Chapter 1 "Inevitable Dawn, First Stage"

In a land where samurai are everywhere, a scene imaginable to none was about to ensue, and it would remodel the lives of all affected by it.

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"YOOOUU!!!"

A yell occupied the whole of the chamber of the Ashikagas. It was a boy's voice, which had sounded like the yell of a man who had gone through everything. Anger, surprise, betrayal, rage, shock, betrayal, shock… and sorrow at last. Deep sorrow as he looked at the body that had entered the chamber finally — the boy understood what it meant for him to be here.

W-Why… he thought, staggering. "You-.. no, you betrayed us… no… why- no…" the boy mumbled, unbelieving himself and the words that escaped his trembling lips. His footing weakened by the second so he sought support from the wall on his backside.

The one who had appeared—a man, grinning, as if he enjoyed the sight of the boy crumbling.

If any had been a noble, it was hard to tell now.

The boy's whole apparel was of a distraught and bloodied soldier, weary as can be and with his clothing smudged with the remains of others. But, even the blood on his face had failed to hide how much his eyes had grown in horror. Because the response had finally arrived, to the unnerving suspicion they raised prior to all this. The response to if this person he thought dear, who he thought would never do them any wrong, had really betrayed him and his clan.

The boy mumbled once again a no having already realized that it didn't matter. It was far too unrealistic to see it the other way—and this was an unchangeable thing, unforgivable too.

Or... was it really?

The boy wondered, own reasoning far out the common. Somehow, if…

The cold on his back from the wall was all he felt now.

The man watched and chuckled, enjoying so much the sight, with no courtesy as to even hide his toothy grin. "What? Is it really that surprising...?" he said and found amusing how the boy jerked back up with his voice.

The boy bit his lip forgetting his words when he saw how displacing the grin the man had on felt. It didn't fit him right... no, it couldn't. That smile had only been used for jesting and playing and the like. This felt as if a plentiful big dot was on a white shirt standing out wrongly, or if a spotless house bore a single cobweb on a corner. Something on the same face of always made the smile of a good man look like something else more eerie. And maybe it was the uncrinkled eyes he wore.

Ah... and that was why it hurt so much more.

Gulp... the boy almost retched the nothing in his stomach but he held it in. His brain felt like revolving and turning back to comply with the tumult. Plastic memories, he thought. If all had always been play-pretend, then...

But he swallowed his hurt the same way he swallowed his vomit. Now isn't the time for this. Be strong. He sighed deeply.

The pieces had come together by themselves now. The only clan this man could have-... or rectifying: this rotten remnant of a man could have possibly been siding with all things considered was…

The Kurozumi! he thought, still almost retching at the idea, but now wiping his mouth, picking himself up, steadying his footing, and wearing his most hateful glare. He couldn't bear it anymore. "How?! Why!! Why are you here?!" He demanded hoping the man would at least give him a truthful answer. Or confirm the obvious. And why? For no purpose other than fortifying the hate growing fast and steady in his chest.

"Kuhuhuhu..."

But he flinched when he heard the man's laughter.

If that came from indignance or amusement none could tell. But he took his time cackling until he stared back at the one his opposition. And with a tone so monotone, he spoke seriously for the first time. "You have really grown, huh, Ren? Enough you can look me in the eyes with such animosity now." His voice grew cold toward the end and the air in response turned heavy. His eyes continued like those of an eerie creature.

Although the two once held comparable positions, to call the Heir to the Ashikagas by his name was a great sully to the respect the title imposed. Even so, Ren wasn't so childish as to call this out in this situation. This was minor compared to what he knew meant for one to betray their own clan. Their family. He had seen it happen personally; they would become the enemy of thousands of arrows stocked for the purpose, poured toward them like the inevitable tempest when seen as astray. That was what it meant to betray noblemen whose dignity meant more than living.

And the man ahead of him, betraying in such a filthy way—aiming to overthrow august reign in this month of September, one of commemoration. Deathly punishment was in sure way, and Ren needed to be the one to hand him this castigation.

He tried calming his resenting heart at the same moment his eyelids trembled. They were barely exercising their job right with how tired he was, and so he closed them for the moment. In this scenario, he failed to see his clan taking action against the traitor any time soon. So he was the sole option to execute this.

Right now.

Ren opened his eyes to his face. And a part of him kept faltering. I… need to be the one to do this... I... really have to do this... right, Father? Fight him and then… He stopped and caught a breath, out of the voice in his head. He needed some time to recover.

"So you have... huff... thrown us away... Even though Father talked about it before, this..." He grimaced, glaring at that face .

Why, why, whywhy,whywhywhy...

It hurt.

He was postponing this realization. That this hate he felt was more forced than anything. Just so he wouldn't crumble.

Stall? How? Any hating bone he had for that dismounted just as he started. He could only think about this sole question he was fearing would start his mind toward a whole rabbit hole of unease... why, truly, just why is he on their side?

The man noticed the disquiet and... "Oh well, I thought I made it quite obvious when I disappeared at that time," he spoke in a low tone all the while he crept toward Ren. Feet were sliding, a nasty hissing noise for the ears.

