Hola amigos! Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year, Chinese New Year - everything! :D

I'm back with the final arc of this series, but its a MEGA ARC - Probably another 5-6 chapters at least. And it features a mini-arc as well (the Suchin/Kenshi romance arc, aka, THE ONE I'M DYING TO WRITE! XD) .. How Takeda and Kenshi reconnect with all the distance in between them... (sobs at her babies)

Honestly guys, I've come to realize something over the past few weeks, slaving away at grad school. Creation itself is a source of joy – and nothing makes me as happy as writing about my favourite dweebs :') So I'm going to try and update and work on this as much as I can - and not stop to wait for term breaks as I used to.

Now onto the replies to my lovely reviewers! :'D

PinkRedRose – thanks so much! I'm glad he resonated with you, he's a toughie to write! :) And you reviewed twice! ^_^ Thanks again – I don't know if I'll get much chance to write about the Red Dragon though, I'll certainly try to incorporate them more. And be part of HaoNation – feel the Hao inside :P (It's a long-running tumblr joke :P)

BrutusPrimus – thank you my dear friend! :D

Westcoast Witchdoctor – Awww doc! Thanks for the wonderful words ^_^ Realistically, Takeda does have a lot to be angry for – even if it was no one's fault. Timing was everything, and at his most vulnerable time, he had to suffer the loss of – well technically both his parents. Sure he loves Hanzo, and likewise, but just in order to make sense of the world around him, Taks has to make someone a scapegoat for everything (enter: Kenshi) – and it'll be a while till he becomes more rational about it all.. I wish we'd seen more of this too – but well, I'll try my best to deliver here! :)

PunkRoseBlitz – PHEW! It's so hard to think like a teenager… esp. because even when I was a teenager, people would often remark on how mature I was compared to my peers.. (23 going on 40, I'm tellin ya :P) . I'm glad you liked the update – hopefully you'll like this one too :)

Poe's Daughter – THE MATRIARCH APPROACHETH! :'D Seriously, you're the lead-writer-leader here xD Your reviews and vote of confidence means so, SO much to me, PD – words cannot express how I cherish your feedback! And I actually feel proud of myself is my stupid stories helped you at a difficult time – you are a noble warrior, and full of grace – and I am in awe of your strength (as we discuss on Tumblr as well!) =) It's interesting how you bring up Kenshi's childhood, because there are so many gaps there – I'm going to try and explore that era via 'telling', but also equally important, how he got his shit together after becoming blind. That will serve a catalyst to the very end.. And as for the issue of fatherhood, you've captured exactly all that I wanted to convey! It's so fluid, you have a reluctant adoptive father in Hanzo, and a cynical, coward but duty-bound biological father in Kenshi. And that's why Hanzo does all the things a 'dad' does – that bond with Takeda is unbreakable in so many ways. As for Kenshi, who grew up in an orphanage, he is clueless as to what it means to be a father, so he's using piecemeal ideas to frame it all together – justifying everything by 'protection', etc. They're both going to grow up a lot now.. I can't wait to read what you have to say about the remaining arcs.. But for now – please know that your reviews make my LIFE. NO KIDDING. And we all love you so much 3 (Also, thanks so much for the advice for this update! 3)

Iceangelmkx – The true Kenshi aficionado! 3 Thanks so much for your words! Hope you like this too :)

Hell-On-Training Wheels – Aww helly, I wish I could ditch my degree and go into writing full-time.. (But alas, my ideas come at a glacial pace, and I am very much uninspired for most part to turn something like this into a full-time occupation).. Nevertheless, I agree with you.. Writing all this makes me realize how Hanzo is the silent hero in all of this, doing everything without question or criticism, and helping Kenshi and Takeda both in everything… Y U KILL HIS FAMILY BI HAN YYYYY! Wails Thanks so much for your lovely comments! 3

Guest – I know right! Probably bumbling about banging into Mavado and tripping over his robes :P

So just a little info before we start - I realized that there are a lot of stories based on Kenshi's experience being blinded, but very little work on how the Sento trained him, and he got over his handicap. So at the beginning of each update (usually), I will integrate some element of Kenshi's re-training experience, and try to merge that with what Takeda's going through... Hopefully it'll turn out okay *fingers crossed*

Also, I recently read 2 AMAAAAAZING books by Elif Shafak - 40 Rules of Love, and The Bastard of Istanbul. Not really using them for inspiration, apart from the word 'bastard'. You'll read that a lot in this update - just a heads up :P

Now onto the story! :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one apart from the crazy ideas in my head.

