Blood of Dragons

1 - Hidekazu The master flicked a bolt of scorching ki at his student, sending him flying into the opposite wall. Hidekazu stifled a yelp when he collided with the wood and collapsed to the floor. He struggled into a bow, pressing his forehead to the tatami, daring not to raise his eyes again. "You forget who you are, what you have made yourself," Barame said. "What is your new name?" "Shi... Shizu Hidekazu." "Why?" "I am dishonourable, unworthy of my father's respected name." Electric energy hovered like a halo around Barame's head. "You disappeared for a month. My best shadows could not find you." Dishonour. The consequence of trying to do good no matter the outcome. But the mission that had sent Hidekazu, Masanori, and Aihi beyond the reaches of Seiryuu was not one Hidekazu could recount, even if he wanted to. "We were investigating the Dragon's Eye on Aihi's behalf, travelling to Najadu." "I uncovered as much with Ichiji Kira's testimony. And yet, you never made it that far. Where did you go?" No sane mind would believe Hidekazu's tale of a shipwreck caused by Ozeki's agents, of being sucked into a lost warlock library or being stolen off to the realm of the dead, where he met the White Warlock. Nor would anyone believe that the same warlock had tortured Hidekazu with nightmares of death, charred bodies as far as the eye could see, or that it was all to make him take a relic of unimaginable power against his will. "We got lost." Energy rippled around Barame. The sting of ki lashed across Hidekazu's back before the silver winked through the air. He gritted his teeth. The whip of bladed hair came again, cutting his shoulders, again, until he sucked in a sharp breath. "We do not tolerate liars here." Barame's next blow came from the side, knocking Hidekazu off balance. His hand slipped out of formation to keep from falling over. Barame placed his sandal over Hidekazu's fingers before he could readjust. "I'm n-not lying. Not entirely." After all, he had no clue where the warlock was physically located, if it existed in their world at all. Lost seemed like an accurate description for Hidekazu. He got lost, and never quite came home. "We had an agreement, you and I." Barame pushed his foot down. "But Genshu Hidekazu does not exist anymore. Your own father believes you an undisciplined dog, sent you off for re-education." Hidekazu's bones screamed for relief. He wanted to cry out, to tear his hand away before his fingers shattered, but he had no power to act against Meki Barame, not as a lowly, nameless person, no clan or status to protect him. "I will pay for my mistakes however I must." Hidekazu had paid a thousandfold. He lost his trust in those he held dear; his whole family, himself. The weight on his hand doubled, pressing on his brain from within, a subtle buzz of ki. He fought it back, but when Barame pressed harder, nausea rose inside Hidekazu, a spinning white along the edge of his senses. "You will." Barame removed his foot from Hidekazu's hand. "What makes you deserving of my mentorship?" "I... I am..." "No. You are nothing." Hidekazu flexed his fingers, only for them to crack under with the movement. "I will survive." "Recite page four hundred and sixteen, paragraph eight." Before classes began, Hidekazu was supposed to memorize the entirety of Translated Warlock Mythologies, in both Seiryan and Ryuugo. He had found time to study half of the book. In Seiryan. Knocking sounded in his head, but he pushed it aside and searched his garbled memories for the correct text to appease Barame. "The White granted no mercy, for there was no mercy for the fallen. In his hand, he took the cobalt scale of his Divine Mother and delivered her justice, a curse of madness to cure insolence." "Now in Ryuugo," Barame said. Hidekazu deflated. He didn't know. Light flashed from the ends of Barame's hair, whipping Hidekazu's hand and snapping his back with a sickening pop and snap. He rolled onto his side, cradling the hand, unable to make a sound through the thickness of his shock and the blaring white drowning him from all sides. "Aw, and here I was, overjoyed at Meki, at last, sharing a story about me. They always get the bit about madness wrong; they should meet my beloved brother and sister. At least I've made no one mad but myself." The cold voice of Naoji, the dead apparition of the White Warlock, slithered through Hidekazu's head. "Perhaps his timing is no coincidence. Do you think he knows about us? Hidekazu, Hidekazu... you must be more careful." No. Barame couldn't know about Naoji's existence. Hidekazu had been mindful of keeping Sayuri, the tsukumogami, and Naoji hidden. Sayuri was resting, though, and without her presence to temper Naoji, Hidekazu left himself vulnerable to suggestion. Barame circled, white mist collecting behind his feet. "Did I misjudge your ability?" "No, Headmaster." "And yet you fail me, one time after another. Why?" Memories of the Dragon's Eye burned through Hidekazu's swollen fingers. Divine, electric energy swirling through his body. Purple fog, burning bodies and cracked earth. Naoji pressing Hidekazu's face into the Book of Inochi, drowning him in killer hornets. Yet it was his last words to his brother, you better not come back, that