Chapter 9: The spark of sun

The clearing was vibrant with chaos as the fight between father and son achieved its boiling point. Takashi’s katana, once pristine and unyielding, now bore cracks along its gleaming surface, the strain of countless deflections and counters taking its toll. Hakari’s movements, once fueled by boundless cursed energy, were slowing. The runes along his arms flickered like a dying flame, his breaths ragged as his mana waned.

But they did not weaken, their blows striking with more force and velocity as if strength will and would take the place of the gap between weariness and shattered equipment.

Hakari gritted his teeth tightly as the battle raged and charged with his shadow sword cocked right against Takashi's chest. "You're still alive?!" he snarled, voice grating. "How aren't you broken yet?!!"

Takashi sidestepped, the side of his katana meeting the dark weapon with a resounding clash. The force sent both of them skidding backward, but Takashi recovered first, his stance unwavering and unyielding.

“neither are you, Hakari.” Takashi said under his breath, his eyes locked on Hakari, never letting his guard down even his mind is fighting aswell. “I can’t break now. Not... when you’re still standing in front of me.”

The memory flashed like lightning as Takashi squared his position once more.

Hakari was just fourteen. The training grounds, where so many spars and bellowed orders had occurred, were now almost peaceful in the sunlight. Takashi stood on the porch, arms crossed, observing Hakari perform forms with a wooden sword. The boy's attacks were fluid, precise—testament to hours upon hours of training.

"This is how it's done," Hakari boasted, his voice tinged with a note of self-satisfied pride.

He was no longer the bumbling child of years gone by, stumbling under the burden of his father's expectations. He had matured into a competent young man, his movements precise and calculated.

Takashi couldn't help but reject the swell of pride he felt at seeing his son. But there was something else, too—a shadow of unease.

Later that evening, Takashi overheard Hakari conversing with his daughter Haruka near the border of the yard. His daughter sat cross-legged on the ground, her big eyes fixed on her brother as he showed her something... Something that glowed dimly in his hand.

“What’s that?” Haruka asked, leaning closer curious, she had never seen anything like this.

Hakari grinned, the excitement in his expression contagious. “It’s a rune. I’ve been studying them in the archives. They’re connected to mana flow. Here, watch this.”

He muttered something under his breath, and the glowing symbol shifted, a faint tendril of light extending from it like a living thing.

Haruka gasped, clasping her hands in astonishment. "Wow that is amazing, Hakari! How did you learn to do that?"

"Well i've been digging through some old scrolls," Hakari replied, his tone carefree but with an undercurrent of pride. "The elders don't want folks seeing them, but I wanted to know more. Magic like this—it's real power. Not like waving a sword about all day. Isnt that intresting?"

"Well I dont know," Haruka’s expression faltered. “Does... Father know this?”

Hakari’s grin faded slightly, and he shrugged. “Haha! Why would he care? He’s too busy making sure Hikari is ready for her precious judgment beads. It’s not like he’s ever noticed what I’ve been doing all this time.”

Haruka frowned, reaching out to touch his arm. “That’s not true, Hakari. Father—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hakari interrupted, his tone firm. “One day, I’ll show him. I’ll show everyone. This isn’t just something to study. It’s something to use.”

Takashi exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience is thin. His fists clenched, and before he could stop himself from his anger, he took a step forward. Another. His boots hit the ground with purpose, anger rolling off him in waves.

But before he could get any closer, a hand caught his shoulder. Soft one.

Takashi flinched, turning sharply—Mizuki stood behind him, her grip firm yet trembling. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeve, holding him back, not with strength but with silent pleading. He met her gaze, expecting something, but instead, he found worry, hesitation. A quiet fear.

Her lips parted and trembling slightly as if searching for the right words before she finally whispered to him, “L-let him be, Takashi.”

Her voice was soft, but the slight quiver in it stopped him cold.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The tension in his body fought against her touch, but slowly, his shoulders sank, his breath evening out. Mizuki’s hand lingered before she gently withdrew it, her expression unreadable.

Takashi turned away, exhaling through clenched teeth as he walk away.

The memory shattered as Takashi parried another blow, his katana cracking further under the force of Hakari’s attack.

"You always dismissed me!" Hakari snarled, his voice low and venomous. "You always saw right through me, straight to Hikari like I was nothing but a worm! All your teaching, all your sermons—none of it was for me! It was for her!!! And when I started making my own path, you didn't even notice... You didn't even care what i am!"