The Takahashi Family Saga

Of Roads to Redemption

I

House of Pekara,

Primorsky Krai District, Russia.

Winter, 198X.

He walked along the path, his head bent low – pain piercing his eyes, burning his irises from the inside out. His tears hot like molten lead, gushing - exacerbating his wounds instead of cooling them. It was utterly dark in the cave, though he could not have known. Kazimir, was still unaccustomed to his own sightlessness.

'You overreached, Kazimir. Now you must face your destiny…'

Kazimir's head shot up at the voice, as he looked frantically about, swinging his neck from side to side – trying to find a semblance of light, of life – anything but this unforgiving, unending sea of gray. The voice spoke from within the void around him – a sentient being surrounding him from all sides, consuming him.

The weight of the sword grew heavier, in his hands. He licked his parched lips, fear – of himself, of the sword, and the vast unknown, crippling his thinking.

"C-come out! Wherever you are – face me!" he cried out, his frantic anxiety shrouding whatever remained of his bravery.

'Why should we, when you cannot dare face yourself? This is your true face, Kazimir… Do you see it now? The price of a heinous betrayal.'

"What sorcery is this?! What madness is this?! I can't see – oh, my eyes! Give me back my eyes!"

The massive cave echoed his voice back to him, each sound more pitiful than the one before – begging and pleading, praying and grovelling in woeful misery.

The silence hung heavy in the dark, soundless chamber. Kazimir strained his ears to hear a sound, any sound – the fluttering of a bat's wing, the trickle of water into this watery grave. Yet all he heard was his own ragged breathing, and his fearful heart pounding at the base of his throat. All he smelt was the stale air from a bygone era. All he felt, was the heaviness of the blade of Sento – it's cool steel inviting and tantalizing, even from beneath the leather coverings of its scabbard.

And the eyes saw nothing. Not even the darkness around him, nor the one in his soul.

Crashing onto his knees, the young swordsman drew the Sento from its scabbard, laying the sword in front of him as the rare artefact that it was. Raising it to his face, he lowered his burning eyes onto the welcome cold surface. His tears burned and sizzled, evaporating from the contact with the sword – and that is when he realized another scent he had almost become accustomed to: the stench of his own burning flesh.

"Help me, please… I can't see… How can I go on…"

'Let this your first lesson, swordsman. You cannot make it out of this cave, without learning. And before you learn, you must unlearn. Recognize, who you are – and what you've become.'

In the womb of darkness, the bastard son of a bastard father realized his destiny – and Kenshi was born.

Classified Location,

Texas, USA.

April, 2009.

If put to test, Lieutenant-General Sonya Blade could count off the summary, details and impact of every mission conducted under her leadership within the past fifteen years – as a woman of her capabilities well should.

But when asked to count off the times she truly realized her daughter was a grown-up, she would fall short. As a disconnected mother, even with her capabilities, well should.

It dawned on Sonya with a glaring finality that evening, as she leaned against the kitchen counter of her house, still clad in uniform and beret, arms crossed and chin lowered into the chest – of the true amount of time she had lost to her work. Of being absorbed in missions protecting Earthrealm, protecting nameless civilians and faceless bodies, without thought nor care of her own daughter. Of inundating herself in yet more work to drown out the tragedy of her divorce – preferring to hunt down the Black Dragon than reassure her distraught daugh-

'Enough of the guilt-game. I know the drill,' thought Sonya bitterly to herself, biting the inside of her cheek as she heard Cassie's soft footfalls upstairs, as she packed for the Academy.

She had trained Cassie well. She and Johnny both – Sonya corrected. The soldier had no doubts about her daughter's combat skills – and despite her savvy, Cassie followed a disciplined, strictly regimented lifestyle that left no room for error when it came to training. But throwing a punch or landing a kick did not make a good soldier. Learning to take orders, to work under pressure and sacrifice readily – that, was the essence of becoming a good soldier.

Thriving in battle. Making every drop of blood count. Protecting your brothers-in-arms, to your last breath. Doing it, because it was your duty. Not because you wanted to please your mother or earn her affection.

