Just like my first meeting with it, where they have no voice...
[ the way kazan says his words is a completely different tone than what she's used to; something is already off, which catches rin's attention as much as the wound that seems to have been freshly pierced through his chest.
though rin hasn't witnessed the battle in its entirety, she hasn't forgotten how her grandfather became bound by unbreakable steel and sharp wire that makes one bleed as they do. just by seeing all the damage that creature — whatever its name is — has done, the kind of fight she could only imagine that they went through... surely her grandfather has thoughts in mind. a reflection, perhaps.
it certainly sounds like it as rin listens to her grandfather explain the fight. already she senses the same determination he's always had by the last word. of course he would be ready to fight him again, and rin hopes for two things out of it: 1) that a repeat of what happened tonight doesn't happen again, and; 2) that she makes it in time to help him.
rin refuses death upon her family a third time over, with the exception of her father of course.
there's a bottle of water that she cracks open and pours over cloth, making sure to clean the wound first — she hasn't forgotten how to do first aid. as rin gently taps against the opening of the wound, she speaks: ]
Are you okay, Grandfather?
[ she already asked about his injuries previously, so of course rin asks how he feels. family makes sure to care for each other that way. it's a phrase she tends to ask her mother during the time she'd been sickly — and during the time she treats her own wounds herself.
rin always received, "I'm fine, Rin," in the end of their conversations. ]
[ for a long while, Kazan doesn't answer. In the wake of Rin's question, silence settles over the room, hardly disturbed by the drip of water and blood as she tends to his wounds. Despite her gentleness, the cloth still scrapes roughly against ravaged skin, but he bites off each hissed breath, forces down every flinch. It helps that his injuries—while more grievous than any he'd ever received in life—are healing with each passing second, albeit far slower than usual.
Is he okay? He can only say yes, the demands of tradition and necessity clamoring louder in his ears than Rin's worry. He cannot show weakness. To appear as anything other than a source of strength for her to rely upon... would he be any better than that man—not her father, not his descendant—who condemned her to a lonely eternity in this mockery of an afterlife instead of protecting her as he should have done? What good will it do her if he gives voice to the doubts within him?
Kazan looks at Renjiro's mask again. The crimson splatters across its face, against the wall, on the floor before it. Permanently desecrated by an unspeakable act, it's yet another insult from the Entity. From what Rin told him about the night she died, her only warning before she was struck down was the grisly sight of her mother's dismembered corpse. His father, in contrast, must have followed a trail of bodies for days before he met his death. Ties of blood meant to endure for centuries, severed in a single instant. The thought that he has anything in common with Rin's murderer sickens him. But in the stillness, it gains purchase in his mind. Aided by the silence around him, it gives shape to the whispers the demon left.
A curse.
He would never hurt Rin so. He would rather turn his own blade on himself before allowing such madness to overtake him again.
Kazan draws a deep breath. Exhales. ]
What have you been told of the beginnings of our bloodline, Granddaughter? Of my father, Yamaoka Renjiro—his life and his death?
[ of course the answer is yes, she thinks to herself while sinking the bloodied rag into water before twisting it, the clear waters tainted with yamaoka blood.
it's nothing new to come home with injured wounds, but that depends on how the trial goes through. rin recalls the way the entity pierces her body, making her bleed out as if she were a regular human being again. a sharp lesson not to ever fail sacrificing survivors, moreso letting them go, otherwise be taught otherwise once more. the memory of the pain stays put where the entity slashes and scars her in place, rin learns her place.
rin learns to become the onryou she willingly becomes for the sake of punishing her father for eternity, and eventually one to be feared by everyone. just because she's the most humane at home doesn't mean she won't kill anyone that disrupts her peace. their peace now that her ancestor arrives.
more red stains the floor of their home as rin nurses her grandfathers injuries. all her mind can think about now since his answer is the creature that attacks him — the steel helmet, the barbed wire, the blade it has... why? why does it attack her grandfather to the point of death and not her? what did it want from him? why does it just leave as though it finishes its job? why — ]
Ah, our family history?
[ immediately memories of the past flood in. the way her father schools her of their ancestry, how she must remember these details and be proud of their family heritage. there's a notable pause from rin as she tries to shrug off how her father looks like in her memory despite seeing him in every trial.
it doesn't work, of course. that doesn't mean she has no answer. ]
Yamaoka Renjiro died honorably in battle protecting the people in need, but who he died from has been lost in history. [ a beat. ] He earns his wealth by being loyal to his master, eventually earning his own place in society during his time. He never strays from the Bushido code, a role model for all. He was loved by his family — and family is one of the most important things I've learned the most from him.
