Origin Story: Soraru

[Tenshuyami]

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Prologue: Musunde Hiraite, heir to the Land of Iron

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Home. A simple word, really, however its "true" meaning is lost in a sea of various sayings. Growing up, home is where your family is, or at least that's what a childish mind would love to believe. It's a lot easier to think of things that way instead of sitting in a place, alone, that you yourself own. Yet you feel so much happier, alive, less lonely in a place that could be even half way across the world. If the heart desires so, your home could be somewhere that you've never actually set foot in. Home is where the heart is. So...everyone has one.

Right?

In a fairly large room, with scarlet lining the top half of the walls while wood lined the lower half, was a young boy. He sat atop a large bed at the end of the room, with his back to the headboard, head hung low with a knee raised to let the saya of a katana rest against it. One arm rested almost affectionately around the object, while the other was motionless on dark, high quality sheets. The boy was clad in a loose blue kimono, with thinner red cloth beneath that, which hung even more loose so that it seemed like more of a sash than anything in his current position. The last layer was a sheer fabric, similar to a black and grey striped vest, with the line closest to his chest being wider than the others, with red kanji descending a tan line. The furthest line from his chest, near his shoulder was completely white. Just a few inches from where the vest stopped was an upper arm band. Black at the top and bottom, with a white center, littered with blue flower patterns. The rest of his right arm was bare, until the sight of flesh was obstructed by a black band around his wrist, with small red charm beads hanging lazily around it. If there was any accessories on his other arm, they weren't visible, as that arm was actually covered by the kimono at the moment. Rather than a traditional obi, his kimono was typically held closed by a silver chain link, however it was currently undone. Instead of hakama, he wore black harem pants. His hair, long and dark, was tied into a messy ponytail by white and blue fabric. He still had long bangs which framed his face, while having enough hair to still sport the mess of hair at the back.

Overall, the boy was the picture perfect image for "dissheveled loyalty", which was quite accurate. The sleeping, frazzled up youth who clutched a katana to his chest like it was the only thing he held dear was known as Musunde Hiraite. The heir of the Land of Iron, a prodigal samurai, and a potential lead for the lands Hakemoto branch to boot within the coming years. Was it good fortune to have your entire future laid out for you without even needing to raise a finger? That because of your blood alone, your fate was just...decided? Maybe some people out there would have killed to be in his predicament, but the reality of it was that Musunde felt cursed to the core. Every move he made, every word he spoke was weighed by expectations, and there were just too many. Musunde was scared, not anxious, excited, or even nervous. In the event that he became a monk for the Hakemoto, he'd immediately be forced to forsake any wordly desires and dedicate his life to meditiation, calmness, and vowing his life only to the Bijuu. Defending his otherwise simple home from the threat of tailed beasts. Becoming a Samurai was what he displayed the most talent for, however it was ignored, completely paled out when compared to the possibilty of him leading the land. His needs, desires, wants. All of them were unrecognized in favor of what the rest of the world craved. At least talks of honing his skill with a sword didn't phase his father much. If he even made the mention of wanting to pursue anything in terms of music, another talent of his, he was all but shunned until it was "forgotten."

Shifting a bit, Musunde's body tensed, his heart having a battle with his conscious in the midst of a hazy dream, where he travelled on his own. Away from the grey skies and snow covered ground of his home, where he could do what he wanted. Perfect his music, play for the masses, or master his swordsmanship and become a hero of some sort. The sheer lack of possibility though...to ever incorporate a fantasy like that into real life. It soured his heart, and brought him back to consciousness. Pale blue eyes opened just barely, lips parting the same amount to let out an exhale in the form of a sigh. His head turned to the right, where a large window took up much of the wall there. Through it, Musunde could see clearly that snow was coming down heavily once again, and the ever encroaching, dark thought that he'd see that sight for the rest of his life snuck up on him for maybe the hundreth time.

"This is just fate though...isn't it?" He would whisper, voice raspy from just waking up. His words weren't really directed towards anybody, since the nearest people were likely out his room then down the hall, where the guards were usually positioned. Instead of a person, his eyes were locked affectionately on his katana, the fabric of the saya flowing from the air of the fanned room. Commonly oiled, powdered, and polished, Musunde's Reito Kumo was more than a high quality weapon, or even an extension of his body. The weapon was a physical representation of his most pleasant dreams, in a way. Sometimes, when gazing at the elegant steel of the blade, he found his future reflecting back at him in the form of delightful daydreams or hope bubbling in his chest. The young heir treated the blade with respect, more than he'd even give most nobility. Even if his father were present. He chose the extension of his soul with his own hands, and through that, it allowed him to occasionally have the belief...that just maybe, he could carve a fate without the influence of others. It was no wonder he kept the sacred object so close.