made bile rise. He suffocated on a held breath, afraid that releasing it would puncture an irreparable hole in his shield of silence. Afraid that, if he let go, he would lose the hot air that kept him buoyed above those terrors, and he would descend into that pit and never return. "Look at me." Hidekazu hesitated, and then lifted his gaze to Barame's. The older man scrutinized him as if the secret to his dispassion would be hidden within plain sight. Perhaps it was a faulty belief, instilled by Genshu Dano himself, that left Hidekazu defective. If only it were so simple. Hidekazu's malfunctions ran much deeper than that. Beside the shoji leading to the terrace, the mist collected into an ivory cloud. As soon as the vapour caught Hidekazu's attention, and his pupils flicked away, Barame backhanded him. White flashed behind Hidekazu's eyes, and he hit the floor, gasping. He landed on his hand, trying not to make another sound as needles jabbed his nerves, methodological in their path up his arm. He revealed his weakness. A low whine reverberated in his throat, mirroring the tremors in his spirit that violated his will to remain still. "Your vision falters. Do you still wish to become a bushi? Did you ever?" Hidekazu spluttered, struggling to breathe, and then coughed blood onto the floor. The calligraphy scrolls warped into wicked smiles as the smoke circled nearby. Naoji stepped from the mist, the silver bells in his hair jingling as he moved. He peered at Hidekazu with his one eye, the other side of his face wrapped with white silk. "You are better than this, Hidekazu," he said. "Why do you let this old man beat you when you could crush him like a dead cicada? As amusing as it is... surely you do not love the floor that much." Naoji knelt in clear view of Barame, and yet he never paid the warlock any mind. Both regarded Hidekazu instead as if he were the mad one. Naoji must not understand the definition of the word, for this, and everything Hidekazu had experienced in the last two months, redefined the term. Hidekazu's muscles seized at the bite of sharp wire, and with each strike, he bit down on his tongue, the hot gush of blood enough to force a swallow instead of a scream. Barame moved again but stopped himself short. "You enjoy this suffering. Is that it?" "For once, I must agree with the Headmaster's assessment." Naoji's claws crept down Hidekazu's cheek. "Did you know that Lacotl enjoys pain, too? In his anguish, he breathes in his immortality. Nothing makes him feel more powerful." His nail cut the corner of Hidekazu's face, igniting the memory of a burn. Hidekazu managed a laugh when the triangle of flesh shrieked beneath Naoji's touch, though his lungs hated him for it. "Damn masochists," Naoji said. Barame's whip of silver hair cracked against Hidekazu again, warping his mirth, finally, into a scream. The sound tore through him until he was raw, ki burning his nerves numb. "I do not find this amusing." The energy in Barame's hair receded, and he lost his luminous aura. He returned to his desk. "Stand." The world spun when Hidekazu moved, but a palm settled on his scalp and kept him down. "You forget yourself. You are his pet." Naoji's claws dug into Hidekazu's head. "Dogs do not stand." He leaned close. "Or have you decided to listen to me, not the whims of an old man?" A strand of ki between Barame and Hidekazu pulsed. In his desperation, he leveraged the link between master and student, using the energy to overcome Naoji's ethereal form. He knocked Naoji's hand aside, as though swatting an annoying fly. The en bond wrapped tight around Hidekazu's neck like a collar, and he stood, eyes set on his feet. "Now tell me: what changed?" Barame said. Hidekazu could not find the words to articulate a response both worthy of the question and accurate to his true feelings. Everything had changed. "Masanori left because of me." "Truly, ShizuHidekazu, you have lost the will to live because of your brother. Not because of your shame?" "Masanori is my shame." "At least you are not so oblivious. Genshu Dano took your name because Masanori's willfulness infected you." Barame waved his hand, and the tome in front of him slammed shut. "I will stamp it out and create you anew. Assuming you survive." "I will survive." A flurry of grey and white scales swarmed around Naoji. "He will make you fit to serve. I will make you fit to rule." "Yes, Headmaster." Hidekazu flexed his hands without thinking, and threads of agony snaked through his arm. Despite the physical torment Hidekazu endured at Barame's hand, he feared nothing as much as the sadistic glint in Naoji's eye. He kept his hands clean of the violence, but he had more effective methods of wearing away Hidekazu's pride and willpower. Still, he would not become Lacotl or Aihi, who sought power at the expense of their sanity. He would not become Masanori, who abandoned his life because he could not attain the strength he longed for. "Though I am not the White," Barame said, "and see no sense in delivering a bushi crippled in mind or body into the Goddess' service, I can do much worse than expel you. You are dismissed." Hidekazu backed away, maintaining a low bow. He opened the fusuma to leave, careful not to agitate his hand. If he were to