The room they were in was enormous as if the chambers of an emperor—fitting for the most wealthy and powerful clan. But it looked smaller with each step the man used to approach Ren, like a predator closing in on their feeble, fearing prey. His shadow grew with the sparkles of adrift fire in the room and he looked unescapable.

Ren sensed the threat immediately and raised a massive sword he had laid by the wall behind him to save energy. He wasn't in a state where he could move his body whenever he wished to anymore. Wasting energy senselessly right now would mean the death of him.

So he doesn't plan on letting me rest…

Ren exhaled a big one and in a singular motion, he pointed his weapon toward his definitive enemy. It was a kill-or-die situation.

The man stopped at the sight as if in rumination. And curiously, he stood there thinking.

Ren grunted struggling and his hands began trembling as he summoned strength in his arms. It wasn't out of fear. Not in a million times, or he would never agree anyway. But instead, the slashes on his body looked the responsible. Between the rags of his surviving clothing existed a multitude of cuts, some big enough they allowed his flesh and bones to jut out. This trembling was fatigue he felt from blood loss and overexertion, muscles feeling it more as they failed him and their own strength.

Just a bit more, body, please... Ren thought at the same time his vision began to spin.

In the midst of their mutual silence, the man observed until no more. This time he laughed. He had deduced, it seemed, that whichever way was torture for bleeding-out Ren, so he played along.

"Hey, boy..." He started up, stretching the words... inquiring not politely. "Really... what do you think you'll manage against me with a stance as flimsy as yours?" he said, tone a scowl almost. He had seen how much the Heir had trained before. Laughing when he posed a stance as pathetic as that against him, a samurai of the highest caliber, was a must.

Ren helped him not and ignored the petty remarks, or that was how it looked when he firmed his grip on the sword—a tad too desperate for comfort.

He could not be demotivated by ignorance now. Not after all that went down already, he told himself.

Nevertheless all of that, in his head it kept buzzing, loud, sharp—he grimaced... As if a scythe approached.

The man continued. "You can't even hold your sword without trembling like a newborn deer. Do you truly believe you can do something against me with your body like that? Don't make me laugh."

But, zzzzinnnnnnnnnnng—was all Ren could hear, and it buzzed obnoxiously as he huffed, vision twirling while he somehow held his sword still. Whoever's voice had entered an ear and furthered the buzzing inside. Then it left through the other as an incoherent jumble Ren could not interpret. And unable to keep still, he staggered to the side and began walking right-way, as if preparing to engage.

The man clicked his tongue. "I truly don't wish to prolong your hurting, even more while you are weak as you are. Let this be quick." He increased his tone while he followed the boy with his eyes. The persistence irked him.

Ren gasped and then heaved when trying to sigh. He held from coughing and locked his eyes on the man. His voice had come clear this time, cutting away the buzzing. Because what Ren felt was stronger than the reaper's scythe. It was a disgust that engaged him in rage and pumped him with adrenaline—something barely holding his body together.

He stopped walking and his legs wobbled, barely holding still then he said: "You talk as if you are a grand man when you... you only appeared after I was wounded." His voice grew with repulse the more he talked—his eyes too. "If I were in perfect state- no... if we fought while I had half the wounds I... I have right now, you wouldn't stand a chance... huff...!"

Ren was almost out of breath at the end and he stuttered throughout, but it didn't matter. His eyes, the man noticed. Bloodshot eyes—they would have conveyed the aggression either way.

He felt rare chills run up his spine. Oh? Now this is surprising, he thought and raised a brow when looking at the boy he once knew as a much smaller version. Now the same boy towered above most—a hereditary privilege the Ashikagas had.

And with all the blood and massacre surrounding him, he looked as wild as the fire raving around the room.

I see... The man looked around. As if decors to the aggression lingering, many bodies, not an inch off where they stood since he arrived, lay all over the floor. And the sole cause of these bodies being inanimate piles of flesh was that same boy in front of him.

He looked ahead again, at Ren, and looked his most unsettling now. "To parade as imposingly as now despite how you are... Truly, from the beginning, this is what I should have expected from a Heir of the Ashikaga Family! HAHAHA!!!"

The man laughed and kept laughing like he had always been a maniac.

Ren bit his lip, frowning—cursing himself even. For how long did he hold that in? Why was I so naive?

What felt like minutes were seconds as the man stopped laughing. He was staring at Ren again, and this time Ren felt it would be the last time he would take his eyes off him.

The man observed while Ren tried his best to stay composed despite his bloodied self. A worthy heir... I shouldn't have doubted your prowess. Seeing this makes me wonder if your sister was the one meant to be... He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. However, it is still too early for you to confront me. He opened them to a state of sangfroid. Now was the time for killing.

Through admiration and observing the man so many times in the past, Ren knew things would change from this point on. An intensity was permeating his air, one Ren had seen in him only once years back.

Must be time, he thought, changing from using his sword as support to raising it despite the struggle.

At the same time, the man removed with grace a sword from the hilt on his waist and assumed a battle stance. It was the quietest, most elegant move Ren had seen him do with a sword—ice flowers flew right out the scabbard when he slid the blade out. Even the freeze coming from it subsided the heat within the room for the moment. Showcased the mastery the man possessed beyond what he had shown before to even Ren.

