(I) Chapter 1
A young boy sat in the traditional home of his people, one which he was becoming more and more familiar with as his age increased. It was a simple home after all, the largest room in this home being a six-mat room where all the daily activities would occur, a 'living room' as his father had aptly called it. Attached to it were two four and a half mat rooms on opposite sides of the room, one for the cooking area and the other for the bath. Finally there were two three-mat rooms which acted as storage spaces, one which contained all the simple necessities, such as spare futons, parchment scrolls, spare tools, and a number of other items stored away neatly in boxes.
There was a single room, to his best guess was a four-mat room, however he did not know what was in it. While he was curious, he was forbidden from entering it, and he would never go against the will of his elder without proper cause.
The boy walked to one of the three-mat rooms storage rooms and through creative placement of items, he climbed to a higher shelf, which contained the item he desired: a scroll parchment which he could read, albeit partially.
It contained information about events of the wider world, about a "Great War" and about a number of Kingdoms which rose out the ashes of it, the names of them unknown to him. It spoke of supernatural beings who were able to wield a power which seemed to be common place here, to defeat demonic creatures.
The boy learned a lot by association of words and piecing together the meanings, an unconventional learning method for a child his age, but the village he was born into was in a large mountain range, and the people of this village lived high above anything else. A proper education would be difficult to attain otherwise.
What was even more out of place, was that this boy had no interest in what would be considered age-appropriate activities. Given where they lived, many would assume that he would be interested in playing in the falling snow or perhaps attempting to learn how to play some game, but this boy was not normal in any way.
The village had ascertained that at his birth. The midwives and village doctor had seen it firsthand, that he was born quietly, and born feverishly at that, yet he made no fuss and remained quiet. When his eyes first opened, they shared a color which was reminiscent of the demons which roam the wilds of this world.
The people of this village were just as vicious as well, stating that his mother had died due to the consequences of his birth, such a poor fate for such a devout adherent to the Brother Gods. They say that his father keeps him locked away in their home so that the village is spared of his presence and that the negative energies affect him alone, a noble sacrifice for them all. They say that he was left unnamed all these years, for fear that a curse be put upon him as well.
And most prevalent of them all, they say that the flame-patterned tattoo was a sign that all those who dared to be around him would write in a spiritual hellflame which their very souls would writhe until there was nothing but dust.
The boy thought about how creative these rumors were, amusing to some degree even. The boy himself recalled in a life long ago, simply being the younger twin was enough.
The villagers would never know the truth, that he was reincarnated.
Reincarnation was a concept he could recall vividly in his previous life. A concept that the soul or maybe the spirit itself begins life anew. If you were virtuous and lived a life of humility, one would find themselves in better times, and if the opposite was true, one would find themselves suffering.
He knew much about this, because in his previous youth, he was supposed to be sent to a monastery to be a monk, but that never came to pass, and he hadn't thought much of it, only whenever he believed that he may meet his wife again in another life.
In the course of that life, he realized he had been given amazing power to complete a mission unknowingly bestowed upon him, to defeat the progenitor of demons, Muzan Kibutsuji. He failed in that quest, and because of it, many more souls would be extinguished, and so many more would suffer.
The moments he remembers before his life had ceased were ones that filled him with sorrow. His brother, having sacrificed his humanity over six decades ago for the promise of immortality, however wretched that existence may be. When it came time to end his brother's life, he was unable to complete even that duty which would be expected of any sibling who had lost their way completely.
He expected the weight of all his failures to be punished. The Gods gave him strength, power, and the will to do whatever task they put before him, and he failed. Instead of divine retribution, he found himself alive once again
The sliding door to the three-mat room opened up, and when he turned to see who it was, he saw a tired man, but whose eyes were filled with such warmth. He had a mostly black head of hair, but only the tips were a dull shade of red, very similar to his. His skin however was paling, reaching the color of the snow that was certainly outside right now.
This was the man that he knew as 'Father', the man who had sired him in this world. A child would never ask their parent for their name until much later, and it seemed that his father was content to leave it at that.
"Yoriichi." The voice was not angry, upset, or even the tiniest bit elevated. It was soft, and held an understanding warmth to it. "There you are."
Yoriichi was his name once again, which had initially surprised him, but it seemed that his father insisted on it. He was unsure why that was the case, but there was comfort in some familiarity in his identity.
"f you wanted to read, you should have asked me to get it for you." Father shuffled over to the shelf, reaching the highest point, pulling out scrolls he had yet to read. "All you need to do is ask."
"I am sorry Father." Yoriichi bowed apologetically. "I did not want to be a bother, since you have been getting more ill."
