"Hey, Katsuo!" Kento-kun called out as the fellow student began to exit the tutorial room. "Are you going somewhere?" He noticed train tickets hanging out of the man's bulging backpack. Lengthy travel was unusual close to winter, and Katsuo had formerly remained in the campus during that dreadful season.

"Yes, Kento, there's a place I want to visit."

"Yeah . . ." he grumbled, rising out of his seat to tidy the place. "Just don't think about the Ronin Legend too hard, Katsuo. I've already drilled you on everything you can know, and Sensei Takawashi doesn't go into that much depth anyway. Just know all the allegorical points in her class, and you'll be fine." After the weeks he spent helping Katsuo, he wanted to ask the fellow student 'where are you going?' however, habitual apathy to casual friendliness prevented that question from coming.

"Do you . . . do you think of it as an allegory?"

Startled and off-guard, Kento-kun stopped organizing papers. How could he answer without revealing all he knew? He replied, "It doesn't matter what I think. It's not my major. I'm only taking that course 'cause it's easy credit points."

When the original warriors first arrived, Tori had been thrilled at having Rowen with him. Toriyama Hashiba decorated his writing office with twenty-five pictures of Rowen. This existed in stark contrast to what the old warriors expected. What the old warriors expected and what was true for the other new warriors was this: none of the other new warriors decorated pictures of their great-grandfathers in their dorms or apartments, and such is the way life goes as it proceeds farther away from the elder generations. The closest any of the new warriors came to beholding a picture of an old warrior was Seito Mouri who carried a picture of him and Sai together in his wallet. If the new warriors wanted to see photographs of their predecessors, they merely needed to return to their families where some pictures were visible on the walls or kept in storage.

Toriyama Hashiba decorated his writing office with twenty-five pictures of Rowen. Kento thought "Wow, the guy really likes him." Sai thought "disturbing." Ryo thought "Rowen got ugly when he got older" and worried about his own appearance when he would finally reach old age. Sage thought "I am impressed by his adoration for his ancestor. However, it does seem excessive" and then wondered how his family viewed himself. Rowen thought "how immature."

Rowen was determined that his great-grandson attend college and become an accomplished and influential national figure. Understanding parent issues, he tried to find ways to accommodate Tori as a parent. Once, Rowen asked, "Did you know Lena's college offers daycare services? And that some of the most renowned people in Japan graduated from the college? And that numerous political, literary, and scientific conventions are held at that same college?"

"Do you wanna go there? I'm sure you'll be the valedictorian."

"Imagine all the accomplishments to be started and achieved there! This college is perfect for a Hashiba!"

Distracted with dealing with all the items Sai and Sage brought in, Tori replied, "Yeah. You'll have to change your last name though 'cause of all the rumors between you and Mia Koji, and you wrote all those Ronin books. Zaji might go there when he's older, or he might choose Tokyo University."

Rowen set his reading materials down and looked at his heir, "Tori . . . this place has a daycare center . . ."

"Yeah . . ."

"And wonderful intellectual conventions . . ."

"Yeah . . ."

"Wouldn't you want to go? These are intellectually-stimulating . . ."

Tori sighed in partial exasperation. The number of grocery bags kept piling up. Fortunately, Sai had carried all the entertainment stuff to the bedroom and Sage began to assist in putting things away. "Rowen, I'm sure you'll be fine. Those conventions aren't until the spring anyway, and you shouldn't need identification."

"Tori, I'm asking you if you want to go."

"What?! Among all those people!?"

"Yes! Among those people!"

"I – I – I don't know. I hate crowds. They scare me."

"Well, you would have to become accustomed to them sooner or later."

Rowen noticed Sage glaring briefly at him cautiously and wondered what he did to upset his friend. For a moment, Rowen worried that his own intellect had withered somewhat. In the two years between Sage's death and his death, he had cast away educational pursuits. Perhaps his mind had atrophied; he hoped not. His mind needed to be at its sharpest for him to convince his heir about the benefits of college.

**************

Sage awoke one night with the strangest feeling he could not describe. His dreams were not troubled but rather weird and confusing. In his meditations at the park, he became aware of how alone and isolated he felt; this never occurred before in meditation. Instead of finding peace, recent bothersome memories resurfaced.