Takashi's silence only made Hakari mad, his attacks more and more wild and relentless as his mana dwindled.

The darkness that surrounded Hakari quivered slightly, and he slowed down. Takashi attacked when he had the opportunity and his katana sliced through a tendril of darkness before the weapon finally snapped.

A deafening crack filled the air, and Takashi's sword shattered, a jagged shard flying loose and dropping down between them. He stepped backward, gasping as he reshuffled his grip on the trimmed weapon.

Hakari's eyes darted to the busted sword, a smile playing upon his lips. "Even your sword is calling it quits, Father. Perhaps you should do the same, too."

Takashi remained silent. His gaze hardened, and he picked up the broken weapon, its edge still glinting despite its condition.

Hakari struck again, but his strikes were now weaker, his movements slower and less precise. Takashi defended the strikes with calculated efficiency, his thoughts spinning.

He's tired. The mana is draining him. If I strike him now, I can sever him and end this all. But...

The thought trailed off, replaced by the memory of Hakari’s proud grin as he showed his sister the glowing rune.

When did it start? Was this my failure all along?

As Hakari stumbled, his movements faltering, and slowing down a but. Takashi surged forward, the jagged edge of his blade slicing through the remnants of shadow. Hakari barely managed to block, his corrupted arm trembling as it met the force of Takashi’s strike.

For a moment, their eyes met—father and son struggled with a battle no longer over form or power. It was for the unspoken words, the open sores that had infected over years.

"Why didn't you see me?" Hakari growled with gritted teeth, his voice cracking under the pressure of his exhaustion.

Takashi said nothing, he just gazed downwards. his heart was heavy with guilt. The war was lost, but the war in his own mind had already begun. Its hard to just ignore.

Hakari push forward the shadow tendril. Takashi’s katana shattered with a final, resounding crack, its once-pristine blade breaking into jagged pieces that scattered across the ground. The ruined weapon now lay in his hands, reduced to a hilt and fragments of steel. He stared at it for a brief moment, his breaths ragged, his body battered from the relentless clash.

Across the clearing, Hakari grinned through his fatigue, his corrupted power fluttering lightly but still intact. "It's done, Father," he rasped, his voice rough but victorious. "Even your sword has yielded. As always, you yielded for me."

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Takashi’s grip on the broken hilt tightened, his knuckles whitening as he absorbed his son’s words. The weight of guilt pressed harder against his chest, but it wasn’t the venom in Hakari’s voice that hurt—it was the truth buried beneath it.

The memories came unbidden, piercing through the haze of the fight like shards of glass.

The sun was setting, the sky painting itself in vibrant shades of purple and orange. Takashi had been practicing his katana on the porch when Hakari appeared, his fourteen-year-old face radiating excitement.

"Father," Hakari said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, "look at this!"

Takashi whirled about, his sharp eyes narrowing as he saw Hakari holding up his hand. In the boy's palm there danced a small flame... A flame... Its magic... full of life and color, its radiance casting a glow upon the face of the child.

"It's fire magic," said Hakari, pride radiating in his voice. "I found some scrolls in the records, and I figured it out myself. Isn't it amazing?

Takashi stiffened, his expression hardening. "How did you know that?" he bit out, his tone strained.

Hakari's grin faltered, but he went on. "The scrolls in the restricted stacks. I snuck in there, but it was worth it. Magic like this could—"

"Broke the rules?" Takashi interrupted, standing up abruptly. His huge body loomed over Hakari, his voice becoming irate. "You know what the elders are like about magic. It's illegal, Hakari. Risky. You had no right—"

"Why should it matter?" Hakari shot back, his voice escalating to one of defiance. "It's power, Father! Actual power. Is that what you've always wanted me to possess?"

Takashi's face grew dark, his fingers closing hard on the handle of his katana. "That is not the kind of power you would require. Magic is unpredictable. It corrupts, destroys anything you see! That's why it was prohibited!"

"Outlawed by men who don't understand it!" Hakari wept, his anger running hot. "You talk of discipline and strength, and yet the elders are only afraid of things they cannot control. I could do so much more if you'd only—"

"Enough!" Takashi roared, his voice thundering like a storm.

Hakari shrank back, his flames extinguished as his father's fury engulfed him.

