D'huro remained silent for several moments as his gaze drifted between the four Lotuses watching him from their elevated seats and he could feel their scrutiny filling the chamber. Cazzador's skepticism, Vana's guarded curiosity, Zion's quiet attention, and Azara's serene, almost unnerving patience. He had never formally stood before any of them, but listening to their exchanges had already given him enough insight to begin measuring their temperaments. Cautious, certainly. Suspicious, perhaps. But they were receptive.. for the most part.
And yet.
D'huro had faced armies that had fought tooth and nail to see his head mounted upon a spike. He had stood beneath gnashing fangs of Acheri behemoths and watched entire battlefields turn into killing grounds. And still, he could not remember the last time he had felt pressure quite like this..
The pressure of simply standing in this room.
“...”
His expression remained still and composed, but the same could not be said for the men surrounding him. Several of the Inuki hunters shifted uneasily. Fingers fidgeted against weapon hilts. Shoulders tightened. Eyes wandered across the unfamiliar architecture before quickly returning forward. Small movements. Almost imperceptible to the naked eye. But D'huro noticed.
Years of command had taught him that fear rarely announced itself through grand gestures. Sometimes it was nothing more than a thumb rubbing nervously against the guard of a sword. He allowed his men a moment to collect themselves. Then he drew a slow breath and cleared his throat.
“..We would not be here if the circumstances were not dire.” He said, crossing his arms at his back. “For nearly five thousand years, the Inuki have guarded Vescrutia from the breach located beneath the Strata Mountains.”
D'huro continued before reaching inside his cloak to retrieve a metallic orb.
“As you are aware, it is an aperture that connects this realm directly to that of Acheron. And across our tenure guarding its entrance, we have created territories within the realm to help maintain our foothold on the necks of the demonic blight.”
He said, pressing a button upon the metallic orb generating a sphere of pale light that rapidly spread throughout the center of the chamber.
Suddenly, the holographic visual of Acheron filled the space before them. A vast, hostile landscape unfolded beneath a grey sky of crimson clouds. Blackened earth stretched toward an indistinct horizon, somehow illuminated by neither sun nor moon. It was dark, but not blindingly so. The terrain was completely barren in places, twisted in others, and but so utterly alien that even some of the surrounding Mizu court seemed to grow quieter at the sight.
Yet scattered throughout that hellscape were signs of something distinctly Vescrutian.
Thousands upon thousands of Inuki hunters. Camps. Fortifications. Supply stations.
Massive lamps powered by Naten and artificial energy illuminated the surrounding darkness, creating islands of warmth against the oppressive grey sky.
Twenty thousand warriors stood stationed within the territory. Twenty thousand trained hunters. This was Navar Inuki's battalion. Practically an entire army operating as a unified extension of the Inuki military machine. And despite the incredibly bleak environment, the scene conveyed a sense of control and security that seemed almost reassuring in the face of doom itself. The Inuki had literally carved a foothold into Acheron and transformed it into a military frontier.
D'huro allowed the projection to remain for several seconds. Before he continued. And when he did, the calm certainty in his voice.. waivered.
“But something has changed.”
He said clicking another button, and immediately, the visual shifted. The next array of images illustrated what occurred merely moments later. The massive presence of New Vorelia was razed into a cauterized pit of bones, destruction, and molten debris. The visceral images forced most of the Inuki hunters standing behind Dhuro to avert their gaze. The event was only nearly a year ago, but the wounds of loss and sense of powerlessness and grief were crippling.
But Dhuro did not look back.
"For months, the Inuki have sent hunters beyond the breach in an attempt to locate and confront this.. threat.” His jaw tightened. "Thousands have been deployed.. And thousands have died.” He paused. “..Nalar and Jade Inuki were among them.”
The names carried through the chamber. And for the briefest moment, D'huro's expression betrayed something beneath his usual discipline.. Regret. But just as quickly, it was gone. And he continued.
"But prior to her death, Jade was able to accumulate empirical data from the battle.” The projection shifted again. Fragmented visual recordings appeared alongside diagrams, distorted silhouettes, environmental readings, and scattered pieces of testimony. "She collected accounts from those who survived long enough to speak. Fragmented images of what they encountered. Environmental changes. Biological abnormalities. And what we believe may be indications of vulnerabilities.”
His eyes narrowed.
“We have studied the remains of examined territories where entire Acheri forces simply ceased to exist.” He said, fixing his gaze against the Mizu Tsuki Council observing from above. “And while we have never encountered one before, we have every reason to believe that this is a Prime Acheri.”
The statement settled heavily over the chamber as his eyes shifted now across all bearing witnesses within the building.
[B["Entire regions of Acheron while, originally alien, have been rendered unrecognizable. Acheri swarms abandoning territories they had occupied for centuries, the air once compatible with our bodies, have become the agent of some incurable pathogen."[/b] His fingers curled slowly into fists as he continued.. “But everything we know is conjecture. All we can be certain of is that Prime Acheri possesses a level of power beyond anything the Inuki have previously encountered."
He looked toward the council.
"And it is moving toward the breach.”
He said, allowing the chamber to sift back into a loaded silence in reflection of his warning. The very room seemed to grow colder as he continued.
“Our Grand Luminary has thus made a decision; We will not wait for this monster to reach our doorstep.” He straightened his posture. "We will enter Acheron and vanquish the Prime before it reaches the breach."
His words were spoken without bravado. Without pride.. Only necessity. His softened expression had grown hardened and resolute. But his voice maintained that military control he'd been known for.
"But as resolute as we are, we are not daft." D'huro's returned now to the council.
"The Inuki recognize that If we are to accomplish this feat, this is no longer a battle we can afford to fight alone.”
He said, fixing his words toward the High Priestess.
"The Yaarou have agreed to accompany us into Acheron." He allowed the significance of that statement to settle beneath the hushed gasps. "We would not have sought their involvement lightly. The Yaarou possess abilities and knowledge that even the Inuki cannot replicate. But despite their.. legacy.. They alone are not enough."
The words drew another silence.
"For all the differences between our clans, the Inuki recognize an undeniable truth: Mizu Tsuki are the one of the greatest forces in Edo when it comes to understanding and destroying the Acheri.”
He continued now, softening his gaze.
"You possess knowledge our people do not." His gaze moved toward Zion.
"You have studied their biology." Toward Vana. "You have fought them across generations." Toward Cazzador. "You possess resources capable of supporting a campaign our traditional methods cannot sustain." And finally, toward Azara.
"And you possess knowledge of the supernatural that may be indispensable against something our clan has ever encountered.”
D'huro lowered his head slightly. "We have been rivals for generations.. I will not pretend otherwise." The admission carried more weight than any attempt at flattery could have. "We have disagreed over methods and doctrines that illustrate what it means to serve our people."
He looked around the chamber.
"You believe we cling too tightly to the past.. We believe you have allowed the pursuit of prosperity to corrupt a sacred duty." D'huro's eyes hardened. "But none of that matters if the physical world falls.”
