The tear that had been welling in her eye finally spilled over, rolling down her cheek as she stared at the empty sky, utterly baffled.
How could someone just vanish into thin air?
That question echoed in her mind as she continued to stare into the distance.
Then she felt a hand rest gently on her shoulder. She turned to see Izumi beside her, tears streaming down his face—though she hadn't even noticed her own until that moment.
She lifted a hand to her cheek and felt the damp trail soaking into her skin.
Quickly, she wiped the tears away and asked, "What do we do now, Izumi?"
He sighed and slowly stood. The wind swept through his long, spiky hair, rippling the grass across the field.
"What is even going on?" he muttered, clenching his fist. "Is it wrong to think that all of this is just some twisted dream?"
Yuriko rose to her feet as well. "What are the odds of all of us having the same dream?"
Izumi fell silent, his gaze lowered. Yuriko watched him, teeth clenched, saying nothing. Instead, she reached out and helped Takae to her feet. The three of them stood together in heavy silence.
Then Izumi took a step toward the forest—the path leading back to the village.
"It seems we have no choice but to play along with this twisted game," he said.
"So what do you suggest?" Yuriko asked.
"Let's read the letter he said he left for us," Takae replied softly. "It might give us an idea of what to do next."
Yuriko and Takae turned to Izumi, waiting for his response.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he started walking toward the forest. "I guess we have no other choice."
The two followed.
They moved beneath the dark canopy in silence, branches and shadows swallowing them whole. Before long, the darkness gave way—pierced by the warm lights of the festival ahead.
Laughter echoed through the air, joyful and carefree, as if the world beyond those lights existed untouched—
—untainted by the violence the three had just witnessed.
They moved through the crowd of villagers who were enjoying the night to its fullest. Laughter rang out, music drifted through the air, and warm lights bathed the streets in color.
In stark contrast, their expressions remained hollow.
They passed through the celebration like empty shells, bodies moving forward while their minds lagged behind—detached, numb, and utterly drained of emotion.
To the villagers, they were just three more figures in the crowd.
But inside, the weight of everything they had heard pressed down on them, heavy and unrelenting.
Then, as Izumi walked through the crowd, he bumped shoulders with someone. It was the boy from before—the one who had placed a bet on him. The girl from before was with him, but Izumi barely registered their presence, his mind elsewhere.
"Hey, it's you guys," the boy called out. "You just vanished after you lost the bet. So… when are you giving me my cash?"
"Just leave them alone, Juro," the girl said firmly, tugging at him to move along.
He struggled for a moment but was pulled forward. They passed by, and he turned, hand outstretched. "Hey, wait up!"
No response came. The trio continued walking, their movements slow and deliberate, as if the lively festival around them existed in a different world—one they could no longer touch.
Watching them fade into the crowd, Juro finally let out a small sigh. "Are they… okay?" he muttered to himself, concern flickering in his eyes.
As they moved on, they came across the woman from before—the one who had sold them the meat skewers.
"Oh, it's you kids," she said, noticing them. "Heading back home, I see. Say hi to your father for me."
Izumi froze for a moment, his voice barely above a whisper, yet loud enough to carry: "Father…"
He was quickly pulled forward by Yuriko, who forced a smile onto her face. "Well… be sure to," she said, urging him along.
They passed the woman, who raised her hand to wave, but there was no response. Her brow furrowed, confusion and concern etched across her face. She didn't call after them—she simply watched as they disappeared into the crowd.
As the festival lights faded into the distance, they were once again swallowed by the darkness of night, the pale moonlight their only guide as they made their way toward the outskirts of the village.
When they arrived, the house was dead silent—no lights, no sounds. Only the soft rustling of leaves in the trees broke the stillness.
Takae pushed the door open, and they stepped inside. Candles were lit along the corridors, their flickering glow casting long shadows as they made their way toward Tsushiro's room.
Izumi gripped the handle of the door, his hand trembling slightly. He hesitated, expecting to see the father he had always known standing behind it, just as he always had. But when he pushed it open, there was nothing—only an empty room. The floor gleamed clean, the bedding folded neatly in the corner, and a small table stood silently in the opposite corner, as if nothing had ever happened there.
