May 15, 2009

“Wh-What the hell is happening?!”

With his back pressed against the wall, he realized he wasn't alone. It felt as if he had been blindsided by the world's strongest linebacker, leaving him immobile. His body refused to respond, while a sharp pain in his chest replaced the initial impact.

"Ah! Am I… dying?"

He squinted, trying to make sense of the moonlit room. Though his vision remained blurry, his other senses heightened. The unmistakable scent of iron and rust spread through the air, assaulting his nostrils.

A minute ago, he was finishing some leftover food when he heard the front door open. He had hoped that his father had returned from his journey. With no siblings or mother, his father was the only family he had left.

Excitement ran through his mind. He took off down the corridor towards the door, hoping to see a familiar face. However, what was there was an unpleasant welcome.

As his vision gradually cleared, he made a chilling discovery. His gaze fixated on his chest—the source of the sharp pain. There, he spotted the glint of a metal blade aimed directly at him. Blood dripped from its edge, splattering onto the ground.

Now it all made sense. He- Surata- had just been stabbed. The metallic scent was a cocktail of his own blood and the sword's aged metal. God seemed to be signaling his departure. He wondered if he was the victim of a robbery gone wrong.

With each passing moment, it felt as though his life force was drifting away. Just before his consciousness slipped away completely, Surata sensed resistance. Something was preventing the blade that was aimed at his chest from penetrating further. Trying to understand the situation, he reached shakily towards his chest. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, calm down. My son won't hurt you."

The words resonated in the moonlit room, sending a shock through Surata's battered body. It was a voice he thought he would never hear again. Was it just his imagination or a cruel trick of fate?

Slowly, he turned his head to the side, and there, standing beside him, was his father, Ishio.

Time seemed to freeze in place. The room held its breath, as father and son locked eyes. Surata's heart hammered against his ribs. This wasn't the reunion he had imagined.

His father had left on a journey, leaving his only son behind, and now he reappeared during his darkest hour.

Surata searched for answers in his father's gaze, his mind racing with questions that tried to overwhelm him. The weight of the moment pressed down on his shoulders, making him motionless.

But, the sight of his father brought him a strange sense of relief, signaling his readiness to depart from this world. If he did have one regret before taking his last breath, it was not becoming a Shikari like his father.

As fate seemed to have different plans, he realized he would never get to fulfill that wish.

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Ishio’s lips moved again, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder. "Drop… the sword," he commanded, his gentle voice filled with authority.

“Huh? Father… who are you talking to?”

Surata's eyes flickered to the weapon, its cold steel gleaming in the pale moonlight. He cast one final glance at the sword, his gaze following the length of the long blade. And then, he noticed it—someone else was in the room, gripping the sword's hilt. His father's hands gripped the back of the blade, barely holding it back. Blood dripped from his father’s hands. He quickly looked at his chest again. Somehow, he found no blood whatsoever. The realization slowly pulled him back from the edge of unconsciousness, feeling the suffocating tension that was in the room the entire time.

How did his father arrive in the nick of time? And who was this intruder that had cornered Surata?

The blade slowly reverted. As Ishio exhaled a heavy sigh of relief, the mask of composure slipped, releasing the raw tension that had filled the room. Surata squinted, his gaze fixated on the mysterious figure shrouded in shadows before him.

The silhouette resembled his figure. Sheathing its long blade, the figure recollected his bloodlust.

Nightfall grew darker, and sparks of lightning lit the room. With the flashes of light coming from the opened front door, Surata finally saw the unknown figure, a dirty pink-haired boy wearing a red kimono, with black boots.

“Huh…Who is this kid?”

His age was about... twelve. The boy looked around the same age as Surata. He must have been a foreigner because his pink hair was extremely odd since most of the citizens in this country have naturally colored hair. Looking closer at the boy, the smell of blood became stronger. His clothes were stained with dried blood and extremely ripped, its sleeves hanging from his left shoulder. However, his naturally wavy short hair seemed to remain clean.

And his blade. The sword looked longer than usual katanas, but skinnier than usual claymores. The sheath was too small for the blade to fit in, however, he somehow managed to sheath the sword. The blade was too long to be holstered on his side, so he held the blade with one hand, leaning it against his shoulder.

Speaking of his sword, how does he wield that? How strong is his grip? He managed to stop Surata from moving and had the strength to battle Ishio for that moment.

The two kids had locked eyes, looking for answers that couldn’t be answered. The kid stared down at Surata, with his dead, heartless, cold eyes. Surata could sense emptiness seeping out of the kid’s sockets.

During their stare-down, his father kneeled, removing his shoes that he couldn’t before.

“Hey son, sorry for this whole thing. I didn’t think he wouldn’t try to kill you. I guess I was wrong. Hehe.”

Ishio's voice showed a bit of guilt and a light-hearted chuckle to relieve the tension while scratching the back of his neck. “Anyways, since you guys have calmed down, let me introduce you to our newest family member.”

“Newest family member?!”

So, the kid that had tried to kill him was about to be his brother or something? What is his father thinking? Having a murderer killing to kill his son is something no one in their right mind should think of. Surata contemplated if this would work out. He gazes at the kid once again. Looking over at his father’s gentle expression, he found no doubt in his mind, deciding to trust his father’s decision.

He slowly extended his arm forward to the boy. He hesitantly uttered, “So, umm… what’s your name?

“…”

There was no response. The terrifying mood gradually turned awkward. It was as if he had brought a stray cat home, separated from his family. He continued to feel the chilled gaze coming from the kid.

“My name is Surata. What’s your name.”

”…”

Maybe this wasn’t going to work out after all. The awkwardness made Surata start to have doubts about his father. He just entered a stranger’s house, so he could at least introduce himself correctly. He doesn’t see Surata as a threat anymore, so what is the problem-

“…Koroki.” His quiet but assertive voice left an air of mystery and intrigue.

Huh? Koroki? That’s a weird name. He must be a foreigner with that name. Someone with this presentation should have a more intimidating name.

“Koroki, huh? Nice to meet you.”

The two boys shook hands. At this moment, Surata and Koroki officially became brothers. Their connection, born out of an unexpected encounter, held the promise of an intertwined future.

___