Of Moon and Sky; Fushimashi; Village Betwixt the Cherry Blossoms [END]
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Kuno Inuki
- Drifter
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Wed Jul 15, 2026 12:50 pm
Re: Of Moon and Sky; Fushimashi; Village Betwixt the Cherry Blossoms
The fame, the glory, the honor of his parent's legacy was a great and powerful shadow that his parent's had left behind. It wasn't something that Kuno was afraid of in the slightest, his parents had raised him to be privy to all the techniques and motivation that they should have as Inuki warriors. Their shadow was something that constantly surrounded him in the village of 'Sun-Hounds' and that was part of the reason Kuno secluded himself from it so vehemently.
The boy was sick of it, stricken with grief and denial that the greatest warriors he knew were used as a mere building block of Inuki prophecy and a stepping stone of Archeri domination. It was something that tore Kuno apart inside. The acknowledgement of their achievements wasn't something he was prepared to hear both inside and outside of the village, his face twisted away fighting back both tears and despair at the stories about the heights of his parents he was expected to achieve.
Kuno wanted to achieve greatness in spite of the greatness he heard so much about. The quiet stares and obscure whispers was something that Kuno was protected from while they were alive but his stark difference in appearance from his parents drew much attention from his compatriots at all times. Their achievements could no longer protect him from the public opinion of their expectations, or lack thereof. The distance he felt from his parents manifested itself in the hair he grew after the funeral memorial in their honor, shaving the hair his parents gifted them with their genetics that he had grown since birth this pitch black color that grew was a constant testimony of his sorrow. His albino skin was already more sensitive to light than the average Inuki but he made sure not a single fleck of it was reflected by the hair on his head.
The war stories and victories was never something his parents brought home outright, not that he didn't hear about throughout the village, but they were passionate about driving home the lessons they learned in their expeditions. Thus the boy was quiet in response to the Mizu chief praising the history they had together, listening desperately to the tale but carefully trying to avoid showing the emotion that was fighting to express itself on his face. Eye contact was fleeting to say the least, his eyes cutting back to the council at every mention of their name.
D'huro was much more upfront about the duties and responsibilities he expected Kuno to be able to reach at his young and inexperienced age, and the boy respected that. He did not hide the gruesome details of war and battle behind the emotional history he had with his parents, it was a stark contrast to how his parent's raised him and the young scholar scried much more knowledge from his words than any honor that vague memories of them brought forth.
Kuno had seen the footage before of the Archeri aftermath, nonetheless his eyes were drawn to the grave scene where his parents fell, his lips tightening with contempt witnessing the insurmountable power that he deigned to find a way to eventually overcome. His head was cast downward as if he was trying to find cracks in the smoothly polished floor of the council room, his eyes starting to well with tears before he distracted his thoughts with the research he planned to correlate with their next strike. Trying his best to stay in the moment and remembering the entire reason they came here instead of regretting the mistakes of the past, the path he had often found himself on after their death, one that bred resentment for the honor bound Inuki way of living.
Listening to the cold hard facts was one of the only ways Kuno could settle his mind, one of the reasons he so often found himself in their archives, standing on the light of the windows in the upper reaches of the tallest shelves. The generals speech was thankfully long enough for Kuno to gather his thoughts and find his voice once more, if not just long enough to for him to reciprocate his thanks for the heralding stories of his heritage. He stepped forward.
"You honor me, regaling memories of Nalar and Jade Inuki."
Kuno said flatly, bowing slowly and honestly doing his best to drain his voice of the emotions that might cause his words to quiver.
"But the way my parents fought this war is what has led them and so many of my kin to their death over the course of this never-ending war."
Trying to speak with confidence that the weight of his heritage would raise his words to the lofty authority of the Mizu council, since they seemed to think of them as highly as his own elders, was difficult since he had little to say even to his own leaders. Nevertheless he continued.
"We hope to unite our knowledge in order to end this cycle of endless sacrifices and stop this conflict. For as our commander has aptly stated, it will become unstoppable if left under the same stewardship."
His eyes lifted with the most determined gaze he could manage towards Mizu council. There wasn't one that his thoughts rested on in particular, almost as if he were gazing through them, though his eyes did narrow on the one that spoke of his parents. It was a gaze of indifference, as if to say it did not matter what his parents did, it didn't matter what any of these high and mighty council members did if they were going to commit to self-genocide by not changing their ways. He looked past them at the vast wealth of information and resources that they had to offer. Looking desperately for a way to change his circumstance, all of their circumstances, for the sake of his parents and so many others that had lost their lives. Still, he bowed even deeper after his statement, intentionally avoiding the repercussions of D'huro's gaze itself knowing full well the carriage he had thrown their leaders under before he stepped back in line.
The boy was sick of it, stricken with grief and denial that the greatest warriors he knew were used as a mere building block of Inuki prophecy and a stepping stone of Archeri domination. It was something that tore Kuno apart inside. The acknowledgement of their achievements wasn't something he was prepared to hear both inside and outside of the village, his face twisted away fighting back both tears and despair at the stories about the heights of his parents he was expected to achieve.
Kuno wanted to achieve greatness in spite of the greatness he heard so much about. The quiet stares and obscure whispers was something that Kuno was protected from while they were alive but his stark difference in appearance from his parents drew much attention from his compatriots at all times. Their achievements could no longer protect him from the public opinion of their expectations, or lack thereof. The distance he felt from his parents manifested itself in the hair he grew after the funeral memorial in their honor, shaving the hair his parents gifted them with their genetics that he had grown since birth this pitch black color that grew was a constant testimony of his sorrow. His albino skin was already more sensitive to light than the average Inuki but he made sure not a single fleck of it was reflected by the hair on his head.
The war stories and victories was never something his parents brought home outright, not that he didn't hear about throughout the village, but they were passionate about driving home the lessons they learned in their expeditions. Thus the boy was quiet in response to the Mizu chief praising the history they had together, listening desperately to the tale but carefully trying to avoid showing the emotion that was fighting to express itself on his face. Eye contact was fleeting to say the least, his eyes cutting back to the council at every mention of their name.
D'huro was much more upfront about the duties and responsibilities he expected Kuno to be able to reach at his young and inexperienced age, and the boy respected that. He did not hide the gruesome details of war and battle behind the emotional history he had with his parents, it was a stark contrast to how his parent's raised him and the young scholar scried much more knowledge from his words than any honor that vague memories of them brought forth.
Kuno had seen the footage before of the Archeri aftermath, nonetheless his eyes were drawn to the grave scene where his parents fell, his lips tightening with contempt witnessing the insurmountable power that he deigned to find a way to eventually overcome. His head was cast downward as if he was trying to find cracks in the smoothly polished floor of the council room, his eyes starting to well with tears before he distracted his thoughts with the research he planned to correlate with their next strike. Trying his best to stay in the moment and remembering the entire reason they came here instead of regretting the mistakes of the past, the path he had often found himself on after their death, one that bred resentment for the honor bound Inuki way of living.
Listening to the cold hard facts was one of the only ways Kuno could settle his mind, one of the reasons he so often found himself in their archives, standing on the light of the windows in the upper reaches of the tallest shelves. The generals speech was thankfully long enough for Kuno to gather his thoughts and find his voice once more, if not just long enough to for him to reciprocate his thanks for the heralding stories of his heritage. He stepped forward.
"You honor me, regaling memories of Nalar and Jade Inuki."
Kuno said flatly, bowing slowly and honestly doing his best to drain his voice of the emotions that might cause his words to quiver.
