Schadenfreude was like sake for the downtrodden—Futago had been prodded and goaded all their lives and so now they savoured the distaste of Father and the Sakai family as a whole. By law, they were required to supply them with all that befits their chosen path and as a rōnin that meant a bronze weapon, a half-bow and seven arrows, cloth armour and a pack with sundries to last three months upon the currents of the Skysea. The last one was to be given only once Futago set out from Blackwind proper, be it by cloudship or some other type of vessel which is also supplied, at cost, by Sakai.
Though a wanderer is not considered a part of any one samurai family any longer, they are still thought of as extensions of Kuroikaze; they are lordless but not truly untethered of all past bonds though a rōnin might do so by simply never returning to Blackwind Isle or pledging their allegiance to some other principality or power. The status served important functions within society; a sort of pseudo-exile, it allowed for a greater degree of travel which in turn brought in a stream of revenue in the case of selling yokai parts to Kuroikaze.
Yuriko stood by Sakai Yamato—their father by birth and their tormentor by choice, the patriarch of the warriors of Kuroikaze, responsible for defence against spirit-beasts and raiders, be they barbarian or bandit or samurai as well. The only difference is the nobility of blood for all three share the same soul.
Futago strode through the procession of their living funeral like a vengeful yūrei come back to haunt them and came to a stop before Yamato, unflinching. They had the same countenance, though Futago erred towards an androgynous equilibrium whilst Yamato was honed to the knife’s edge of masculinity; jet-black, smooth hair, pale skin and eyes with black sclera and a white iris stared at one another with naught but mutual contempt.
He was armoured—Sakai are habitual wearers of plate, afterall—and yet they knew that their proclamation had pierced past his defences of lacquered black-sakura. Words cut deeper than any blade. They knew as much for all the horrid words Father had uttered when marooned on rice-wine and sorrow: ‘bakemono—you should have died in her place’.
They could still remember the venom of those words and trace the scars that they yet carried even till this fateful day, seven cycles after that fateful night. Their back was crisscrossed with the silver excoriations of the nine-tongued lariat jutsu—a duel between a child and an adult is no duel at all.
It hadn’t been Yamato that issued the duel.
They bowed, said their mores as was proper for the ceremony and left to clean out their belongings from the Sakai Clan’s compound. Never a home; just a house. The only thing that bound them to this wretched place of bad memories was Yuriko and for that they hugged her before they left for the inn—the room was a shared space for all manner of vagrants and would be their new abode for five more cycles until they reached the age of majority. The cycles between fifteen and twenty are a transitory period where apprenticeship proper begins; a person is not quite a child anymore but not yet an adult entirely.
On the twentieth cycle of Fushi-sama since their birth, Futago would become a journeyman in their chosen path and set out to wander as was wont for the rōnin—those-of-the-waves.
The bare tatami had never felt so good as that night.
----------------------------------------
Dawn broke on the horizon of the Skysea and Futago broke their fast just before the morning market came awake.
It was a simple fare of rice and pickled plum and jerky but filling nonetheless. They would need every scrap of energy for today; they’d begin orientation on magatama use and hamon control. Reikon manipulation was scheduled for the equinox as it was considered a more advanced subskill of jujutsu; without proper foundations a house, no matter how well-built, falls and all that.
Futago had had to restrain themselves to their utmost not to experiment with their newfound power—it was just there, beyond the threshold, waiting to be called upon. But they knew better than to draw upon a fathomless well where a monster might lurk within.
The beginner jujutsu dojo was situated near Kaku’s torii gate—the tatami of the training grounds absorbed reikon from the godling to protect the students from grievous harm. In return, Eater-of-Broken-Dreams syphoned their desperation and shame and disappointment and self-loathing, growing fat on the dark thoughts of the samurai scions.
Futago had little in the way of a formal fūinjutsu education so they could only guess as to how the seal array worked. Perhaps something to do with the black-sakura tree to the left of the dojo? Symbols and allegory were the tools of the binder’s trade, afterall.