After a few minutes of sitting in bed, watching the snow fall past his mirror with katana in hand, Musunde's urge for movement kicked in. Still in the pinnacle of his youth and with more than enough suppressed energy, it was hard for the heir to stay in one place for too long. Calmness and serenity of the Hakemoto bloodline be damned, he wasn't going to be some all knowing monk, sitting in place to meditate all day! Although...is something like that really my choice? It's only a matter of time before the Hakemoto clan here want to teach me. His mind suddenly reminded him, slowing his excitable nature down considerably, the residue of such innocent emotions leaving in one more sigh, just as they always did. It was so hard to just be happy about anything, when just the slightest look to the future would slow the boy to a stop. However, pale blue eyes found themselves looking upon the red saya which held the object of his motivation. Nodding his head, he managed to work through his solemn thoughts and take a step out of bed.

Bare feet met cold tile, and the chill shot up Musunde's spine in an instant. It wasn't a shock though, moreso a blessing to the boy who only wanted to wake up and start his day already. One more step. Then another. As he parted from the bed completely, he made sure that he kept the base of his katana's saya in his right hand, not yet connecting it to the red underclothing he used as an obi. Hell, his mind was really so scattered all over that he hadn't even properly arranged his clothing to be symmetrical. Although the haze of drowsiness could have contributed to such a thing as well. Finally developing a stride, the heir approached his door, making the move to head out into his final pseudo-normal day within the compound.

 

[Tenshuyami]

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Exiting his room, Musunde closed the door behind him and entered the hall. To the right side of him was the rest of the hallway, where the master bedroom was, the room of his parents. Further down, at the end of the long hall was a large kitchen. The scent of cooking breakfast and the sound of a booming, proud laugh from down the hall let him know that his parents were undoubtedly awake. However...after his dreams, and the thoughts which tormented him earlier, he decided not to face his father at the moment, turning left instead. At the start of the hallway were two guards, the leaders most loyal samurai. Their armor, opposed from the normal grey getup of the samurai, was polished silver. Wrapped around that armor were scarlet cloaks, tattered with bits of white from what was likely the billowing snowstorm outside. The two lived in the main compound, along with any other royal guards in training or nobility. However it wasn't uncommon for the more seasoned samurai to take advantage of harsh weather situations, finding them to be the perfect settings for heated spars. Such a lifestyle was rough, taxing, and undoubtedly not good for ones health. Still, the aspiring swordsman couldn't help the tiny ember of jealousy which flicked within his stomach. Despite the fact that the two were undoubtedly beneath him in terms of ranking, some small part of him looked up to them. The warriors who had something to protect, and lived their lives for the sole purpose of honing their skills, so that nobody could breach past them.

Musunde tried to just walk past them without any conversation or trouble, however he knew such a thing was stupid. That wasn't his kind of luck. Just as he walked past the two, he found a hand on his shoulder, halting him from taking another step.

"Young lord?" Spoke a man, one who was definitely in the back half of his life. A head full of white hair was slicked back, just long enough to reach the red of his cloak. The amount of wrinkles on his face competed with the number of scars, however there was no doubting his musculature. His jaw line remained strong and solid over the years, his cheeks not hollowed either, like other men his age who were definitely not in such good shape. The mans grey eyes were piercing, no matter the amount of kindness he tried to put fowarth towards the young royalty. The type of eyes which saw countless battles, which shot open from nightmares. No matter how much one tried to change, or tried to force emotion, it was impossible to squeeze hospitality into hardened eyes like those. The kindness died long ago, in some far away battle somewhere, in which he lost something that Musunde would never know about. Despite the truly sincere smile on his lips, he still held the visage of authority. After all, he was the one who trained all the other potential royal guards. Surely he didn't treat them with nearly as much good-natured behavior. When Musunde turned fully to face the man, and raised his head, the seasoned samurai cracked open that small smile into what bordered on a grin. Young Hiraite's face was the definition of awkward embarrassment, and it was impossible that those pale blue eyes were trying to plot something on the spot. The man wasn't as oblivious as his father when it came to what the young lord wanted. His many hours of training in swordsmanship brought a sense of comradarie, even if they never actually trained with one another. As if there was some connection that formed from the effort imbued in Musunde's blade, and it resonated with his own weapon. Him, and any other samurai who knew of the young boys strife felt sympathy, if not pity for him.