"But the way my parents fought this war is what has led them and so many of my kin to their death over the course of this never-ending war."
Trying to speak with confidence that the weight of his heritage would raise his words to the lofty authority of the Mizu council, since they seemed to think of them as highly as his own elders, was difficult since he had little to say even to his own leaders. Nevertheless he continued.
"We hope to unite our knowledge in order to end this cycle of endless sacrifices and stop this conflict. For as our commander has aptly stated, it will become unstoppable if left under the same stewardship."
His eyes lifted with the most determined gaze he could manage towards Mizu council. There wasn't one that his thoughts rested on in particular, almost as if he were gazing through them, though his eyes did narrow on the one that spoke of his parents. It was a gaze of indifference, as if to say it did not matter what his parents did, it didn't matter what any of these high and mighty council members did if they were going to commit to self-genocide by not changing their ways. He looked past them at the vast wealth of information and resources that they had to offer. Looking desperately for a way to change his circumstance, all of their circumstances, for the sake of his parents and so many others that had lost their lives. Still, he bowed even deeper after his statement, intentionally avoiding the repercussions of D'huro's gaze itself knowing full well the carriage he had thrown their leaders under before he stepped back in line.
Re: Of Moon and Sky; Fushimashi; Village Betwixt the Cherry Blossoms
The air within the Moon Temple hung heavy, a fragile tapestry of ancestral pride and encroaching dread. As Dhuro spoke, the countenance of the Lotus Council shifted like shadows cast by a dying flame. His words, blunt and heavy with the scent of distant ash, fell on ears with varying weight. Some of the council members leaned forward, their expressions warming with a reluctant embrace of his sentiments; others sat back, their jaws set, clinging tightly to their reservations.
Yet, it was not until the shimmering projection of the Demon Realm, Acheron, manifested from the sleek copper device in Dhuro’s hand that all their brows furrowed in unison. For the first time since they had convened at the breaking of dawn, the council was of one accord.
To witness the Inuki clans’ battalion standing firm in realms that not a single Mizu clan member had ever dared to touch was a sight both harrowing and deeply humbling. The projection flickered, casting a sickly violet glow over the assembly. In the light of that hellish landscape, even Cazzador, despite his deep-seated bigotry and historic disdain for the Inuki, was forced to straighten his demeanor. He adjusted his silken robes, silent in begrudging respect of their monumental efforts. That the Inuki had made this much headway into the shifting, chaotic bowels of the demon realm spoke volumes, validating the near-mythic legends of the Sun Hounds.
And then, the projection fractured. An explosion of dark, miasmic energy rippled through the light.
The Lotuses instantly averted their gaze, shielding their eyes from the simulated horror. All save for the High Priestess. No, her gaze did not waver. Instead, her eyes narrowed, her soft, delicate features sharpening into something predatory. A terrifying glint of pure, unadulterated hatred shone within her dilated pupils. It was a look that betrayed her usually serene, maternal demeanor, sparked by the mere mention of a single name: A Prime Acheri.
This was the highest echelon of demon. Not even a whisper of such a creature had been uttered within the borders of the Mizu clan for the last five thousand years. Not since their holy Ancestor, the First Erabrashi, defeated one during the Moon’s Sundering—the cataclysmic event that had sealed their eternal pact with the Great Spirit Tsukuyomi.
As Dhuro bared the Inuki’s desperate plans to lead a full campaign into the deepest abyss of Hell, a cold tension gripped the room. The shoulders, hands, and jaws of four of the Lotuses clenched tight. Only Azara remained still, leaning forward from her carved jade throne, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous, calculating intrigue. Beside her, Vana’s hand trembled so violently that her porcelain tea cup rattled against its saucer. Zion, usually the epitome of flawless poise, suffered a brief, cracking slip of his composure, his breath catching in his throat.
Despite Dhuro’s vulnerable plea and the undeniable truth of his words, none of the council members were hasty to grant his request for aid.
"You wish to storm Acheron," Azara said, her voice dripping like cold honey. "Yet you remain blind to the true nature of the beast you seek."
"We hear your plea, Dhuro," Zion added, recovering his steady cadence. "And we respect your legacy, as well as that of the Inuki clan as a whole."
"However," Vana murmured, her voice tight, "those merits you speak of have come at an unbearable cost. While the Inuki delve into the heart of chaos, we have barely managed to keep Edo bound at its seams. We have spent our blood dealing with the minor rifts erupting across the continent. Thousands of Mizu lives have been lost to secure our borders. Our numbers are less than half of yours."
She looked down, her fingers tightening around her robes. "We are not as long-lived as your kind, Dhuro. You can live for thousands of years. We are..." She paused, swallowing hard. "We are an ephemeral star. We burn brightly, boldly, beautifully—but briefly. It is the very reason why such extreme, ancient barriers conceal Fushimashi. With the Zeno clan waiting on our borders like wolves, we can ill afford to send our people to die in the dark."
Zion bowed his head, his hands trembling within his ceremonial sleeves. "The most we can do is support your campaign with weapons, and a consignment of our treasured Gekkosui."
Beside him, Vana let out a fragile breath, her knuckles white where she gripped the lip of the stone altar. "I am truly sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking under the grief of an empire stretched to its breaking point, "that we cannot be of more help—"
BANG.
A sudden, sharp ruckus erupted outside the heavy chamber doors, shattering the solemnity of the hall like brittle glass.
"Sir! We have strict orders! None are permitted to enter during the council's session!" a guard shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted marble arches.
"And how, precisely, do you intend to stop me?" a cool, smooth voice replied from beyond the threshold.
"Dammit... open the doors!"
Before the guard could finish his curse, the massive, white porcelain doors of the hall cracked open with a thunderous groan. Dhuro and his hardened Inuki party pivoted in unison, their hands dropping instinctively to the hilts of their battle-worn blades. They braced themselves, expecting the grand entrance of a giant, battle-scarred Mizu warlord—a titan draped in iron and blood.
Instead, their eyes fell upon a young man of remarkably lithe, slender musculature.
He walked into the sacred chamber as though he were merely strolling through a quiet garden. He possessed a breathtaking, almost androgynous beauty—a face sculptured with such precise, impossible symmetry that it seemed carved by divine hands rather than birthed. His smooth brown skin was entirely flawless, untouched by a single wrinkle, scar, or blemish of war, defying the violent era in which they lived. Long, silken frost-blue hair fell over his shoulders in a riveting cascade, his bangs parting perfectly down the center of his face to frame features that were at once delicate and profoundly stoic.
But it was his eyes that arrested the entire room. They glimmered with an ethereal, shifting mix of pale blue and silver light, like staring directly into the cold reflection of a solstice moon upon a still, bottomless lake. To look into his eyes was to feel entirely exposed; they carried a piercing, tranquil clarity that stripped away deceit, ego, and pretense, forcing reality into its most authentic form with a single glance.
"If it is a weapon you wish to bestow upon them," he said. His voice was a soft, resonant baritone, smooth as silk yet carrying a subtle, structural weight that resonated through the stone floor and reached every corner of the high-ceilinged room.
The grace with which he walked was so precise, so unnervingly fluid, that one might have mistaken him for a high court noblewoman, were it not for the subtle, powerful contraction of lean muscles beneath his loose, flowing garments. He commanded the absolute, breathless attention of the room without ever raising a finger or gesturing for it.