[ this is the part where rin begins familiar movement of bandages: she stands on her feet and proceeds to wrap it around his upper body. ]
[ Rin answers, and Kazan listens, still and rigid as the statues surrounding the shrine looming over the other end of the estate. His fists do not loosen. Briefly, he closes his eyes in an attempt to allow her words to ease his inner turmoil like the water washing over his wounds. But as she describes his father's character and life, his brows furrow beneath his mask. What she says with such conviction isn't—wrong. Yet neither is it right.
He doesn't speak. When Rin stands to wind the bandages around him, he shifts to accommodate her, his movements stiff. The blood darkening the cloth pales with each layer added. In this, too, she is careful—but the sensation recalls the jagged agony of the demon's sharp wires as they ensnared him, cutting deep into his flesh. Only when she finishes does he reply to her question. ]
You were taught a story. There is truth in it, but it is not complete. As the last heir of the Yamaoka legacy, you deserve to know it in full.
[ here, seated within their familial home, he could be his father, teaching his son about his origins. He could be himself of a winter long gone by, doing the same for Akito while snow fell thick and heavy outside. But far from the effortless cadence of the past, his words come in a monotone broken by abrupt pauses. Torn out despite his reluctance—as if he's compelled to rid himself of them. ]
Yamaoka Renjiro sailed from Ezo [ Hokkaido, as Rin knows it and named to him. Within the grip of memory, however, its old name comes to him first. ] in pursuit of a life greater than what the cold barrenness of his birthplace could offer him. After he survived the shipwreck in which all others perished, he earned his wealth and renown on the battlefield. He served only those who were worthy of commanding his skills and followed his own code. Ferocious with his blade and wise with his brush, he exemplified all that a samurai should be. And I was to follow in his footsteps.
[ even then, Kazan had no doubt that if he had done so, his name would have been praised, envied, revered alongside Renjiro's. But that knowledge had brought no satisfaction. He wanted more. To have his own legend writ large across history without his father's fame preceding it. To become a Yamaoka in his own right. ]
But there were pretenders. Lowborn warriors and even peasants daring to name themselves samurai without even having shed a single drop of their blood for it. With their impure lineage, they would claim a legacy as great as ours when they and their descendants were fit only to scratch in the dirt. That could not be allowed to endure. I had a son of my own by then. Were they meant to be his equal?
[ he presses onward without lingering. ]
They had to be purged. And it was only right to do so with the very blade which was used to bring glory to the name of Yamaoka. [ with a nod, he indicates Rin's right hand. ] It is the same one that you now wield, Granddaughter. I left the estate to begin this task and journeyed across the land, cutting down those impostors wherever I found them. [ a growl rises in his voice. He remembers it well. The slippery scraps of scalp still clinging to topknots, the strips of skin unworthy of the lions and dragons inked upon them—all ripped away with his bare hands. ] A fool of a lord began to call me Oni-Yamaoka when my deeds reached his ears, an insult which could not go unanswered.
[ some seconds pass as Kazan seethes at the memory. Then he continues, quieter but with no less intent. ]
It was on the road to the town where he dwelt that I met a true samurai. He barred my path, resolved to turn me away, and we fought. He was quick. More skilled than I, turning aside my blows as if he knew where they would land before I did. Yet at the moment when he would have bested me, he did not strike.
So I did. With my kanabō, I shattered his helmet and his skull. And then I saw his face.
It was my father's. I— [ he breaks off with a noise that echoes within the confines of his mask. As forceful as any snarl—yet hollow at the same time, reaching for anger that for once fails to manifest. ] I killed Yamaoka Renjiro. That is why the demon sought me out. Somehow it knew of what I had done, and presumed to judge and punish me for it.
[ which—despite how it swung its great knife with the unhurried certainty of an executioner—it hadn't. It had no right to. But it had overpowered him. That he can admit far more easily than the next words on his tongue. Yet he must speak them to dissuade Rin from seeking out the demon herself to avenge him. From giving it the chance to repeat to her what it told him when he isn't there to show her the vile untruth it is. ]
It spoke within my mind. It said that by cleansing the land of impostors and killing my father, I had cursed our bloodline. Tainted it with a darkness so great, it allowed the Entity to reach through and use the man you called father as its instrument to destroy it centuries later.
