Ryuunosuke stared at his son, Bastian. He wondered when he’d grown into such a man. He sighed before sinking into one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk. Thana’s ire was well deserved. He’d never been a parent to her after the death of her mother. Bastian had been there for her. He knew the truth about what Ryoshi had done to her all those years. Ryoshi craved power, always had. And his daughter having more magical power than him, ate at Ryoshi in the worst way. Their father had told Ryuunosuke years ago that Ryoshi was not fit to be emperor. At the time, Ryuunosuke had protested. He believed that Ryoshi would mellow out when he was named heir but their father had put off naming one for many years. With this new information, he could see why.

“You protected her all these years?” He asked his son.

Bastian nodded but said nothing.

“And what of Bricriu?” He continued. “Did he at least get the care that I never gave him?”

Bastian scoffed in what he could only say was disbelief.

“Bricriu had unrealistic expectations set upon him for years and was violently punished when he failed to meet them,” Bastian growled. “He was also forced to spy on his own twin and was given means to contain or cage her should her power get out of control. He hates himself because of what he’s helped that bastard do to her.”

Ryuunosuke sighed deeply. He had failed as a parent. The only job he truly wanted until his wife, Esarosa, died was raise his family and be the ambassador for both communities in Japan. When his Rosa had died giving birth to his youngest son, Hotoke, he had thrown himself into work to bury his grief. He couldn’t look his infant son without seeing his wife’s bloody body. He could barely look at Thana without seeing her, though she didn’t share the rich sienna color that had shown Esarosa’s Comanche heritage. Of his four children, only Bastian and Bricriu shared their mother’s sienna colored skin. Though theirs was several shades lighter than hers had been; Bricriu’s more than Bastian’s. Ryuunosuke looked at his oldest son. Bastian stood taller than him at 6’ 5” or 6’ 6”. He had surprisingly pale grey eyes that reminded him of the tamahagone steel that made up the emperor’s katana. Between him and Bricriu, Bastian’s coloring more closely resembled that of their mother. His hair was a mix between ebony and mahogany and hung in braids on either side of his head. This one aspect was the only way Bastian could connect with his Comanche heritage. Rosa’s Comanche family hadn’t wanted her to marry into the imperial family of Japan. She’d gone against their wishes and in doing so had alienated them. It was why none of his children had ever met their American family.