"Then I shall be the blade sent forth."
The moment his boots stepped onto the polished floor, the entire Lotus Council stood up in unison. They did not hesitate. There was no hurried exchange of glances, no political hesitation. Without a single word, every Elder, grandee, and high priestest bowed deep and low—even the sovereign Azara bent her spine in profound, fearful reverence before the young man.
"E-Erabrashi..." Cazzador stammered, his usual haughty edge instantly dissolving into wide-eyed panic.
"We were told you would not be in attendance today," Vana said, her previous grief momentarily forgotten, swallowed whole by the overwhelming pressure of his presence.
Kalm continued his walk, his pace unhurried, almost rhythmic. "My father had a sudden change of heart," he said affably, though his face remained a mask of absolute calm. "Nevertheless, you need not worry yourselves over the loss of Mizu lives."
He reached the central dais, stopping a few feet from the foreign Inuki delegates.
"I alone will stand with the Inuki in their campaign."
Kalm’s arresting eyes swept over the foreign warriors, pausing for a long, heavy moment on Kuno. His gaze settled on Kuno's left shoulder—where an old demonic curse throbbed beneath his armor—piercing so deeply that it felt as though Kalm were reading the very fabric of his soul. He recognized something in Kuno's stare... an understanding of loss, yes, but...a somber flame of vengeance as well. After a silent, agonizing few seconds, Kalm turned his attention to Dhuro.
Dhuro’s body was a jagged map of centuries of war, battered and scarred from countless bloody clashes. Though Kalm harbored his own quiet reservations about the Inuki’s reckless, destructive methods, he respected them. They shared a sacred, inescapable duty to protect the mortal plane from the demonic abyss. Yet, it was not duty that compelled Kalm today. His reasons were entirely personal, devoid of any noble sense of grand camaraderie.
"Respectfully, Young Lord," Azara spoke, her tone desperate, almost pleading as she remained half-bowed. "You are the very pillar of Mizu society. The vessel of our faith. We cannot afford to lose you. We would rather risk ten thousand of our warriors than see you step into Acheron."
"That is where our basic ideologies differ, Azara," Kalm replied quietly. He turned away from Dhuro, his footsteps echoing softly against the silence as he bypassed the Inuki delegates to face the council directly.
"I would gladly give my life to save those ten thousand instead."
He looked down at his right hand, idly spinning a worn, copper-and-silver coin between his slender fingers. It was smooth at the edges, tarnished by time—the only memento he had left of a childhood friend snatched away by an Acheri raid so many years ago.
"Besides," Kalm said, flicking the coin high into the vaulted air and catching it with a soft snap against his palm.
As he looked up at Azara, the spiritual pressure in the room suddenly bottomed out.
It was not a violent, explosive surge of energy, but a heavy, dragging weight—reality itself buckling under the sheer intensity of his resolve. The ambient temperature plunged instantly, sending a shuddering frost across the decorative water basins. The air grew bitterly cold, and a quiet, unseen force squeezed the physical space of the temple, making it hard for the councilors to draw breath.
"I alone am greater than the sum of ten thousand Mizu."
A casual, chilling breeze swept through the Moon Temple, carrying the weight of his declaration. To an outsider, it would have sounded like the heights of monstrous hubris. But to those who looked into Kalm's silver-blue eyes, there was no arrogance to be found. Only an unnerving, absolute certainty.
It was not a boast. It was a fact. And every member of the Lotus Council present knew it to their core. They knew that once the Erabrashi's resolve took hold, nothing in this world or the next could sway him.
"We have given so much, lost so many to this scourge," Kalm said, his voice dropping to a quiet, sentimental register they had never heard from him before. "Every member of this council has fashioned me to be the blade that carves the Acheri. And now, when the chance to strike a mortal blow finally presents itself... you ask me to cower, coddled in the safety of our village?"
He closed his hand over the coin. "I will not... I refuse... to lose someone else I love to the demons. We cannot continue to hide behind our glittering veils, hoping the threat decides to leave us be."
His eyes narrowed into terrifying, sharp crescents of silver and pale blue light, as if the cold, merciless ire of the Moon Kirin itself was looking out through his gaze.
"Every waking hour of my life, every prayer I have uttered to the Lord of Petals has been for this exact moment... for this exact opportunity."
He stepped closer to the edge of the dais, his voice ringing with quiet thunder. "I will not wait for this demon to come burning the door of my homeland to act."
The air rippled around his shoulders, a shimmering halo of pale frost crackling softly at his heels. "It's high time the Acheri, fear-sucking parasites they are, experienced fear themselves."
The chill deepened, frosting the edges of the high stained glass. "The next time they even think about peeking their head out of the abyss, it will be my face they see staring back, and they will recoil."
Kalm’s aura flared—a brief, suffocating flash of pure lunar essence that dropped the room’s temperature by several more degrees, causing the breath of every warrior to bloom into white mist. Realizing the physical strain he was causing the mortals around him, Kalm took a deep, deliberate breath, drawing the crushing pressure back into his core.
The frost receded, though the ambient cold lingered like a promise. He turned slowly back to face the battle-hardened commander of the Inuki.
"Commander Dhuro, was it?" he asked softly, resting his folded hands naturally within the wide, elegant sleeves of his long kimono.
"Allow me to join you. You will find none more capable than I of aiding your ambitions. Kalm Mizu Tsuki, Erabrashi of the Great Spirit Tsukuyomi."
Yet, it was not until the shimmering projection of the Demon Realm, Acheron, manifested from the sleek copper device in Dhuro’s hand that all their brows furrowed in unison. For the first time since they had convened at the breaking of dawn, the council was of one accord.
To witness the Inuki clans’ battalion standing firm in realms that not a single Mizu clan member had ever dared to touch was a sight both harrowing and deeply humbling. The projection flickered, casting a sickly violet glow over the assembly. In the light of that hellish landscape, even Cazzador, despite his deep-seated bigotry and historic disdain for the Inuki, was forced to straighten his demeanor. He adjusted his silken robes, silent in begrudging respect of their monumental efforts. That the Inuki had made this much headway into the shifting, chaotic bowels of the demon realm spoke volumes, validating the near-mythic legends of the Sun Hounds.
And then, the projection fractured. An explosion of dark, miasmic energy rippled through the light.
The Lotuses instantly averted their gaze, shielding their eyes from the simulated horror. All save for the High Priestess. No, her gaze did not waver. Instead, her eyes narrowed, her soft, delicate features sharpening into something predatory. A terrifying glint of pure, unadulterated hatred shone within her dilated pupils. It was a look that betrayed her usually serene, maternal demeanor, sparked by the mere mention of a single name: A Prime Acheri.
This was the highest echelon of demon. Not even a whisper of such a creature had been uttered within the borders of the Mizu clan for the last five thousand years. Not since their holy Ancestor, the First Erabrashi, defeated one during the Moon’s Sundering—the cataclysmic event that had sealed their eternal pact with the Great Spirit Tsukuyomi.
