Vescrutia: Legacy

The wind howled a constant, unwavering song around Taka No Kami, the Hawks Nest. It wasn't the gentle sigh of breezes through bamboo groves, but a raw, biting shriek that clawed at the polished surfaces and echoed in the vast emptiness surrounding it. For Taka No Kami was adrift, a colossal island of metal, wood, and gleaming crystal floating impossibly high above the sprawling tapestry of Edo.

To see it from below, were anyone to look upwards long enough amidst the bustling city streets, would be to witness a marvel of engineering, a dark, intricate silhouette etched against the endless blue or the swirling grey of storm clouds. It appeared as a layered pagoda, inverted and impossibly widened. The uppermost level, almost lost in the thin air was primarily open to the elements, a series of elevated walkways connected by impossibly thin bridges that looked like spider silk spun from shadow.

Descending from this airy crown, the levels grew wider, more solid. Panels of intricately worked bronze-colored metal, shimmering with an unnatural polish, formed the outer walls. These panels weren’t merely decorative. They were resonators, part of the arcane technology that allowed Taka No Kami to defy gravity. Runes, too fine to be seen from below, were etched into the metal, glowing faintly with an inner luminescence when the fortress’s power core pulsed.

Nearer to the unseen "ground" far below, the fortress flared out into a broad, almost disc-shaped platform. This was the most heavily fortified level, constructed from thicker metal plates and reinforced with struts of a material that resembled volcanic glass, darkly iridescent and impossibly strong. Here, the windows were less open walkways and more narrow slits, some obscured by further layers of metal mesh – designed for observation and defense, not for view. This level hummed with a palpable, low thrumming, a constant vibration that spoke of immense power contained and directed.

Access to Taka No Kami was deliberately exclusive. No earthly road or path could reach it. Only the Owaki’s specialized, silent airships, crafted in secret workshops deep within their mountainous territories, could navigate the treacherous currents of the upper atmosphere. These were not grand, billowing balloons, but sleek, almost predatory shapes of dark metal and stretched, treated silk, powered by a silent, internal mechanism fueled by carefully cultivated crystals and the esoteric principles of air manipulation- of which the Owaki were masters of. To witness one of these airships ascending towards Taka No Kami was like seeing a hawk rise to its aerie – swift, purposeful, and utterly removed from the world below.

The interior of Taka No Kami was a stark contrast to the windswept exterior of the uppermost level. Beyond the uppermost walkways, within the fortress proper, the air was still, almost oppressive. Corridors carved from dark, polished wood ran in labyrinthine patterns, lit by orbs of glowing crystal that cast an eerie, cold light. The silence here was profound, broken only by the measured tread of those who moved within its walls, the soft rustle of robes, and the faint, rhythmic hum that permeated the entire structure.

The Owaki themselves were a clan steeped in ancient tradition, their faces pale and sharp, their eyes possessing a unnerving intensity, honed by generations of solitude and secret knowledge. They dressed in muted colors – deep greys, blacks, and the occasional flash of silver embroidery. Their movements were precise, economical, every gesture imbued with purpose. On Taka No Kami, there was no room for wasted motion, no space for frivolous chatter.

The heart of Taka No Kami, concealed deep within the disc-like lower level, was the Denkoushi Chamber. This was where the “henous experiment” took place. The air here was thick with the smell of ozone and the faint tang of metal. The walls were lined with shimmering, pulsating conduits of crystal, humming with contained energy. In the center of the chamber, suspended in a cage of electrically charged wires, writhed the Denkoushi.

Taka No Kami was not a place of beauty, despite its breathtaking architecture from afar. It was a place of cold, calculated purpose, a monument to the Owaki’s ambition and their chilling detachment from the world below. It was a place of secrets, hidden high in the sky, where the winds carried not whispers of peace, but the silent screams of the Denkoushi and the echoing hum of forbidden technology, all for the inscrutable aims of the eldest shinobi clan, dwelling in their self-imposed exile above the clouds. The sky fortresses', gazing down upon Edo, were not benevolent guardians, but watchful observers, their fortress a silent promise of power, and a chilling testament to methods best left unseen, shrouded in the perpetual winds of Taka No Kami.

And in the Apex of the tower that over saw it all was Iwa Owaki, Eldest brother of the four Owaki son and next in line for the head of clan. Despite his smaller stature he carried the presence of a titian. A master of wind style ephemeral arts with a intellect that rivaled the greatest minds on Edo. So fearsome was his legend he had been dubbed the Black Gale, speed and strength unparalleled. His cold, calculating gaze watched over every moving piece of Take no Kami and it was do to his daring ingenuity that the facilities had maintained it's control and success. His aura commanded respect and absolute obedience yet in public he held the face of peace immensely popular with the citizen of Edo many whom support his becoming of head. Now, his father, Zeroken was sending their youngest brother, Ren to give a status report on the facilities progress. But in truth, his father wished for Ren to see the truth of what the Owaki name truly held.

"Soon it shall be the whole of Edo that I observe from this lens. Not just this meager hovel."

His voice clear and crisp laced with a growing ambition. It had been over a year now since his father placed him in charge of the sky farm and since his taking control it's productivity have increased well over 200 percent. He was close, so dangerously close to seeing his dream realized. To solidifying his place as head of clan.

