The dawn light hit the raked gravel of the training grounds, but the heat didn't come from the sun. It radiated from Lord Yoshitomo. He stood in the centre of the yard, his chest heaving in a slow, rhythmic cadence.
Since the moment Yorimitsu had ripped the demon Inoe from his soul, something fundamental had shifted. The trauma of the possession had acted like a brutal forge; having his spirit stretched by a demon had forced his meridians to expand to an impossible degree.
Suddenly, the air around him detonated in a silent pressure. The gravel beneath his feet ground into fine white powder, radiating outward in a perfect circle.
Yoshitomo's eyes snapped open, glowing with a dense, golden light. "I've done it. I have breached the wall of the Seventh Rank, the Shishi, realm of the Lion."
"My understanding of the spiritual realm has deepened… carrying two souls must have expanded my own."
Nearby, the veteran guards huddled under the eaves of the armoury, whispering in hushed, awe-stricken tones.
"Look at the Patriarch," a sergeant muttered, shielding his eyes from the glare. "That aura... It's the Lion's breath. He's stronger than he was before. What has happened for such rapid growth?"
"Everything is different," another replied. "He spent years ignoring the Young Master, treating him like a shadow. Now? They've been inseparable for days. It's like the House of Minamoto has finally found its soul again."
"Focus, Yorimitsu!"
Yoshitomo's voice barked across the sand. He had stripped to his waist, showing the scars of the night before.
"Again. Don't use Reiryoku to strengthen your body this time."
Yorimitsu stepped forward, his weight shifting low. Without his arrays to bolster his speed, he felt grounded, his world reduced to the friction of his feet on the sand.
He lunged; a swift lead jab aimed at his father's chest. Yoshitomo didn't retreat; he parried with a heavy palm, the sound of the impact echoing like a drum.
Yorimitsu spun, attempting a sweeping low kick to unbalance the larger man. Yoshitomo simply dropped his weight, his leg becoming an unmovable pillar of iron. Yorimitsu's shin collided with his father's leg with a dull thud. Before Yorimitsu could recover, Yoshitomo's hand shot out, grabbing the front of his son's training Gi. With a powerful twist, the Patriarch hauled Yorimitsu upward and threw him.
Yorimitsu tucked his chin, rolling across the abrasive gravel and springboarding back to his feet. He panted, his muscles burning. He rushed in again, throwing a flurry of strikes, palm, elbow, and knee aimed at the Patriarch's pressure points. Yoshitomo blocked each one with terrifyingly efficient movements, his hand moving in tight, punishing circles.
Finally, Yoshitomo saw the opening. He stepped inside Yorimitsu's reach, slammed his shoulder into the boy's chest to knock him off balance, and swept his trailing leg.
Thud.
Yorimitsu hit the sand hard, the air driven from his lungs. He stared up at the morning sky, his chest heaving.
"Your spiritual prowess is terrifying, my son," Yoshitomo said, walking over and offering a hand. His grip was warm and steady. "But a powerful soul in a weak body is like putting a Great Fire in a paper lantern. Your body still needs hammering. We will forge your flesh until it can withstand the weight of your spirit."
He pulled Yorimitsu up, ruffling the boy's hair in a rare, wholesome display of affection.
"Now, come. I want to show you something."
"You may not know this, but our family are the great protectors of the North."
They began their journey to the family shrine. This was a lesson that every male child in the Minamoto family had to learn.
They moved through the labyrinthine Shinden-zukuri architecture, navigating corridors designed to honour the ancestors.
They walked through narrow, covered walkways (Kairo) where the wooden floors were polished to a mirror shine, performing the Shintai, the formal sliding gait that kept the head at a constant level, showing perfect self-control.
They passed through the Middle Gate and crossed a small, arched bridge over a koi pond where the water flowed from North to South, following the Shinto rules of the era. Finally, they reached the Kindan no ichiga, Forbidden Quarter, hidden behind thick groves of sacred bamboo.
The shrine was a simple, ancient structure of unpainted cypress. Inside, the air smelled of thousand-year-old cedar and cold stone.
Yoshitomo led him to the back wall, where a massive mural was etched into the wood with gold leaf and crushed cinnabar. It was the secret history of the Minamoto Patriarchs.
They both each took an incest stick and lit it, clapping their hand twice and then bowing.
"Look closely," Yoshitomo whispered.
The mural depicted a line of warriors, each one receiving a mark from a celestial figure. Yoshitomo pointed to a figure three generations back.
"This was the Fourth Patriarch. He was the last to reach the rank of the kami. And there," he pointed to the very first image. "The founder. See the mark on his brow? It is the same blue spiral you carry, Yorimitsu. It is the Seal of Ryuu."
Yoshitomo explained how the mark appeared only in those destined to lead the clan through times of great chaos. He showed Yorimitsu the inscriptions detailing how the Patriarchs before them had sacrificed their own vitality to keep the demon-realm at bay.
"I reached my rank because I learned to coexist with the pressure of the demon's essence," Yoshitomo said, his voice heavy with pride. "But you... You were born with the complete seal. You are the reason this house will not fall."
As the weight of the family history settled on Yorimitsu's shoulders, a sharp, frantic clatter of wooden sandals broke the silence of the shrine.
"Lord Yoshitomo! Young Master!"
A maid appeared at the entrance, her robes dishevelled from running a massive breach of etiquette.
"The Lady! Lady Murasaki... she has awakened! She is calling for you!"
The solemnity of the shrine vanished. Father and son shared a look of pure hope. Without a word, they turned and raced back through the winding corridors, the formal Shintai gait forgotten as they sprinted toward the mother's chambers.