[ remembering its last "words," the familiar rage rises within him once more. During the trial, their echoes were all he could hear, drowning out the cries and pleading from the sacrifices. Now, it hardens his voice with an unrepentant defiance. ]
Unsatisfied with its victory, it mocked me. It said—that I am the reason that you are here.
[ ezo — it raises rin's brows as she tries to recall where that is for the briefest moment while her ears still listen to her grandfather's words.
so this is the hidden story of their family. the parts that disappear in pieces throughout history from each person within their bloodline. already she wonders what else there is about the legendary renjiro that her father hasn't mentioned to her before — what else is there to tell her when her father has drilled everything he knew in her mind since she was a young girl? the reason why she has to learn the art of the sword even when she didn't?
(right, ezo is hokkaido.)
there's a smile on rin's face with how she imagines the great renjiro rise from rags to riches. how amazing he must have been have made their family famous back in the day — and how clear it is that he loves his family as well. so kazan gains a wonderful childhood, and surely that means he's given his family that as well.
they are yamaokas however, and life is not always beautiful even if they value their family.
had rin been human, her face would have gone pale as kazan's story takes a darker turn. pretenders? the need to purge them — murder. when she looks at her hand, the sheathe of her sword, the source of constant pain and reminder that she made a contract with the entity... this is the same sword that her ancestor used to kill them all?
she takes in a sharp inhale as fingers curl up into her palm so tightly. ]
... so it's you who ended my my mother's life.
[ when the story is over, rin stays silent until she breaks it with words from her heart that's laced with the cursed rage within her blood. it may have been her father who sliced her into pieces, but if it weren't for the man in front of her — ]
If it wasn't for you, then my father may not have hurt us.... [ right? wouldn't they have been happy? ] Your pride influenced him like it did me when I relished the violence.
[ the boys that fought her on the street after school. their taunts, the fury she unleashed — and it felt good. as though she let the souls of her ancestors guide her movements and deal with her terrors. this time, however, she knows better. this time it's her own words and thoughts despite being laced with the curse.
her scarred hand — the sheathe of her shattered sword — raises over her dead heart. there are no beats and yet she takes in deeper, harsher breaths as though she had a living heart that races. nails dig into her cold skin before she glares at him with those glowing white pupils of hers. ]
You — this is all your fault... your selfishness. Your desire for blood that you disguise as justice... [ she takes in a sharp, shaky breath. ] IF IT WASN'T FOR YOU I WOULDN'T BE HERE!
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no subject
[ the way kazan says his words is a completely different tone than what she's used to; something is already off, which catches rin's attention as much as the wound that seems to have been freshly pierced through his chest.
though rin hasn't witnessed the battle in its entirety, she hasn't forgotten how her grandfather became bound by unbreakable steel and sharp wire that makes one bleed as they do. just by seeing all the damage that creature — whatever its name is — has done, the kind of fight she could only imagine that they went through... surely her grandfather has thoughts in mind. a reflection, perhaps.
it certainly sounds like it as rin listens to her grandfather explain the fight. already she senses the same determination he's always had by the last word. of course he would be ready to fight him again, and rin hopes for two things out of it: 1) that a repeat of what happened tonight doesn't happen again, and; 2) that she makes it in time to help him.
rin refuses death upon her family a third time over, with the exception of her father of course.
there's a bottle of water that she cracks open and pours over cloth, making sure to clean the wound first — she hasn't forgotten how to do first aid. as rin gently taps against the opening of the wound, she speaks: ]
Are you okay, Grandfather?
[ she already asked about his injuries previously, so of course rin asks how he feels. family makes sure to care for each other that way. it's a phrase she tends to ask her mother during the time she'd been sickly — and during the time she treats her own wounds herself.
rin always received, "I'm fine, Rin," in the end of their conversations. ]
no subject
Is he okay? He can only say yes, the demands of tradition and necessity clamoring louder in his ears than Rin's worry. He cannot show weakness. To appear as anything other than a source of strength for her to rely upon... would he be any better than that man—not her father, not his descendant—who condemned her to a lonely eternity in this mockery of an afterlife instead of protecting her as he should have done? What good will it do her if he gives voice to the doubts within him?
