Chapter 23 – Fratres

May 10th, 2545 (08:42 Hours – Military Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Eastern City Limits

:********:

Private Wagatsumo Ikimoto took each step forward under the pretense of it being his last and held his sword as though he was assured as much. It was with tight fists that he gripped the handle of his family's katana, but not so tight that it left him inflexible. He knew flexibility would be one of the characteristics of Kenjutsu he would have to rely on most in this duel.

He kept the hilt close to his waist so that the rest of the blade was at an angle from his chest. The bloodred-crimson color of the Yamamoto Aka seemed to disturb the Elite Ultras as he passed them. Duncan and the Staff could do nothing but watch, pinned beneath their boost as the Elites themselves leaned back slightly and cocked their heads at him. Perhaps they were amused by the thought of him trying to kill their leader with that blade. Or maybe they were concerned. The very fact he was willing to try anyway must have been terrifying enough, as if he knew something they didn't.

Mito couldn't help wondering if he was a madman himself. Then again, he was partially just trying to buy time, though exactly for what purpose he wasn't sure. There was no guarantee the rest of the squad would reach them in time, especially with the bridge taken out. In fact, he almost hadn't made the jump himself. When they landed, Duncan and the Staff were thrown clear onto the plains. However, he had held onto the M79 when the vehicle nose-dived, balanced briefly then tipped over. He'd managed to jump just as the Warthog tumbled back, catching hold of the edge while the vehicle cartwheeled down into the steaming remains of the river below. By the time he pulled himself back up, the Field Marshal had gotten out of the Phantom and the Ultras had already pinned the others. That left him with only his current option as a means of delaying their deaths, if he could even do that.

He still didn't trust these Elites. He had no reason to either. At most, it was nothing short of a miracle that his appeal to their well-known, overblown sense of honor had actually worked. But as he stepped out onto the grassy plain and saw the Field Marshal waiting for him, energy sword drawn, he knew that he would need to add some weight behind his initial bluff.

The question still stood. How would he go about killing a 2-meter tall, technologically advanced alien using a metal sword nearly 1,000 years old?

Seeing it standing a few short stretches away with its weapon, he thought of what the sword was capable of and who it had killed with it. His attention shifted to his own. He searched its history that he knew as if it were an extension of himself, all in pursuit of a winning strategy.

The Yamamoto Aka was an Azuhi-Momoyama-era sword made during the days of Oda Nobunaga's conquests of Japan. Back then his family were one of the many swordsmiths of Yamashiro Province. However, the weapon only came into being under the fresh inspiration of his ancestor, Eizō Ikimoto, as a gift to one of his brothers going off to war. The legend spoke of him fashioning the blade from a precious, unknown metal he found in a riverbed at the base of a mountain. Because of the way it adapted to the color of any liquid to which it was constantly exposed, Eizō had branded it the Yamamoto Aka or 'Red Mountain' in acknowledgement of its increasingly bloodred hue as well as the province where it was created.

There was the Imjin War. When Toyotomi Hideyoshi first invaded Korea, Akihiro Ikimoto was one of the initial soldiers to set foot on and lead others across the beaches of Busan in the wake of the orders of Sō Yoshitoshi, Lord of Tsushima, to besiege it. During that fight, he carried the Yamamoto Aka into battle despite that by then early guns were becoming the more fashionable method of killing.

Later came the Boshin War. His next ancestor, Etsuji Ikimoto, used the blade alongside dozens of other Tosa Samurai to kill one of a number of French midshipmen in what became known as the Sakai Incident. That same ancestor later used the blade to disembowel himself in ritual seppuku as the 11th and final Samurai responsible for the incident to do so, all to demonstrate their sense of honor to the French sailors and Imperial officials that both demanded and witnessed their deaths. The weapon was later returned to the family's household by the leading French officer who had been deeply moved by the display.

Both Akihiro and Etsuji had shown resolve, Akihiro in using his sword in the dawning era of gunpowder and Etsuji in his refusal to release traditions under the Imperial standard.

The Yamamoto Aka saw action in the Second World War. With the blessing of Emperor Hirohito, Hayato Ikimoto served as an officer in the Imperial Army and led charges against the Americans on Peleliu under the command of Colonel Kumio Nakagawa. He did the same under General Mitsuru Ushijuma in Northern Okinawa for a final banzai charge at Sugar Loaf Hill. It was meant to be to the death, although the Americans denied him that honor by shooting him in the leg. In that regard, Hayato had been an example of bravery in the face of what could've been his certain demise.

