Inheritance
There was a tradition among the youkaitaijiya; once the eldest son or daughter of the family was strong enough to wield the Hiraikotsu, it would be given to them. She closed her eyes and ran her fingertips against the battle-scarred white bone. How she wished-
"Fuji, what are you doing?"
The girl spun around and looked up into her older brother's lavender eyes; mother had always said how much Hayashi looked like their dead father. She glanced at her brother's weapon and swallowed nervously, not wanting to tell him anything. Hayashi just smiled at her silence and grabbed the giant boomerang. The younger child tried to swallow her jealously.
Traditions sucked.