Sonya found herself sighing in resignation, realizing with a pang of regret how she had deliberately carved out a path for her only child, without even realizing it.

'Of course I know, Cass. I know this drill so well. I did it long before you were born.'

An image flashed in front of her eyes - a young, bright-eyed cadet fresh out of the Academy, ready for her first mission. With eyes that gleamed with excitement even behind the strict set of mouth, toneless answers and upright salutations to higher-ranked military personnel. Eager to succeed, eager to please.

And all for just one person. Colonel John Milton Blade. Sonya's father.

"Cassie, your ride's here!" Sonya called out, eyes closed as she tried to shake off a sense of latent nausea.

Cassie cursed out loud, and then swore in a frustrated whisper for being loud before – all was audible to Sonya through the light wooden flooring. "Just two minutes!" came a muffled reply.

Sonya gave a wistful half-smile at the response, straightening out the napkins beside her into neat piles. She took twenty minutes to get ready on normal days, picking and rejecting outfit after outfit. And here she was, claiming she'd be done packing for a six-month stint within two minutes.

Sonya's eyes suddenly widened as a cross flashed in her mind.

'Cassie. Is she even ready for the military?'

If only she could tell Cassie about how similar they both were. That in spite of all the missed recitals, birthdays, and prom-night – she knew things about her daughter that only a mother would. That no matter how many hours a day she played her role as a soldier, Sonya could never - will never – forget that her love for her ran far deeper than anything she had ever known.

'She doesn't have to do this…'

Unknowingly, Sonya's mind fixated on a photo-frame hanging on the wall in front of her – the same picture she had in her office, and carried in her briefcase whilst travelling. It was a rare photo of the three of them together – Johnny, Sonya and their daughter. At some beach in Puerto Rico, when rocked by a tumultuous fight, all witnessed by a four-year old Cassie, the guilt-ridden couple had decided to go on a family vacation to rekindle old ties, and ease their withdrawn daughter out from her little shell. Little had they known, that first fight was the first of very many, each more jarring, more cruel than the one before – transforming Cassie's parents from loving people to possessed demons ready to tear each other's throat out.

But not in the picture. Amidst the splashing waves, little Cassie was all smiles, making peace signs at the camera, while Sonya held a hand over her brow, preening out into the distance with squinted eyes. Johnny, as usual, holding the camera backwards in an attempt to take – what was it… a selfie with a hand-sized camera; with his aesthetically-perfect smile that showed off all of his dimples and none of the wrinkles. Fake as hell – except in the polaroid. No, he was happy then. Sonya knew his genuine smiles as well as his fake ones.

They were happy once. Not a happy 'family', per se – given the rifts that would tear them apart eventually. But yes, happy 'together' in their innocently naïve belief of a better tomorrow. The tomorrow that never came.

And here was Cassie – grown up all too quickly, too suddenly – more than ready to partake in her own battles.

'She wants this though… As badly as I did - back in my day… I know that hunger…'

Next to the picture were the various pictures Sonya had collected over time – meeting with foreign dignitaries, conducting camps, aiding refugees, along with pictures of Cassie winning countless tournaments, posing with trophies – her father's fake smile, and Sonya's own gleaming eyes, glinting with a private, crazed glee one experiences with the taste of sweet victory.

"Uhh… Mom, Roy isn't here." Clad in a dark T-shirt and combat fatigues and a duffel bag at her shoulder, Cassie already looked like a cadet on an off-day.

'No - she's as ready as she'll ever be. I know it.'

Sonya jingled the car keys in reply, and straightened up. With a few bold strides, Lieutenant Blade was out the doorway, leaving a confused Cassie standing bewildered by the unnecessary attachment her mother was showing.

Flawed as she was, Cassie understood whenever Sonya wanted to spend more time with her. As always, words failed her, and so these little indications were all that came from Sonya to show what Cassie meant to her. And the young fighter was fine with the arrangement – it wasn't attention she sought from her mother, not anymore. Rather, recognition. Acceptance.

That would come in time.

For now, Cassie walked out the door with an impish grin.

"Wipe that grin off, young lady. I'm driving," barked Sonya tonelessly as she slid into the driver's seat.

"Love you too, mom," grumbled Cassie under her breath.

'Love you more, kid. Always.'

The Destroyed City,

Classified Location.

April, 2009.