"Lord Zeroken...you time is nearing it's end. With what I am to obtain...I will craft the perfect means...to an end to it all."

He chuckled before taking a sip of wine. A stern knock at the door as caused his smirk to fade.

"Sir, you brother, Lord Ren, has arrived.

He sighed somberly, as if his fun had been callously interrupted.

"I'll be down shortly..."

After collecting his thoughts and being briefed on his itinerary for the day, not to mention finishing his wine. Iwa descended to the lower levels where the landing decks for the air crafts were. He was greeted by the myriad faculty members strumming about the place each on bowing in reverence as he past them. Yet he did not return their sentiments, time was money, and resources were drifting by the hour. In truth he cared little for this meeting with his brother. In his mind, beneath the veneer of brotherhood laid only the ambition to stand at the peak of the clan.

To him, Ren was little more than another potential obstacle, another person vying for his place as head of clan. With Sozen removing himself out of the way that left only Ren the youngest, Kaito, the eldest under Iwa in the running for head of clan. Yet, this cold callous view was not the energy he received his younger brother with. As the doors leading to the pad opened little brother would be there, standing amongst his assigned guards. Young Ren Owaki, barely a man with the blush of youth still clinging to his cheeks, adjusted his silk kimono, his brow furrowed in a nervous crease. He hadn’t seen his elder brother, Iwa, in almost a year, not since Iwa had been appointed overseer of this… facility.

There was a deep silence as the two got closer to each other. Iwa looked up at Ren hsi eyes narrowing slightly unraveling Ren falsely put together bravado in an instant. Ren bowed to Iwa accordingly, his yellow eyes wavering, to which the eldest hawk smiled coyly.

"Now now brother, please do not be so formal."

Ren could here the sarcasm in his brothers tone. It was the dubious speech of shinobi. Fully aware that he would have seen Ren's refusal to bow as a direct affront to his authority. Still, for the sake of completing his task, Ren obliged.

"You've gotten taller, Ren."

Iwa said extending his had toward his bowed sibling.

"And you're as scary as ever, Iwa."

"Ha, yes, perhaps I should work on being more like you then..."

A jab, one that did not go noticed by Ren. He passively waved off the comment before placing his hand casually in his sleeves. He beckoned Ren to follow him back inside.

"Needless to say, I am...pleased you came."

“Father sent me,” Ren replied, the words stiff in his mouth.

“He… desired an update on your progress.”

He avoided direct eye contact, his gaze flicking to the seemingly innocuous scrolls lining the walls, their titles whispering of ‘agricultural efficiency’ and ‘resource management’. He knew better. He’d heard the whispers in the shadowed corners of the Owaki estate, the rumors his father, the family head, never quite silenced. As if he wanted the truth to be speculated, perhaps that Ren would not be caught completely unawares.

Iwa offered a grim smile that didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes. “Progress is… substantial.” He gestured for Ren to follow. “Come. I’ll show you the farm.” Anxiety began to became something palpable in the young Owaki's chest. As if foretelling to arrival of something, sinister, A dread he could not hake, but would not let his brother witness. He did not wish to appear any weaker than Iwa already thought of him as. They passed guards clad in the subtly ornate Owaki armor, their faces impassive, their movements precise. These were not just guards, Ren realized with a shiver, they were soldiers. Bred for loyalty and obedience, like everything else here.

"Sunless"

Ren thought to himself as they moved through the facility the reached a door littered with odd runic symbols. From the top of the door a light emerged, scanning their bodies.

"Clear of containments. Owaki blood confirmed, permission granted."

The door began to open slowly, and upon it doing so the very air shifted. Loosing the relaxing scent of juniper and lavender and instead becoming saturated by the metallic tang of blood and the sterile scent of alchemical concoctions. Polished obsidian floors reflected the flickering gas lamps, casting dancing shadows that writhed like phantoms over the cold, stone walls. For a farm, it was remarkably devoid of life in the conventional sense. Cages lined the corridors, not for livestock, but for the Denkoushi.

Ren felt a knot of unease tighten in his stomach as he followed his brother, Iwa. Iwa, with his stoic face and eyes like chips of glacial ice, moved with an unsettling grace through the facility. He emanated an aura of controlled power that Kaito both admired and feared. “Brother,” Ren began, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous hallway, “this… farm… it’s different than I imagined.”

Iwa stopped before a large, reinforced steel door. “Imagine?” He turned, a sardonic smirk playing on his lips. “Did you picture rows of tranquil beasts grazing in sunlit fields, little brother?”

Ren shifted uncomfortably. “Father always spoke vaguely of our… investments… in the military sector. Peacekeeping initiatives.”

Iwa chuckled, a dry, rasping sound devoid of humor. He placed his hand on a bio-scanner beside the door, and with a low hum, it slid open, revealing a scene that stole the breath from Ren's lungs.

Row upon row of glass cylinders stretched into the depths of the chamber, illuminated by sickly green bioluminescent fluid. Within each cylinder floated a humanoid form, faced masked, limbs subtly elongated, skin stretched taut over corded muscles. Electrical currents pulsed through wires connected to their temples, their bodies twitching involuntarily. The air here was heavy with the stench of ozone and something else… something sickly sweet, like rotting fruit mixed with iron.

“Welcome to the heart of the Taka No Kami, little brother,” Iwa said, his voice devoid of warmth. “Welcome to the truth of the Owaki.”

