The tribe had changed in the weeks since the raid. What once was a scattered group of survivors had begun to grow into something more. Takemaru oversaw the construction of sturdbeginning mud-packed walls, thatched roofs, trenches for water. He taught them crop rotation, fishing techniques, even the simplest of fortifications.
Korin stood beside him one morning, watching smoke rise from cooking fires.
"You've given us more than survival," Korin admitted. "You've given us direction. The people speak of you as their leader now."
Takemaru shook his head. "Not their leader. Their protector. Leadership is shared. But protection that, I can promise."
Korin smirked. "Then protector you will be. And we will be your people."
The Woman by the Fire
Among the tribe was a woman named Aiko. She was neither the strongest nor the loudest, but she possessed a quiet resilience that drew Takemaru's attention. She tended to the wounded with steady hands, calmed frightened children, and never once complained despite hardship.
One evening, after the day's work was done, Takemaru found her by the fire, grinding herbs into a poultice.
"You work harder than anyone," he remarked.
She looked up, a faint smile on her lips. "Because if I don't, who will? The children need someone to keep them whole. The warriors fight, but someone must keep them alive afterward."
Takemaru studied her. "You think like me. Always looking beyond the moment."
She tilted her head. "And what do you look for, Takemaru?"
He hesitated, then answered honestly. "A future that lasts."
Something in her gaze softened. From that night onward, they spoke often, sharing stories by the fire. In time, affection grew not born of impulse, but of mutual respect and quiet understanding.
The First Heir
Years passed swiftly. The tribe now called the Shōten people, after Takemaru's chosen name prospered. Children grew strong, warriors disciplined. No longer did they merely survive; they flourished.
And within that time, Takemaru and Aiko wed under the stars, with Korin and the elders blessing their union.
When their first child was born a son named Raiden the tribe celebrated for three days.
From the beginning, Raiden was different. His cries were louder, his grip stronger. By the age of five, he could lift stones twice his size. His eyes, sharp and clear, seemed to pierce the world itself.
But with that strength came danger. Once, in a fit of childish frustration, Raiden struck a tree with his fist. The trunk cracked down the middle and toppled, nearly crushing another child.
Aiko was terrified. "Takemaru… what is happening to him?"
Takemaru held his son, who sobbed in confusion, and spoke softly. "He has inherited part of me. My blood. My… gift. But he cannot use it recklessly. If he does, it will destroy him and others."
From then on, Takemaru began training Raiden. Not in raw power, but in restraint. Discipline. Control.
The Burden of Inheritance
As the years went by, more children were born to Takemaru and Aiko two daughters, Hana and Miyu, and later another son, Daichi. Each bore fragments of his bloodline. Strength beyond their years. Endurance unmatched by mortals. Eyes that glimmered faintly under the sun.
But none matched Takemaru himself. Their power reached perhaps seventy percent of his formidable, but not limitless. And unlike him, their bodies struggled under the strain. When Raiden tried to run as fast as the wind, his legs tore with muscle strains. When Hana experimented with her budding heat-vision, she fainted from exhaustion.
Takemaru watched them carefully. Good. They are not gods. They must grow into their strength, or it will consume them.
He designed rituals of training:
Days spent meditating under the sun.
Strength tests to teach restraint.
Sparring matches focused on control, not victory.
"Power is nothing without wisdom," he told them. "And wisdom comes only through patience."
His children listened, though not without mistakes. Scars from those mistakes became lessons engraved upon their bodies.
A Clan Is Born
By the time Raiden reached his teenage years, the Shōten were no longer a mere tribe. They were a clan, feared and respected. Rivals who once raided them now avoided their borders. Their settlement grew into a small fortified village, fields stretching wide, families thriving.
Other wanderers came, drawn by stories of safety and strength. Some brought skills in metalwork, others knowledge of herbs or hunting. Takemaru welcomed them all, binding them together with one rule: loyalty to the clan above all else.
At the heart of this new order stood Takemaru's family. His children became symbols of the clan's promise human, yet greater than human. Mortal, yet blessed by something eternal.
Around the fire, elders spoke of them as the Children of the Sun, heirs to Takemaru's light.
The Immortal's Dilemma
One night, when the village slept, Aiko and Takemaru sat together beneath the stars. Their children lay within the longhouse, safe and dreaming.
Aiko rested her head on his shoulder. "They will surpass even us, one day."
Takemaru was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, "Perhaps. But not me."
She turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"My blood… it does not age. I feel it. Each year, I grow stronger, not weaker. I will watch as our children grow, as their children are born, as generations rise and fall. But I… I will remain."
Aiko's eyes softened with sorrow. "An immortal protector. That is both a blessing and a curse."
Takemaru clenched his fist, staring into the distance. "If I must bear it, then so be it. My burden is their shield. As long as I draw breath, the Shōten will never fall."
Aiko took his hand gently. "Then you must also remember you are not alone. Not now. Not ever."
For the first time in two lives, Takemaru allowed himself a rare smile.
A Legacy Set in Stone
The next day, Takemaru gathered the clan. Before them, he raised a great stone slab and carved into it with his bare hands. The first laws of the Shōten Clan:
The clan protects its own above all.
Power must serve, not dominate.
Bloodline is gift, not privilege. All who swear loyalty are Shōten.
When the final words were etched, he turned to his people.
"This stone is our promise. Long after Iremember or even if I remain the Shōten will live by these laws. We are no longer a tribe wandering the earth. We are a clan. And one day, we will be a kingdom."
Cheers erupted, echoing across the valley. Children laughed, warriors roared, and even the weary elders lifted their voices.
The Shōten Clan was born that day not just in blood, but in spirit.
And Takemaru knew, as the sun's warmth filled him, that this was only the beginning.