They, like the rest of the would-be warriors and sorcerers and scholars and artisans, kneeled before their master Gōto Reina; a wizened woman of forty cycles or so, she was crisscrossed with scars and corded muscle, her hair grey hair spilling over her bare, sun-kissed shoulders. She wore her kimono around her hips, bindings keeping her breasts secured so that she might exert herself without breaking propriety—to show so much skin in any other circumstance but the bathhouse was tantamount to spitting upon the three patriarchs while in bed with their mothers.
Futago did the same as most other female bushi did, though they kept the left sleeve of their kimono bound by a sash to conceal their birthmark—closed eyes on a sleeping face with lips that did not open. A god-or-spirit-sign, the mark was called and it rested atop their shoulder like an oni mask that could not be removed.
Their otherwise exposed pale skin rankled at the sun’s harsh glare. Amaterasu was dead but her body was still present, everburning at the centre of the Skysea as an unmistakable effigy of kamigami no tasogare—the twilight of the gods that shattered the earth into islands floating upon the waters of the vacuous ether.
A clap from Gōto-sensei startled Futago from their daydreaming as did it cease any whispers from the more out-going students near the back of the dojo.
“Call upon your magatama. You are to experiment here and only here until I deem you ready to be released into the wild. This is not allegory—there are futons in the shed and you will be confined to this dojo for the foreseeable future.”
The grave words cowed their excitement like a brisk wind upon an open flame but the tongues of Futago’s fire knew nothing but hunger; not even a gale could snuff out the budding anticipation within their breast.
Bringing to the fore one’s magatama was entirely instinctual; base manifestation was as easy as drawing breath and so Futago did just that.
Reikon evaporated from their pores, cowling them in a nimbus whose curlicues danced wildly with abandon The godai-nature was unmistakably wind-touched; one of the five elementary states of essence.
Quickly, the aspect of dusk overcame the reikon manifestation, turning it from a nimbus into a shroud, leeched of all colour such that it seemed that Futago wore their shadow as if a cloak. The effect was eerily alike that of Yamato’s nine-tongued lariat jutsu that had scarred Futago’s back seven cycles ago.
So it was shadow-natured then, they surmised. Since they did not unearth a latent bloodline talent—kekkei kokoro—during their awakening, it meant that Father’s technique might be reproducible rather than exclusively inheritable.
The thought of being able to challenge Yamato with his own weapon was intoxicating to a vindictive spirit such as Futago’s.
“Secondary godai-alignment.” They turned around to gawk at Gōto-sensei staring at them so fiercely that it felt like she was gazing not at flesh but soul. The woman just continued speaking as broke into their personal space. “Three spirit constructs of the same nature during the awakening stage is uncommon, much less a secondary aspect—shadow, yes?”
They blinked and the reikon shroud winked out under their sheer bemusement.
“Correct.”
“Good. Rōnin of the bushi variety barely survive their first jaunt out of Kuroikaze. We’ll get you a shinobi tutor once you’ve mastered hamon restraint.”
They did not know how to respond and so simply called upon their magatama once again. White, wind-aligned reikon sublimated around them, endowing grace to Futago’s limbs and instantaneity to their mind-body connection. They walked under the influence of the magatama, executing katas like the other would-be warriors, flowing from Form to Form of the Way of Hollow Cinder.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Futago was not a prodigy at taijutsu so their stances and strikes were only serviceable rather than impeccable like the other scions; though apprenticeship proper only began at the age of fifteen cycles, children were still tutored in the arts beforehand though at a much lesser pace in comparison.
Though their skill might be lacking, their magatama was not; Whisper-of-the-Dancing-Leaves guided their steps, transforming them from a rote student that fell into repetitive sequences into a fluid dancer whose steps were bestowed with supernatural grace.
A burst of fire-aligned reikon washed over the dojo as a student drew upon a magatama of exceedingly-high shinrikyo-rank; the spirit-shard was so overbearing metaphysically that the world paled in comparison, all else somehow less real than that singular magatama as it exerted its divinity.