Ren mouth became filled with bile, his stomach to weak to hold the gravity of what he was witnessing. He had always mused that there was something his family's wasn't telling him. Ren stared, horror blooming in his chest. He had known, intellectually, of the slave trade. He had heard the euphemisms – ‘contracted laborers’, ‘indentured servants’. But seeing it, the sheer scale of it, the suffering… it was a different beast entirely.

“These… these are the Denkoushi?” Ren managed, his voice barely a whisper.

“Indeed.” Iwa gestured towards the rows of cylinders. “Our most profitable commodity. Bred for strength, obedience, expendability. As you know there are four families that make up the whole Shi clan. Urso, physically superior, Gamallow, intellectually astounding, Flonne incredible regenerative factors and the Ri'ore. The direct line of Ain's himself, the strongest of the brood. Their Naten pools are… limited, compared to their ancestors, but that makes them manageable. Perfect vessels for war.”

“But… they’re people,” Ren stammered, recognizing the distinct features, the pale skin, the subtle curve of their ears. “You’re… breeding people for… for slavery?”

Iwa’s icy gaze intensified. “Slavery is such a crude word, little brother. Think of it as… resource management. The Shi are inherently unstable, prone to outbursts of uncontrolled power. We provide them with purpose, with structure. And in return, they serve Edo.” He paused, his eyes glinting with a predatory light. “And they serve us."

He turned to face the container, his eyes narrowing.

"If it is sympathy you feel please, perish the thought. Do not forget that these very same...creatures nearly brought ruin to all of Edo. They are dangerous. Their power, untamed, is chaotic, destructive. We control it. We refine it. We profit from it."

He ushered Ren along.

“The Farms are not just for breeding,” Iwa continued, his voice low and conspiratorial. “They are laboratories. We Owaki are not merely merchants of flesh, Ren. We are… pioneers.” He stopped before a smaller chamber, sealed off by reinforced glass. Inside, a single Denkoushi stood, unconfined, strapped to a complex apparatus of wires and alchemical vials. This one was different. The aura it was emitting was...astounding like standing next to chaos itself woven with shadows.

“This is Subject Zero,” Iwa stated, a flicker of excitement in his usually impassive eyes. “Otherwise known as an Oni. Our most ambitious project. We believe he holds the key.”

“Key to what?”

Iwa went silent, only the thrum of the chambers spoke within the long pause. Then he spoke.

“The Owaki bloodline… it’s corrupted. A genetic flaw. A cancer that consumes us from within. Five years, Ren. Five years is all we have, at most when it appears. ”

Ren stared at his brother, disbelief warring with dawning horror. He knew they were not as physically strong as other Shinobi families, that they relied on intellect and cunning. But he hadn't known… he hadn’t known it was a death sentence.

"But Father...he's lived long past tha-"

“He hides it well,”Iwa interrupted, his voice laced with bitterness. “We all do. We mask it with tinctures, with rituals, with borrowed time. But the truth remains. We are dying, Ren. Unless…”

He gestured back to Subject Zero. “Unless we find a way to cheat death. To expand our Narten pools. To break the curse.”

The glass, a subtly warmth echoing from it.

“We have long sought to understand the Kaos Rings,” Iwa continued, his voice low and conspiratorial. “The Shi, they are uniquely attuned to them. Especially the Ring of Power, Subjugation. Its potential… unimaginable. But wielding it demands a Naten capacity far beyond our natural limits.”

Ren felt a prickle of unease. He knew of the Rings, ancient artifacts of immense power. The Ring of Destruction; Ruin was the heirloom an prize of the Owaki head. The one true sureness of safety they had, for it's power could literally wipe half of Edo off the map in an instant.

“You… you’re trying to make them use the Rings?” Ren asked, his voice barely audible.

Iwa nodded. “Precisely. We are… enhancing them. Altering their physiology, pushing the boundaries of what is possible.” He gestured to the cages, his hand sweeping across the rows of mutated Denkoushi. “The Ketsugō chi. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

Ren’s blood ran cold. The Ketsugō chi. The Merging Blood. A forbidden ritual, a process of alchemical fusion, merging to otherwise incompatible DNA structures, attempting to unlock their latent potential.

“We need to adapt. To evolve,” Iwa continued, his voice urgent now. “We need to increase our Naten capacity. We need to wield the Rings. This… this is our salvation.” He gestured around the lab. “We experiment, we refine. We’ve even isolated certain tinctures, alchemical breakthroughs that enhance our own parameters, temporarily. But they are… insufficient.”

He walked to a table in the center of the room, covered in vials and instruments, and picked up a glistening, dark crimson substance in a glass phial. “This is… Oni Chi. Concentrated. Extracted from Subject Zero. Combined with other… alchemical catalysts, it can grant us… enhanced resilience. Increased speed. Naten pools beyond our wildest dreams. But it is volatile, deadly even. We have yet to perfect it but.”

He placed his hand on Ren's shoulder.

“We are close, Ren,” Iwa said, his eyes burning with fanaticism. “Close to a breakthrough. Close to creating a… perfect vessel. A clone of the Shi's ancestor, Ains, the only being alive known to have wielded all three rings, pure, potent. We will meld its essence with our own, eradicate this cursed weakness, and finally, finally… claim our rightful place...we could become gods. But not without unlocking the power of the Shi's anthem. It holds the means, but allowing a Shi to retain it's eyes is suicide. Hence why we have arranged a special meeting."

