Years passed.
The world had begun to heal, though it never forgot.
Stories of the man who defied gods were passed like old scars—some revered him, others feared him, but none could find him. He became a phantom stitched into bedtime stories and tavern rumors. A legend who had vanished without a trace.
Until, far beyond the noise of the cities and the crumbling ruins of forgotten wars, there was a village.
It was a place not marked on any map—small, quiet, and tucked into a forest where even the wind whispered gently. The people there spoke with laughter, their lives simple. The kind of place the world itself might forget. And in that village stood a wooden house at the edge of the woods.
A home for orphans.
It wasn't grand. The roof was a patchwork of tiles, and the garden was overrun with sunflowers and stubborn weeds. But the children who lived there—boys and girls who had lost more than they could say—called it home.
And the man who cared for them… no one really knew his past. He went by the name Kaoru now.
He looked no older than nineteen—young, strong, and strangely graceful in the way he moved. His hair was stark white, but styled simply, the way young travelers or merchants might wear it in the southern provinces. His silver eyes were calm, never wavering, and though his smile was rare, it had the kind of warmth that could settle even the most restless child.
He wore loose kimonos or short-sleeved shirts with sturdy belts and dark cloth wraps—clothes easy to move in, but never flashy. Some said he had once been a martial artist from the capital. Others guessed he was a monk who had broken his vows.
But no one pressed him for answers.
He was kind. That was enough.
Kaoru woke before dawn every day. He lit incense in the hallway and walked barefoot through the creaking house to check on the children. Some of them had nightmares. He never said much—just sat by their bedside, placed a hand on their forehead, and whispered something quiet.
And somehow, the dreams always faded.
There were eleven children in total. Some were loud and wild. Some were quiet and distant. But all of them trusted him. Even the shyest girl, Hana, who hadn't spoken a word since her parents were killed, would fall asleep on his lap when he read to them in the evening.
No one knew what Kaoru was thinking.
Sometimes, he would stop in the middle of hanging laundry and stare into the woods, like listening for a voice that wasn't there. Other times, he'd sit by the stream just outside the village, watching the water run as if waiting for something to rise from its depths.
There was an old woman in the village, blind but wise, who once said, "That man's shadow is heavier than any sword I've held."
No one understood what she meant.
But once in a while, when Kaoru thought he was alone, he would speak into the wind—not to the gods, not in prayer, but to a memory.
"You were never meant to carry that hate… but I did."
He never explained those words. And no one asked.
The children grew stronger. The seasons turned. And the world outside continued on, loud and cruel.
But in this place, Kagetsu—Kaoru—was someone else.
And somewhere, deep within the heavens that had once hunted him, the gods began to stir again.
To Be Continued...