"Your clothes, Hiraite-kun." Came another voice, before Musunde could even respond to the old man, or...well, or even come up with a lie yet. The voice was feminine, and much younger than the man beside her. Everything about the samurai made her a polar opposite to the one she stood guard with. Her armor, for instance, was a much different model. Rather than just the pure steel, rather bulky armor, she wore something a little more...mobile. It was made up of leather, cloth, wood and strips of steel. Around the lower half of her face was a white cloth mask, covering her mouth and nose from sight. Her face was without blemish otherwise, skin creamy white, with bright amber eyes that, instead of died, contained an obvious swirl of emotions, much like his own. Her hair was long, silky and black as night, reaching to the center of her back. It was braided towards the end though rather than loose, along with the bit of her that rested vertically down her left shoulder. The rest of it was loose and free. All in all, she was beautiful in the eyes of many, whether her face was half covered or not. Her hands were on the young lords clothing, bringing the loose kimono on his right arm along with the red cloth beneath it up to chest level, keeping it closed by fastening the two silver chains on the fabric. Backing her hands up, she looked at the boys head, giving a near silent "Tch" before starting to tame the loose strands of Musunde's hair. All the while ignoring the growing grin on her partners face and the dusty pink on the aspiring samurai's cheeks. Dark hair, pale skin, amber eyes which could compete with actual gold in terms of beauty. All the traits of her bloodline, which served the lords of the land of iron for many, many years. They were really a servant-like family, however two in their history managed to attain high ranks, in order to serve their lords more closely. Both her, and her great grandfather, who was the personal aide to the leader of the samurai long ago.

Their names were Manryasu Ryu and Kahlua Kuraishi.

"I-I'm fine...Kahlua-san." He murmured a bit silently, the woman looking so focused that he feared interrupting her from her actions would earn him a skin-flaying glare. However she always gave off a strange kind of motherly vibe towards him. He didn't know if it was that feeling, or her clans ability due to the close proximity, but she always left him at ease. The Kuraishi had a minor ability known as empathic breath, in which sharing the same air as them would fill someone with whatever they were feeling. Given that Kuraishi were nearly as level headed as the Hakemoto, albeit more serene, it could leave someone feeling quite calmed. Given that she was wearing her mask though, it was doubtable that her ability was the reason. Still though, at the moment, her sudden hands-on appraoch to him was making him feel even more awkward than when he was caught in the first place. She caught notice of such things, and removed her hands, stepping back. The two coughed in unison, likely out of embarrassment. "Um, ah...I don't really feel that hungry, so I'm thinking about heading down a few floors to see if I can get some training in with my sensei." He spoke, and without dishonesty. Well, he did lie about his hunger. While he wasn't exactly starving, the concept of breakfast did entice him still. It was just that sitting at a table with his father currently made his stomach more sick than needy. Maybe it was the way he refused to look in either of their eyes, or the fact that his hand, still clasped around the base of his saya was shaking, but...they seemed to understand.

"Ah, haha! Always training. I'm gonna have to step up, or you might end up rolling right past me." He said, wrinkles becoming more prominent in his grin, although those eyes still went on unfaltered. When his expression died down, he gave Soraru's shoulder a small pat before letting go of him. "Just don't overwork yourself, or hesitate in the slightest to come back when you start getting hungry." He finished, stepping back and stealing a glance towards his partner, who merely gave the young lord a nod, getting back into position as well.

"Thank you." He said, so silently it was almost impossible to catch, the tone rather solemn, albeit sincere. However whether they did or not, there wouldn't be much time to react to it. Musunde flashed the two a grin suddenly, rushing away from them and down the staircase to the left of them. As he descended a couple floors, he ended up in the largest one of the entire structure. The bottom floor housed the strongest of the samurai who trained to be royal guards, also known as the Oni, along with the chefs and servants. The main room was huge, with multiple pillars jutting throughout it to the ceiling, acting as the support for the entire structure. The entire area was booming with conversation from everyone within, who sat down at the rows of large tables that littered the interior. Naturally, there were a few eyes on the heir coming down, though nobody decided to do any grandstanding. Those among the samurai respected his wishes, for the most part, and held the code of Bushido dear to them. Heroic, kindred souls; all of them. Still though, amongst the eyes there, he only felt like a single glare was piercing him. It was a familiar coldness, and he found himself searching for its owner. At the bottom of the stairs, amongst a group of chatting samurai was his Sensei, gazing at him with eyes of neutrality that the boy had grown used to. The man was another Hakemoto, and the one who taught him dicipline. Swordsmanship. The art of Bushido, though...even he knew that it was helpless teaching Musunde that path.