"Ren, I must say it's time for us to part ways," he said, eyes non-changing and voice as monotone as when they started. His sword was up and on stance.

"You talk... as if you will manage to... to do something against me... huff..."

Ren instead, found it difficult to speak a few words. He poised his sword in his front firmly using his last bit of strength. But not his eyes. They were focused. Even despite his sight blurring. The sweat on his face. The blood trickling down his eyelid and then lashes. Focused right on the moment the blade of his opponent would move.

As if both swords met eye-to-eye with the desire to destroy their match, a sharp noise of will talked. It said to both: "Kill him, destroy him, conquer," whispering it many times... "Feed me what I want and I will give you all."

Breaths were held. Muscles tensed. Sweat rolled down both of their faces but one looked much worse.

The sound of droplets falling smooched their ears amid the crackling of embers. They made an unconscious agreement right then—that the fall of the next would start the duel. If any semblance of nobility had remained between both, that had been it.

Oh... Ren looked down numb, at the liquid touching his feet. So it is my blood that is falling.

A hot pool of blood lay there... a cozy hot, he noticed, but so hot he felt it would open his pores. Even then it didn't bother him. It wasn't right.

He remembered learning about it since he lived in the cold... something along: "When sensations invert, you are as close to biting the dust as can be."

Desperation consumed him. No, no... not yet. He summoned all that meant good to him at the same time his body decayed. Give me strength, he thought, recalling the voice of his mother who would comfort him when he needed. While his leg wobbled like a fragile thing.

(Let me.)

His head pulsated stronger with each of his heartbeats. It seemed as if time itself was torturing him with every passing second as they took an eternity to come by. Now his arm numbed. How he held his weapon still was a magic he spent his life on continuing.

(Let me.)

His peripheral vision darkened and the world looked a bit smaller. The same for the man's face.

(LET ME!)

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He blanked and returned, blinking spooked.

He calmed himself and listened for the droplet.

At least give me this.

Everything else ceased as he breathed.

He had wondered if he should ask why he was doing what he was doing one more time a million times in the meantime. But he realized: he needed no reason to kill a traitor.

Then, the familiar sound of a droplet reaching the ground came, and instinctively, his body reacted.

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I'm lying on the ground... Did I lose consciousness?

"Ugh..."

Everything hurts.

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Silence.

Silence consumes my surroundings. Can't even hear the fire crackling.

I can barely keep my eyes open so I rest them for a few seconds.

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But something's on my side. Both my sides.

I look down—only my eyes because my head weighs thrice what it should.

Huh-, Mother?! Why is she like this... huh... Aki too?! No, please, you two have to survive.

"Agh!"

I try to get up and it hurts. Much more than any common pain.

I glance around remembering what I was doing before this.

He's gone. No. Nononono. I can't let him. Not him.

"I'm not... finished with you..."

I try moving even a bit but I haven't the strength to lift a finger.

My body rejects me and gravity presses me down like a soft blanket. It compels me the gentlest way to pass out and I agree in the back of my mind.

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I blanked out again. Oh, no.

For how long this time?

I look down and…

Both are still here. Unconscious…

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It hurts.

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I want to cry.

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Thump, thump, thump...

I'm cut away from my daydreaming as I hear steps come from above me.

Ah. Someone— what should I do, what should I do, what should I—

The steps stop right behind me and I can't turn my head.

"Hey."

It's a woman's voice.

Then her emerald hair falls almost all on me as she leans to see my face. I see hers too.

Wait, is she... the woman I saw in my head?

Before anything I can muster, she goes again: "Although our names are different now, I still received your message. Be grateful I came to help you... I wasted an entire life."

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Wano Country, Flower Capital,

One Week Before The Raid.

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"Fresh fish, fresh fish! For a special price right now only!"

"Dear passerby, ya might want to take a look at the new jewelry we have today!"

"Greens! We have some greens and meat received directly from the newest, the Paradise Farm! Come look!"

The busiest boulevard in the capital as usual bustled with yelling and chatter. Hawkers and standowners spoke their loudest to attract clients with their best prices. Meanwhile many talked among themselves and hung out shopping. It was called the "Vanity Road" for a reason, where most met for festivities and spending.

A group of three women chuckling weaved through the crowd. Side by side and steady talking about the hottest topics nowadays in succession. Until it was about a specific subject and they slowed down for it.

"Hey, isn't it in one week that the Ashikagas will have their heir be elected or something?" one of them asked while perking up. Eyes glinted when she recalled the very interesting topic for their round of gossip.

One other immediately delved in, eyes glistening as much. "Yes! I mean, it isn't even a question of who it is going to be since... well, you know why. But then, it is going to be the Young Master's fifteenth birthday, right?! Then that ceremony the elders always talk about is finally happening!" She realized and yelped with her friends.

"I heard that too! My grandma always said that's how they pick the heirs and stuff. She's always all-uppity about it saying we missed out on the real stuff... can't wait to brag-, tell her! Huhuhu..."

