The drizzle had stopped, leaving Hollowdene slick with wet earth and the smell of moss and pine. Aldrich's boots sank slightly into the soft ground as he walked beside Ellistra Scarlet. Their conversation had been brief, polite, carrying the tension of warriors sizing one another, yet layered with mutual respect.
Ellistra slowed, reaching into the folds of her cloak. She produced a small object, silver-trimmed and delicate—a token engraved with the Scarlet family insignia.
"This," she said, holding it out to him, "is from my family. Keep it. And when you have time, visit us. It will mean something."
Aldrich took it, his fingers brushing the smooth edges. He studied the insignia, unfamiliar with the finer details but recognizing the craftsmanship and pride embedded in it.
"Very well," he said, voice calm, unreadable. "I will keep it. Consider it… goodwill."
Ellistra nodded once. "Goodwill, yes. Or perhaps… a promise." She stepped back, allowing him to continue on his path. "You walk your path alone, Aldrich Yagurah. But remember this… no one is truly alone in this world, if they are worthy."
Aldrich inclined his head slightly, a faint acknowledgment. He continued walking, the token lightly clutched in his hand, as the Hollowdene trees thinned and the familiar clearing came into view.
A hundred meters ahead, he saw it. The house. His home. The one that had burned years ago and been rebuilt by him and Eldran. Smoke did not rise from the chimney this time—only the smell of clean wood and the faint tang of tea drifting in the wind.
There, seated outside, Eldran Yagurah leaned back in a wooden chair, one hand resting on his cane, the other holding a steaming cup of tea. His eyes, sharp despite age and battle, observed Aldrich with quiet satisfaction.
"I'm glad you returned, young master," Eldran said, voice gravelly yet warm. "And I'm glad… that you found a wife."
Aldrich stopped mid-step, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean, Elder? When did I find a wife?"
Eldran chuckled, a deep sound that carried through the clearing. "The token you hold… it's from the Scarlet family, isn't it?" His one eye twinkled with amusement. "A girl only gives her family token to a man when she likes him… when she wishes to make him her husband. It is the oldest rule of noble courtesy."
Aldrich stared at the token, then laughed—a rich, low sound, amused by the revelation. "I see," he said, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose I'll have to visit sometime, then."
Eldran smiled. "Good. But first, rest. You have walked far, and your body deserves it."
For the next few days, Aldrich recovered in the familiar house. He ate meals Eldran had prepared, the aromas simple but grounding after years of travel and bloodshed. The elder sat beside him, recounting tales of the Yagurah clan, his mother, and father, the pride of their lineage.
"You fought well, Aldrich," Eldran said one evening, smoke curling from the small hearth. "The Saelari. The Varkonn. You did what I always knew you would do, but…" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "That's the blood of Taro for you."
Aldrich tilted his head, listening intently. "Tell me about him," he said softly. "Father. My mother."
Eldran leaned back, gaze distant, voice low. "Your father… Taro Yagurah. A man of strength beyond measure, yes. But also of honor. He would have killed and struck all of Hollowdene if he believed it necessary… and yet, he did so with precision, with mind and heart intact. Your mother… Asaeir Iris before marriage… came from the noble Iris family. One of the oldest bloodlines in the lands. Beauty, wit, and a will as sharp as any sword. When she became Asaeir Yagurah, she carried both bloodlines into yours. You are noble, Aldrich. Not only for skill, but for the veins that run beneath your skin."
Aldrich absorbed the words, the weight of them settling into his chest. He was the last of the Yagurah, yes—but also of Iris blood, noble and unbroken despite the calamity.
"And yet," he murmured, "all my kin, all my clan… gone. It's just us now."
Eldran's gaze softened, though his voice remained steady. "Yes. It is just us. But the weight of the past… it is yours to carry. And when you walk your path… remember this: it is the blood of both clans that runs in you. Strength, cunning, honor. All of it—your inheritance."
The days passed quietly, Aldrich healing, eating, resting, and reflecting. Hollowdene embraced him like an old friend, the trees whispering in the wind, the distant cries of beasts reminding him of survival and struggle.
Finally, the day came.
Aldrich stepped outside, wearing his black trench coat, black pants, and black undershirt. His sword rested at his side, bandanna tied tightly around his head, and the black cloth of his father's glass case draped lightly around his neck beneath his coat. His dark hair glistened in the light drizzle, eyes hard, yet carrying the weight of reflection.
He carried a small shovel and simple cloth wrappings. His steps led him to the clearing where his parents had fallen. He knelt, pressing his hands to the soil, feeling its dampness, the remnants of fire long cooled.
"Mother… Father…" His voice was soft, reverent, shaking slightly with emotion. "I have collected the debts for you. I have payed them back tenfold. It was only Eldran and I who survived. But it is okay now. I will rebuild the Yagurah clan. I will carry our name, our honor, and our strength into the world. And I will make sure… no one ever forgets the Yagurah."
He carefully wrapped their bones, what remained, in cloth, placing them gently into the shallow grave he had dug. Each movement was meticulous, respectful, the careful act of a warrior who knew the weight of death.
Aldrich set the shovel aside and pressed his palms together over the grave. His katana leaned against the nearby tree, black bandanna catching a faint breeze.
"I promise you this," he whispered, voice low but full of conviction. "Your blood runs in me. Your teachings… your strength… it is mine now. I will make the Yagurah rise again. And I will not fail. I swear it… as your son."
The rain fell lightly again, misting over the grave. Aldrich rose, shoulders squared, eyes reflecting both grief and unbroken determination. He surveyed the Hollowdene Forest around him—the cradle of his rebirth, the place that forged him into a prodigy and a monster of vengeance.
He turned toward the house, toward Eldran, and gave a single, solemn nod. A warrior's promise had been made.
And in that moment, Aldrich Yagurah carried not just his sword, but the weight of generations, the fire of vengeance, and the first steps toward a future only he could carve.