visit the healer before his next class, he would need to hurry. "You are barred from the infirmary until the end of the day. Let your broken hand serve as a reminder that your time here will otherwise be short." Hidekazu bowed again, swallowing thoughts of protest as he closed the door. Behind him, Naoji effused from the crack between the fusuma, a devilish smirk marking his features. "I was wrong about Meki Barame. Soon, he will understand how worthless you are. And when that happens, you will be mine." Hidekazu lowered his head. He would reclaim the Genshu family name no matter how hard Barame pushed him. And Hidekazu would do it without Naoji. * * * Surviving a day with a broken hand was easier than Hidekazu expected. The numbness gave him something to mediate his irritation when each of his professors for advanced linguistics, military strategy, and martial ki fighting admonished him in tune for arriving at the Academy more than a jun late. Hidekazu accepted their punishments: Extra homework. Grade penalties. Reduced training time. His last class for the day, practical defence, was in full session when he arrived. He slid the doors open, peering into the spacious room. Four rows of about fifteen students total knelt at their low wooden desks, their brushes gliding as the professor drawled on at the front. Tanaka Yoshi, a former shugo and military defence strategist, assuming Hidekazu's notes were correct. Two sheer curtains decorated with a yōkai symbol flanked each row; the desks for dragons were empty. The embroidery on Hidekazu's uniform was a dragon. He'd been careful to ensure no blood stained the fabric. Yoshi stopped speaking. "Ah, our mysterious missing student." His hair was collected into a loose topknot that bounced as he directed his attention to Hidekazu. "Arrogant enough to skip a jun of classes, and shameless enough to arrive half an hour late. Name?" Hidekazu breathed in the numbness in his hand. He was no one, nameless, worthless. "Hidekazu." In the back of Hidekazu's skull, Naoji's presence stirred. The cool flow of Sayuri's ki rose to silence him, and Hidekazu pressed a hand to the concealed wooden knot of his shrunken staff where she resided. She suppressed Naoji, but Hidekazu understood the source of the warlock's amusement: his lack of family name. "Hidekazu." Yoshi clicked his tongue. "You are here in time to demonstrate the focus of today's class: the Siphoning Wind Shield." The assembly murmured, but in the cloud of Hidekazu's mind, he only registered a general sense of disbelief. Taking these lessons on defensive ki was a formality; by most accounts, he had mastered the art during his training as a shugo. Any other day, he might have completed a siphoning wind shield in his sleep. His broken fingers throbbed to remind him this was not a regular day. "I would be happy to assist you in your demonstration, sensei." Hidekazu managed to keep his voice level, an inaccurate portrayal of the steady panic rising inside him. When he reached the front, he retrieved his staff and welcomed the feel of Sayuri's serene energy as he extended the weapon to full length. Yoshi regarded him with curiosity, not quite vindictive as Hidekazu might have expected, but that observation did little to ease his impending humiliation. He held his staff with his off-hand, keeping his injury hidden in the shadow of his sleeve. "I take it you are familiar with the spell," Yoshi said. The question was casual, resigned, almost as though he expected Hidekazu to admit to ignorance. "Of course, sensei. Would you like me to give the class an overview of the history and prerequisites as well?" "Please do." "The original Siphoning Wind Shield was developed by the Toku family, a signature spell that enabled the clan's climb to prominence in the expertise of defence. However, as defensive ki theory expanded, spells evolved, and the needs of Seiryuu changed. "Although no longer one of the Toku clan's guarded secrets, and now common amongst defence specialists, Siphoning Wind Shields are still considered advanced spellcasting because they require dual concentration—that is, the ability to both attack and defend simultaneously." Hidekazu fell into the easy rhythm of reciting his knowledge from memory. Around him, the sound moving brushes wiped away any hint of mockery. "Siphoning Wind Shields enable a majyu to use less personal ki to cast more spells, as the essential kigou steal the momentum and ki from an opponent and use their own energy against them. Often, they serve to absorb and redirect attacks instead of completely blocking them." A lifetime ago, he used the barrier in an attempt to hush the flames during Lacotl's attack on Tsukiko, where Hidekazu had been too worthless to aid Aihi while she tried to rescue Benri Torra. He also used it during his duels against Ichiji Kira in the summer. That did not mean he could use it now. "The difficult part, for most people," Hidekazu continued, "is maintaining defences while manipulating attacks as they come. The timing must be precise, and grappling with the energy and losing control is often more dangerous than failing to grab it in the first place." When Yoshi turned to face Hidekazu, he almost looked impressed. "Then let us do a demonstration for