As if the universe wanted to prove the point, Father tried to surpress a cough, brining a pure white rag up to his mouth and let out a wet cough. When it was brought down, he saw that there were larger blotches of red on the pure white cloth, followed by the acrid scent of blood entered his nostrils, causing himself to turn away.
Yoriichi knew his father wasn't well, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
The black and red haired child only heard whispers and the occasional conversation when he was out of sight. Father was a warrior of some renown, the villagers comparing him to a 'Huntsman', which were warriors of great strength who dedicated their lives to the slaying of 'Grimm', demons and prowlers that openly wander the lands day and night.
His father was the protector of this village, just like his father before him, and just like Yoriichi would be one day.
His father felled many of these 'Grimm', granting this village many numbers of peace, however there was a foe which would beset this village every number of years, the villagers calling it an 'Elder Grimm'.
Many volunteered, yet Father could not in good conscience lead many to their death, and thus hunted the beast alone.
The details of the battle are only known to Father, but it was clear that the beast was defeated, yet such a victory came at a high price to Father.
Through the use of the Transparent World, only Yoriichi could see the full extent of the scars of battle.
Fathers right arm hung limply at his side, where he could see the larger bones of his arm with a number of areas where the bone had been completely shattered, and then forcibly mended. His father's physique was once much more well maintained and ready as a guardian, yet now was atrophying at an increased rate, his inability to do labors he once able to do exacerbated it. Fathers right lung had been punctured by ribs and at one point, the healed scars over left and right lungs, and the ribcage telling that tale, yet the most haunting wound was completely collapsed right lung.
Yoriichi found himself puzzled as such a wound would be fatal, yet his father still persisted either by some miracle or some other intervention he was unaware of, but it reminded him of the resiliency of humanity. What confused him even further was that he could see the wound attempting to heal itself, but failing to do so.
"That is considerate of you Yoriichi, but I do not know what I would do if you got hurt." The smile returned, as the man looked at his son. "Please ask next time."
Yoriichi knew that the death of his mother in this world weighed heavily on Father, and as the last reminder of her, he is not surprised that his father wished to safeguard that flame.
Father understood that the seeming independence Yoriichi exhibited was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, as Father felt that Yoriichi would be able to find his way when the inevitable occurred, but also a curse as it placed constant stress onto him to see his son do things that a boy his age should not be doing.
After all, it was the duty of the father to watch over the son, and not the other way around, at least not for a number more years.
Yoriichi felt blessed that his father was a kind man, never once having lashed out at him for performing tasks to grand for him, whether it be chopping the wood or even cooking.
Not once has Father ever condemned him for his behavior.
"Come now, I wanted to show you something… something I was shown when I was around your age."
There was a weight to Father's voice that Yoriichi immediately caught onto. Putting down the parchment scroll, Yoriichi deftly lowered himself from the shelf and managed to land neatly on the tatami mat. Rushing up to Father's side, he provided support for his senior.
For the first time in his recollection, they approached the doorway to the four-mat room. Slowly, the sliding door was pushed open, and for the first time, Yoriichi immediately recognized what was in the room.
It was an ancestral shrine.
It was well maintained, and from what he could gather was that it had been visited at least once before today.
Yoriichi observed what else was a part of this shrine. There was a suit of armor was on the forefront, one which was fashioned much like a samurai. There was a white mon which had faded to the point which the only symbol that he could see was a faded flower, a sunflower by its appearance. The damages to the armor was apparent, from simple scratches to the most obvious dents and cuts to it, the scars of warfare evident. To the left was a glass case with a shattered bow, the fragments arraigned in an order which would allow for him to see that it was a yumi. Directly at the foot of the armor stand was a katana, the sheathe and grip being somehow both in poor condition and in good enough condition to be used if need be, however it was unknown if the blade was still in a serviceable condition.
"I know what you are thinking, I thought it too when I was young." The man smiled, as if he was reminiscing. "Why is it in such poor condition?"
Without letting Yoriichi answer, he continued.
"When my Grandfather, your Great-Grandfather, had passed it seemed that his armor and arsenal wished to follow him into the afterlife." Gesturing to the ancestral relics, he explained further. "When I was a boy, they still had color, and no matter how well we maintained it, the color simply seemed to drain out every day after his passing… to the somber grey they are now."
As if this had reopened some old wound, he took a moment.
"Our… history. It is one of war and bloodshed, as our people are not native to this continent." His father took a step into the room, Yoriichi following him in. The two sat in front of it, and his father kneeled in front of the shrine. Placing incense stick in the burner and with a pinch of a finger it lit up. "We hail from the continent in the east, across the strait that separates the continent Sanus, this land, and the continent Anima, our homeland."
These locations were unfamiliar to Yoriichi, but he continued to listen intently to his father's tale.