It was only then that his hollow expression began to twist into fury—but he forced it down, composing himself before stepping inside. The other two followed, all three silent as they battled the raging sea of emotion flooding their minds.
They approached the table and noticed a canister resting at its edge. It was made of metal, rusted over time into something nearly unrecognizable.
Izumi opened the lid and overturned it.
All that spilled out was ash.
He stood there for a moment, frozen. Then something in him snapped. His face contorted with pent-up frustration, veins bulging at his forehead as his breathing grew heavy. For the first time since they had entered the house, the attention of the other two returned fully to him.
"Hey… are you oka—" Yuriko began softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
She was cut off.
"What the hell!" Izumi shouted, startling both Yuriko and Takae. "What are we even looking for?!"
He dropped to his knees and slammed the empty canister against the table, ash spilling across the floor.
"Why now?" he asked, his tone quieter but no less strained. "Why did he wait until the worst possible moment to spring this on us? Why?"
He turned toward Takae.
Her hands were trembling. Her face had gone pale.
Only then did Izumi realize how consumed he had been by his own turmoil—so wrapped up in it that he hadn't noticed she was breaking.
His sudden silence drew Yuriko's attention as well. The moment she saw Takae, she didn't hesitate—she rushed toward her.
"Calm down, Takae," she said, gripping her shoulders.
The touch only worsened it.
Takae shoved her away, stumbling back until she hit the wall and collapsed to her knees.
"Stay away!" she screamed.
They froze, unsure of what to do.
Takae sat there on the floor, the dreaded words replaying endlessly in her mind.
Half-blood. Bastard. Filth.
They echoed again and again as she buried her head in her arms, trying desperately to escape them.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She flinched and raised her head to see Izumi and Yuriko sitting in front of her. Their expressions were calm—steady, grounding.
And that was all it took.
She broke down completely, clutching Yuriko as sobs tore out of her. Yuriko said nothing—she simply held her, letting her cry.
As they stayed there, Yuriko noticed something strange about the wall in front of them.
There was an outline—faint, uneven—of a compartment that shouldn't have been there.
When Takae finally began to calm, she tugged gently at Izumi's robe and pointed it out. He followed her gaze immediately and began inspecting the wall, tapping it carefully.
When he knocked on the suspicious section, the sound was different.
Hollow.
He pressed his ear against the wall and knocked again.
The sound confirmed it.
Without a word, he left the room and returned moments later carrying a shovel.
"Stand back," he said.
Using the handle, he struck the wall again and again. The wood resisted at first, but eventually gave way.
Dust filled the air.
And as it settled, his suspicions were confirmed.
Inside it rested a large wooden box, its surface worn with age. Strapped securely to the top was a single envelope, yellowed and fragile.
Izumi brushed away the thin layer of dust coating the box and carefully loosened the strap holding the envelope in place. He held it for a moment, fingers tightening slightly around it, as if weighing the consequences of opening it.
Then he did.
Inside was a neatly folded piece of paper.
Izumi straightened and turned to face Yuriko and Takae. Slowly, he unfolded the paper. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard before forcing out a breath.
"This is what it says," he said quietly.
He paused—just long enough for the silence to press in.
Then he began to read.
"The year is five thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven of the Celestial Calendar.
This is the fifth day of the fourth lunar cycle—
one night before the Harvest Festival."
He paused before continuing.
"If you're reading this, then it means the worst-case scenario has come to pass, and I am either incapacitated or… out of commission. Either way, if this has happened, then the situation is dire."
His grip tightened slightly around the paper.
"And I'm certain this also means the truth has come out—whether partially or wholly."
He stopped again and lifted his gaze.
Their attention hadn't wavered. Yuriko stood rigid, eyes fixed on him. Takae's hands were clenched at her sides, knuckles pale.
Izumi drew a slow breath, straightened his posture, and brought the letter closer before continuing.