Ren felt a wave of nausea rise in his throat. This wasn’t about peace, about political influence. It was about survival, twisted into a monstrous ambition. He thought of Sozen, his middle brother, the “betrayer.” Now, his rebellion made a horrifying kind of sense.

A chime echoed through the complex, a signal announcing their awaited visitor.

“The Yaarou envoy will arrive soon,” Iwa said, pulling Ren back to the present.

“They possess arcane knowledge, secrets passed down through their bloodline, ways to truly harness the Denkoushi eyes. We need that knowledge.”

“And in exchange?” Ren asked, his voice heavy with foreboding.

“A map,” Iwa replied, a cold smile spreading across his face. “A map to an artifact of immense power, something even the Yaarou covet. Let them chase shadows while we grasp the true prize.”

He led Ren to a lavishly decorated reception room, a stark contrast to the sterile horrors of the farm. Soft carpets muffled their footsteps, silk tapestries adorned the walls, and polished brass gleamed in the lamplight. Servants in pristine white robes bustled about, preparing tea and refreshments. The illusion of peace, of civilized diplomacy, was meticulously crafted.

“Remember, Ren,” Iwa said, his hand resting heavily on Ren shoulder, his grip like iron. “This is our legacy now. The path of peace is the path of deception. That has always been the shinobi way. Deceit, is our greatest weapon. We secure our future through not brute strength, through knowledge, through any means necessary. You are Owaki. Embrace it...or perish.”

Before Ren could respond, a servant announced the arrival of the Yaarou envoy. Ren stood beside his brother, the youngest of the Owaki, no longer innocent, forever tainted by the truth of his family's monstrous ambition, forced to play his part in a deadly game of survival and power. The air, even in this opulent room, still carried the faint, metallic tang of blood, a constant reminder of the horrors hidden just beneath the surface of the Owaki’s carefully constructed world.

The sky above Edo was a roiling ocean of clouds and light, gilded by the dying hues of Vescrutia's setting suns. Elder Ayune stood at the bow of the Owaki airship, her silhouette sharp against the dying light, silver hood drawn low to veil the turmoil behind her scarlet gaze. She had been an envoy before—negotiator, arbiter, peacekeeper—but never had a mission felt quite so much like treason, dressed in ceremonial silk.

Her robes were the formal regalia of the Yaarou: flowing indigo dyed so deep it bordered on black, embroidered with silvered waves that curled up her sleeves like rising tides. Across her back was fastened the ceremonial chest—glossy black steel, bound in iron and engraved with nine ancient sigils that pulsed faintly in rhythm with her breath. Within lay the relics: tools of ancient Hexcraft, salvaged from the deepest vaults of the Yaarou sanctums.

The flight had been silent, disturbingly so. The Owaki vessels—sleek, predatory things of taut silk and burnished metal—did not creak or groan with wind and wood like traditional ships. They whispered through the air, buoyed by unseen forces, powered by crystals and air-woven sigils born of Owaki ingenuity that no Yaarou would ever trust.

But that was before today.

Ayune’s orders had come directly from the Xhi’on. The trade had already been negotiated in secret: an exchange of Yaarou secrets with the Owaki heir, in return for something foreign to their blood feud entirely. A map—one that would lead Hitomi to a relic so precious Hyperia had insisted upon it personally. It was imperative that Ayune left with it in towe, as The B’halian Empire sought it as well, which meant this was incredibly time sensitive.. which only added to the pressure on her shoulders.

–Soon, the vessel docked upon the hovering island fortress of Taka No Kami, and Ayune emerged from the airship. Immediately, she noticed air was different here. Thinner on account of the altitude, charged with ozone, but threaded with something synthetic—arcane and artificial at once.

Inside, the facility was a study in foreign architecture. Gone were the warm stone tiles and paper walls of the Yaarou Compound. Here, the floors gleamed with polished alloy, and the walls blended crystal and metal like living machines. No torches burned—instead, hovering jewels illuminated the corridors, casting sharp shadows that seemed to adjust their form as Ayune passed.

Owaki sentinels flanked every archway. Tall and unnervingly still, their armor was layered in overlapping segments of dusk-colored plating, every inch designed for mobility and misdirection. Their faces were sealed behind smooth masks of black glass, reflective and unreadable. They bowed with eerie synchronicity as she crossed their path, but she felt no reverence—only scrutiny.

Ayune followed her guide in silence through a warren of labyrinthine halls and gravity-defying staircases. She had no doubt that, without guidance, she would never find her way back. Every wall, every turn, seemed to rearrange itself in subtle, imperceptible ways—as if the fortress itself resisted being memorized.

At last, they reached the reception hall.

Its doors opened like a sanctum—walls vaulted like a cathedral’s, hung with obsidian and copper tapestries depicting ancient Owaki triumphs and innovations. Rich carpets, black and crimson, muffled her footsteps. Sculptures of impossible geometry floated midair, suspended by invisible threads. Everything in the room reeked of wealth—of power earned through cold calculus, immoral ingenuity and generations of ambition.

At the center of the room Ayune saw to figures; neither adorned in armor, or old enough to advise any council. She figured they were the Owaki heirs, and the taller one, she imagined to be Iwa.