As Dhuro bared the Inuki’s desperate plans to lead a full campaign into the deepest abyss of Hell, a cold tension gripped the room. The shoulders, hands, and jaws of four of the Lotuses clenched tight. Only Azara remained still, leaning forward from her carved jade throne, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous, calculating intrigue. Beside her, Vana’s hand trembled so violently that her porcelain tea cup rattled against its saucer. Zion, usually the epitome of flawless poise, suffered a brief, cracking slip of his composure, his breath catching in his throat.
Despite Dhuro’s vulnerable plea and the undeniable truth of his words, none of the council members were hasty to grant his request for aid.
"You wish to storm Acheron," Azara said, her voice dripping like cold honey. "Yet you remain blind to the true nature of the beast you seek."
"We hear your plea, Dhuro," Zion added, recovering his steady cadence. "And we respect your legacy, as well as that of the Inuki clan as a whole."
"However," Vana murmured, her voice tight, "those merits you speak of have come at an unbearable cost. While the Inuki delve into the heart of chaos, we have barely managed to keep Edo bound at its seams. We have spent our blood dealing with the minor rifts erupting across the continent. Thousands of Mizu lives have been lost to secure our borders. Our numbers are less than half of yours."
She looked down, her fingers tightening around her robes. "We are not as long-lived as your kind, Dhuro. You can live for thousands of years. We are..." She paused, swallowing hard. "We are an ephemeral star. We burn brightly, boldly, beautifully—but briefly. It is the very reason why such extreme, ancient barriers conceal Fushimashi. With the Zeno clan waiting on our borders like wolves, we can ill afford to send our people to die in the dark."
Zion bowed his head, his hands trembling within his ceremonial sleeves. "The most we can do is support your campaign with weapons, and a consignment of our treasured Gekkosui."
Beside him, Vana let out a fragile breath, her knuckles white where she gripped the lip of the stone altar. "I am truly sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking under the grief of an empire stretched to its breaking point, "that we cannot be of more help—"
BANG.
A sudden, sharp ruckus erupted outside the heavy chamber doors, shattering the solemnity of the hall like brittle glass.
"Sir! We have strict orders! None are permitted to enter during the council's session!" a guard shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted marble arches.
"And how, precisely, do you intend to stop me?" a cool, smooth voice replied from beyond the threshold.
"Dammit... open the doors!"
Before the guard could finish his curse, the massive, white porcelain doors of the hall cracked open with a thunderous groan. Dhuro and his hardened Inuki party pivoted in unison, their hands dropping instinctively to the hilts of their battle-worn blades. They braced themselves, expecting the grand entrance of a giant, battle-scarred Mizu warlord—a titan draped in iron and blood.
Instead, their eyes fell upon a young man of remarkably lithe, slender musculature.
He walked into the sacred chamber as though he were merely strolling through a quiet garden. He possessed a breathtaking, almost androgynous beauty—a face sculptured with such precise, impossible symmetry that it seemed carved by divine hands rather than birthed. His smooth brown skin was entirely flawless, untouched by a single wrinkle, scar, or blemish of war, defying the violent era in which they lived. Long, silken frost-blue hair fell over his shoulders in a riveting cascade, his bangs parting perfectly down the center of his face to frame features that were at once delicate and profoundly stoic.
But it was his eyes that arrested the entire room. They glimmered with an ethereal, shifting mix of pale blue and silver light, like staring directly into the cold reflection of a solstice moon upon a still, bottomless lake. To look into his eyes was to feel entirely exposed; they carried a piercing, tranquil clarity that stripped away deceit, ego, and pretense, forcing reality into its most authentic form with a single glance.
"If it is a weapon you wish to bestow upon them," he said. His voice was a soft, resonant baritone, smooth as silk yet carrying a subtle, structural weight that resonated through the stone floor and reached every corner of the high-ceilinged room.
The grace with which he walked was so precise, so unnervingly fluid, that one might have mistaken him for a high court noblewoman, were it not for the subtle, powerful contraction of lean muscles beneath his loose, flowing garments. He commanded the absolute, breathless attention of the room without ever raising a finger or gesturing for it.
"Then I shall be the blade sent forth."
The moment his boots stepped onto the polished floor, the entire Lotus Council stood up in unison. They did not hesitate. There was no hurried exchange of glances, no political hesitation. Without a single word, every Elder, grandee, and high priestest bowed deep and low—even the sovereign Azara bent her spine in profound, fearful reverence before the young man.
"E-Erabrashi..." Cazzador stammered, his usual haughty edge instantly dissolving into wide-eyed panic.
"We were told you would not be in attendance today," Vana said, her previous grief momentarily forgotten, swallowed whole by the overwhelming pressure of his presence.
Kalm continued his walk, his pace unhurried, almost rhythmic. "My father had a sudden change of heart," he said affably, though his face remained a mask of absolute calm. "Nevertheless, you need not worry yourselves over the loss of Mizu lives."
He reached the central dais, stopping a few feet from the foreign Inuki delegates.
"I alone will stand with the Inuki in their campaign."
Kalm’s arresting eyes swept over the foreign warriors, pausing for a long, heavy moment on Kuno. His gaze settled on Kuno's left shoulder—where an old demonic curse throbbed beneath his armor—piercing so deeply that it felt as though Kalm were reading the very fabric of his soul. He recognized something in Kuno's stare... an understanding of loss, yes, but...a somber flame of vengeance as well. After a silent, agonizing few seconds, Kalm turned his attention to Dhuro.
Dhuro’s body was a jagged map of centuries of war, battered and scarred from countless bloody clashes. Though Kalm harbored his own quiet reservations about the Inuki’s reckless, destructive methods, he respected them. They shared a sacred, inescapable duty to protect the mortal plane from the demonic abyss. Yet, it was not duty that compelled Kalm today. His reasons were entirely personal, devoid of any noble sense of grand camaraderie.
"Respectfully, Young Lord," Azara spoke, her tone desperate, almost pleading as she remained half-bowed. "You are the very pillar of Mizu society. The vessel of our faith. We cannot afford to lose you. We would rather risk ten thousand of our warriors than see you step into Acheron."
"That is where our basic ideologies differ, Azara," Kalm replied quietly. He turned away from Dhuro, his footsteps echoing softly against the silence as he bypassed the Inuki delegates to face the council directly.
"I would gladly give my life to save those ten thousand instead."
He looked down at his right hand, idly spinning a worn, copper-and-silver coin between his slender fingers. It was smooth at the edges, tarnished by time—the only memento he had left of a childhood friend snatched away by an Acheri raid so many years ago.
"Besides," Kalm said, flicking the coin high into the vaulted air and catching it with a soft snap against his palm.
As he looked up at Azara, the spiritual pressure in the room suddenly bottomed out.
It was not a violent, explosive surge of energy, but a heavy, dragging weight—reality itself buckling under the sheer intensity of his resolve. The ambient temperature plunged instantly, sending a shuddering frost across the decorative water basins. The air grew bitterly cold, and a quiet, unseen force squeezed the physical space of the temple, making it hard for the councilors to draw breath.
"I alone am greater than the sum of ten thousand Mizu."
A casual, chilling breeze swept through the Moon Temple, carrying the weight of his declaration. To an outsider, it would have sounded like the heights of monstrous hubris. But to those who looked into Kalm's silver-blue eyes, there was no arrogance to be found. Only an unnerving, absolute certainty.