"Grandfather was seen as a hero to our people, tasked lead the soldiers into this land to conquer it from the Kingdom of Vale for the future of our people during the Great War. He was a warrior without peer and led from the frontlines, never once defeated in battle." The reverent told held. "The two armies were destined to clash in an area which would require Grandfather's forces to traverse a narrow bridge into the Emerald Forest, where they could see the conscripted armies of Vale led personally by the King of Vale."
Gesturing to a tapestry on the wall, it was worn, but showed two figures with blades crossed, one of figure with a crown of gold and a staff of silver and obsidian. The other figure wore armor identical to the one on the stand, with a blade which was depicted to be shattered but whole, and another on his waist.
"The two met on the bridge and agreed upon mutual terms. The King of Vale would fight Grandfather, a duel which would determine if Vale surrendered to Mistral or if Vale would continue to fight another day." The tapestry continued and showed the two figures on a bridge. "The two clashed and fought on the bridge, those who could see the fighting awed by the masterful display of martial prowess from both parties."
The last segment of the tapestry depicted the crowned figure standing over the samurai, who bowed before the King. At both of their feet, the remains of the first blade remained, and the second blade was being presented to the crowned figure.
"The King of Vale defeated our ancestor and instead of vanquishing his adversary, the King of Vale saw the inherent nobility and righteousness in our ancestor's soul, and let him live." Taking the blade from the stand, he tucked it underneath his right arm, holding it underneath the handguard with his left hand. "This experience changed our ancestor at his core, vowing to never again hold a blade with the purpose of slaying men, presenting the blade with the solemn promise to slay Grimm and only Grimm."
Thumb on the worn guard, a soft push forward freed the blade and revealed itself to them.
Yoriichi's eyes locked onto what he could see.
"Strange, isn't it?" There was pride and awe in his voice. "Even as the armor has found its peace and the sheathe begins to crumble to dust around it, the blade seems to remain just as he wielded it."
Father let his thumb rub over an engraving within the blade, the engraving which Yoriichi knew well.
Metsu. To Destroy.
"Grandfather stated that it was created many generations prior to his birth, yet each member of our lineage has not once sullied this blade with the blood or mortal men…" Taking a few raspy breaths, his fathers eyes never left the blade. "… I believe each member of our family understood the smith's purpose in creating such a fine blade, who placed more than their time and effort into this blade… I believe that the smith knew hat this blade was only meant to be wet with the ichor of Grimm, never sullied by the blood of mortals."
Sheathing it, he placed it back on the stand.
"My father wielded it after his passing, and I wielded it briefly for a time after his, however it never suited me." A wet cough forced his father to use his sleeve. "…perhaps in time, you will have the chance to wield it, and maybe you will bring honor to our storied history."
Reaching for the final item, Father brought the silk-covered box.
"Your Great-Grandfather believed that these charms would protect him from any trial, any tribulation, any darkness."
Removing the silk from the box, he could see that the box was well lacquered, however the iconography was beginning to rust what grabbed his attention the most.
It was a chrysanthemum, a symbol of the Imperial Throne in his world, yet unknown if it had similar meaning here.
Opening it, his eyes widened with surprise.
It was a pair of earrings, which had the sun on them. It was almost identical to the one's his mother had made for him in his youth in the life gone by.
Looking at Yoriichi now, Father spoke.
"I know not how much time is left for me in this world, however I do know that regardless of what everyone tells me about you, I wish for you to know that you are not a cursed child."
Reaching into the box, he placed the first earring onto Yoriichi's ear.
"Your presence is not one that brings curses, nor does it bring darkness like everyone states." Once it was secured, he grabbed the second earring. "Your presence is blessed, and brings light."
When the second earring was secured, the man smiled warmly.
"I have seen it, felt it first hand… your presence is not like our moon which rests solemnly in the heavens shattered and broke… no." Father for the first time that Yoriichi could recall saw tears in his eyes. "You radiate brightly like the sun, and for those who surround themselves around you, they flourish as the sun gives life to all."
Fathers leaned in, and hugged Yoriichi.
Yoriichi had never had a connection like this in his previous life.
He recalled vividly how his existence had caused a rift in their family. His mother and father once inseparable now torn in their choices because of his existence. His brother, Michikatsu, could never openly show him affection without repercussions, and when he showed that he was not like anyone else, Michikatsu could only wish to have what he had.
In his previous life, he was a pariah in his childhood home.
Here he was a pariah in this village, yet here was a single soul, who loved him unconditionally.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Yoriichi felt tears run freely from his eyes.
Got bored so I went back through some old fanfiction idea's that I had and figured I'd make this one into a reality.
What can I say? I have a soft sport for Yoriichi, definitely one of my favorite characters.
Tell me what you think about the story and tell me if you like it or not!
Happy reading to everyone!