Numerous incidents had occurred at the park as Sage and his friends attempted to reintegrate themselves into modern social life and to reaccustom themselves to being seventeen. Sage and another man, late 20s or early 30s, became involved in a yelling match. The man had said something to Sage which would have been insulting to someone in his 70s; Sage insisted the man show him proper respect. The man took offense at a 17-year-old's haughty attitude, and things degenerated from there with Sage's friends trying to calm them both down and the man feeling more insulted. After the ordeal was over, Sai told his friends that the guy probably thought they were patronizing and manipulative teenagers when in fact, they were behaving perfectly like men past middle age toward a younger man.

And so, Sage awoke thinking of that incident and numerous others. He noticed a light in the room and saw Rowen sitting in a corner and reading with a lamp on where the blue-haired man wouldn't bother his friends. Sage wondered why Rowen wasn't in the living room. Rowen assumed this and said, "Tori's awake."

Sage sighed. He recalled first entering Tori's home and his difficulties with the new minor inventions – the non-aluminum cans and having to drink chocolate milk. Sage's grandfather never let him drink chocolate milk. Sage suddenly felt unreal; was he real? He got up and went into the living room.

Tori was sitting on the couch while drinking – of all the things on Sage's mind – chocolate milk and listening to music via headphones. In an occasional mood of impulsiveness and indulgence, Sage decided to pour himself a glass of the once forbidden and childish beverage. He sat next to Tori.

The purple-haired man pulled down his headphones and asked, "Did you have bad dreams? You usually sleep all night."

"I suppose so, yes."

"I get terrible nightmares sometimes. This is actually how I cope."

"…By drinking chocolate milk and listening to music? I remember I bought a CD from that same band for my grandson's third or fourth birthday."

"It's a group I used to listen to before my parents died. It reminds me of before I had any troubles like the armor or anything. I doubt it's what Rowen does, but it makes me feel better. I don't do any of the things Rowen does."

"Everyone must find a way to cope. To be honest, I did have frequent nightmares after becoming a Ronin. Sometimes I had trouble meditating then, so I practiced with my swords or played my flute."

"What was your dream about?"

"I don't know how to describe it. I woke up thinking about all the things my grandfather never allowed me to do as a child, and somehow that thought seemed to be enough of a reason for me to pour myself this drink."

"Your grandfather never let you drink chocolate milk?"

"No. He never let me do many of the things other children had done." Sage felt giddy and – for lack of a better term – out of himself.

"If you want to, there are straws in the drawer underneath the glasses. It's always fun to blow bubbles in chocolate milk."

Sage did just that, feeling like a seven-year-old who always wanted to rebel against his strict grandfather. He laughed openly and then apologized for his atypical behavior. In a way, he felt disconnected from who and what he had been in the past.

"That's alright. What you're experiencing is probably normal for someone in your situation. It's a defense mechanism against severe stress when you became detached from certain thoughts and feelings. I figure you, and Ryo, Kento-sama, Sai, and Rowen are experiencing this because you're cut off from your pasts, and the society and environment. As a result, you're also experiencing a lack of inhibition since you're disconnected from all social mores that defined your life. This is also experienced in varying degrees by college students who move away from home, people who join the military, people who move to a foreign country… All those people also have to redefine themselves."

"Tori…" Sage interrupted tersely. He paused for a moment to recollect his thoughts and said in response to Tori's patient stare, "You're very different from what I expected. If you don't mind, I would like to drink this chocolate milk in peace."

****************

The day following a snowstorm, Toriyama Hashiba checked the news articles online. He had fallen behind in his reading over the past few weeks due to a variety of reasons – preparing for winter, tending to a toddler, etc. One article "A Ghost in the Ruins" caught his attention. The article read:

"Numerous scientists investigating the ruins of reflective black crystal this year have reported hearing the voice of a female throughout the ruins."

The article then went into vague details about the ruins and who might have constructed it. The scientists and archeologists could not agree upon if the indistinct ghostly voice was a girl or a woman, but they agreed the voice was definitely female. The article then digressed into a topic about the ancestral inhabitants of Japan, the Jomon era, the Utari/Ainu, various peoples who could have migrated to the islands from mainland Asia. At that point, Tori lost interest in the article. He knew it would not reveal any significant information about the ruins of reflective black crystal; the article was merely an anecdote to remind people of the ruins' existence.

*************

Overwhelmed with satisfaction, Katsuo entered the antediluvian temple of reflective black crystal. He did not plan to summon anything from the Armor World, not with his last failure – who knows what happened – and not without any idea of how to correct the summoning problem. Kento Rei Faun II could only help him so far while remaining ignorant about the application of such help. Katsuo considered Kento's standoffish demeanor and believed it best to keep him ignorant.