It was not a boast. It was a fact. And every member of the Lotus Council present knew it to their core. They knew that once the Erabrashi's resolve took hold, nothing in this world or the next could sway him.
"We have given so much, lost so many to this scourge," Kalm said, his voice dropping to a quiet, sentimental register they had never heard from him before. "Every member of this council has fashioned me to be the blade that carves the Acheri. And now, when the chance to strike a mortal blow finally presents itself... you ask me to cower, coddled in the safety of our village?"
He closed his hand over the coin. "I will not... I refuse... to lose someone else I love to the demons. We cannot continue to hide behind our glittering veils, hoping the threat decides to leave us be."
His eyes narrowed into terrifying, sharp crescents of silver and pale blue light, as if the cold, merciless ire of the Moon Kirin itself was looking out through his gaze.
"Every waking hour of my life, every prayer I have uttered to the Lord of Petals has been for this exact moment... for this exact opportunity."
He stepped closer to the edge of the dais, his voice ringing with quiet thunder. "I will not wait for this demon to come burning the door of my homeland to act."
The air rippled around his shoulders, a shimmering halo of pale frost crackling softly at his heels. "It's high time the Acheri, fear-sucking parasites they are, experienced fear themselves."
The chill deepened, frosting the edges of the high stained glass. "The next time they even think about peeking their head out of the abyss, it will be my face they see staring back, and they will recoil."
Kalm’s aura flared—a brief, suffocating flash of pure lunar essence that dropped the room’s temperature by several more degrees, causing the breath of every warrior to bloom into white mist. Realizing the physical strain he was causing the mortals around him, Kalm took a deep, deliberate breath, drawing the crushing pressure back into his core.
The frost receded, though the ambient cold lingered like a promise. He turned slowly back to face the battle-hardened commander of the Inuki.
"Commander Dhuro, was it?" he asked softly, resting his folded hands naturally within the wide, elegant sleeves of his long kimono.
"Allow me to join you. You will find none more capable than I of aiding your ambitions. Kalm Mizu Tsuki, Erabrashi of the Great Spirit Tsukuyomi."
Last edited by Kalm Mizu on Thu Sep 10, 2026 10:55 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Of Moon and Sky; Fushimashi; Village Betwixt the Cherry Blossoms
For several moments, D'huro remained silent as the lingering cold of Kalm's aura still clung to the chamber. Frost had begun to gather along the edges of the polished stone, spreading across the floor in thin crystalline patterns before slowly receding into harmless droplets.
The Inuki hunters remained motionless behind their commander, their faces carefully composed, though none had been unaffected by what they had just witnessed. Several found their weapons trembling faintly within their grips, the metal itself chilled by the Erabrashi's presence. Even after Kalm had drawn his aura back into himself, the memory of that pressure remained lodged within their bodies.
Most of them found themselves growing more and more anxious as this meeting proceeded. D'huro, however, simply studied him.
He had heard stories of the young Erabashi. Every clan had its legends, and every generation produced warriors whose names became synonymous with impossible feats.. But to hear about legends was one thing, to stand before one was another entirely.
Kalm Mizu Tsuki possessed the kind of D'huro had encountered only a handful of times throughout his long life. More importantly, he possessed something far more dangerous than any physical measure strength.
Conviction.
A conviction that seemed to teeter so dangerously close to blind arrogance that the distinction between them seemed to fade entirely. D'huro had only ever seen this level of conceit once before in his life.. and the young Xhion looked no older than Kalm.
The commander slowly exhaled through his nose, the breath emerging as a thin plume of frost beneath the lingering effects of Kalm's aura. Then he stepped forward.
"Kalm Mizu Tsuki," His voice carried throughout the chamber. "I will not insult you by reiterating the magnitude of our circumstances."
D'huro's eyes briefly moved toward the council.
"Your people have entrusted you with something greater than a mere title. You are the vessel through which their faith is given form. The very foundation upon which much of this clan's identity rests." His gaze returned to Kalm. "And yet you have offered to walk willingly into the same darkness that has claimed the souls of thousands of our people. Rivals of your clan.."
There was no admiration in his tone.
Only respect.
"You are young, yet you possess every component of a man I'd trust at my side. But this is not an offer I will accept lightly." D'huro's massive hand slowly curled into a fist behind his back. "I have commanded men into Acheron before. Exceptional soldiers. Trained hunters. Warriors who had spent centuries preparing themselves for that very purpose." His expression hardened. "Many of them have never returned. And with every tour beyond the breach, that number grows larger and larger.”
The Inuki squadron lowered their heads in quiet contrition as Dhuro pressed on. Many of them were children orphaned by hungry Acheri, no different from the young heir standing silently behind their commander. The thought drew D'huro's eyes instinctively toward Kuno. But he did not look back.
“I will not pretend to know what you are truly capable of. And while I do consider your help paramount, I will not delude you— or any of you people— into believing your power alone will be enough." The statement was blunt. Perhaps even harsh to the ears of the Mizu faithful. But that was precisely why D'huro's words were said to carry more truth than a priest's. No grace or comfort, just facts. Nothing more nothing less.
“We mustn't allow either of namesakes, nor the weight of either of our legacies to convince us that we are invincible." His gaze sharpened. “We do not know what waits for us.. We have never seen a Prime Acheri."
He paused briefly, tapping his fingers against the metallic orb still resting in his hand. "The extent of what we have seen is merely what's left behind in its wake; entire battalions have been erased. Massive territories rendered uninhabitable. Acheri forces fleeing places they had occupied for centuries." His eyes turned now to the Lotus council. "And soon.. it will be upon us. All of us."
D'huro looked back toward Kalm and gave the young Erabrashi a slow, deliberate nod. "If you are to enter Acheron with us, it will not be as some immortal weapon. But as our ally.. No less dispensable than the lives of my own kin." His expression softened by the smallest degree.
Yet the same could not be said for the men standing behind him.
Confusion and uncertainty whispered quietly among their ranks, though that much was to be expected. The mission they had been sent to accomplish had changed dramatically in the span of a few minutes. They had come to Fushimashi seeking an army. Or, at the very least, a contingent of the Mizu Tsuki's greatest warriors to accompany them into the depths of Acheron.
The Grand Luminary was expecting hundreds, if not thousands, to return with the Dhuro to the gates of New Vorelia. Instead, they found a single warrior. However, if what the young Erabashi said is to be believed, then they may have stumbled upon something far more dangerous than a foreign battalion of a thousand men.
But was it true? Could this one man truly be capable of replicating the might of ten thousand more?
D'huro still harbored reservations. Legends had a way of growing with every retelling, and the Mizu Tsuki had spent centuries cultivating an almost mythological image around the Erabrashi. But despite his suspicions, he already felt himself championing the young man's strength of will and sense of valor. But admiral qualities were not enough to win wars. Regardless before this was over, he and his men would discover whether Kalm's certainty was simply arrogance..
Or divine prophecy.
The Inuki hunters remained motionless behind their commander, their faces carefully composed, though none had been unaffected by what they had just witnessed. Several found their weapons trembling faintly within their grips, the metal itself chilled by the Erabrashi's presence. Even after Kalm had drawn his aura back into himself, the memory of that pressure remained lodged within their bodies.