Kazan looks at Renjiro's mask again. The crimson splatters across its face, against the wall, on the floor before it. Permanently desecrated by an unspeakable act, it's yet another insult from the Entity. From what Rin told him about the night she died, her only warning before she was struck down was the grisly sight of her mother's dismembered corpse. His father, in contrast, must have followed a trail of bodies for days before he met his death. Ties of blood meant to endure for centuries, severed in a single instant. The thought that he has anything in common with Rin's murderer sickens him. But in the stillness, it gains purchase in his mind. Aided by the silence around him, it gives shape to the whispers the demon left.
A curse.
He would never hurt Rin so. He would rather turn his own blade on himself before allowing such madness to overtake him again.
Kazan draws a deep breath. Exhales. ]
What have you been told of the beginnings of our bloodline, Granddaughter? Of my father, Yamaoka Renjiro—his life and his death?
no subject
it's nothing new to come home with injured wounds, but that depends on how the trial goes through. rin recalls the way the entity pierces her body, making her bleed out as if she were a regular human being again. a sharp lesson not to ever fail sacrificing survivors, moreso letting them go, otherwise be taught otherwise once more. the memory of the pain stays put where the entity slashes and scars her in place, rin learns her place.
rin learns to become the onryou she willingly becomes for the sake of punishing her father for eternity, and eventually one to be feared by everyone. just because she's the most humane at home doesn't mean she won't kill anyone that disrupts her peace. their peace now that her ancestor arrives.
more red stains the floor of their home as rin nurses her grandfathers injuries. all her mind can think about now since his answer is the creature that attacks him — the steel helmet, the barbed wire, the blade it has... why? why does it attack her grandfather to the point of death and not her? what did it want from him? why does it just leave as though it finishes its job? why — ]
Ah, our family history?
[ immediately memories of the past flood in. the way her father schools her of their ancestry, how she must remember these details and be proud of their family heritage. there's a notable pause from rin as she tries to shrug off how her father looks like in her memory despite seeing him in every trial.
it doesn't work, of course. that doesn't mean she has no answer. ]
Yamaoka Renjiro died honorably in battle protecting the people in need, but who he died from has been lost in history. [ a beat. ] He earns his wealth by being loyal to his master, eventually earning his own place in society during his time. He never strays from the Bushido code, a role model for all. He was loved by his family — and family is one of the most important things I've learned the most from him.
[ this is the part where rin begins familiar movement of bandages: she stands on her feet and proceeds to wrap it around his upper body. ]
Why do you ask?
no subject
He doesn't speak. When Rin stands to wind the bandages around him, he shifts to accommodate her, his movements stiff. The blood darkening the cloth pales with each layer added. In this, too, she is careful—but the sensation recalls the jagged agony of the demon's sharp wires as they ensnared him, cutting deep into his flesh. Only when she finishes does he reply to her question. ]
You were taught a story. There is truth in it, but it is not complete. As the last heir of the Yamaoka legacy, you deserve to know it in full.
[ here, seated within their familial home, he could be his father, teaching his son about his origins. He could be himself of a winter long gone by, doing the same for Akito while snow fell thick and heavy outside. But far from the effortless cadence of the past, his words come in a monotone broken by abrupt pauses. Torn out despite his reluctance—as if he's compelled to rid himself of them. ]
Yamaoka Renjiro sailed from Ezo [ Hokkaido, as Rin knows it and named to him. Within the grip of memory, however, its old name comes to him first. ] in pursuit of a life greater than what the cold barrenness of his birthplace could offer him. After he survived the shipwreck in which all others perished, he earned his wealth and renown on the battlefield. He served only those who were worthy of commanding his skills and followed his own code. Ferocious with his blade and wise with his brush, he exemplified all that a samurai should be. And I was to follow in his footsteps.
[ even then, Kazan had no doubt that if he had done so, his name would have been praised, envied, revered alongside Renjiro's. But that knowledge had brought no satisfaction. He wanted more. To have his own legend writ large across history without his father's fame preceding it. To become a Yamaoka in his own right. ]
But there were pretenders. Lowborn warriors and even peasants daring to name themselves samurai without even having shed a single drop of their blood for it. With their impure lineage, they would claim a legacy as great as ours when they and their descendants were fit only to scratch in the dirt. That could not be allowed to endure. I had a son of my own by then. Were they meant to be his equal?