He was younger than she'd expected. No older than his late twenties, but his presence betrayed none of that youth. His face was pale and angular, carved from stone, with eyes flat and depthless like wells. His robes were of jet silk, layered and rimmed with obsidian thread that seemed to swallow the light around him. His hands remained hidden within his sleeves, but Ayune felt the weight of them nonetheless—coiled like knives beneath the silk.

He did not smile, but he did not need to. Ayune could sense a calm, watchful precision in him. The kind worn by those who had been born into games of politics and legacy. Ayune knew the look well.

And so, the envoy stood still—ancient chest in hand, heart silent as steel—and prepared to bargain with a prince of darkness.

"My name is Ayune Yaarou, and I am here on behalf of our Xh’ion."

She said as she issued a shallow bow, as was tradition.

"And while I mean no disrespect, I've been requested to relay that this is a time sensitive matter."

The Owaki brother patiently waited as the Yaarou envoy entered the halls. Iwa's face was aglow with the light gleam of a digital screen. It was a subtle display, barely perceptible, but to those who knew him, it was a clear signal—Iwa was in observation mode, cataloging every detail and assessing every nuance.

The Yaarou envoy entered, her presence preceding her like a ripple in still water. Lady Ayune. A single name, yet it resonated with centuries of whispered lore and feared power. Iwa’s digital overlay sharpened its focus, tracking her every movement. Her indigo robes flowed around her, the color of Yaarou's high lineage, a silent declaration of her importance. It had been far too long since an emissary from their reclusive clan had graced Owaki lands. A year, Iwa calculated instinctively, precisely 378 days since the last fleeting contact, and even that had been through intermediaries, hushed whispers across encrypted channels. This direct approach, this audacious physical presence, spoke volumes in itself.

"A carrier of Hex Craft"

The thought echoed in Iwa’s mind, resonating with a mixture of dread and morbid curiosity. He knew so little, despite the shared history, the intertwined threads of Edo’s past. Eyes like living crimson, hair as white as bleached bone. The Yaarou’s power was a labyrinth shrouded in rumor and grim legend. Encounters were seldom, and survivals were rarer still. The air thrummed with it, a silent hum beneath the superficial calm, a vibration felt in the bones rather than heard by the ears.

Through the halls, the Owaki guard's bows held low gazes fixed rigidly on the polished floor. Each posture screamed vigilance, a coiled spring ready to unleash. But their faces remained masks of placid obedience. To betray even a flicker of unease was to question Iwa’s command, to doubt the wisdom of this precarious peace. Such insubordination in these hallowed halls invited swift, irreversible consequences.

Beside Iwa, Ren shifted, a tremor betraying the forced composure he attempted to project. Iwa felt the ripple of his brother's anxiety, a familiar counterpoint to his own carefully constructed facade. Iwa maintained his mask of casual indifference, a practiced nonchalance honed over years of political maneuvering. But beneath it, a cold calculation churned. Yaarou blood. Pure, crimson, untainted by the technological augmentations and alchemical enhancements that defined the Owaki. What arcane secrets lay dormant within it? What power could be unlocked, harnessed, and weaponized? He ruthlessly clamped down on the thought. Such desires were dangerous, treacherous waters. Even hinting at such ambitions would shatter the gossamer thread of peace, ignite the simmering resentment between the great shinobi houses, and plunge Edo into a war they were ill-equipped to weather. Not now. Not while the shadow of Hitomi Xh'on loomed.

His mind, a whirlwind of strategic probabilities, spun through a thousand potential outcomes, a thousand ways this fragile meeting could shatter. But then Ayune stepped fully into the hall, and the very atmosphere seemed to coagulate around her. Epochs of Yaarou's history, the weight of their legacy, radiated from her like an unseen aura. He’d half expected, foolishly perhaps, for the Xh’on herself, Hitomi, to appear. The prodigal daughter, the whispered terror of Edo. Rumors of her raw power were rampant, unsettling the delicate balance of Edo’s power structure. Her very existence was a ticking clock, a countdown to inevitable upheaval. And in the face of that looming chaos, Yaarou knowledge, Yaarou power, became a more vital commodity than ever. He needed to glean what he could to secure any advantage before the bridges were consumed in Hitomi’s inevitable conflagration.

"My name is Ayune Yaarou, and I am here on behalf of our Xh’ion."

Her resonant and firm voice cleaved through the stifling silence. It was directed at Ren, who, startled, instinctively recoiled a step, his carefully practiced bow faltering. Ayune's bow, though accounted, had already lost its credibility, for she postured before the wrong brother.

"Oh, nno- I'm"

Ren stammered, his carefully rehearsed opening lines dissolving on his tongue. Iwa’s gaze sharpened, a predator’s focus settling on Ren. It was a silent, withering glare, the unspoken threat a palpable force. Ren, catching the predatory glint, instantly choked back his words, shrinking further into the shadows of the dais.

“He is but a fledgling,”

Iwa interjected, his voice smooth, betraying no hint of the irritation that prickled beneath his skin.

“New to the morning sun as it creeps up on a freshly woven nest.”

He stepped forward, the digital display across his eye dissolving into nothingness, leaving behind his natural eye's stark, obsidian blackness to meet Ayune’s gaze directly.