"Come on, Musunde-san." He spoke up, his tone just as dry and nonchalant as ever. His name was Ooranu, the lords aide and best friend. As far as Musunde knew, Ooranu grew up alongside his father in the Hakemoto compound, staying by his side through more than a few life-threatening situations in their time as warrior monks. It was only due to their eventual positions that neither the man or Musunde's father were the current lead to the Hakemoto in the land. In terms of appearance, he had green eyes with thin, near dilated pupils. His hair, much longer than Musunde's, was a smoky dark grey with the occasional streak of black. It was tied back, and spiked up in multiple places, reaching to his lower back. He was thin lipped, with sharp features that were only tarnished by a horizontal scar on his left cheek, and a diagonal, thin one crossing past his right eye. He was still in his prime, and far from ugly, however he was without children and not married. Not even in a relationship, all for reasons unknown to Musunde, or anyone for that matter. In terms of clothing he wore a black kimono, tucked in short on one side beneath two obi, one tan with the other being green. Beneath that were black harem pants, tabi and sandals. "I imagine the only reason you would be down here so early is for training. And to avoid your father until he goes to work." He spoke up again, raising a brow as the young lord seemed to shuffle about for a moment as if he were going to spin a tale. After about a year or two of training together, he wondered if Musunde could be that foolish. It wasn't until the boy laughed and rubbed the back of his head, grinning, that Ooranu lowered his brow, sighing.

Musunde lowered his arm and began to walk forward and past his mentor, towards the right side of the main room. Past the doors there were the training zones; large rooms seperated by imported koton steel, where many samurai could train at once. "It's hard to just eat at the same table as him, you know. You're his friend, not his son. It's not pleasant, having your opinions all brushed away as if they're the wishy washy fantasies of a ten year old. To him, I'm not going to be grown up until...I'm.." His words steadily came to a stop as his solid tone began to waver slowly but surely over the course of him speaking. If he were to continue, surely his tone would break, and it seemed stupid to do something like that in front of a man who seemed to be void of emotion. Musunde just grit his teeth and clenched his fist around his weapon, solidifying himself once again, reinforcing his walls. When he finally turned around to face his mentor, he found that the man was actually walking away, to the opposite side from the training room. "Wait, I'm training alone today?" He started, rather confused. That was never the case. Ooranu stated multiple times that training alone just allowed one to ignore the mistakes only someone else could catch. When his sensei made a beckoning motion, as if to follow him, the confusion became evident all over his face.

"I said come on, didn't I? We're getting suited up." He said, causing the heir to follow a little cautiously. They typically didn't suit up unless they were training outside, and it was...well, there was nearly a blizzard outside, really.

"Ah...you know it's snowing pretty hard outside, right?" He said, and blinked his eyes open wider when his sensei turned, the ghost of a smirk actually on the mans lips. Rather than be excited or happy about such a thing though, he felt more terrified than anything.

"Yes, I know. It's the perfect weather for training. At least...it is for a strong samurai. I do recall you saying that you wanted to be one, no?"

Kuso...

 

[Tenshuyami]

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With a knee hitting the snow, he felt a sharp pain in his side, all of his ribs on the right side feeling as if they were being bent and pulled with every breath. All the same, the attack done on him made him breathless, and urged him to fill his lungs with air. Musunde's hands lowered, katana parallel with the snow as he struggled to keep it in his hands. How is he that fast... He thought, both slowly and shakily raising back up to his feet, body hunched over from the tremendous pain. Replaying the events in his head, he tried to see where he messed up, but his eyes didn't pick anything up. "You rely too much on your senses, Musunde-san." Came the voice of his mentor behind him, some few feet away. Since when the hell was he a mind reader? Turning on his heel, Musunde ignored the tears stinging at his eyes, begging to be released, and faced his mentor while stepping back. It wasn't enough that he was experiencing a fair bit of pain all around body, but snow was pelting down as well. They weren't in full armor either, only using the haidate, suneate, sode and han kote. The dō which protected the chest and the kabuto were left behind, given that other, more experienced samurai were training. While all of them jumped at the opportunity to offer the heir their armor, his mentor instructed them not to. 'The harsher the training conditions, the better," he said, and was taking quite the opportunity at hitting Musunde's exposed torso. Since they were only half armored, they took to only hitting with the dull sides of their blade, but the young heir had yet to land a noteworthy strike.