"Of course, Kento came from a more affluent family," Katsuo said to himself as he examined various crystals. "He believes solid hard work can solve all problems. Solid hard work toward what?"

Katsuo sighed, grabbing a small crystal and tugging on it. It felt loose. He remembered one old friend who went to college and had actually complained about the unexpected happiness found in a safe environment. "I hadn't known how miserable our lives were until I left. I don't know what to do," said that friend before committing suicide.

After placing the small reflective black crystal in his bag, Katsuo found a little cluster of similar fallen crystals. "Kento thinks because he's been through hard times because his parents are immigrants! Oh, maybe one or two major incidents. I don't doubt he's suffered, but not every day! Not with shouting and beating and …"

Without warning, a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. Katsuo spun around to see a little red-haired girl staring plaintively at him.

The girl asked, "Are you the one who disturbed the Armor World?"

"I cast a spell…" Katsuo replied, too startled to think of why he should respond at all let alone why/how a child came to enter the temple and to know about his presence.

"The World of the Armors is a dangerous place."

"And this world is also dangerous." Katsuo straightened his posture from his crouching position where he had gathered the black crystals.

"In my youth, I had experienced a terrible loss. The loss and my grief were so terrible that I wanted to destroy my own soul. To do that, I had also tried to access the Armor World, but the Ronin Warriors came and helped me to see beyond my suffering."

Katsuo took a deep breath. "How noble of them. I had a friend who also tried to help me through my troubles."

"So, now you see how pointless it is to access the Armor World? The Ronin Warriors' compassion-"

Katsuo's eyes widened in a mocking glare.

The red-haired girl paused. "What's wrong? This temple must be hidden! This temple is too dangerous for mortals to enter."

"Your dress is old-fashioned, Edo maybe Meiji era. I assume you're a spirit from that era. Do you know what is happening to Japan? The compassion is being bled out!"

For a brief moment, there was silence as the two stared at each other. Then, the red-haired girl said, "The Ronin Warriors can help you to overcome your suffering."

Katsuo wanted to laugh. "I don't suffer. Ever since I've left Miyagi, I've led a perfectly happy life. I can continue living pleasantly. Like I've said, the compassion is being bled out of Japan. There is too much suffering, and people tire of it, and people quit caring for others. Should humans live like that? Should children be born to suffer and to lose the humanity they were born with?"

This time the red-haired girl did not have a ready reply. After a lengthy silence, she watched the young man resume gathering the small reflective black crystals that had broken loose from their foundation. She worried that perhaps people were abandoning all sense of compassion. If this were indeed occurring, then the Ronin Warriors would be victims of this as well. Contemplating the youth's activities, a conflict between him and the Ronin Warriors appeared inevitable. Upon such an encounter, they could lead to humanity's destruction or humanity's salvation. She felt a need to communicate with them, either to warn them about this youth or to prepare them for their upcoming decision whatever that may be.

She considered briefly contacting the previous Ronin Warriors, but since they were spirits and not a part of this new Japan, they were ill-informed and would not be able to give proper advice. No, best to leave the old Warriors out of this. After all, they were no longer Ronin Warriors.

***************************

Toriyama Hashiba opened his eyes and awakened to the sound and smell of cars hurrying down the city street. "What am I doing here?" he wondered aloud. The last thing he remembered was laying peacefully next to Lena. He stood up from his cross-legged sitting position and realized he was dressed in his archery outfit. What happened to his pajamas?

He surveyed the activity and sensed the air. Air always felt different depending upon the time of day. It was the late-day rush hour. But if he had been absent that long, certainly Lena and the others would be searching for him. The buildings, cars, and clothing appeared to be outdated. Ten or twenty years outdated.

"This isn't possible, is it?" He recognized those buildings. His parents drove that route every day, and they took him to work with them. If this was his dead parents' route, and if this was ten or twenty… no, it would be fifteen or twenty years ago. His parents died fifteen years ago when he was six.

Tori saw their silver car drive by. His parents' car. Intrigued and perplexed, he smiled nonetheless at the familiar sight. He remembered helping them to wash and wax it. Without warning, an old beat-up car lost control; the brakes went out; it crashed into the silver car, sent it spiraling into another lane where two more cars, unable to stop in time, also crashed into it. The impact smashed the sides, particularly the front, and flipped it onto its back.