Then the sword saw more modern conflicts. Fukashi Ikimoto carried the weapon into the Rain Forest Wars when he was assigned to a peacekeeping force of UNSC Marines trying to secure the Uruguay Protectorate from the reprisals of Fascist Freidans and Communistic Koslovics. As a Captain, he fought in the wider Interplanetary War during the Mars Campaigns, using it to save several fellow Marines from a close range Koslovic ambush in Mare Erthryaeum. His actions made him an example of fighting for the cause of his comrades.

Later was the Insurrection in the outer colonies. His Father, Hideo, had used the weapon on a mission on Eridanus II during Operation TREBUCHET. He'd gotten commendations after using it to destroy several RCWS weapon's platforms pinning down his platoon during a raid on a suspected Insurrectionist base on the outskirts of Luxor. He was Mito's second greatest model, showing what creativity could be demonstrated in the face of great pressure.

Resolve. Bravery. Comradery. Creativity. Vengeance.

That last one hadn't come from his ancestors. It was much more recent, only a few years old. He'd learned it from the fact that he wasn't the first of the family to carry the Yamamoto Aka into the present war with the Covenant. That honor had fallen to his older brother, Wakagi Ikimoto. That honor had also fallen with him.

As Mito finally stopped 10 paces short of the Elite, a memory came to mind. In the place of the Field Marshal standing before him he saw a figure wearing the black, padded armor known as a Bōgu. In the place of his rippling energy sword was a bamboo sword that was slowly raised high overhead in a preparatory strike. Beyond the helmet gratings was a face that looked just like his own, only older and smiling at him with an overconfident but loving grin.

Mito stopped to take up his starting position just short of the Elite's, but not far out of reach of the many memories that came flooding over him.

The grass swaying almost imperceptibly in the noon wind became a smooth, wooden floor beneath his boots. Behind the Field Marshal, the morning gaze of Aquilla became that of Sol as the sunlight filtered through a row of open windows to illuminate the interior of a dojo. The green smell of bamboo was fresh in his nostrils from the last time Wakagi had struck him with it. A strike to the head, called a Men, was the second that his brother had gotten past his guard and the last one he needed to finish their bout. The match went to Wakagi, two to zero.

Their father Hideo raised a white flag from where he stood relatively close to the match, confirming the hit.

In that moment Wakagi had the decency to bow. Mito didn't. He tossed away his protective helm to unveil his tussled hair, sweaty and flushed face and a scowl aimed at his brother, as was the next strike of his sword. But Wakagi wasn't even phased as he raised his own to block a swing at his stomach.

He leaned in towards Mito, grinning. "You're off-balance, little brother."

"No... I'm not." Mito said through the strain of trying to push him back.

Wakagi's grin only widened. Suddenly, he twirled his own sword with such rightward force that it made Mito stumble. Then he dropped down and swept his feet out from under him, sending his younger brother landing hard on his back. Before the helmetless practitioner could get back up Wakagi had already settled his sword down on his neck.

"That's a Tsuki. I win again."

Mito slapped his sword away, growling. "That didn't count."

"Neither did your attempt to land a Do on me after I'd already won, but that didn't seem to stop you."

"And I fear nothing might."

The older, male voice made them both turn back to see their father standing over them. He was dressed in the traditional black robes of a Kendo Master. His hair was graying, his facial scars from the Insurrection were fading, and his equally graying eyes looked on disapprovingly at his youngest son. "Young Sumo, you do not need unrestrained ferocity to be your guide, or it might very well lead you to break even greater rules."

"I say; rules are made to be broken." Mito shot back.

"And I say; so are your bones." Wakagi said, patting him on the shoulder for emphasis. "But we don't break those because we have rules and standards, like being able to take a loss honorably, something you should seriously start considering if you ever want to really represent us." He grabbed his young brother's hand and pulled him onto his feet.