"Your eyes are watering. Should I take to coddling you like everyone else?" The man said, earning the boys ire. Gripping his blade with one hand, he did something from his own unique brand of sword style. Holding the blade in a reverse grip, he brought his right arm back, as if it were a bullet being loaded into a chamber, ready to release at any moment. His free hand moved forwards, ahead of himself, hand at the ready in a draw-like style. It was really him aiming his cut, so that when he launched out with his right arm, the strike would be accurate. His body hunched over slightly, and his eyes, wet with held back tears or not, glared at the opposition ahead of him. "Ah, how frightening. You almost look like one of our oni, looking fearsome like that. But we both know that'll never happen." He spoke, prodding at a sensitive bit of Musunde's emotions. His desire for comrades, to pave his own future with a blade rather than have everything handed to him. His desire to be a samurai, fighting for a cause. Exhaling slowly, Musunde's gaze became much more filled with hostile intent. "Kakatte koi..."

Those words triggered the start to the next bout. Ooranu launched forwards, drawing his blade from the left. Knowing that was the same thing he saw last time, Musunde decided to counter from the right. Rushing towards his mentor, he closed the distance, launching his right arm across his chest aggressively while he turned his body. His teeth only grit when he found that his blade was met with resistance from Ooranu's han kote, stopping the blade from cutting with the armor on his forearm. The next thing Musunde knew, his body was falling over towards the right on his side while his sensei moved left, the man having swept his leg out from under him. But it's not done. He never stops with just one hit, he's too flashy. He wants to punish me. Ooranu-sensei has been punishing my torso this whole time, and there's no way he can hit me there unless... His thoughts worked at a rapid pace as always, time seeming to slow down around him as his mind thought out the only move his mentor could take. No, there couldn't be anything else. Watching as his sensei turned his body, Musunde raised his free hand, catching the foot that was about to dig into his chest by the heel. A spin and followup kick. Not today. He seethed silently, although the force from the older Hakemoto's kick launched his body back anyways. At the very least, he was able to block the brunt of the blow.

But Musunde wouldn't just let it end there. Ooranu was surprised when he turned and saw that the boy wasn't phased at all, believing the strike hit head on, and in fact was rushing towards him with a fire in those blue eyes of his. "Just stop fighting. Stop training. It's no use." He said, getting into his own stance, one leg out, blade raised over his shoulder as he waited to strike his student down. It was a matter of demoralizing him, knowing exactly what made the boy tick. All a test for his convictions and resolve. He was supposed to blow up in a fit of rage and lash out wildly, only to be brought down to think on his approach.

But things went differently.

The tears that stung at his eyes came down freely then, his body screaming at him to stop moving, but Musunde wouldn't be deterred from what he had to do. Rushing forwards, he ducked down on his approach once more and pushed his right hand out, getting ready to cut through his mentors side as he moved past him. At least that's what it looked like. Instead, before he landed a strike, which would've merely hit his mentors han kote again, Musunde pushed up on his feet and leaped out of the mans sight, his body disappearing. Dance of six steps, his own touch on a Hakemoto technique, one that surprised his sensei. But what was much more alarming...

"Urusai!" He shouted out, but it wasn't normal. His voice, carried with chakra, performed a minor genjutsu that made it not match up with his actual location. The voice came from behind Ooranu, and the responsive, punctual swordsman turned around with a swift cut, only to find that Musunde wasn't there. Crashing down from just above him was the blunt side of a blade on his neck and shoulder, hitting hard while the student dived down from above. With a spin on his landing, he just barely caught himself on his feet, stumbling but taking a turn in time to bring his blade up again. A less than pleased sensei had made a fairly strong right swing in an attempt to get back at the boy, who had his blade in a vertical block. One hand, protected by the han kote, grasped his katana near the tip, while the other was at the top of the grip, Ooranu's blade making contact with the middle. With a near feral grin on his lips, he countered right away, pulling his blade backwards so that the hilt came up, pushing it forward at that end while he pulled the tip back, so that it hit the older Hakemoto right on the chin and sent him back, both in alarm and a fair bit of pain.

Musunde's fighting style was strange, but undoubtedly effective. When he wasn't feeling out his opponent and trying to end the fight in a single strike, he was aggressive in a strange way. Fast on his feet, confusing the opponent, performing unorthodox strikes that were both completely unnatural but fit samurai code at the same time. It was proper use of a katana, but it was one that wasn't taught to anyone. A mix of unpredictable techniques drawn from year after year of watching elite samurai train in the way of the sword. Of thinking "how could I counter that" and "could I make it harder to see that coming?" It made him into a fighter that wasn't to be reckoned with. Of course, if Ooranu actually bothered to implement his more complex styles and tapped into his own Hakemoto ability, he could defeat the student without too much trouble, but it was training to help the boy grow.