It was a struggle to not react on instinct. To not throw up one's forearms and adopt a defensive posture. To not think of a strategy to counter-attack, or execute it. To not connect with the Sento as it sat tantalizingly at his back, and send toward his attacker, slicing him in half in one blow.

Yet… Never had the swordsman felt as much joy as he did, at the receiving end of a total beat-down.

Far more than defending himself, the swordsman tried his hardest to not muster a smile, or give off an indication that he was tearing up behind his blindfold at their conflictual reunion.

Until a wallop of a punch, packing from youthful energy, straight to the cheek sent him wheeling backwards, making his head spin.

'It's your own son. You did this. You earned his wrath. The least you can do is face it like a man!'

It was not the Sento. The Sento rarely talked to Kenshi anymore, the once comforting whispers of his ancestors were all silenced now into an ever-present hum at the back of his head. White noise at most – yet the power of his clan materialized in battle; armoured, menacing and thirsty of blood.

But not today. As soon as the fight began, Kenshi had drawn the Sento from its scabbard telekinetically, and signalled it across the road, where it embedded itself vertically in a block of concrete – far from his fuming son. And Hanzo; an oasis of calm within the storm. Kenshi felt the ninja's ardent gaze on the two of them, and did not require telepathy to know that Hanzo rooted for his student. His proverbial son, if not a literal one.

Hell, even the swordsman rooted for Takeda as he made a bloody mess out of him.

Kenshi's arms went up, palms faced towards Takeda to drive the point home: open surrender. He was not here to fight – he was done fighting everything now.

He had sensed Takeda pause, panting as he followed the sword's path, then warily eying the defeated stance – and then with a war-cry, had begun punching the older man's body. Kenshi had blocked the first few, but the boy had quickly worked through his defences – and now the blind father was too guilt-ridden to defend himself further.

'Let it all out, son…'

After seemingly eons, Kenshi now thought and guided himself. Just as he now compelled himself to forsake all his instincts and stand tall in front of his son. Arms akimbo at his side and head partially bowed, Kenshi dared not raise a finger against Takeda. He did not need to read his mind to know of the grieving rage he had unleashed with his presence.

'Strong,' thought Kenshi to himself in between moments of clarity, in order to distract from the throbbing pain in his chest, face and his one bad knee. 'He's certainly strong. Maybe even better at hand-to-hand…'

A swift, strong kick to shin caught the swordsman off-guard, sending him crashing onto his knees before Kenshi could even cry out in pain. A split-second later, Takeda's foot whipped across his face in a spinning roundhouse, powerful enough to render him airborne for a few seconds, as he went flying to the side from the impact.

Kenshi landed face-first with a cry, rolling to a side as he felt a gash from his forehead bleed warmly on the ground. He pondered faintly if his own punches or kicks carried as much power – and felt sorry for his opponents for a brief, fleeting moment.

'How does his swordsmanship fare though…'

Huffing, panting, Takeda stomped his way to the swordsman, even as he lay face down on the tarmac, slowly attempting to get up from the ground. Waves of anger radiated from him, marring his aura – a hidden inferno manifest only to the spiritual eye; where the flames consumed all humanity, all respect, all memories…

"Now get up - I want to knock you down again!"

Kenshi felt the air vibrate, a hint of a swish as he assumed Takeda had raised his hand again for yet another strike. He clenched his eyes shut behind the blindfold, flinched and waited for the blow with his heart thundering in his ears, and sweat drenching his clothes.

A blow that never came. Hanzo called out, stopping his student dead in his tracks:

"TAKEDA – CEASE!"

Grunting with exertion, yet barely hiding his annoyance, the Chujin paused – chest heaving, arm still raised to strike the bastard of a father who sired this bastard son.

"Stay out of this Master Hasashi!"

Hanzo marched over, so that he stood like a mediator between the two – arms folded behind his back, a silent spectator throughout the scene until he felt his prized student giving into the darkest folly known to man – avarice. Overreaching for revenge, without any thought of the consequences.

"You may be Chujin, but you are no master of me, Takeda," Hanzo warned in reply.

Fists clenched, and vision hazed with red, Takeda reluctantly lowered his arms, eyes blazing with fire. Kenshi raised himself on his knees, silently thankful to the former spectre for buying him enough time to catch his breath and regain composure.