The first nodded as impishly and continued. "Rumors also are he's a prodigy among prodigies, even counting the Seven Pigeons. People are expecting a spectacle, even if it's been a long time since he appeared outside... Last thing I heard is that he's like a machine the Sagasumos create nowadays, sophisticated with one purpose." All the women laughed.

"Well... last thing I heard is that the Patriarch is the one who trains him. It should be harsh since everyone says it's a super strict regimen. And to couple with that, they are always comparing him to his sister... must be a lot of pressure. I kind of feel bad for him."

"Oh, my! Hey, don't you know?! You can't talk rumors about the Ashikagas when it involves the family dynamics! It is taboo! Especially right now in the open!" The first woman looked desperate and toward the uncaring crowd as she rushed to shut the other, afraid one important had heard them. Luckily she thought she saw no one looking their way funny and sighed. "You heard about the scolding they made someone go through the last time it happened. right? They don't like people prying and rumoring on how their familial business goes."

At the same time, a man was swerving through the masses, standing out by his uniform and firm frame. He almost walked past the women but overheard their conversation at the worst part. So he stopped, turned, and for good or bad, walked toward the group.

"I know! But we might as well since we're on topic! Since when were you miserly when it came t—"

"Sorry for interrupting young ladies." A voice suddenly came from behind them, a shadow towering over the trio.

They looked, legs preempting the horror as they wobbled aside a faulty heartbeat. Then they saw his uniform.

The man continued then. "You should skimp on Ashikaga-involved matters when in a space as busy as this, no? And when the topic is: rumors. I would assume you know how wild some of these have spread."

But they were too shaken to rationalize. What they feared the worst ever since their first days of gossiping had happened. On the man's stylized kimono was the emblem of a dragon standing above parted clouds... It meant a sole thing.

Weirded by their open-mouthedness and silence, the man scratched his head. He thought he had gotten his point across as easy as he could have. But truth was the women were as struck as lightning poles, as whoever had that emblem on their clothing were those people only, the Ashikagas!

One of them finally bowed toward him and apologized while the other were still too flustered to move. "We are so sorry, Mr. Samurai!! We truly didn't intend any ill against you or anyone from the Ashikaga Clan! Please forgive our mishaps!"

Following her example, the other women snapped out of their stupor and bowed too. Apologized, explained, and everything of the same in fast sequencing.

This interaction was stirring the curiosity of the people around and the man didn't wish that. So he dismissively waved his hand signaling it didn't matter much. "Just next time, be mindful of the place you are in before you mention someone's family even if in jest."

The women fervently nodded in their fluster, and the man nodded too. Then he walked away in nonchalance as if he had never stopped to talk to them in the first place.

The women sighed immediately as he left. And while rattled, their minds cleared enough they computed whose face that was. So their little mishmash became a whole pandemonium when they realized and yelled: '''Yamamoto?!'''

"I thought he'd be sightseeing Hakumai for a while!"

"Same! I was even thinking of going there to get a glimpse at his face!"

"How he must look while scouting all serious with that glamorous uniform of his... kyaah!!"

And like so, a new target of their whispers was harbored.

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Mt. Fuji,

In the Residence of the Ashikagas.

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"Huuap!!"

A young voice rang within a courtyard of pink. Rosé trees and lotuses amid the white of clear snow confected most of the scenery. And its pleasantry despised the punching going around, a scene like oil and water. Unfitting for its pretty.

The boy barraging the man more akin to a wall was Ren of course. He looked haggard in his task, huffing and scarcely with a cool face. Truly, his father was the only one who could push him this much and with no remorse.

And his father, cold-faced mirroring the snow—and a man more often referred to as the Patriarch of the Ashikaga Clan. Still, by many he was called by the ancient wartitles so they wouldn't forget; he was, Sakamoto, the Ogre in Man Flesh.

Rumors were they considered it through the blood-clad look he squandered back then, unfit for man. But it came from his godlike strength, comparable to none in this piece of land far from all. And as it was alien to witness then, they called him the ogre, like the one from folklore. A mad creature mystified and with its whole extent never discovered, only wondered.

"Huup! Huap!" The shouts continued from Ren as he punched through desperate only.

Albeit only sparring, the difference in their battle expertise was as seeable as the snow ornamenting the field. Sakamoto barely moved to parry the blows thrown by Ren. Barely looked like he was putting any power in his deflections too.

Ren too knew he was causing not a sweat on his opponent, so with a backward jump, he created some space between them before he would end up the one stricken. Gave himself a little time to think too.

"What's the matter, eh, Ren? Is this all you can do?!" Sakamato yelled. His sloppy stance toward the boy showed how little of a threat he identified him as.

Frustration and indignation were all forming within. Ren had barely caught a breath the whole time so he focused so he could. His world closed as all he heard were his nose puffs, and he forgot to think at all. His instincts assumed the wheel, and even those unbelieved in him when looking at the menace ahead. His cells felt creeping backward as if telling him to turn the other way like themself. But a code instilled in him kept whispering that giving up wasn't a feasible trait for a man his caliber. He would try and find a way to—if not break—bypass the insurmountable defense of the man before him.

"Fuuuh..." Ren caught a breath. Sweat rolled down his face despite the cold climate.