Still, it was best to not let the kid get too ahead of himself. If he got overconfident, it could toss him into some deep waters.

Ignoring the sharp pains on his chin and neck, Ooranu came down hard with his right hand, slamming the blunt sided sword towards the student again. Despite knowing it would be avoided, he was fairly surprised with how Musunde went about it. The boy ducked down and rose his blade, bringing his arm up and tilting his own blade just right so that his katana slid down on contact. The parry was complete by the boy continuing his movement in a sidestep and spinning. Now. Thought Ooranu, who rose his scabbard, swinging it hard from the left while Musunde turned in that direction. He assumed the kid would get ahead of himself and his speed, then follow up his parry with a momentum-boosted cut to his mentors chest.

But the young heir seemed to be full of surprises on that snowy day.

Rather than lash out with a strike, Musunde brought his blade up to his side again as a defense from the approaching scabbard while launching his body forwards.to slam his shoulder into Ooranu's chest and make him stumble. He'll hit with his own scabbard now. He always...wha-? Just as he was thinking, he found that he was falling to the left while Musunde turned right, body beginning to turn. The same underhanded leg sweep that was performed on the boy just a moment before. Anticipating the same kick, he rose his arms, only to be met with an overwhelming force. While turning, rather than going for a kick, he used the art of Form Manipulation on his blade, turning it into a large mallet of chakra and slamming it into the older man to send him flying back several meters.

"We train every other day, you think I wouldn't have picked up on it by now? You're trying to end the fight earlier? You won't do it by underestimating me. I know how you think." During their entire exchange, the young heirs mind was running rampant with responses to situations, analyzing his mentor, taking every earlier fight into account and bringing it all onto the field. When Ooranu came down with that predictable vertical slam, Musunde knew something was going on. His sensei was always putting on an overwhelming offense full of underhanded maneuvers and fast strikes.No way was he ever predictable without their being a catch. The Hirtaite boy wasn't the type to get hooked on bait. His mentor, on the other hand, felt his throat tighten. No matter how much he wanted to think otherwise, the boy really did know his train of thought. It was actually quite frightening how he could implement it in combat. He hated admitting it, but there wasn't much more he could teach the boy without either taking him to the Hakemoto compound or letting him out into the Shinobi lands. Though the latter was next to impossible, knowing the kids father.

"Fine. Watch closely."

Reaching into his pouches on either side of his hips, he pulled out something that surprised Musunde a bit. Ninja tools? Kunai with elongated hilts, seven of them, the rings at the pommel each around a finger. Infusing them with his chakra, he tossed them all into the air suddenly as they began to change their form. While airborne, he took his main weapon, the katana, and put the hilt into his mouth, leaving Musunde to watch as it thinned out and shortened to become a wakizashi, the one silvery steel turning bright green with the mans chakra. His body moved in a twirl as what once were kunai came down and fitted perfectly in his joints, all of them the same kind of wakizashi as the blade in his mouth. If all that wasn't enough...the look of absolute concentration on the mans features mixed with a certain calm serenity, his eyes glassed over as if he were in a trance, blanked out. The state of control. An eight blade style mixed with both that and form manipulation.

So cool... The boy thought in awe before his mentor moved at an insane pace, leaping from the ground towards the boy. The snow was kicked up, and the ground cracked beneath the pressure the man was exerting, leaving the area he was once standing on devoid of both snow and some of the ground once there.

Before he could even concentrate on which blade would come into contact first, the strange, ruthless style made him black out on the first strike.

--------------- An hour later -----------------------

Entering the large complex structure that was the Tesshin, Ooranu carried Musunde on one of his shoulders, the boy flung over, snoring in peace and fully healed from the state of restoration. Due to the small smile on the mentors lips, just about every samurai on the first floor could tell that the young Hiraite put forward quite the display in training. Nobody even needed to ask. Especially since some had watched from the observation area on the second floor. The mood was all well and good, until an old man blocked the staircase leading up. Manryasu Ryu, one of Musunde's royal guards appointed by his father, and the secondary adviser to said lord. He looked at Ooranu with fairly solemn eyes, although it was hard to tell emotion in those dead hues.

"Lord Hiraite was waiting for your return. He wishes to speak with his son privately."