"You will not bring that. that corruption in here, or I expeled you from here my house," Takashi said, his tone like ice. "Do you understand me? I don't care what you think magic can do. It does not belong. And neither does disobedience."

Hakari's face darkened, his fists clenched at his sides. "Fine," he growled, his voice bitter and low. "If you won't watch me work, I'll find someone who will."

He turned and walked away, his feet pounding on the wooden porch. Takashi watched him, his rage smoldering in his chest—but beneath it was something he couldn't quite identify, something that writhed in torment as he saw his son's vanishing figure recede into the shadows.

The memory burned as brightly as the flame Hakari had once shown him. Takashi’s hands trembled around the broken hilt of his katana. He had ignored his son’s gift, dismissed it because of the elders’ laws, because of tradition.

But he had never stopped thinking about it.

Since that night, Takashi had spent countless hours in secret, studying the same scrolls Hakari had uncovered. He mastered the nuances of mana currents, the forbidden art of channeling energy into something tangible. It had been a quiet rebellion against the norms that bound him, but he had never used what he learned—never until now.

As Hakari's corrupting energy clasped around him sorrowfully, Takashi drew air into his lungs, his hand tightening on the broken hilt.

"I made a mistake, Hakari, I admit it." he murmured, his voice low and smooth.

Hakari's smile faltered. "What's that you're mumbling about?"

Takashi shooed him away. He closed his eyes, tapping the recollection of the flame Hakari once burned so sure of himself. The scrolls, the diagrams, the exact instructions seared into his mind.

And freed the bonds that had bound him so long.

The hilt of his katana began to glow faintly, its surface heating as Takashi channeled his mana into it. A spark ignited at its center, growing and spreading like wildfire. Within moments, a blade of pure flame extended from the broken hilt, its fiery edge crackling with heat and light.

Hakari’s eyes widened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “You. you’re using magic?!”

Takashi's eyes opened, his gaze fixed as he drew out the fiery sword. Its heat coursed through him, a reminder every moment of the son that he had not seen.

"I told you not to use magic," Takashi said, his voice even but firm. "Because I was afraid. Afraid of what the elders would say to me. Afraid of what it would do to you."

Hakari's outrage. "You hypocrite! You spent years telling and yelling at me magic was illegal! and now you're using it on me?!"

"I'm using it to reveal," Takashi said, stepping forward, the flame blade humming with energy. "To reveal to you, Hakari. That I see you, Hakari. That I always have. I was too blind to acknowledge it then, but I'm not blind now.".

Hakari faltered, his spoiled arm trembling as the darkness engulfing him seemed to dance. "You lie," he snarled, but his own voice trembled.

"I'm not lying," Takashi spoke softly now. "This isn't about the elders. It's all about you and I. And I'll demonstrate for you that despite whatever path you've taken, I will never abandon you, Hakari. I see... Everything you did. I did not goes straight to Hikari. I always care about you. Hakari."

The flames of the fire blade were hotter, casting long, moving shadows on the field as Takashi prepared to fight his son once more.

The battlefield was alive with light and shadow. Takashi’s fire blade burned with an intensity that seemed to defy the corrupted gloom surrounding the ruins of Kurohana. The flames were not ordinary; they roared with a brightness that felt alive, casting golden rays that illuminated the shattered ground. Each swing of the fiery weapon cut through Hakari’s weakening shadows, its heat forcing the younger man back with every strike.

Hakari, for all his defiance, hesitated. The magic his father wielded was unlike anything he had ever seen. It wasn’t the flickering, unstable energy of traditional fire magic, but something far more powerful, far more primal. The flames radiated heat so intense it distorted the air around them, their golden hue almost blinding.

“What is this?” Hakari snarled, his voice laced with frustration and confusion. “This isn’t normal magic. How are you—”

Takashi didn’t answer. His movements were steady and precise, each strike carrying the weight of a lifetime of discipline. But as he pressed forward, the memories returned, each one sharper than the last.

It was late morning, the training yard bathed in sunlight. Hakari, now fourteen, stood with his practice sword at the ready, his posture less rigid than usual. Takashi circled him, his own weapon raised.

“Your stance is sloppy,” Takashi barked, his tone cold. “Straighten your back. Hold the sword higher.”

Hakari shifted reluctantly, adjusting his grip. His movements were slower than they should have been, his gaze distant.