Contrary side, Sakamoto stared down his child while bits of appeasing snow hugged all of him. Four meters of pure monster and his tales seemed apposite now. The gentleness around was water to his oil.

Hot blood and a cool head wins you a lot of battles, son—something he once told Ren, and seemed like he was telling with his eyes this time too.

Ren exhaled, breathing tense, and sprinted toward his father. It didn't look like he had remembered the saying with the frown he carried.

Another barrage of meaningless attacks would then commence—Sakamoto sighed.

If I use gravity in my favor, my punches will become heavier! Ren thought as he glanced up for a second. "Huup...!!" Afterward, he jumped high in the air—above his father—and descended with his fists readied. He then threw down a punch, and another, and another... Once again, fists manyfold the normal amount formed in the air and rained down onto Sakamoto. Like the harmless bits of snow.

"You think doing the same thing you did before will work now because it is the second?! The third won't be the charm here!" Sakamoto yelled. His permanent frown between brows was harsher now.

Then, the predictable scene of Sakamoto parrying and blocking all attacks by Ren came to fruition doubly. However, this time, Ren, who was still airborne, saw as his father raised an arm, sure to strike.

Oh no, Ren thought, his heart in his mouth, and punched and punched and punched.

Bad choice, you brat. Sakamoto's merciless eyes glared through the flurry of knuckles and on his son's figure. Between the many arms floating around he aimed his punch.

Ren felt a breeze on his stomach, and all his senses screamed for him to harden it the most he could—and he sure did. Then, Sakamoto's fist, nigh-unseeable, came like an apparition hitting his gut with the weight of a mount.

A faint sound of metal clashing came from the hit, and what succeeded was the burliest groan from Ren ever. He gasped, oxygen leaving him as if late enough, and flew until he hit the courtyard's wall. Bits of it exploded away when he crashed, cracking it like a spiderweb. He fell to the ground unable to hold the coughs. Hands clasped the stomach while unwilling saliva and tears mixed below him.

It was the expected outcome. Ever since they began their sparring, Sakamoto would use the times Ren went careless to deal a blow of his own. That was the unspoken truth Ren was aware of at all times. The inevitability of it gave him the spur and reason needed to continue fighting.

But that rush wasn't always enough to boost him back to the brawl.

Sakamoto kept staring at his child struggling to breathe. He wouldn't attack him while he was down. But. He couldn't take it anymore and unleashed the trigger of frustration on his offspring.

"WRONG! Your battle sense is awful!! You should also correct your elbows or else your blows won't flow as well as needed when you barrage your enemy! How do you think you'll be able to master our fighting styles if you haven't the sense to feel these little wrong things?! I can't spoon-feed you these too!"

Ren, now roughly an hour into sparring—sitting on his knees unable to stand straight—found the resolve to ask the question that had been in his head for some time: "Father... huff... can't you let me... puff... rest a bit? Huff..." Lots of condensed air left his mouth every time he exhaled. The cold climate was to kill this up the mountain.

Not hearing a reply, Ren gazed up. Uncertainty made his eyes, fearing those words would come when he'd look.

And unfortunately.

"Is this all you can do, Ren?! If so, give up on surpassing your sister! You will also never even fathom the sight of the fruit for the rest of your life!" Sakamoto yelled, arms crossed.

Ren tightened his fists at the mention of the fruit.

(Good job, old bat. Feed him the oh-so-sweet unease.)

"Also... to fend for the people and become their guardian?! That will only be a far-away dream if you can't even surpass me!"

Sakamoto further fueled the small embers expecting a fire would be borne. He thought a last push to harden his son's will was important in the process of him achieving what he wanted him to.

Ren's gaze shifted when he heard the last. A growl from something else rumbled from his throat outward. Do you think I want that?!

While on his knees, Ren chose to fall on all fours, dropping all pretense he hadn't realized he wore. He relied on his instincts again, but this time it felt undeliberate and different. He puffed as fast as before still from tiredness, though looking like he would pounce anytime.

And he sure did.

A moment later, the volant snowflakes swept as if parting for the creature cutting through all leaving all whirling. The blur ran the trajectory of a straight line pointed toward Sakamoto.

(As always, you are weak. Now, let's see.)

Sakamoto hid a grin as he thought, There it is!

Ren blanked as he clawed the snow. His face had changed. He rushed toward his father relying on the mechanics only his subconscious memorized. Stamina seemed to exist plentiful through the wide eyes he had opened to see his target better. Like he hadn't lost all will to fight a moment ago.

But the same way how snow could hide much, it also hid the little things. Like stones or such. Midway, Ren tripped on an awfully high patch of snow and fell face to the ground.

"Agh!"

For a moment, everything turned silent. Even the wind stopped blowing.

Then, Ren groaned. "Ugh..."

"BAHAHAHAH!! What is this?!" Sakamoto finally laughed for a change.

Ren expressed his most faithful grunt of displeasure when he heard the mockery. His face had also gotten all scratched up.

He forced his feet, exerting himself so he could get up but failed. Unsurprisingly of course. The tired of before came back knocking and with a gift: more of itself. He could only breathe heavy, body stirred on the ground.