Hideo shook his head as he sized up his youngest protégé. "You're Ki-Ken-Tai needs work." He sighed. "Much more work. While the coalescence of your body and sword are getting better, your spirit is still unrefined. You seem to have left that behind in your main trainings and this bout has only showed me as much." Hideo stood straighter. "Wakagi's assessment is sound. You will not participate in next week's tournament. That honor will instead fall to your eldest brother."

For Wakagi, it was another shining moment, one of many he'd had in beating out every single one of his Father's other students to be chosen to represent their dojo at the local Kendo tournaments in Hokkaido. For Mito, it would have been better that his Father had stabbed him with a real katana then and there, or perhaps just given him a wakizashi so he could do the job himself like his ancestor Etsuji had so honorably done before the French. His Father's words alone were the death nail in the last years' worth of effort he'd spent training to beat his older brother. All that time he'd used secretly skipping school to take extra training from his father and uncle had come to naught in no time at all. Hence why he was so mad when Wakagi beat him for what felt the 120th time, of course with a loving yet confident grin always present on his face. He only ever wore that expression when it came to fighting Mito. He was always serious with everyone else, always, but never his little brother, as if he could hardly take him seriously as an opponent.

He still wore that infamous expression now even as he pulled off his helmet. "You got a few good swings on me though, almost put me on the defensive when you switched to Iado, as ironic as that sounds."

Mito murmured under his breath. "It obviously wasn't good enoug-"

"Wagatsumo!"

Mito instinctually turned to face his father whose stern voice and equally stern demeanor, hands held behind his back and mouth held in a frown stronger than iron, told him he was about to be rebuked. "You will show your opponent the respect he deserves, even after you have lost to him. Certainly, Hayato knew to demonstrate as much even after he was captured kicking and screaming by the Americans." His eyes narrowed to sharpened slits as his question cut through the last of Mito's stubbornness to strike something soft on the other side. "Can I not expect you, my son, to do the same?"

My son. He'd heard that a different way than his Father had probably wanted him to: My second son. Truly, his life was one of being in second place. He was second out of the womb and second in every match that took place between him and his predecessor. And even though his Father had never said or shown as much, he always felt that he preferred Wakagi over him, at least whenever it came to representing the dojo that he was so proud of, one whose inheritance and prestige had belonged to the Ikimoto family for 12 generations.

He looked between his Father and Wakagi who by that point was no longer smiling. In the end, Mito's eyes fell to the floor, ashamed, and the rest of his body followed suit. He got down onto his hands and knees before the feet of the match's winner and bowed until his forehead touched the floor. "Well done, Wakagi. You did...good."

To his surprise, even though it was customary, Wakagi slowly fell to his hands and knees and also bowed deeply to him. "Same to you, little brother."

The bow was a mark of respect between opponents, one which Mito wasn't fond of showing. To him it felt more like he was prostrating himself and admitting he was a loser, which he was in this case but that didn't mean he wanted to admit it. Regardless, it was tradition. To show honor and humility in the face of loss was tradition. Humility, his Father had once told him, but never humiliation. That was something that could only occur if a warrior refused to be humble, and there was no worse fate in this era or in those that came before that could ever possibly be worse than that, not even death. The purpose of this tradition was to protect against that.

Mito rose to his feet at the same time as his brother. They gave each other standing bows to signal the official end of their match. Then they turned and headed to opposite sides of the dojo for the next set of students, one of the dozens watching their match from the sidelines, to begin their practice match. While Wakagi left for the changing rooms, Mito went off to the hall connecting the dojo to the family's household to be by himself.

That night he'd stayed up in his bed, thinking. After an hour spent in that state he got up and left his room. He quietly closed the door behind him then proceeded to tip-toe across the creaky wooden surface of his home's second floor. Whenever he got past the doors of his parents' bedrooms without waking them up, he often liked to think himself to be his favorite historical hero, the famous ninja Hattori Hanzō. The real test of that came upon reaching the threshold of the staircase. His brother's room was right next to it. Wakagi was a notoriously light sleeper and he more often than not ended up catching Mito whenever he tried sneaking around late at night.

But this time the sliding doors of his brother's room remained shut. He gave muted thanks to whichever Kami or ancestral spirit was looking out for him and promised himself to deliver a fresh sacrifice of food to the family shrine the next morning.