Seeing his student comply, Hanzo continued – speaking lowly, but firmly. "Kenshi did not abandon you. He brought you here for your protection-"

"Protection from what?!" snapped the young fighter.

"From those who murdered your mother."

It was said now. The words, the painful reality of their separation – all exposed after being hidden for a decade, buried underneath the mountainous grief he had shouldered silently. He and Takeda both, Kenshi reminded himself – in very different ways and for very different reasons.

And as he did years ago, it was Hanzo again who unburdened the swordsman once more – by protecting his child, by protecting the truth.

Kenshi was once more, indebted to the spectre.

"She…" Takeda paused, eyes widening as his voice took an incredulous tone. "She died in an accident…"

"That is the story I asked Master Hasashi to tell you.." The swordsman shook his head, slowly getting up to his feet, finding his voice amidst the swarm of thoughts that rendered his throat thick with emotion. "But in truth, your mother was killed by Red Dragon assassins."

Anger and muted raged married with confusion, and a burning dawn pierced through Takeda – his worst fears realized morphing into an even darker reality, all realized after a decade of being fed on lies. The muscles at the back of his neck become taut with tension, his mind spinning with questions, bleeding from reopened wounds.

"I was the target…" Kenshi breathed, his voice almost dropping to a whisper. "Suchin was the victim…"

Takeda sprang like lightning, grabbing Kenshi by the front of his armour and snarling obscenities at a hair's breadth from his face. Telling him it was his fault. As if it were a revelation for the swordsman, who had spent the past decade grappling with the enormity of his sins and failures.

And with the quiet, rational way that was very much unlike Hanzo, the Shirai Ryu grandmaster detailed simply, how the swordsman had spent his life fighting evil like the dishonourable Red Dragon – without even thinking how deep Kenshi's enmity ran with the very word and concept of honour itself. As if the mere statement of his convictions could instill any faith in the boy for what his father truly was.

With a frustrated cry, Takeda unhanded his father, leaving the latter's mind reeling with a peculiar shame – a self-loathing that could not be articulated in words. A sense of shame that stripped away all the goodness of his soul, leaving behind a shaky husk.

Kenshi knew who he was, and felt no need to hide behind pretenses. But Hanzo's narrative, no matter how weak, was comforting. At that point, the fiercely independent swordsman realized how dependent he had become on Hanzo's words – all in order to save face. It ran against everything the swordsman believed in – an unforgettable ode to his desperation.

"You shouldn't have hidden the truth…" came a teary whisper from the boy, who had turned away from the both of them. The low note tugged at Kenshi's heartstrings, though he found himself shaking his head at the simplistic, emotional appeal. Like a young child, his fragile innocence betrayed the harshness of reality. And unknowingly, it offered a glimpse into his inner-most thoughts – Takeda was, in many ways, still a child. And when he loved, he did so deeply and unconditionally, as any child would.

"You would have gone after your mother's killers unprepared – I could not risk that…"

A statement that barely concealed his own pain. 'I couldn't lose you, too…' Kenshi had no idea if he would ever be able to convince his son of his sentiments.

Takeda exhaled a shaky breath he had held for too long, pinching the bridge of his nose, and fighting tears at the thought of his mother, killed brutally by assassins…

It wasn't fair to the Chujin, but the swordsman knew a way to distract his son – and move swiftly to why he reappeared in his life in the first place. He had battled everything, borne the weight of the world and its griefs, all alone. He needed his son now, as any father did – but now, to protect the Takahashi legacy, to avenge his mother…

To save himself.

"Master Hasashi has perfected your fighting skills." … 'Now it is time to complete your training…'

Tibetan Plateau, China.

Midnight

Takeda's face had been wrought into a frown, jaw tight and eyes narrowed the moment they had departed from the Destroyed City. With his meager belongings in a small, worn backpack, he trudged through the wilderness, following his father's—no, his lead, yet knowing he far from trusted the blind swordsman.

His mannerisms had changed, along with his armour, Takeda noticed. His footsteps were a lot more measured, careful – yet relaxed. Especially from his posture, Takeda could tell the swordsman was relaxed – none of the rigid, ram-rod straight-back he had seen in his childhood – wound up with tension like a coiled spring. As he mulled over the past, the Shirai Ryu was able to put together the pieces of the puzzle together – all the gaps in his knowledge of the swordsman, his relationship with Suchin, and the mysterious guys who had followed them to the ends of the realm.