Not so far away, a woman observed everything chuckling many times. Her image seemed a mirage as she sat at the only teahouse in the yard among crystals and white. And the pink of course, cousin of the red that made her hair.

"Now, you shouldn't be laughing at your son like this," she said, sounding a bit blithe herself. Her voice was as delicate and frail as the chirps of morning birds. However, it barely matched her tall self.

She was Miyuriaki—the wife of Sakamoto and mother of Ren. That as much as she was this house's Ladyship.

"Dear! You know you pamper him too much!" Sakamoto spoke, dissatisfied with the catering she was doing.

"Well, and you don't pamper him at all," she replied, smirking afterward as if expressing a gotcha.

"I... hah... okay, fine." Sakamoto gave up on bickering against her so his losing streak wouldn't increase. Instead, he walked to the courtyard's porch to protect himself from the graupel. There he started changing from the casual clothes he had used to spar to those of a leader—as he was handed by the maids.

His bare body came into view when he took his kimono off. And as expected, he was well-toned and massive—would be titled monstrous by most, because a build as that wasn't achievable for the common human. The Ashikagas were special, no generation excluded. They had all received blessings appropriate for their hereditary task. And for that, the top spot on Mt. Fuji was theirs by right and was then maintained through strength. For nine whole centuries.

A younger Sakamoto was called the one with the rawest potential out of the family in centuries. The "Bloodiest war for the throne" was of his generation after all. He was confident that no other was a match for him anywhere else. He needed to be this unwavering as the country's guardian. So he always smirked when he showed himself outside—admittedly toward his wife now to provoke her as payback.

"Agh! Why are you changing your clothes in here!" Miyuriaki yelled and sulked, jealous of the occasional glances the maids threw at him.

Sakamoto shrugged her way as if claiming no fault and smirked victorious as she made the face he wanted.

"You! Hah..." Miyuriaki eyed him daggers, caught the petty, and stopped herself. Although her husband wasn't all that handsome, he was the love of her life, and she was bound to get a tiny bit jealous over her property. And he knew all of that.

The kimono caressed the bundle of yellow hair he wore up as he vested himself. It was a shiny yellow and white the kimono, and it brushed his long mustache this time, going through his scarred face and frown of always. Posey. Felt like he was wearing it a bit slower to incur a new reaction from her but she spun the other way, refusing his antics. He sighed and finished the rest in a second. Then the maids belted it together and this section was done.

Miyuriaki herself with her red hair, fair skin, and pink eyes was so much a beauty that the whole country courted her in her younger days. Now none would even try and approach. Obvious why.

Her nickname was Ms. Sunflower because the same way how the flower bloomed through sunlight, she was just as sun-powered. Her red hair sizzled when the sun caressed her and created a picture unforgotten. And the only one who knew the reason behind her nickname was Sakamoto because he made it. Knowing she liked the petals and how they smelled, and that she would appreciate it. She didn't know it had been him though, and in his head, he always considered it a small victory he held over her. It was the cause of involuntary smiles on him when he remembered, like right now as he watched her pout.

He chuckled and turned to Ren. "C'mon up! Are you going to sleep on the floor?!" he yelled as the maids dressed him with accessories one by one. Each piece served to magnify the owner of themselves. Closer and closer he embraced the scale of what it meant to be the Patriarch of the Ashikaga Clan.

Ren dragged himself off the ground sighing and sat. He struggled to take his sparring kimono off while seated and afterward asked the maids for a new ensemble. His piece of clothing remained his down-to-knee underwear only.

Well, his bluntness was his father's definitely.

"Ren, what are you doing!" Miyuriaki, however, yelled before he could change anything. "The maids are preparing your bath already! Wait to change your clothes then, don't dirty new ones for nothing!" she said shortly, her orders absolute.

Ren stopped, raised a brow at himself, nodded, and redressed himself.

"Hah... come sit here." Miyuriaki signalized the bench by her side holding her head because of the brazen pair.

Ren said not a whistle in disagreement. He got up catching his breath and walked to her.

"How are you, Mother..." he said when he sat by her side. Eyes were expectant while he awaited. "Didn't see you coming."

"I sneaked here some time ago and I'm fine, thank you." Miyuriaki lightened up and chuckled wanting to pinch his cheeks. Since much was placed on his shoulders, she was happy he remained as he was at his core. Reserved and caring.

"I'll do it now. Close your eyes," she said and her voice was the same gentle.

Ren complied and she hovered her hand over his face. A green light was suddenly borne in her palm and it turned brighter by the second. Ren held his breath and felt the pain on his face fade away slow but certainly.

"It's done," she said. The glow stopped when she retracted her hands and she caught a breath.

Ren slowly opened his eyes and checked if the texture of scratched had gone away. And very much satisfied his fingers brushed nothing weird, he bowed and said, "Thank you, Mother. I will now head toward my bedroom so I can continue with the lessons given to me by my instructors. I'll see you later—"

He was already on his feet when Miyuriaki caught him by his kimono.

"Where do you think you are going...? Your mother wants to say something still." She patted the seat beside her and Ren had to comply yet again, sighing as he guessed the upcoming subject.

She made him turn around so she could brush his hair this time. "I always have to do this after you spar with your father because your hair is long and becomes a mess you know? Also, did you dye it even more?" Miyuriaki asked while glaring suspicious.