Most of them found themselves growing more and more anxious as this meeting proceeded. D'huro, however, simply studied him.
He had heard stories of the young Erabashi. Every clan had its legends, and every generation produced warriors whose names became synonymous with impossible feats.. But to hear about legends was one thing, to stand before one was another entirely.
Kalm Mizu Tsuki possessed the kind of D'huro had encountered only a handful of times throughout his long life. More importantly, he possessed something far more dangerous than any physical measure strength.
Conviction.
A conviction that seemed to teeter so dangerously close to blind arrogance that the distinction between them seemed to fade entirely. D'huro had only ever seen this level of conceit once before in his life.. and the young Xhion looked no older than Kalm.
The commander slowly exhaled through his nose, the breath emerging as a thin plume of frost beneath the lingering effects of Kalm's aura. Then he stepped forward.
"Kalm Mizu Tsuki," His voice carried throughout the chamber. "I will not insult you by reiterating the magnitude of our circumstances."
D'huro's eyes briefly moved toward the council.
"Your people have entrusted you with something greater than a mere title. You are the vessel through which their faith is given form. The very foundation upon which much of this clan's identity rests." His gaze returned to Kalm. "And yet you have offered to walk willingly into the same darkness that has claimed the souls of thousands of our people. Rivals of your clan.."
There was no admiration in his tone.
Only respect.
"You are young, yet you possess every component of a man I'd trust at my side. But this is not an offer I will accept lightly." D'huro's massive hand slowly curled into a fist behind his back. "I have commanded men into Acheron before. Exceptional soldiers. Trained hunters. Warriors who had spent centuries preparing themselves for that very purpose." His expression hardened. "Many of them have never returned. And with every tour beyond the breach, that number grows larger and larger.”
The Inuki squadron lowered their heads in quiet contrition as Dhuro pressed on. Many of them were children orphaned by hungry Acheri, no different from the young heir standing silently behind their commander. The thought drew D'huro's eyes instinctively toward Kuno. But he did not look back.
“I will not pretend to know what you are truly capable of. And while I do consider your help paramount, I will not delude you— or any of you people— into believing your power alone will be enough." The statement was blunt. Perhaps even harsh to the ears of the Mizu faithful. But that was precisely why D'huro's words were said to carry more truth than a priest's. No grace or comfort, just facts. Nothing more nothing less.
“We mustn't allow either of namesakes, nor the weight of either of our legacies to convince us that we are invincible." His gaze sharpened. “We do not know what waits for us.. We have never seen a Prime Acheri."
He paused briefly, tapping his fingers against the metallic orb still resting in his hand. "The extent of what we have seen is merely what's left behind in its wake; entire battalions have been erased. Massive territories rendered uninhabitable. Acheri forces fleeing places they had occupied for centuries." His eyes turned now to the Lotus council. "And soon.. it will be upon us. All of us."
D'huro looked back toward Kalm and gave the young Erabrashi a slow, deliberate nod. "If you are to enter Acheron with us, it will not be as some immortal weapon. But as our ally.. No less dispensable than the lives of my own kin." His expression softened by the smallest degree.
Yet the same could not be said for the men standing behind him.
Confusion and uncertainty whispered quietly among their ranks, though that much was to be expected. The mission they had been sent to accomplish had changed dramatically in the span of a few minutes. They had come to Fushimashi seeking an army. Or, at the very least, a contingent of the Mizu Tsuki's greatest warriors to accompany them into the depths of Acheron.
The Grand Luminary was expecting hundreds, if not thousands, to return with the Dhuro to the gates of New Vorelia. Instead, they found a single warrior. However, if what the young Erabashi said is to be believed, then they may have stumbled upon something far more dangerous than a foreign battalion of a thousand men.
But was it true? Could this one man truly be capable of replicating the might of ten thousand more?
D'huro still harbored reservations. Legends had a way of growing with every retelling, and the Mizu Tsuki had spent centuries cultivating an almost mythological image around the Erabrashi. But despite his suspicions, he already felt himself championing the young man's strength of will and sense of valor. But admiral qualities were not enough to win wars. Regardless before this was over, he and his men would discover whether Kalm's certainty was simply arrogance..
Or divine prophecy.
-
Kuno Inuki
- Drifter
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Wed Jul 15, 2026 12:50 pm
Re: Of Moon and Sky; Fushimashi; Village Betwixt the Cherry Blossoms
The bang at the door, the sudden bursting open of the chamber doors, none of it disturbed Kuno at this moment of introspection. Centering himself amidst the eye of his own proverbial storm he ignored most of the stimulus that surrounded him, knowing the subject of the topic and where it would lead him. He said what he needed to, pushing past the pain of his sorrow to face the facts, now he faced the emotional recoil of his exertion.
It wasn't until the boy that intruded caught his gaze that he snapped back to the moment, for standing before him was the glorified specimen that all of the Mizu clan revered. Kuno had read of the iconic figure that the Mizu clan used to commune with their deity, not that he would compare it to how Moreaux blesses the Inuki people. The infrastructure of their community was much too discreet in nature to do such a thing, Moreaux blessed each and every Inuki member differently. This, Eribashi, commanded the attention of his entire village by shouldering the burden of facilitating his deities energy by his lonesome. Or so he had read of the clan's history.
His facial structure matched the chilling energy that oozed from around him, inhuman. Man was not made to be perfect, absolute power corrupts, absolutely, no man was worth more than the next without merit. Yet this one in front of them seemed to exist to shatter every preconceived notion that human nature taught them about themselves.
The gaze would indeed be met, and even though the council believed him fit enough to command their respect Kuno's would come at a much higher price. His own deity couldn't save his parents from what was to come, the elders of his village and the council of the Mizu all seemed stuck in their ways. Kalm would see the doubt in his eyes, the skepticism that brought Kuno on this voyage in the first place. Their village offered the technological advancements and the development of research that was generations in the making, how could one man offer more than what ten thousand of his own kin could do.
The conviction that D'huro heard in his voice, Kuno dismissed as the ignorant rants of deluded powerhouse. As if he hadn't believed the same conviction his entire life up until he heard of his parent's demise. The aura he exuded was a minor chill compared to the cold hard facts that nothing they wielded up until this point was worth no more than a grain of salt in the face of the Prime Archeri.
The young commander in training did not have the patience of the war hardened hero that spoke for them all, Kuno saw himself first in line behind the shadow of the greatest fallen heroes his village had to offer. As a scholar of their demonic nemesis and a warrior of the Inuki clan he didn't see the purpose of entertaining what he perceived a mere tantrum of the Mizu prodigy.
They had come to this village in search of allies, finding a boy that looked no older than his own age boast to do what entire armies could not achieve with their lives seemed to have done little to convince Kuno of the efforts of their travels. He looked back to the council during D'huro's response, scouring with his eyes, hoping to prompt something, begging anything else in response to their Eribashi's self proclaimed defiance of an existence that both of their clans had dedicated countless generations to.
Did they approve of their egoistic conduit's outburst, would they provide assistance in his efforts, or would they disown such a haughty expression of power that diminished every effort of his own clans fight against the Archeri. It pained Kuno to study such an expression, as if it was too familiar to look at directly.