[ he presses onward without lingering. ]
They had to be purged. And it was only right to do so with the very blade which was used to bring glory to the name of Yamaoka. [ with a nod, he indicates Rin's right hand. ] It is the same one that you now wield, Granddaughter. I left the estate to begin this task and journeyed across the land, cutting down those impostors wherever I found them. [ a growl rises in his voice. He remembers it well. The slippery scraps of scalp still clinging to topknots, the strips of skin unworthy of the lions and dragons inked upon them—all ripped away with his bare hands. ] A fool of a lord began to call me Oni-Yamaoka when my deeds reached his ears, an insult which could not go unanswered.
[ some seconds pass as Kazan seethes at the memory. Then he continues, quieter but with no less intent. ]
It was on the road to the town where he dwelt that I met a true samurai. He barred my path, resolved to turn me away, and we fought. He was quick. More skilled than I, turning aside my blows as if he knew where they would land before I did. Yet at the moment when he would have bested me, he did not strike.
So I did. With my kanabō, I shattered his helmet and his skull. And then I saw his face.
It was my father's. I— [ he breaks off with a noise that echoes within the confines of his mask. As forceful as any snarl—yet hollow at the same time, reaching for anger that for once fails to manifest. ] I killed Yamaoka Renjiro. That is why the demon sought me out. Somehow it knew of what I had done, and presumed to judge and punish me for it.
[ which—despite how it swung its great knife with the unhurried certainty of an executioner—it hadn't. It had no right to. But it had overpowered him. That he can admit far more easily than the next words on his tongue. Yet he must speak them to dissuade Rin from seeking out the demon herself to avenge him. From giving it the chance to repeat to her what it told him when he isn't there to show her the vile untruth it is. ]
It spoke within my mind. It said that by cleansing the land of impostors and killing my father, I had cursed our bloodline. Tainted it with a darkness so great, it allowed the Entity to reach through and use the man you called father as its instrument to destroy it centuries later.
[ remembering its last "words," the familiar rage rises within him once more. During the trial, their echoes were all he could hear, drowning out the cries and pleading from the sacrifices. Now, it hardens his voice with an unrepentant defiance. ]
Unsatisfied with its victory, it mocked me. It said—that I am the reason that you are here.
no subject
so this is the hidden story of their family. the parts that disappear in pieces throughout history from each person within their bloodline. already she wonders what else there is about the legendary renjiro that her father hasn't mentioned to her before — what else is there to tell her when her father has drilled everything he knew in her mind since she was a young girl? the reason why she has to learn the art of the sword even when she didn't?
(right, ezo is hokkaido.)
there's a smile on rin's face with how she imagines the great renjiro rise from rags to riches. how amazing he must have been have made their family famous back in the day — and how clear it is that he loves his family as well. so kazan gains a wonderful childhood, and surely that means he's given his family that as well.
they are yamaokas however, and life is not always beautiful even if they value their family.
had rin been human, her face would have gone pale as kazan's story takes a darker turn. pretenders? the need to purge them — murder. when she looks at her hand, the sheathe of her sword, the source of constant pain and reminder that she made a contract with the entity... this is the same sword that her ancestor used to kill them all?
she takes in a sharp inhale as fingers curl up into her palm so tightly. ]
... so it's you who ended my my mother's life.
[ when the story is over, rin stays silent until she breaks it with words from her heart that's laced with the cursed rage within her blood. it may have been her father who sliced her into pieces, but if it weren't for the man in front of her — ]
If it wasn't for you, then my father may not have hurt us.... [ right? wouldn't they have been happy? ] Your pride influenced him like it did me when I relished the violence.
[ the boys that fought her on the street after school. their taunts, the fury she unleashed — and it felt good. as though she let the souls of her ancestors guide her movements and deal with her terrors. this time, however, she knows better. this time it's her own words and thoughts despite being laced with the curse.
her scarred hand — the sheathe of her shattered sword — raises over her dead heart. there are no beats and yet she takes in deeper, harsher breaths as though she had a living heart that races. nails dig into her cold skin before she glares at him with those glowing white pupils of hers. ]
You — this is all your fault... your selfishness. Your desire for blood that you disguise as justice... [ she takes in a sharp, shaky breath. ] IF IT WASN'T FOR YOU I WOULDN'T BE HERE!