"No?" he replied, attuning to doubt.

"Well, the red part of your hair has gotten even more pronounced now. I remember when only the tip was a red color. Now it is almost halfway through the length of it. Strange..." Miyuriaki pondered with herself.

Ren pulled his lips as if he was hearing it for the first time. As he knew it, he was born with pale purple hair. At some point though, he received some strong red, the color of well-aged wine, to it,

"I don't recall doing anything of the sort like dyeing my hair. It just became like this... remember?" he said, annoyed she always asked this.

"Well, that doesn't matter much," Miyuriaki said and abruptly, her face changed. "What I wanted to say was: do you remember why we've named you as we did?" A gentle smile was to spread across Miyuriaki's face as she spoke.

Oh no. Ren's eyes fell wide. He had been trapped from the beginning. The moment she began brushing his hair was when all escape routes turned nonexistent.

"Mother... haven't you said why hundreds of times already?" He tried avoiding her question somehow.

"REN!!!" Sakamoto shouted from afar as he observed the whole interaction with eyes like an eagle. No disrespecting one's mother was allowed here. Worse when it was his lady.

Ren gulped wrongly from the sudden scare and turned to hear his mother as politely as always. "P-Please, do continue."

She smiled and did as said. "Do you see those lotuses over there?" She pointed to an area in the courtyard where lotuses grew in abundance amidst the white. They stuck out beautifully.

"Yeaah..." Ren replied and rested his head on his hand, looking elsewhere.

"Well, they are a special kind. Lotuses can only grow where the sun bathes them for three months at least. So it should've been impossible for them to grow here where the sun barely comes for a month a year, right? But these have existed here for nine centuries and never once have shown signs of withering!"

As unwilling as he had been, Ren's nose always twitched the more she furthered her story. As if it aroused an unsatiable curiosity within him every time.

Miyuriaki noticed it, remarked nothing of it, and continued. "Our ancestors have a tale untold that is so much deeper than we can ever imagine. And since so much time has passed, records of lots of things that happened then are lost forever." She lowered her head dejected. She loved unraveling the history of the ancient in whichever form it came. So she was bummed by how long it had been since the last she uncovered anything.

However, she immediately bounced back as bright as ever. "But not everything is lost! Because of the special stones our family holds, we could learn lots about our ancestors!" She then pressed her finger on Ren's forehead. "This is a special tale about the fruit of salvation, the origin of our clan, and why we named you like we've done. As Ren."

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‎Many many years in the past...

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"Oh, grand sir, oh, grand sir! I am so famished yet I have nothing to eat! Could you, through your grandeur and endless benevolence spare me something so I can extinguish this measly hunger of mine?"

A homeless man knocked on the door of a manor. He was one who begged and pleaded with those who had much. Hopes were always low, but he had no choice other than to bark like a dog for scant help and to conform to the miserable little he was given.

Of little he had much. Very ironic he thought it, checking his pockets full of musty bread he was given a few blocks down.

The sound of the door opening came as sudden as a cardiac arrest and the man for a second thought he'd had one. Eyes had widened with the bright and his heart almost pumped through his ribcage. Through the crack of the door was a light so warm he knew he would never bathe on. But in his pupil right now, he consumed it as hungry as his belly, hoping it would remain there forever.

But... hope as potent as it is, can also be as easily shattered as glass.

The person who opened the door had spat at the man's feet, a look of contempt all over their face. "Be grateful you can at least have my saliva, you dog!" And so the door was shut as quickly as it was opened. Laughter rumbled from the inside from presumptuous bellies and then all went quiet.

The beggar said nothing, just gathered himself, made his legs work like old machinery needing oil and walked away. He knew that if he reacted in any way, only bad would come. Either by getting beaten until his bones turned marrow by their guards, or by stressing himself over the unchangeable. The inevitable.

And so he went to beg at the door of another house. Another manor, he saw, hopes lower. The nobler the men, the rotten they are.

He coughed and, "Oh, grand sir, oh, grand sir! I am so famished yet I have nothing to eat! Could you, through your grandeur and endless benevolence spare me something so I can extinguish this measly hunger of mine?"

Once again, the door opened and a nobleman appeared scorning and grunting at the beggar as if disgusted by some imaginary smell. Still, he took out of his pocket some random seeds he had picked earlier and threw them at the beggar's feet.

The rough wooden door creaked again as it moved for closure. It rang deep and slow in the man's ears. As if an invitation. Come. Come to the bright.

Restless nights and irregular heart rate were what caused his hallucination. But his haggard body cared not for what tricks his mind played. So before the noble could slam the door shut, a sudden hand trumped his effort.

The light was in his hands. Finally.

The noble jolted and the man, as desperately as how the strips of clothing he wore clung on to him, said fast, "Please, sir! Could you please tell me what to do with these you gave me?" He went back and prostrated, signaling at the seeds on the ground. The pent-up depression and obsession he carried caught on finally. What it produced was the worst or best of desperation.