He descended the steps and reached the main hallway at the bottom. It was empty save for objects on the left side of the wall that always caught his attention. Whenever he came here in the day, he could only ever look at the display, never to touch them. This time was different. Now with no one else awake he could actually risk touching them, although that carried about as much taboo as messing with the family shrine.

Mito slowly made his way over to the displays with each step holding a certain amount of reverence for the objects he approached.

On the wall were mounted dozens of portraits sprawled out in an intricate, lotus-like pattern.

Each wooden frame held the picture of every ancestor or family member that had carried the Yamamoto Aka into battle. Near the top were the oldest of the weapon's wielders, starting with the expressive painting of its forger, Eizō Ikimoto. He was depicted cross-legged in a black and white kimono, hammering the sword's glowing metal while keeping it partially within the flames of his personal furnace. Then there was the painting of Akihiro leading waves of Japanese soldiers over the beaches of Busan as well as Etsuji planting the blade through his abdomen alongside others on an execution platform. Descending in a counter-clockwise manner brought him to the black and white pictures of Hayato Ikimoto. He and his fellow soldiers were waiting for deployment against the Americans from the naval base in Kure. Standing near a busy port, Hayato and a group of his friends were holding up their hands in a charismatic banzai praise for the Emperor. In truth, they were smiling for a war that everyone in that picture, except Hayato, would never return from. Rounding the bottom to reach the rightmost pictures were the more modern images with coloring. There was Fukashi Ikimoto who was sitting on a crate in a ship's hanger with windows behind him showing the orbit of Mars. He held his hand so that it looked like he was holding up Mars itself, while at the same time keeping a hand on his sword handle. The end impression was that he was about to slash the planet like an orange. And last was his father who was sitting on a stationary Scorpion Tank. He was leaning downward with a hand on the Yamamoto Aka's hilt as if he intended to unsheathe it at any moment, and a dangerous look that hinted at as much. A squad of several Marines stood around him holding rifles with varying poses. They were probably his squad-mates, none of which he ever talked about for reasons he also never talked about.

All of the pictures encircled the mounted sword stand that upheld the sheathed form of the Yamamoto Aka. Its red and black frame was aglow with the candlelight from a nearby table. The blade was currently at rest, but not for long.

Mito felt free to reach for it. Grasping the handle, he reverently pulled the weapon down from the stand. He held it for a moment. Just the sheer ecstasy of having it in his palms filled him with wave after wave of excitement. For most of his life he could only see it from a distance. Now he could do what he always wanted to.

With deliberate slowness he unsheathed the blade until the soft candlelight gleamed off its surface for the first time in years. His eyes widened at the near perfect contours of the metal and its famed bloodred sheen. Like a forbidden allure, he felt something in him pull his free-hand towards the upper edge and trace his finger across it.

It didn't take long for him to flinch. He looked at his finger and saw that he'd been cut. A drop of blood had already formed. But there was none on the part of the blade where he'd cut himself. He checked for drops on the ground. There were none. Not even the weapon itself dripped. It was almost as if the Aka had drunk whatever else was left.

He put the sheath aside, got into a stance and took his first swing with the blade. It was neither top-heavy nor bottom-heavy like most katanas of lesser quality. It had what he felt was a perfect balance to it, so much so that he marveled at how well he could cut something down with it, or someone. He took another swing, bringing the weapon and himself down in a graceful overhead arc so that he descended into a crouch. He pretended to sheath the blade at his side then unsheathe it in a lightning-fast manner as per the defensive principles of Iado. He thrusted through an imaginary opponent, shifted his footing to deflect an overhead parry from a foe behind him then finished him off with a diagonal cut aimed at the base of the neck. It would have been enough to kill a full-grown man, normally not one made out of air and childhood imaginations.

Then a shiver shot down his spine as he finished a maneuver to see his imagination come to life.

A single silhouette slightly bigger than himself emerged from the darkness at the other end of the hallway. Yet instead of coming towards him, it stopped halfway then leaned against the wall itself and folded its arms across its chest. He couldn't see the face, but what made matters worse was that the nearby candles manipulated the dark to make it seem as if it had none.

Mito held the sword with an increasingly shaky grip at the figure. "Who's there?"

After a second a deep voice replied. "Who do you think?"

Since Mito didn't respond, the figure felt free to continue. "I am Eizō, your ancestor. I have watched you secretly desire after my sword. Tonight, you have dishonored me in taking my creation and using it for your own amusement. Now, I shall reclaim that honor by striking you down with it."