These were not to be given out in coming-of-age ceremonies for the propensity of the not-quite-adult in engendering chaos. Case in point: Futago’s reikon shroud melted under the spiritual heat, leaving them once again at the level of a mortal child. The others closer to the student that had just unleashed the unprompted explosion had not fared better; much the opposite, eyebrows were singed-off and the sulphur smell of burnt hair seeped into the air like miasma from rotten eggs.
Gōto-sensei made a lesson out of noble scion, chiding not just them but their parents for giving them such a high-ranked spirit-shard. The Sakai clansman, a girl of fifteen by the name Chikara, called upon their magatama in response, daring to challenge a bushi at least thirty cycles her senior.
The golden flames washed over Gōto-sensei like water off a spirit-swan’s back. Chikara did not fare as well with the consequent backhand slap, rolling limp and limbless on the tatami.
Chikara would survive given the fūinjutsu array that warded the dojo but her pride would be long dead when she awoke from the unseemly heap that she brought upon herself. Though Futago abhorred corporal punishment, they could not entirely fault the teacher for their reaction—had it been another student and had the tatami not dampened the damage potential, grievous bodily harm was the best case scenario.
The conscious students continued experimenting with their magatama as sensei went around giving advice and correcting mistakes. Futago, unlike the rest, could practise without breaks, calling upon their spirit until noon without becoming ennervated of reikon.
Having an inkling as to why, they closed their physical eyes and opened their mind’s eye in their stead. Ideographs of snow-white ink swirled into being in the black.
----------------------------------------
Soul-embryo awoken: Scales-Balance-Upon-the-Needle
Shinrikyo-rank: Ishi (Wax)
Godai-nature: Akasha (Primary) - Shadow (Secondary) - Reflection (Tertiary)
Ryōiki (Domain): Bestows tamashi with the reflection of shadow’s visage and the aspect of a life unlived. Two souls; one sole flesh.
Kōsoku (Restraint): Binds tamashi with the promise of equilibrium. Double-edged swords cut not only forward.
----------------------------------------
Ryōiki and kōsoku are two sides of the same jade coin—opposing and completing halves of a greater duality. Domains established the area within the boundary of a magatama’s authority over reality whilst restraints established the area outside a spirit construct’s jurisdiction.
Futago opened their eyes and sat down, pondering over the guiding wind’s wisdom. Fūjin, out of all the dead gods, was surprisingly magnanimous—before the Tasogare he erred towards the wild aspect of storms and gales, the destruction and the devastation. In his last moments, the great spirit had seen the error of his ways and, in his last dying breath, blessed all beings of the world that came thereafter.
A life unlived…
It was an allusion to Futago’s god-sign, the oni-mask face that grew upon their left shoulder. Kokoro are manifestations of one’s soul, an embryonic magatama—the spirit-shards harvested from yokai are kokoro of the kekkei variety; inheritable and standardised among a spirit-beast beast population or subspecies with a chance for deviancy and spiritual mutation.
The black and white eyes of the Sakai are an example of kekkei kokoro. During the coming-of-age ceremony, a scion of the clan with said spirit-sign might awaken the bloodline talent known as the Kanakūgan, the Eyes-of-Heaven’s-Shadow. They are a dōjutsu, a sorcery of the eyes, that reverses sources of light into emanations of blindness and combusts bodies of darkness into hellish fire, capable of exsanguinating the soul of any who dare to gaze at the Kanakūgan.
Instead of inheriting the Kanakūgan, Futago had awoken Heikogahari, Scales-Balance-Upon-The-Needle. The kokoro doubled reikon capacity and regeneration as if Futago were two people instead of one. As for the restraint? Well, Futago was not certain but it might be susceptibility to spiritual attacks. Their Whisper shroud had been suppressed with ease by a wave of fire-aligned reikon; though that might simply be godai-nature related as shadow could, under the right circumstances, be overcome by the element of ka, of fire, or be strengthened by it.