'Kenshi found out somehow, that this Red Dragon clan were coming for him – for whatever reason. And they targeted Mother and I, just to get to him… That's why she sent me away like that – and told me to follow whatever he said…'

Takeda looked at the back of his father's head, watching him maneuver like an expert even in this part of the world. As if he knew every step of the way – maybe always had. He deftly touched the wild bushes around him, occasionally pressing two fingers to his forehead in an attempt to navigate. An unusual man, with an unusual demeanor – vacillating from battle-ready warrior to an abstract thinker.

'That day in Japan… He told me once his cover was blown… So he was a fugitive on the run, with a young boy to take care of…'

Takeda's mind reeled to the childhood incidence – his first contact with murder. Seeing Kenshi take on multitudes of possessed men, neatly slicing of an older man's head. Inwardly, he cringed at the memory – and tried to shake the image off of his mind.

'Then, through Vietnam, Tibet, Nepal, Pakistan… he ran all over the place – perhaps trying to confuse his pursuers? Until we reached the Shirai Ryu compound… When he must have realized living on the run was no way for me to grow up…'

His mood immediately darkened at the thought, black clouds raging his mind even as the night sky glittered like midnight silver, the moon and the stars lending their light to the travellers.

'Or so he says…'

Takeda hardly believed he let an invalid lead him like this. Who knows how many other lies and deceit he was capable of. Yet Master Hasashi had wanted him to go on this journey. To learn new skills, expand his artillery.

The mere thought of spending time with him bought a sour taste to his mouth. His palms broke out with sweat, and he felt an undeniable need to punch, pummel something – just to clear his head.

Part of him wanted to direct his anger and simply throttle the blind man, kill him for good, leave him in a dump to rot somewhere exactly as he had ten years ago.

But a part – a small part of him dared, and wondered: if what he said was true, then what were the Red Dragon truly after, to tear his family apart like this. How could he stop them?

And then of course, there was the matter of telepathy – were the whispers and visions he experienced merely a manifestation of his telepathy? Were there any more powers to impart? How powerful was he exactly? And how powerful was Kenshi, as an enemy?

As much as he hated him and wanted to distance himself from the blind swordsman, Takeda loathed to admit that his father did have the answers to most of the questions. And with that immediate realization came a wave of self-hatred – how could he think of him like that? Had he forgotten already of those early nights at the Shirai Ryu compound – how Takeda would scream into his pillow and cry himself to sleep? Had he forgotten already how, for the first few weeks, all the boy thought was that it was something he had said, something he had done that upset his father so much that he left without goodbye?

Combing through the memory of the precious few days they had shared, going over every single word, whisper, action, reaction that somehow seemed offensive, even though Takeda had never meant it any of it.

The Grandmaster, though he loved him in his own way, was never to show affection. Pride, yes, but no affection. And to a grieving eight-year old, who only wanted to be understood, only wanted to be held and comforted, had no one left to turn to. It took him days to be able to make friends with others, to open up to others without appearing weak…

Abandoned at the hour of need. Just as he had abandoned his mother…

It was all his fault.

"Kenshi. You can call me Kenshi."

Takeda flashed an angry look at his father's way, noticing the face of his deserter for the first time after their meeting - the lines beside his mouth, deep hollows under his cheekbones from aging. He looked more like a scholar, than a swordsman.

But the old bastard had been in his mind for too long.

"Get out of my head, right now," threatened Takeda lowly, his tone quivering with rage.

Kenshi smirked. A subdued, but unbearably smug smirk. Takeda wanted to rip his face off with his bare hands.

"I don't need to be in your head, to know what you're thinking, son. And ouch."

"Don't you dare call me son! You have no right!" snarled Takeda, pointing a finger at the swordsman's way, as he stopped.

Kenshi paused and turned to regard him, as if looking at him through his blindfold. Underneath the pale moonlight, the mere image was eerie and daunting – making his skin crawl. But with a resigned sigh, Kenshi nodded his head.

"You are right. I don't."

And with that, he faced the front again and marched on the path. Registering the small victory, Takeda straightened himself, and followed in turn – almost dismissing his father's arrival notice until he finally stepped onto the landing.