"I know the last thing the three of you want to hear are awkwardly placed justifications for what you've learned. I don't have any to give."
The words came out steady—too steady.
"What I can tell you is this: the world you were born into is a cruel one. It takes, and it harms, without end. And more often than not, our perceptions of reality are far removed from the truth."
He faltered—just for a heartbeat.
"All the delusions we hold dear are fated to shatter eventually. This is a universal truth… for everyone. Even me."
His voice lowered slightly.
"And I know the pain of watching the world you once knew slip through your fingers is unbearable."
Izumi stopped reading.
Got it. I'll keep the concept and tone intact, lightly refine for clarity and impact, then rate by concept (not grammar).
Refined version (same meaning, tighter emotional weight)
The silence that followed felt heavier than the words themselves.
"But the truth is that the innocence of childhood is always bound to fade away, no matter how desperately you try to preserve it. What you must understand is this: if the world has come crashing down on you, the worst thing you can do is grovel at the feet of despair. Survival means refusing to let an undecided destiny wound you—or define who you are."
Takae clenched her fist, her gaze fixed on the floor, and Yuriko gently placed her palm over it, calming her.
Izumi hesitated once more before reading aloud,
"Never fear. The situation might seem hopeless, but always remember that as long as you are living—"
He gulped before continuing, "—there is always a future."
The words lingered in the air long after Izumi finished reading.
No one spoke.
The candle flames flickered softly, their light trembling against the walls as if even they were unsure whether to stay lit. Wax dripped in slow, uneven trails, the sound barely audible—yet somehow unbearably loud in the quiet.
Takae's fist loosened at last, though her hand still trembled. Yuriko didn't pull away. She stayed there, steady, grounding her without a word.
Izumi took a breath before continuing, "You need to be prepared because this is only the beginning. If you want to survive, you have to make a choice. There is no other way around it. I know it's selfish to make you decide, but I have no other choice."
Izumi paused and looked at the box before continuing, "You can't just stay here and fall into the hands of the people who want to harm you, or you can take a stand to ensure your own future—a future where you're strong enough to face this cruel fate we were born into."
Izumi then opened the lid of the box and found inside black-and-white robes, brown cloaks, and three identical swords.
He continued.
"This is the choice that I give you: take up the sword and become Ashura Samurai. Though this will not guarantee your safety, it will at least give you a fighting chance. So, if you are willing to put your faith in me, take the robes I left for you in the box and go to a village on the upper east bank of the Shion River near the mountains. There, you'll meet a man who can help you."
He then froze before continuing. "One day, if I ever get the chance to meet you again, I will tell the truth about where you came from. Until then, you can consider me your father. Whether you do or not is also up to you.
Sincerely yours,
Tsushiro Yamada."
Izumi crumpled the letter in his hand. "What is it with him and these obvious choices?"
Yuriko looked up at him. He seemed calmer than before, as if he had heard everything he needed to.
"So… what now?" Takae asked.
"It seems we have no choice," Yuriko replied, reaching into the box and grabbing a sword. "We at least need a fighting chance, don't we?"
Izumi reached in and took a sword as well. "You're right."
Then Takae reached into the box and took the final sword, silently nodding.
As the rays of the morning sun shone onto the quiet land the faint smell of smoke filled the air.
The home once cherished was now engulfed in flames, memories of a once peaceful life burning away along with it.
Infront of the blaze the three stood watching as the sparks flew across the air, the world they knew fading away.
They were wearing the same robes that Tsushiro had once adorned on the day he saved them and gave them the life they once knew.
Across their waists were the swords that he had given them, the tools with which they would forge their own destiny and above their robes were the large brown hooded cloacks.
Yuriko was the first to turn away and Takae followed. Izumi was the last to look away as he etched the sight of those flames into his eyes and into his mind forever.
The age of stillness had come to an end and all that was left was uncertainty and fear but even with these emotions weighing down on them they set forth, the light of the dawn shining on their backs.
This is the story of these three children and how their lives changed the course of history as they forged their own path to tomorrow.
[PART 1: RIFTS IN THE PATH TO TOMORROW – END]