Screaming for people to help, Tori ran to the car. He bent down to look inside and quickly examine the damage. There was blood everywhere. Tori raised a hand to his mouth. He had no memories of the accident except the sound and the force. In his mind, the crash had been bloodless and his parents had left him exactly as they were before. This was not the case. His father was obviously dead in a bloody mess; his mother's legs were shattered from the front of the car pressed into them. His mother would die from shock at the hospital.

Tears began to fall. He reached out a hand to touch his mother's face, but he withdrew it nervously. "This is only the past. There is nothing I can do." He had long since reconciled with his parents' dead, but who brought him here to witness it again?

Then, Tori saw his younger self unconscious in the back of the car. Not even a scratch. "I always assumed Rowen and the armor saved me." He was wrong. "I liked to sit in the middle seat, and I was too small for most of the damage to reach me." Pure coincidence.

Chimes replaced the expected sounds of the city street. There were no ambulances, no motors, no people yelling. Tori stood up. Everything had stopped, but the chimes continued their ancient sound.

"Who's there?"

A woman's voice flowed through the air: "You lost your parents tragically at such a young age. I understand. I sympathize."

A spirit! Not knowing where the voice originated, Tori crossed his arms, stared, and the wreckage, and raised his tone, "I accepted the past a long time ago. I plan to meet them again some day, but not today."

The scene suddenly shifted to the hospital. His six-year-old self waited in a patient's room. A man with spindly malformed legs entered in a wheelchair. The man was Kuroda-san who raised him for the rest of his life.

The unseen woman's voice spoke again, "Rowen needed an heir."

"Yeah."

"Rowen needed an heir, and the Strata armor must be kept safe."

Tori nodded. He knew all this already. Duh!

"The armors were very important - so important that Rowen and your parents were willing to sacrifice your childhood for it. They cared nothing for your happiness or your well-being."

So, this unseen spirit was trying to manipulate him with his past and his memories. Well, they were Tori's memories; he could also play her game. Tori took control and shifted the scene to his old bedroom at nighttime. His mother tucked him in and kissed his cheek. Then, there was another scene where he and his parents played games together.

Tori took a deep breath. Sadness and melancholy filled his heart. "You're lying, spirit. My parents obviously loved me."

"And then, after they died, you received no more love."

The scene shifted back again to the hospital. The man in the wheelchair glared confrontationally at the six-year-old.

"Tell me, Tori of Strata, who is this man?"

"Kuroda-san, one of my father's co-workers."

"Why did your parents entrust you to his man?"

Tori scowled, hating the answer. "They needed someone they could trust with the Strata armor. Kuroda-san was the only one they trusted with the legend."

"Did he care about children? Did he want children?"

"No."

"And thus, your childhood was sacrificed to the armor."

Tori closed his eyes. Kuroda-san had no patience or tolerance for his six-year-old responsibility or for young Tori at any age. There were no compassionate words, no games, no happiness. It was disinterest and indifference. For the first year or two, Kuroda-san kept him locked in his room because he did not want the child to break anything. He was fed, clothed, kept healthy, but little else. Circumstances forced him to abandon all his friends. Tori already had a sizeable appetite for knowledge and a reading level well-advanced for his age. His knowledge continued to increase.

The scene changed again. There were sounds of battle. Tori shuddered. He chose not to think about the scene; he would wait until he had all the information. He turned around and saw himself battling Anil's soldiers. The demons responsible for the downfall of the first Ronin Warriors - who forced Ryo to sacrifice himself and who murdered Kento-sama - would never stop their need for vengeance.

This new bloody scene filled him with dread. Tori saw that his image was losing against Anil's forces. It mirrored reality too well. When the second generation went against the full might of his army, it resulted in the bloodiest and most devastating onslaught ever. In a desperate attempt to save his comrades, Tori came so close to death that it took Rowen three days to heal him afterward.

Tori's mirror-self was losing in this battle. He saw himself collapse and die. Then, an image of Zaji - six years old - ran forward screaming to the body of his dead father. Tori swallowed a painful lump in his throat. 'she is manipulating me,' Tori thought. It did not change the emotions he felt at the sight, but it prevented them from affecting his mind.

He saw the image-demons carry away the still-wailing image of Zaji. The spirit asked, "This is your worst fear. Will his childhood be sacrificed because of the armors?"

Tori turned around. He wished he could see her and confront her personally. "Spirit, why are you showing this to me? It makes no sense."

But the spirit was gone, and Tori soon awoke next to Lena.