed him a thick branch, shaped like a training sword. "No steel. Not yet. You're not ready. First, you learn the foundation."
Ryu gripped it with both hands. "Like Sword Aura?"
Kaze stepped into position, arms crossed. "Sword Aura's not a trick. It's your heart, shaped into power. Taro's was steady. The Ox's, brutal. Mine's free. You won't summon yours until you figure out what you stand for."
Ryu's brows furrowed. "The sun's light fuels it, right? That's what you said."
Kaze nodded once. "Some call it the Sun-Harness. But don't chase names. Chase truth." He tapped Ryu's chest. "Start here. That's where aura lives."
Ryu took his stance—feet awkward, grip uncertain. Kaze corrected him with the edge of his scabbard. "Lower. Center your weight. Feel the ground."
Ryu shifted, focusing. He swung the branch slow and heavy, picturing Taro's calm strength. His arms trembled. "How do I find it?" he asked. "My aura?"
"You don't find it," Kaze said. "You earn it. Keep swinging."
Ryu gritted his teeth, drawing on memories—Hana's stubborn glare, Yumi's tears, Taro's final breath. He swung again, harder, the branch whistling through the air.
Kaze watched closely. "Good. That's the start. Keep that fire alive."
The light faded. Ryu kept training, sweat soaking his torn kimono. Kaze guided him—correcting footwork, stance, grip. Nothing poetic. Just work.
When darkness settled, they returned to the fire. Ryu collapsed near the flames, muscles burning, heart racing.
"You're raw," Kaze said, tossing him a blanket. "But not hopeless. Get some rest. Tomorrow's worse."
Ryu didn't argue. He lay back, staring at the stars through the branches. Kaze's words echoed in his mind—Let your will be your sword. He didn't have Taro's blade. But he had his fire. And that would have to be enough.
Cherry blossoms drifted across the stream, quiet in the dark. A new dawn waited.