Saturu setting down wondering how his kaon ended up being like that and will it happen again as.
The silence in his new chambers felt heavier than any battlefield. Rael—the consciousness of Saturu now firmly anchored in the boy's newly-aged form—stood perfectly still, assessing the changes. The surge of Divine Authority had stretched his frame to that of a twelve-year-old, but the vessel remained frustratingly limited. *Like a shallow cup trying to hold an ocean,* he thought, flexing a hand. A faint, purplish-blue aura flickered at his fingertips—the lingering echo of the power that had purged the demonic presence from his brother. The phrase "give us your power" echoed in his mind. Who was "us"? The question was a tether to the ancient war he thought he'd left behind. But answers would have to wait. The immediate, practical need was a sword. The notched, rusted blade from the lake was useless. He needed a true spiritual weapon.
He moved toward the palace library, a potential trove of knowledge on spiritual smithing or the clan's hidden armory. But as he turned a corridor, a figure blocked his path. It was Kaon. The possessed fury was gone, replaced by a pale, hollowed-out weakness. He leaned against the wall, eyes wide with terrified recognition. "Rael," he whispered. "Father demands your presence. At the training grounds. Now." The words held no threat, only bone-deep fear. Saturu nodded. This was a summons, not an invitation. The patriarch's eye was upon him.
The training ground was arranged for an execution, not a spar. Lord Kaito stood flanked by four senior enforcers, their auras sharp and disciplined. "The weakling returns, somehow changed," his father's voice cut the air, devoid of warmth. "A disgrace does not erase itself. Prove your worth to the Plum Blossom name, or be pruned from the family tree." A common sword was tossed at Rael's feet. The maid from the lake watched from an archway, her loyalty hanging in the balance.
Rael picked up the blade. As the enforcers advanced with cold, professional intent, he reached not for the ocean of Divine Authority, but for the precise, economical swordsmanship that was his true legacy. He became a whisper. He sidestepped the first lunge, his blade a silver flicker that disarmed the man with gentle precision. The second and third attacked together; he became a blur, parrying and deflecting with a dancer's grace, his movements speaking of centuries of experience. He was not fighting to kill, but to educate.
In a breath, he stood before Lord Kaito, the fourth enforcer frozen mid-step. Rael looked his father in the eye. "I do not need to prove my worth to you," Saturu said, his young voice carrying ancient weight. "The question is, are you worthy of me?" He turned his back in supreme disregard and walked away, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. The first move was made. The war within the clan had begun.as saturu plans for his next move with persition.