It took up until the second sentence for Mito to pick up on the fact that the voice was exaggeratedly deep. Then it hit him who he was actually dealing with like a sack of rock-solid shame slapping him for his own idiocy.

"Okay Eizō," he exhaled. "So, were you watching me this whole time?"

"I was." 'Eizō' replied. "I was curious to see what you were capable of with that sword so I didn't stop you at first. Since you're just playing around with it, I decided that that was enough."

"...That's kind of creepy just watching kids in the dark."

"So is fighting ghosts with a sword in the middle of the night."

"Funny coming from a 900-year-old dead man."

"And you'd be just like me if I didn't stop you."

"...So, you saved my life just to kill me? That doesn't make much sense, does it, Eizō."

The 'ghost' didn't answer. Instead, it got up and walked forward until its full form was bathed in candlelight, including the face. Wakagi, dressed in a shirt and pants rather than a black and white kimono, smiled back at him. "Fine, I may not be about to strike you down, even though I could, but I certainly did save your life."

Mito arched a brow at him. "From what?"

Wakagi took the hand with the cut finger and held it up to his face. "From you." He let go and gestured to the Yamamoto Aka. Mito reluctantly handed it over. He watched his brother return it to its sheath then delicately place it back on the stand.

With the sword safely put away, Wakagi turned back to him, saying nothing at first. He finally slapped him on the back. "You had some nice form there. I almost thought you were good enough to actually use it on somebody."

Mito shrugged off his hand. "How about I try it on you? We could have a match right now."

Wakagi shook his head. "Not a good idea, then we'll wake up you-know-who. The last thing we need is for our father to see you holding that sword."

"Because you're the only one that's allowed to hold it, right?"

A short silence resumed between them at the mention of another unsaid tradition. Only a member of the family most likely to go to war would be granted the sword to take into battle, no one else. According to that standard, Wakagi would be the likeliest out of the two of them to wield it.

The existence of the war with the Covenant was not entirely lost on denizens of Earth. Despite that almost everyone knew the UEG censored most information about the conflict, almost no one on Earth had a good picture of what was actually going on. The basic idea was that the genocidal aliens were coming closer and closer to the inner colonies with the armed forces of the UNSC being barely able to stop them. Because of that fact, along with the reality that the Ikimoto family was a military one, it was expected that Wakagi would be sent off to the fight. He would soon be old enough to enlist in the Marines, and though their mother expressed her concerns, Wakagi had shown no sign that he would stay if the situation called for it.

"What are you really asking me, Sumo?"

"...Do you still want to go?"

"Go where?"

"The Marines. Dad joined them. What about you? Are you going too?"

"Why?" he grinned back. "You'll miss me if I go?"

Mito punched him in the shoulder. "You know that's not what I meant."

Wakagi took in a deep breath then let it out slowly. "I don't know yet. I'm still trying to see what will happen if this war keeps going the way it is. Hey, it might even end up finishing before I even get out there. Then they won't need a samurai like me to save them." He hooked Mito's head under his arm. "And I might get to see you finally reach a tournament, maybe even win."

Mito slipped out from under his arm. "You say that like I can't beat you now. What, are you scared you'll get taken down for the first time by your own little brother before you even ship out to basic?"

"If I ship out. Plus, if what I saw today is anything to go by, you need another two or three years before you can score a hit on me."

Mito punched him in the same shoulder again. "That's two."

Wakagi shot him a semi-threatening, semi-unserious glare. "Don't tempt me."

"Just make sure you know how to use it before you go."

"If I go." He glanced between the sword and his little brother for a moment, lost in some thought. "...Tell you what, if you end up joining up with me, I'll let you use it."

Mito froze where he stood. He blinked a few times to make sure he was still awake. "Wait-wait...what?"

Again, Wakagi glanced between him and the sword then nodded to the nearby kitchen. Mito followed him into the dark room on the other end of the hallway. After flicking on the lights and digging around in a few cabinets, Wakagi pulled out a glass bottle of sake wine and a pair of red cups. The transparent liquid swished about as he poured it into one of the cups then handed it over.

Mito sniffed and winced at first, but slowly the fruity smell settled in. "You're really doing this?"