“Lady Ayune,” he said, his voice resonating with carefully modulated authority, “I am Iwa Owaki, Eldest Sof of the Owaki family…” He offered a curt, almost begrudging bow, barely inclining his head. Then, he heard his father's voice in his head and decided to lower himself more. He tamped down the familiar surge of discontent. This always happened. His shorter stature, a minor physical detail, consistently led to him being underestimated and overlooked. Usually a mere annoyance, but here, with a Yaarou envoy, it grated more acutely. Yet, his face remained a carefully sculpted mask of respectful, even welcoming, intent.

“I bid you welcome to Taka No Kami, of which I am overseer.” He straightened, his height still falling well short of Ayune's shoulder, yet the force of his personality, the sheer weight of his conviction, filled the void.

“I would offer you tea, but as you’ve said, time is of the essence.”

He gestured towards a secluded alcove, subtly lit by flickering crystals, where a low table and cushions awaited. “Why don’t we get down to business, yes? I assume you have the details of the rite we asked for?” His tone was brisk and efficient, cutting through the formalities. The pleasantries were over. Now, the real dance began.

Ayune regarded the younger brother—Ren—with a fleeting glimmer of softness behind her gaze, but it vanished the moment Iwa’s voice cleaved through the chamber like a honed blade. She turned, her posture fluid, eyes sharpening as she regarded the true heir with a new clarity.

So. This is the prince.

His demeanor might have been modest, but it was a carefully woven deception. His presence filled the room like a noxious vapor—intangible, yet suffocating. There was steel beneath his silk, and Ayune, seasoned as she was, recognized it instantly.

Her expression remained composed as he introduced himself, unflinching even as he bowed with the reluctant grace of someone burdened by both legacy and expectation. She returned the gesture with a more deliberate inclination of her head this time—precise, respectful, but not submissive.

"I appreciate the correction, Lord Iwa," she said, her voice a smooth current beneath the tension. "A misstep, but one I trust you’ll pardon in light of our urgency."

“I would offer you tea, but as you’ve said, time is of the essence.”

He gestured towards a secluded alcove, subtly lit by flickering crystals, where a low table and cushions awaited.

“Why don’t we get down to business, yes? I assume you have the details of the rite we asked for?”

She advanced, her wooden platform silent against the rich Owaki rugs, the ceremonial chest she carried catching the room’s ambient light—crystals dancing over its engraved surface like whispers of old power.

"I do.." she continued, her voice low but resonant—tempered by years of navigating war rooms and negotiation halls. “And the map, my Lord?”

Her tone was even, diplomatic, but beneath it lay something firmer—expectation, perhaps, or veiled urgency.

She came to a stop beside the low table, placing the chest down with deliberate care. Though the alcove beckoned with its curated comfort, Ayune remained standing. There would be no pretense of ease—not here. This was a transaction, not a parley. The sooner it was concluded, the sooner she could leave this mechanical sanctum behind.

Still, she kept her breathing steady, her stance neutral. Calm. Collected.

Focused.

Her candor was received, visibly at least. Iwa would not let the sourness of her mistake dampen the occasion. After she confirmed the rite was within her possession, he could not but show a glint of enthusiasm. As she held it forth, a flicker of something akin to triumph ignited within Iwa. He allowed himself a glint of enthusiasm, a brief, unguarded flash in his usually impassive eyes. He imagined his father's gaunt face, perpetually etched with the frustration born of countless failed attempts to understand the Yaarou’s grip on their Shi. Decades his father had spent chasing shadows, chasing whispers of forbidden arts, only to return empty-handed, his authority diminished with each fruitless endeavor. And now, his son, Iwa, was on the verge of achieving what his father had deemed impossible. It wasn't just terror that bound the Shi to the Yaarou – it was something far more insidious, a form of domination that went beyond mere fear, a control that demanded utter, unquestioning obedience. This scroll, this “rite,” held the key.

"Please, think nothing of it,"

Iwa blinked, refocusing on the present. He’d let himself get carried away, lost in the heady promise of power. He noticed Ayune remained standing, her posture rigid, betraying a subtle tension. She clearly preferred to keep things businesslike, devoid of empty pleasantries. He dismissed any further attempts at polite exaggeration. What could possibly be pressing the Yaarou into seeking external solutions? Especially when the shadow of B’halia loomed over them all. Perhaps that alone was reason enough. His mind buzzed, a cacophony of questions vying for attention, but he ruthlessly silenced the mental chatter. Focus.

“And the map, my Lord?”

“Ah yes, of course.” Iwa responded smoothly. He clapped once, the sound echoing crisply in the high-ceilinged chamber. Instantly, a hairline crack appeared in the wall to the east, seamlessly transitioning into a vertical slit that widened silently. An elevator was revealed, ascending with nary a sound. Within the elevator stood an Owaki shinobi, clad in the midnight hues of his order, holding a jade casing. The shinobi’s movements were fluid, economical, and honed by years of rigorous training.

The map in question lay beneath the almost ethereal gleam of the crystal-clear jade, nestled securely within a velvet lining. It wasn’t a typical cartographic representation, Iwa realized, but more a constellation of shimmering points of light, swirling patterns etched onto what looked like treated vellum. He couldn’t begin to fathom its true significance, its connection to the Yaarou’s predicament, but at this juncture, its exact purpose was secondary. Absolution, in a sense, was within his grasp. The knowledge to control the Shi, to unravel the Yaarou's dominance, was being offered to him.