the class, yes?" Hidekazu fell into a defensive stance, his muscles protesting one by one as he urged them to work despite his recent beating. He rested on the balls of his feet, staff positioned at a horizontal angle. A beat passed with him in position, and Yoshi flung his hand to the side. Inky ki gushed through the room, disturbing the banners hovering around the students. The energy solidified as dark needles and spiralled toward Hidekazu in an unpredictable pattern. Hidekazu flicked his staff and drew kaze while he created the symbols for the actual shield with the undamaged fingers on his other hand. The swelling made his ligaments stiff and uncooperative. Every twitch sent shockwaves through his hand, a build-up of energy and overexerted nerves that he would pay for later. Black ki hit the filament of Hidekazu's barrier as opaque bands sprung up around him, just in time to catch Yoshi's attack within. The temperature in the room dropped as Hidekazu wrestled with the energy, redirecting it through the shield, a monumental feat without his hand to balance Yoshi's ki as it thundered through the gale. Dragonscales sprung up along the staff as Sayuri attempted to support Hidekazu. "Maintain your focus," Yoshi said, almost drowned out by the hurricane blaring in Hidekazu's ears. His stolen voice, the wind, and raging energy brought Hidekazu back to the disaster aboard the Dragon's Blossom, wood cracking beneath his feet, surrounded by the dying screams of shipmates, transported back to that bleary place with Masanori covered in blood and the dead girl with tiger-lily hair in his arms— Storm-blue energy shuddered through Hidekazu, ripping him, disoriented, back to reality. Ki numbed his bones, but he lifted himself from his catatonia and fumbled at redirecting the spell. He forgot a line in one symbol, misordering the strokes in the next, skipping one kigou altogether. Not because of negligence, but because of the wreckage of his mind—you better not come back, you better not come back; if only you cared about us as much as... as much as what?—and without the use of all his fingers, his entire technique became impossible. The ki within the hovering kigou buzzed, colliding against their calligraphic prisons. Hidekazu's thin veil of control snapped. Undirected ki ricochetted outward as the shield dispersed. Strands collected in his broken bones, and he stifled a scream, a skill gained through many lessons with Barame. If he had taught Hidekazu anything so far, it was that he could not let his suffering control him. He thrust his staff forward, calling to the latent elements around him to redirect the dangerous ki. The air and earth responded. A subtle breeze coiled around him, a vibration beneath his feet, and the untamed energy collected about the sapphire head. He flicked the weapon, discharging the accumulated power against the wall adjacent to him and Yoshi before it could spiral toward the unsuspecting students. The ki incinerated the blank scroll. Ash dusted to the floor, but otherwise, a minor disaster averted. He allowed himself a breath of relief before returning his attention to Yoshi, expecting an extended lecture on using spells beyond his skill level. He used his broken hand to brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes, ripped free from his braids. Yoshi grabbed his wrist, dragging Hidekazu nearer. He pushed back the singed sleeve, examining the damaged fingers, dangling useless from swollen joints. It did not take a genius to realize the failed demonstration had not caused the injury. "Your theory is on point, Hidekazu," Yoshi said, "though your technique requires refinement. I recommend you acknowledge your limitations and where you might seek external assistance." Hidekazu picked a desk, conscious of the stares. He dared not look at their faces and find if they were smug in his failure, or, perhaps worse, they did not recognize his fatal mistake. Yoshi cleared his throat and drew the students' attention back to him. Another scroll was set against the wall, and black ink curved across the page as he resumed the lecture. "An entertaining debut for our newest student, no doubt," he said, "but let us return to our initial discussion. The Wind Siphoning Shield will be a critical tool for majyu who..." Ink dripped from Hidekazu's brush, one stroke after another, rebuilding his barrier of will against Naoji's energy. The pressure grew, and Hidekazu pinched his fingers to keep Naoji out, but that only welcomed the white blur in his mind. "If you used the Book of Inochi," Naoji whispered, "you would need no hands at all." The feel of the Dragon's Eye reawakened in Hidekazu's hands, fragments of his failures written in his bones and in the bruises encasing them, and the knowledge that, in Nagasou, Furahau Mika, Seiryuu's beloved Shōgun withered away because Hidekazu could not bring himself to break free of Naoji's prison. In his previous life, Hidekazu had pushed away Masanori, the only one who could say for certain whether Hidekazu was letting her die only to preserve himself, or if he sacrificed one life to save thousands. The invisible collar around Hidekazu's neck tightened, reminding him that, knowing the truth or not, he would never move to change his choice.