Wakagi poured a bit more sake into his. "We're really doing this." He put the bottle aside and held up his cup over the central table. "How about it? I promise to give you our family sword, the Yamamoto Aka."

Mito looked down at his faint reflection in the sake. He tentatively raised his cup. "Wh-, what do you need me to do? That's how it works right? You make me a promise and I make you one?"

"That's about right. Let's say...in exchange you agree only to use it when you know you're ready."

Mito thought it over and nodded. It was reasonable. He took the cup, only to stop halfway. "But why don't you want to use it?"

Wakagi shrugged. "To be honest, I've never liked it that much, at least not as much as you do. Plus, it's too much pressure to try and live up to the legacy of everyone that's gone before me. It's too much for me, so I'm shoving it off on you." He winked at him. "I know we've got traditions but I say, if you want it, you can have it. Just make sure you join the Marines or the Army first so I can say we followed the tradition that way."

Mito still wasn't sure what to say. His brother's insistence made him really consider it. He knew that he enjoyed the feel of the Yamamoto's handle more than anything and the fluidity of the movements he was capable of with it. It felt almost like a part of himself that he'd never known, a large piece that was just waiting to be added to the rest.

"Okay. I'll join up with the UNSC then," He held up the cup to Wakagi's with a look of solid determination. "And get it from you when I'm ready."

Wakagi smiled. "It's a promise then." He clinked his cup against Mito's then leaned his head back and drank it. His brother mirrored his action. While it wasn't the first time they had drunk Sake in secret together, Mito could never get used to the fuzzy feeling he felt not long after. He figured it wouldn't be so bad once they stuck to just the first cup and he watched as his pensive reflection rippled and disappeared within the receding liquid.

After finishing up, the two of them went back to their rooms. Tossing himself onto his bed, Mito fell asleep right away, his mind completely clear of the earlier haze and with a promise to look forward to.

Back then he'd only been 14 and Wakagi 16. They were both coming off the heels of childhood, and neither of them knew how bad the war would really get.

It was another two years before the Yamamoto Aka was again taken off its sword rack. That morning, Hideo had ceremonially handed it over to Wakagi who was dressed in his Marine Corps uniform.

Mito had watched from the stairs alongside his mother as the blade was received. Wakagi gave a gentle bow that their father returned. Then he hugged him. They each got a turn to embrace him, always holding on for as long as they could. Mito went last. As they hugged, he felt his brother pat him on the back.

"Don't forget."

It was loud enough for only him to hear. He replied with a nod subtle enough for only Wakagi to see.

Then he watched him leave out the front door with a duffel bag in hand and the Yamamoto Aka strapped to his back. He hopped onto a Warthog troop carrier loaded with other Marine reserves. They watched it speed off from their porch, waving after him all the while.

Mito could remember that for a year they stayed in contact. They used whatever time they could find to talk to him whenever he was on-base and whenever they were free. That usually led to midnight calls that went well into the early morning.

But a day came when Wakagi told them of a major mission his company was going to undertake against the Covenant, that they were being sent to Alluvion to help lift the siege there and that he would be out of contact for some time. Of course, everyone was nervous since he would be going into a major operation. Nevertheless, his mother and father had remained strong. They told him they would pray at the shrine for him every day he was there until they heard back from him again. Mito simply wished him good luck. He would soon come to wish he had done more than that.

At first the days went by easily enough without hearing from him. But then the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months.

The tension grew in the background like a bubble, slowly inflating until no one would even risk mentioning his name at the dinner table less everything blow out into the open. Instead, something outside the family burst that bubble for them.

Mito remembered that morning with hauntingly crisp definition. It was a Saturday. The dawn air was blowing through the open windows of their empty dojo and filtering through the house. Everything was still, even himself as he lay in his bed thinking on something else.

His thoughts shifted to the front door when he heard the ring of the doorbell. He made his way downstairs where his mother had already reached. She opened it.

On the other side stood two men dressed in black uniforms. One looked in his forties. The other Mito recognized as one of the boys from their neighborhood that had gone off with Wakagi to Camp Hideyoshi. They'd even left on the same Warthog together. Their dark caps cast shadows like palls over their noticeably grim expressions which grew even more so upon seeing her.