Yet, a cold tendril of doubt coiled in his gut, one though he was urged to ignore, simply refused to be denied. Underneath the titles and grandeur layers, Owaki and Yaarou were Shinobi. And a shinobi's most potent weapon wasn't brute force but deception. The Owaki shinobi was almost near Ayune to give the map, yet Iwa stopped him with a gesture.

“Though…”

Iwa began, his voice carefully neutral, his gaze fixed on Ayune, “I fear the Yaarou are far more versed in the… profane arts than we Owaki. I confess,” he allowed a touch of feigned hesitation to color his tone, “I can't help but feel that we might prove… unable to reap the full benefits of the knowledge you have so generously brought to us today.”

He pivoted slightly, taking the jade case from the Owaki shinobi, his fingers brushing the smooth, cool jade. He turned back to Ayune, holding the case and the scroll, now held by the shinobi, towards her.

“Perhaps, Lady Ayune,” he proposed, his voice taking on a silken, almost apologetic edge, “you would be so gracious as to grant me a… demonstration of the ritual. Due diligence and all, you understand.” He allowed a small, disarming smile to play on his lips, though his eyes remained sharp, probing.

He needed to be sure. He needed to witness firsthand the efficacy of the Yaarou's shadowed magic. He needed to know this was not a carefully crafted illusion to ensnare him. And in exchange for this “demonstration,” she would have exactly what she and her precious Xhi’on had come for – the map. The unspoken agreement hung heavy in the air, a delicate balance between collaboration and suspicion, trust and distrust. The fate of their precarious alliance rested on Ayune’s response. Ren, who had remained silent, could not help but have his eyes shift to all those present. To see an Owaki noble at work, navigating the steep tides of negotiations. It hadn't even dawned on him that the Yaarou could potentially try to one-up them. Yet his brother's inability to trust the word of anyone seemed to catch the possibility before it could even truly become one.

"I have a room prepared..."

Spoken as if confident she would not deny him, as if he already planned for her compliance.

Ayune stood in silence, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed Iwa’s request. The air between them seemed to thrum with tension, her composed façade betraying nothing of the turmoil swirling just beneath the surface.

She exhaled quietly, almost imperceptibly, before she spoke, her voice calm but edged with something sharper—something reluctant.

“A demonstration.." she repeated, her tone flat, as if tasting the word. She looked away, as if unwilling to acknowledge the gravity of what was being asked. But the weight of it pressed on her nonetheless.

Her eyes flicked to the chest sitting on the table the tools, the scroll—all reminders of the task ahead. She could feel the burden of it settling into her core, like a knot tightening deeper with each passing second. To perform the ritual she would need to commit nearly all of her remaining Naten to the effort. It had been years since she'd been given such a task, ane at her age, the process itself could prove fatal. But there was no room for refusal. Not now. Not when the Xhi’on’s command hung over her like an ominous cloud.

She looked back at Iwa, her gaze steady, but the faintest tremor in her posture betrayed the internal struggle. "Yes, of course." she said, her voice lower now, a quiet admission of the task’s difficulty.

Her eyes locked onto his, and for a brief moment, her cold composure cracked, given way to something more organic. Anxiety.

She allowed a silence to fall again, her stance rigid, every inch of her controlled, though the reluctance within her simmered beneath the surface, raw and undeniable. “As you are aware, I will require a Shi tribute to perform the ritual.”

"Naturally, if you would?"

He said, gesturing to the elevator to the east. They followed; Ayune, Ren, and Iwa descended to the bowels below, not to the facility itself but to the holding space where the Shi were kept. Cells, rows upon rows of them, inscribed with runes and wards that prevented their escape and, should one prove daring enough to attempt, sent searing pain surging through them. However, the pens they were kept in were as humane as a house designed for such research could be. They had food and drink, and there wasn't malnutrition; the opposite. They were the prize of the Owaki, and like all the investments, they received optimal matinee. Having them weak from a lack of substances would only hinder their effectiveness. Nonetheless, the hand that fed them was a ruthless fist laced with cruel redirections.

They reached a chamber separated from the rest of the ilk in a few minutes. Within its center was a Shi wrapped in clothes inscribed with incantations that pacified them. Its eyes were still intact, which is rare for a shi to be so without being made sunless. Those allowed to keep them were few but prime candidates to become Oni, should the ability to retain control of them prove sufficient; so far, they had to turn to methods such as these to keep them restrained. Even from here, even sealed the blood thirst, the slithering hissing of the shinobi's cursed essence permeated through the chamber.

They made room. Iwa stood off to the side while two attendants trained in handling the Shi stood on opposite sides of the target.

"On your command, they will remove the mask that inhibits the Dankestu... rest assured, if things become too dangerous, we will intervene.."

Not to understate her, but the deadliness of the Shi was not to be underestimated; there were not many ways to defy the soul-stealing glare of the snake clan. Iwa watched with predatory curiosity; a gleam in his right eye twinkled. Ren watched nervously. Should the Yaarou woman somehow fall here today, it could spell all-out war with the Yaarou, one of their elders dead at a meeting in a research facility. Actual hell would descend on Edo should that happen.