He had no idea which side of the border they were in, but the sight was breath-taking – the mighty Himalayas surrounding them from all sides, majestic conifers swaying with the night-time breeze – glistening silkily under the brilliant light of the moon. But most astounding, was the sky above him – the canopy of the gods' abode. Deep, deep blue, with millions of stars of varying shades, splotches of milky-white galaxies – and dividing the sky, the Milky Way itself; bold, contrasting, the cradle of life.

The Shirai Ryu fighter was so immersed by the sights around him, he barely heard his father address him.

"Takeda, look up - face the sky. Tell me, what do you see?"

"Stars. Millions of them. Scattered along a band of light," he breathed in awe as he took in the nature's beauty. All before his tone turned cynical, arrogant: "The universe, Kenshi. I see everything."

The sod was blind, Takeda gloated silently. How appropriate for him to beg everyone around to describe what place, what sights were around him. Pathetic, to say the least.

The swordsman shook his head, frowning with disapproval.

"No. You cannot. If you think that, then you are as fallible, as blind as I am."

"Give it a rest, old man. I'm not in the mood for a lecture."

A silence hung heavy in between the duo, who had now seated themselves on flattened rocks, merely taking in the majesty of the scenery around them. Several long moments passed before the swordsman spoke again.

"Through our travels, you'll come across many more sights like these – each more glorious than the one before… But just like the stars in the sky, we will come across a variety of people – usually more enemies than allies. In kombat, know that I will be your ally – as long as you're under my protection, no harm will come to you."

Takeda scoffed, disbelieving. "Our travels? I'm not here to stay, Kenshi. Just teach me what you have to, and I'll go my way, you go yours. And I don't need you – I survived the whole blood kode mess; I know how to protect myself."

"Oh, I do not doubt your fighting abilities one bit – but there is more to fighting than just survival. And telepathy is not a fighting maneuver that can be learned and perfected in a few days," the swordsman returned, levelling a stern gaze toward his son, even as the latter continued to ignore him, facing the horizon.

"So you're saying that I'm stuck with you for a while now, is it?" Takeda deadpanned, before groaning with ire.

"For better or for worse."

"How does telepathy even work? How will you train me?"

"Meditation, is one way – but it is too simplistic. A mere first step. You have to open up your spiritual self, and let the world transform you. Connect with the unseen, unheard or unwritten – root yourself in the present as you are uprooted from everything else in the world. Becoming a student of life, of the universe itself-" he tilted his head to a side, a skeptical smile framing his face: "None of which you can accomplish, if you already claim to see everything the world has to offer."

"There is only pain, and suffering in the world, Kenshi. Betrayal and lies. That's what we're all founded on," Takeda shot accusatorily, narrowing his eyes as he silently implicated his father's actions in his words, without saying them. He flicked a buzzing insect away from the front of his face, and returned back to the sky, now scowling at the heavens above.

"If you say so, young man," Kenshi smiled an understanding smile, as if he genuinely believed what the Shirai Ryu fighter. "As we travel through the realms, you will face challenges – physical and spiritual, testing your knowledge of yourself, and your limitations. That will teach you far better than any instructor can…"

"And what, after that?"

"I have a contact in the Special Forces – General Blade. The OIA plans to form a hybrid team, representing different factions, the next generation of defenders. You will represent the Shirai Ryu – fighting to protect Earthrealm, as we all did before you."

Takeda nodded. That meant he would still be in touch with the Shirai Ryu, while fighting to protect the realm – exactly what Hanzo had taught him. The arrangement would work perfectly.

Kenshi sighed deeply, turning his face to the mountains for several moments, before he finally turned to his son – his face deliberately devoid of any emotion, his voice soft, but matter-of-fact: "Takeda, before we begin our journey, there are a few things you need to know, and maybe in time - I can prove myself to you – maybe…"

The young fighter let out an irritated breath, raised a skeptical eyebrow, knowing it was just another mouthful of words his father had prepared to make himself the victim somehow – shift the blame and continue on, exquisitely unaware of the damage he had wreaked in his wake.

"Just get to the point."

"I sense your anger, your disgust… And you will learn in your time, that our paths have been similar in a lot of ways. Irrespective of it all, know that everything I ever did was for you – your safety, your life. I had no choice, then."