His mother looked taken aback. She searched between the two of them. Their eyes were downcast but looked into her own with enough silence to say all they needed to. Still, the oldest took out a small display device and held it out. It flickered on to project a holographic image with information scrolling beside it.

It was his brother's face...next to words highlighted in red: 'KIA'.

By then his father had also arrived. He came to the door then stopped at seeing the officers and Wakagi's face. His own hardened to one of solemn understanding. His mother, however, held a shaking hand to her quivering mouth. Her knees gave way and she fell onto the threshold.

Mito watched his father kneel down to hold her close as she broke down in tears. Through the deep sobs he could hear her calling his brother's name over and over again as though he were just around the corner.

He didn't feel anything at that moment. He didn't fully understand it all. What made the pain real was when the man that looked to be Wakagi's age stepped forward and removed something strapped to his back.

His eyes widened at the sight of the Yamamoto Aka, still sheathed. The man kneeled down and respectfully offered it to his father. It was as if by seeing it, by taking it back into his own hands, that he was holding his son's body. It was enough for the first tears to streak down over his father's face, something he'd never thought he would ever see. Then it was his mother's turn to hold him and comfort him as he cried with the family sword in hand...without its proper owner.

The man named Akio who was their neighbor later explained the details of what had happened.

Wakagi had died during the fighting at one of Alluvion's desert capitals. His company had been holding their ground at the city square when they were overrun by Covenant forces. During the ensuing chaos, Akio had seen Mito's brother cast aside an empty rifle and draw his sword to fight. He was eventually approached by an Elite that overpowered him in close quarters. When it had him pinned, it took the Yamamoto Aka, lifted him up by his throat and thrust the blade through his chest until he was impaled. The Elite briefly held him in its grasp as it watched him die, then threw him aside.

By the time Akio had reached him it was already too late.

In the end, Mito's father had thanked Akio for telling them what had happened and for returning the sword.

As he drove away with his superior, Mito watched the Yamamoto Aka being put back onto its stand, seemingly as though it had never been moved.

From then on, he only stared at the blade. He didn't cry for his brother's passing. He didn't go through a time of grieving like his parents did. He only stared at the weapon mounted to the wall that had ended his brother's life, the sword that was now his own.

Soon Wakagi's picture would be added to the others. It showed him with his squad posing in a manner reminiscent of the one who'd gone just before him. All Mito saw was the sword that had been used against him. And that was all he would see in the two years before he enlisted in the Marines.

When it was his turn to leave his Father gave him the blade in the same stoic manner that he had shown to Wakagi. Yet there was a discernable sadness in his eyes that wasn't there with his eldest son, and he hugged him tighter than he ever had before. So did his mother. He promised them to remain in contact and lived up to that promise for the time that he was a reserve.

He echoed that promise at his graduation ceremony at Camp Hideyoshi a year later as he became a full-fledged Orbital Drop Shock Trooper with the rest of Class 477. He shipped out not long after for his first deployment with the 7th Shock Troops Battalion. Shortly after Falchion he was sent with the Reach QRF to Actium.

In the aftermath of days spent fighting, here he was, maybe soon to die on his own two feet. But that brought with it its own kind of peace. It helped him focus on only two things. The first was to hone everything he knew of the offensive characteristics of Kendo and the defensive characteristics of Iado into the fine-tuned culmination that his father had taught him at his school of Kenjutsu. It would be his personal rendition of Iaijutsu.

Second were his intentions. One was to save his still living comrades. The other was to kill as many Split-jaws with the Yamamoto Aka as he could in order to remove his brother's dishonor of having one run him through with his own blade. It was something he'd sworn to himself he would do for years. It was the very reason why he had joined the ODSTs: to avenge his brother until the family sword was no longer red but purple.

The memory of Wakagi's promise was the last to cross his mind in the ten seconds after he had stepped onto the plains.

"I didn't forget. I won't. I promise."

"Do you speak to yourself, human?" The Field Marshal asked. "Perhaps it is better for you then that I am about to remove your head from your shoulders."

Mito wasn't paying the Elite any mind but kept his focus on the energy sword. But his attention drifted down to another weapon on the Elite's person. An idea was beginning to form. Quickly, he gathered a strategy together, one that, if he executed it right, may very well be the key to winning this fight.

Fratres - Brothers