“Focus,” Takashi snapped, stepping forward to strike. His wooden blade connected with Hakari’s, the impact jarring but measured. “You’re not thinking. If you hesitate like this in a real fight, you’re dead.”

Hakari gritted his teeth, frustration simmering beneath his calm façade. “I know that, Father.”

“Then prove it,” Takashi growled, stepping back to let Hakari reset.

But instead of attacking, Hakari lowered his weapon slightly, his stance slackening.

Takashi’s brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

Hakari hesitated, his grip tightening on the sword. “Why does it matter? No matter how hard I try, it’s never enough for you.”

Takashi’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“You always find something to criticize,” Hakari said, his voice rising slightly. “I do everything you tell me, but it’s never good enough. Why should I even bother?”

Takashi’s jaw tightened, anger flaring in his chest. “Because if you don’t, you’ll fail. And failure out there doesn’t just mean losing—it means dying.”

Hakari shook his head, his expression darkening. “Maybe no im not dying, I just don’t care anymore.”

The words struck Takashi like a blow, but his anger only grew. He stepped forward, his wooden blade dropping to his side as he glared at his son. “You don’t care? That’s what you’re telling me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Hakari didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Behind them, Mizuki knelt in the garden near the edge of the yard, her silver hair glowing softly in the sunlight. She was carefully tending to a patch of herbs, her hands moving with practiced precision.

“Mizuki!” Takashi’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

She flinched slightly but didn’t look up. “Yes, Takashi?”

“What have you been telling him?” he say, his tone accusatory.

Mizuki’s hands stilled, and she slowly rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her robes. “I... I haven’t been telling him anything.” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.

“Then why is he acting like this?” Takashi barked, gesturing toward Hakari. “Why is he questioning everything I’ve taught him?”

Mizuki’s gaze shifted to Hakari, her expression pained. “Maybe because he really feels like he can’t reach you anymore?”

Takashi stiffened, his hand tightening around the hilt of his wooden sword. “Don’t blame this on me. He’s the one who’s refusing to listen. He’s the one who’s giving up.”

Mizuki took a cautious step forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “He’s not giving up, Takashi. He’s tired. Can’t you see that?”

“No,” Takashi snapped, his voice rising. “All I see is a boy who’s too stubborn to learn. And if you’ve been coddling him behind my back—”

“I haven’t been coddling him!” Mizuki interrupted, her voice breaking. “But someone has to show him that he’s more than just a tool for your discipline! Not some...” Mizuki lips parted slightly because of Takashi silence. As she just look down.

For a moment, the yard was silent, the tension between husband and wife palpable. Hakari stood frozen, his shoulders hunched, his expression unreadable.

Takashi turned away abruptly, his face set in a hard mask. “We’re done for today,” he said coldly.

The memory dissolved as Takashi swung his fire blade, the sun-like flames cutting through Hakari’s shadows with ease. The golden light of the weapon burned brighter with each strike, its heat forcing Hakari to retreat.

“This isn’t possible,” Hakari muttered, his corrupted arm trembling as he tried to summon more mana. The runes along his skin flickered weakly, their glow fading as exhaustion took its toll. “That fire... it’s not normal. What did you do?”

Takashi didn’t answer immediately. He stepped forward, the flames from his weapon blazing with an intensity that made the air around him shimmer.

“This fire,” he said finally, his voice low but steady, “isn’t just magic. It’s what I learned because of you. I broke the rules to understand you, Hakari. To see the power you wanted me to see.”

Hakari froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You—what?”

Takashi raised the blazing blade, its heat casting his face in sharp relief. “The elders told me magic was forbidden. They told me to enforce their rules, to teach you discipline without understanding. But you taught me, Hakari. You taught me to question what they said. This fire... it’s proof that I’ve always seen you, even when I didn’t know how to show it. The elder is too scared. If their villager is stronger than them.”

The flames roared higher, their golden light filling the clearing. Hakari stumbled back, his corrupted energy faltering under the overwhelming brilliance of his father’s fire.

Takashi took another step forward, his gaze locked on his son. “I’m not fighting you because I want to break you, Hakari. I’m fighting because I refuse to... lose my son.”

The battle wasn’t over, but the sun-blazing fire in Takashi’s hands had already shifted the balance. And for the first time, Hakari’s anger wavered, replaced by something that almost looked like doubt.