Since they had access to a reikon expert within their grasp, Futago quested after Gōto-sensei and asked her for advice.
“I recognize that kōsoku clause; it’s an inhibition to spiritual control—hamon restraint, reikon manipulation, anything bound directly to your tamashi will suffer a deficit.
“I recommend saving up jade to buy yourself a magatama that can counteract your kōsoku. Specifically, one that is not a passive, overarching archetype but instead a self-suppressing burst of hamon to reign in your tamashi. Best to play to your strengths rather than attempt to negate weaknesses entirely.”
“Domo arigatou gozaimasu, Gōto-sensei.”
She gave Futago a taciturn nod and went back to prowling the dojo in search of doling out exec—corrections. Gōto-sensei was a stern taskmistress but one with a heart of gold beneath an exterior of stone. Wherever she went, Gōto-sensei left better skilled people in her wake. A tad less prideful and self-sure but more skilled all the same.
Futago sat down on the tatami and contemplated their spirit, their tamashi.
The shadow-alignment bleed-over made sense in retrospect. Beyond having a secondary godai-nature, their reikon output was double what it should have been. Once Whisper could no longer source wind-aspected reikon, the magatama drew upon shadow instead.
They called upon their magatama Ochiba-no-Sasayaki - 落ち葉のささやき.
----------------------------------------
Magatama subsumed: Whisper-of-the-Dancing-Leaves
Shinrikyo-rank: Ishi (Wax)
Godai-nature: Wind (Primary) - Shadow (Secondary) - Death (Tertiary)
Ryōiki (Domain): Bestows reikon with the breath of a thousand-thousand falling leaves and the shrill wail of boughs barren under autumn auspices. Secrets are hidden within the fickle dance of the winds.
Kōsoku (Restraint): Binds reikon with the fate of ash wrought by the bellows. Dry leaves burn quick and are naught but tinder before the flame.
----------------------------------------
The spirit-shard’s first ryōiki clause endowed Futago with grace and fluidity of movement. The second ryōiki clause was as-of-yet a mystery. The restraint’s language was easier to interpret: fire-aligned reikon suppressed the magatama, either diminishing or entirely snuffing out its release into the physical world.
Next, Futago called upon their tomoe formation.
----------------------------------------
Tomoe formed: Sorrow-of-the-Koi
Shinrikyo-rank: Ishi (Resin)
Uzumaki-pattern: Futatsudomoe (Twofold)
Godai-nature: Akasha (Primary) - Wind (Secondary) - Shadow (Tertiary)
Ryōiki (Domain): Bestows magatama with the stillwater of a lake under winter and the repose of a frozen moment in time. Darkness armors the sleeping koi, brittle and refulgent.
Kōsoku (Restraint): Binds magatama with the ephemerality of the shade of the black-sakura tree. All things must end.
----------------------------------------
Tomoe are the superstructures formed of two or more magatama—they held sway over the spirit-shards that constituted their uzumaki, their spiral. Sorrow-of-the-Koi was formed from the elliptical union of Futago’s soul-embryo and magatama and so applied to both though their kokoro was a touch exempt as it wasn’t a magatama proper.
Wind reikon enshrouded Futago and then, calling upon Sorrow, shadow froze over, cladding them in plates of solid darkness. Movement broke apart the armour from the inside-out, shards of black ice sublimating into the ether.
So it was a defensive archetype tomoe that applied a layer of protection over any reikon manifestation—it might prove useful to resist fire-aligned jujutsu beyond providing a momentary shield.
Owing to its akasha godai-nature, the tomoe was reikon-hungry, costing almost a tenth of Futago’s spiritual reserves. Beyond this, any spirit invested into Whisper was null and void when Sorrow was called upon so it was doubly stamina intensive. Had Futago’s nascent-soul not doubled their output, they might’ve needed to invest into a support archetype magatama down the line.
When a servant came to drop-off food for the students, Futago stopped their practice to eat and then returned to it in full until the sun set.