But the silence drummed in his ears while the noble stood stunned. He panted and panted, knowing he had messed up. A beating was his next trip probably. He would most likely perish from it and from his weak constitution. But despite all that, this time, he grinded his teeth... this time he decided he would not lay low as he had done his whole life. Forget the useless pride. Forget what people thought of a dirty bastard like him. He was obstinate.

"Please, sir! I will do anything to hear from you!" He insisted.

The nobleman scowled and was about to call some people to beat the beggar half-dead. But then he thought of something better.

The nobleman coughed, pushed the beggar away with his feet, patted his clothes, and started. "Oh, but of course! You should go to the top of Mt. Fuji and plant these seeds I gave you there to get a fruitful harvest! You see, these are special seeds... might bloom and grant whatever desire you have after twenty-seven sunny mornings have passed while planted up there!"

With ill intentions, the nobleman said the most ridiculous of things expecting the poor man to be killed in some way or another up the road.

But the man was clueless. He simply bowed in gratitude and thanked the noble for the generosity he had extended toward him. And the noble had had the gall to smile like the Buddha as if he had done him a favor.

It was as simple as that—a few words when down, when at their most desperate, and they eat it up like it is the yummiest.

The noble grinned like the devil watching the man begin his path. Then he went inside the house and forgot all about this.

Place else, it was the contrary. The man kept the nobleman's words in his mind the entire time. He was slow but he was willing—he would get there no matter the hardship.

He walked and walked and sometimes ran as he went through many trials and near-death experiences in the path of soil and snow. Still, he prevailed through blood and sweat. Even despite his hungered body. Even despite how hazy all became the further he went on.

Hope was a potent thing.

When he arrived at the top, he sighed the most satisfying sigh of his life. Then right there, he did as the nobleman said and planted the seeds. He waited and waited, hoping he would one day harvest off the effort he spent his blood on.

But he only realized something when it was too late.

The mind sure brightens when the loneliest dark comes.

It was night and the weather merciless, the cold looking to kill. But he remembered when his father told him about this mountain when he was a child a time far back. Something about the only mountain in the country.

They stood inside a makeshift hut in a single bed in the middle of nowhere. His father had been coughing all day, but for this particular moment, it looked as if he had regained the complexion of his youth as he retold the tales of his own childhood. "You see that big mountain, son? Only a day a year happens in it where when morning breaks, it brings the sun together with it. We used to hear that the spirit of the mountain angered Pluton and is now being chastised for eternity with the cold that has taken over at the top. No crops grow there and there are no animals too. Only the everlasting cold."

The man's knees met the ground. A month had passed since he started and he was more than starved, also injured from the dreadful path he took. The cold had done his limbs in. He didn't think he could recover from the frostbite.

Only now he understood how ridiculous the word noble was.

"I sacrificed everything for this! Why?! Why must you desire the worst to happen to me if you already have everything?!" He cried in his lone, wind overpowering his voice. "Why?! The gods?! The buddhas?! TELL ME!!"

"Because the more they have, the more they want. And to get so, they will trample through everyone and thing on their way. They are rotting inside and are forever unphased by what's considered beneath them. That's the perpetual inheritance that is their way of living."

A voice came, cutting through the wind only to reach the man's ears as softly as a lullaby. And he, not expecting any answer, jumped taken aback for the second. Then he asked. "Who are you?! What are you doing here where the sun doesn't rise?!"

The other person grinned, teeth shining through the deep snowfall. "Hmmm... I don't know how to explain it. I heard a voice calling me here and I decided to come."

"What? What a ridiculous reason—" The man started but thought he saw something weird over there.

Since a lot of snow was falling, it was hard to see correctly. And yet, he thought he saw as the other person took a blade out and pointed it at the sky, right toward where the heavy clouds were inhabiting in the hundreds.

"What do you think you are doing?!" he asked, eyes wide and unbelieving.

"Just observe," they said, then their weapon was a blur. An upward slash that seemed to tear through the air itself ran across the skies. Clouds were parted, and it continued until it appeared as if it would cut the sky itself, though it disappeared into the vastness of space.

"W-W-W-Wha...!" The man stuttered not a word out as he changed his sight between them and the sky.

No snow blocked the view anymore, so a woman carrying a sword over her shoulders while grinning was what he could see now. And above her head—a tear in space that looked like the stroke of an artist, the streak of clouds dispersed and opening up for the sun to shine through.

"Cool isn't it?" she spoke, her smile mighty.

The man shook his head, forgetting he was even in pain for the moment. "B-But those clouds will come again anyway!"

"So I'll just cut them however many times I need to!"

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Author's note:

Please read. Important information.

I took the liberty to change a lot of things about the past and history of Wano—like adding more households and context on some things—and also changing a bit of its territory: like Mt. Fuji from the anime/manga which houses the Kozuki being a lot bigger, and of course, having the Ashikagas live there. Other added intricacies will only be revealed in a near or distant future.

Every change has a purpose in my plot so a piece of advice is don't be thrown off by them and hopefully it pays off afterward.

Well, that was all, not much actually,

Thank you for reading.

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[8849 Words]

[Ren means Lotus in Japanese]

[Current Timeline - 1498

Roger's Execution - 1500

Oden's Execution -1504

Luffy's Current Timeline - 1525