He gestured to the attendants. "Observe her carefully. Note any… fluctuations. We are interested in the Yaarou’s resilience, are we not? Especially in the face of such… direct interaction.”

Ayune stepped forward without a word, her sandals clacking against the cold steel of the chamber. In her hands, she carried the ceremonial chest, its dark exterior gleaming faintly beneath the sterile overhead lights. She spared no glance for Iwa, nor for Ren. Her eyes were fixed solely on the captive at the chamber’s center—the Shi.

Her breath slowed, stilling her pulse.

From this moment on, every movement would have to be deliberate. Precise. Perfect.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Her gaze fell on the restraints, then to the runes carved into the fabric binding the Shi’s limbs,and the mask that cloaked its sight. A darkened energy licked at the edges of the room like smoke curling from an unseen fire. It prickled against her skin, testing her, coiling inside her nose, coaxing her into unease. She allowed none to surface.

She reached into the sacred chest, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the instruments until she produced a thin, obsidian needle. She pricked the pad of her thumb without a flinch— blood beaded immediately, dark and viscous.

“..remove his mask,” She murmured. “..but keep his gaze bound.”

The attendants moved as instructed, unfastening the runic seals on the Shi’s mask with gloved precision. The moment the binding slipped loose, the air itself seemed to congeal. Even blindfolded, the power of the Shi's Denkotsu filled the chamber with a suffocating presence

Ayune moved forward and gently placed her bloodied thumb against the Shi’s brow. She drew a single unbroken arc, then forked it into an intricate rune—its lines curling like thorns, pulsing the moment they took form. The captive stirred beneath her hand, restless now.

She inhaled deeply, shutting her eyes for the briefest of moments before they flared open, shimmering like scarlet moons.

Then she began to speak–her voice low, almost breathless:

“Vel-ki rasha’nun,
Zei’tul mori ehnak,
Thra’dan vel xaerun,
Shi vora—shi vora—shi vora…”

The chamber vibrated in response.

The rune on the Shi’s brow pulsed in tandem with the rhythm of Ayune's words. This wasn't the common tongue, it was Morai—the ancestral language of the Yaarou known only by the clan's highest-ranking elders. It was a dialect veiled in secrecy, its structure incomprehensible even to most who bore the Yaarou name. Fragments of it were taught in ceremony—phrases etched into memory and soul. The rest? Sealed away within the Tome of Morai, forbidden to all but the Xhi’on herself.

“Zah-thiel meradok,
En’kath sull riin,
Tolak’zeh, tolak’zeh…
Ehra’suun den varan…”

Her breath became the room’s metronome. The Shi twitched, struggling against the chains as if to rise—but its limbs trembled and stilled as her voice sank deeper into its essence, weaving through body and soul. The attendants exchanged wary glances as Ayune kept speaking, though her lips barely moved.

“Kruul na shi,
Na’theil oruun,
Xhi-thra, xhi-thra…

The rune ignited as the blood sigil danced across the Shi’s face. A veil—silken and shrouding—formed within its eyes, obscuring its sight. The creature thrashed once, but the chant held. Its resistance dulled as the incantation locked its will in place, a chain around the spirit itself.

Ayune exhaled, her breath shaking from exhaustion. But she did not look for the attendees for aid. She took her time and rose with the same quiet grace she had carried into the chamber. She moved to the jade case and retrieved two instruments: one, a curved blade no longer than a finger, wickedly sharp and shaped like a crescent moon; the other, a vessel lined with mirrored crystal, etched with a sequence of runes so fine they appeared to shimmer.

She reached toward the Shi’s face, her hands steady as stone, guided not by sight, but by memory and precision. She began to chant again, and did not pause. Not for a second. It hung in the air like a choral hymn as she began the procedure.

Her scalpel slid beneath the first eyelid.

There was no blood—yet. The blade was designed to delay that final spill until the soul-binding was complete. She worked delicately, speaking still, her cadence unwavering as the will of the Shi was gradually drawn downward—away from resistance, away from defiance—into the eyes themselves.

The second eye followed.

Sweat pearled at her brow, her back damp beneath her robes. But she never paused. When both eyes were removed, she placed them into the mirrored vessel. The runes reacted, flaring in sequence as the container sealed and preserved them in perfect stasis.

Then, her chant reached its apex. And the blood smeared rune along the Shi's face spread into its hollowed sockets, sealing them shut. The smell of scorched flesh filled the chamber. The Shi didn’t scream. It couldn’t. Not with the spell still holding fast.

Only then did Ayune fall silent.

The ritual was complete.

Her breath was shallow now, bloodied hands faintly trembling from exertion—but her poise remained intact. “There..” She simply turned her head and said, voice like smoke, “It is done.”

Ayune's gaze was worn with fatigue, but if nothing else, they conveyed her resilience. The container holding the Shi's eyes rested on the ground, next to the ritualistic chest and the required tools.

The Shi was still. Quiet. Like a mannequin. Not dead, but far from alive. Ayune’ however didn't spare them a glance. Her attention went instead to Iwa and she issued a bow– a brief one before she spoke.

“The words of the spell are inscribed upon the instruments themselves.” Ayune' said, gesturing toward the bloodied tools. "And a full description of our methods are recorded upon the scroll, tucked within the chest. So if there are no questions, Lord Iwa.. I would insist my immediate return."