Takeda's eyes widened, a strange feeling taking hold of his chest, pinching his heart, and leaving him breathless – while the mind reeled back to recall the words that seemed so familiar, yet so alien at the same time. Uttered to him in a moment of confidence, of comfort – even love… Yet where, by whom…

The failure to recall exacerbated his mood – spawning a headache after what seemed like years to the young fighter.

"Save it, Kenshi."

The swordsman held up an annoyed finger, irked at being interrupted. "You can treat me as a guide, or a teacher if it helps – but know that to me, you will always be my son, for all it means. And once this is all over, if you still truly want me gone, I will honour your wishes, without question."

"Well, isn't this typical of you, dear father?" mocked Takeda bitterly. "Having the exit strategy planned out already, just in case you get bored, or needed a timeout again. All these years – and you haven't changed one bit."

"What happened all those years ago, was indeed my doing," answered Kenshi, quietly but with firmness. "But how we end up, will be yours. Be at ease, son – we do this on your terms now."

Even though he felt like shouting at his father, Takeda suddenly felt exhausted – as if he had finished years' worth of work all in just one day, and he didn't have any more energy to deal with his delusional father that night. The mild headache he was suffering from, now morphed into pounding drums in his head. All while his persistent irritation gnawed away at his resolve like termites.

"You know what – just… just stop it, okay? Stop talking."

The swordsman turned away, taking a seat on the ground, knees on elbows, as he rested his back on the stones – exhausted, yet relieved at the outcome. Whatever it was.

At the corner of his eye, Takeda saw him tilt his head, and mumble something about setting camp. The fighter offered no reply, merely wrapping his arms around his torso to fight off the sudden chilly gust of wind. He then heard sounds of rock hitting rock, a spark and a small cackle of fire – painting the pristine blue landscape with a warm, orange hue.

They ate their rations quietly, huddling close to the flames for warmth – each consumed by their own thoughts, drained of energy to have another verbal spar. But it wasn't until Takeda settled beside the fire, ready to sleep till he voiced his curiosity – much to his own surprise – that had been pricking him like a thorn the moment they had arrived at the plateau.

"You know, you asked me what I saw just now. What about you? Do you see anything at all, or is it all just black?"

"Gray," returned Kenshi, nonchalant, as he neatly folded away his armor, and unstrapped the Sento from his back, without turning to face his son. "Neither black or white. A true reflection of the world we inhabit."

Takeda nodded, but offered no reply. Until the swordsman spoke again, his voice so morose that it shocked the young fighter, dislodging him from the embrace of slumber, lurking near within him.

"I see her, though. All the time, now. In my dreams, in my conscience, in my darkness…"

"My mother? As a spirit in your vision?" Takeda asked, beside himself with surprise – and his first glimpse of the true extent of his father's spiritual vision. The thought raced quickly to a dream – a hope, that perhaps one day, he too would reunite with his mother - and see her once again, in spirit. The thought evanesced entirely, leaving behind specks of hope, but a cruel sense of reality – the brunt of which had been borne by his unsuspecting mother. "You were never really worthy of her," he taunted.

Kenshi ignored his last comment, though he paused, seated with his back to Takeda. "Not a vision, Takeda. I learned to recognize her everywhere - in the trees, the grass, the sky… As the universe itself," Kenshi turned his head from the sky above, cocking his head to a side, as he regarded his son. "Exactly as how I now see you."

Takeda rolled his eyes with revulsion at the unfeeling, untrue and unwanted comment – changing the topic immediately: "When do we start training?"

Kenshi placed the sheathed Sento beside him, and finally faced his son again, blindfold still in place. "From right now. Let this be your first lesson: before you learn, you must unlearn. Recognize, who you are – and what you've become."

'The bastard son of a bastard father…'

Takeda knew the answer, but still felt compelled to exclaim, incredulous: "What is that even supposed to mean?!"

"That, is for you to answer, not me. But ponder over it, you have plenty of time. It's at least three days before we reach our destination."

"And where are we going, if I may ask?"

"To visit your grandmother… and your mother."

"Wait, what?!-"

"Goodnight, son."

LE DONE! :D :D :D

Special thanks to Poe's Daughter for sharing awesome advice with me on how to write this - particularly Kenshi! :D

Also guys, I just realized I've been teetering at 99 for a long while now - whos gonna be the lucky 100th reviewer? :D :D :D

What you all liked, didn't like, or just want to comment on - click the review button and make my day! Enjoy guys - until next time :)