It wasn't until the boy that intruded caught his gaze that he snapped back to the moment, for standing before him was the glorified specimen that all of the Mizu clan revered. Kuno had read of the iconic figure that the Mizu clan used to commune with their deity, not that he would compare it to how Moreaux blesses the Inuki people. The infrastructure of their community was much too discreet in nature to do such a thing, Moreaux blessed each and every Inuki member differently. This, Eribashi, commanded the attention of his entire village by shouldering the burden of facilitating his deities energy by his lonesome. Or so he had read of the clan's history.
His facial structure matched the chilling energy that oozed from around him, inhuman. Man was not made to be perfect, absolute power corrupts, absolutely, no man was worth more than the next without merit. Yet this one in front of them seemed to exist to shatter every preconceived notion that human nature taught them about themselves.
The gaze would indeed be met, and even though the council believed him fit enough to command their respect Kuno's would come at a much higher price. His own deity couldn't save his parents from what was to come, the elders of his village and the council of the Mizu all seemed stuck in their ways. Kalm would see the doubt in his eyes, the skepticism that brought Kuno on this voyage in the first place. Their village offered the technological advancements and the development of research that was generations in the making, how could one man offer more than what ten thousand of his own kin could do.
The conviction that D'huro heard in his voice, Kuno dismissed as the ignorant rants of deluded powerhouse. As if he hadn't believed the same conviction his entire life up until he heard of his parent's demise. The aura he exuded was a minor chill compared to the cold hard facts that nothing they wielded up until this point was worth no more than a grain of salt in the face of the Prime Archeri.
The young commander in training did not have the patience of the war hardened hero that spoke for them all, Kuno saw himself first in line behind the shadow of the greatest fallen heroes his village had to offer. As a scholar of their demonic nemesis and a warrior of the Inuki clan he didn't see the purpose of entertaining what he perceived a mere tantrum of the Mizu prodigy.
They had come to this village in search of allies, finding a boy that looked no older than his own age boast to do what entire armies could not achieve with their lives seemed to have done little to convince Kuno of the efforts of their travels. He looked back to the council during D'huro's response, scouring with his eyes, hoping to prompt something, begging anything else in response to their Eribashi's self proclaimed defiance of an existence that both of their clans had dedicated countless generations to.
Did they approve of their egoistic conduit's outburst, would they provide assistance in his efforts, or would they disown such a haughty expression of power that diminished every effort of his own clans fight against the Archeri. It pained Kuno to study such an expression, as if it was too familiar to look at directly.
Re: Of Moon and Sky; Fushimashi; Village Betwixt the Cherry Blossoms
A thick, suffocating silence hung over the grand chamber. Neither member of the Lotus rushed to break it, knowing that a single misspoken word could tip the delicate balance of wills into an arbitrary void none of them wished to navigate.
To stop Kalm was an impossibility, and they all knew it. They did not fear violence from him—none believed him capable of harming a single hair on a fellow kin’s head. Kalm had thrown his life before a full platoon of his people in the past; the weight of his declaration was rooted in hard, bloody truth that they had witnessed with their own eyes. If Azara pressed the issue, she might talk him down into a temporary state of complacency, but dimming the bright, burning bastion of their faith felt far riskier than this campaign. Besides, Vana was certain of the inevitable: if forbidden, Kalm would simply slip into the dark and join the cause regardless.
From Kalm’s perspective, the warnings offered by the council and D’huro had not fallen on deaf ears. He was intimately aware of the gravity of his demand; as the Erabrashi, the terrifying weight of the risk was clearest to him. Yet, he refused to waste breath on the empty platitudes the elders required to feel at ease.
Since the birth of the breach, both the Mizu and the Inuki had existed within a prison, both literal and metaphorical. Fear governed their every choice; caution championed their every move. As if being born on Edoan soil—a land defined by strife and bloodshed—was not enough, they were forced to bear the crux of facing the demonic. They were all slaves to this fate, bound by chains of duty to an endless cycle of sacrifice.
How many more comrades must he watch die while tied to the palace? How many friends would he lose? How many friends would he never have the chance to make?
And his younger brother... The mere thought of the boy coming of age to face these horrors ignited a sun of burning angst in Kalm’s chest, so searing it felt impossible to contain.
No. He had lost too much already.
They spoke of his duty as though he were ignorant of his pact. His solemn charge was not the protection of Fushimashi alone. His duty—the five-thousand-year-old covenant between the First Erabrashi and the Lord of Petals—was his very inheritance: to slay Acheri in the name of his god. What better opportunity existed than to step directly into the heart of hell itself?
This was no petulant demand or childish fit. His proclamation was not born of hubris, and the council knew it. Kalm was never one for words; small talk annoyed him, and empty grandstanding was useless filler. He said only what was necessary, fully intent on turning every word into absolute fact.
A subtle shift broke the stillness of the room. An attendant standing at Azara’s flank touched his own ear, leaning down to whisper into the High Priestess’s ear.
"I see... if that is his wish," Azara murmured.
She relayed the message to the surrounding council members. In an instant, their solemn expressions shifted in unison, as though they had finally been handed the key to move forward.
"Very well, Erabrashi," Azara began, her voice slicing through the thick atmosphere like a swiftly drawn blade. "We have heard you, and the council is in accord."
"However, while we do not doubt your prowess, it would be sheer folly to allow you to stride into enemy territory alone," Cazzador intercepted, his sharp eyes narrowing. "You are powerful, Kalm; that much is certain."
"But you are neither immortal nor omnipotent," Zion added, folding his hands deep into his wide sleeves. "Besides... this is not your burden alone to bear."
"But I—" Kalm tried to interject, taking a forward step.
Azara raised a smooth, commanding hand, bidding him immediate silence. "It is the decree of the Council that you shall be accompanied by the Hanamori."
Kalm recoiled slightly, taking a step back. "T-the Hanamori?"
"Yes. You have forced our hand with your declarations," Cazzador explained, his gaze like sharpened daggers. "We were content to provide our knowledge to the Inuki, but seeing as you are now joining this excursion, we must spare no expense to ensure that our Legacy returns to us... alive."
Deploying both the Erabrashi and the Hanamori was a measure reserved strictly for existential crises. With the Zoku clan pressing so firmly against the veil, Cazzador shuddered at the potential ramifications of leaving their home vulnerable. Yet, action was required; they were being pressed from all fronts.
"The Hanamori—or in the common Vescrutian tongue, 'those who guard flowers'—are the Royal Guard of the Mizu clan," Zion clarified smoothly. "Four of the strongest Mizu shamans, personally appointed by this council and the Head of Yakei Enterprises."
"I don't need—"
"It is not up for debate, Kalm," Vana interrupted. Her firm, unyielding voice was the only one Kalm consistently heeded in moments of duress. "It is a mandate by Toshiro himself. And we agree with his input as the father of the Erabrashi."
Kalm’s eyes widened as the truth struck him.
Toshiro. This had been his father’s ploy all along. Toshiro had never intended to let Kalm act unchecked; he had predicted his son's defiance and quietly maneuvered his trap into place long before Kalm ever stepped into the chamber.
"Tch... Fine. I... understand," Kalm muttered.
His wide gaze narrowed back into its usual, simmering indifference. Beneath that stoic veneer, a whirlpool of annoyance burned toward his father, but he ultimately conceded. The last thing he wished was to appear irrational or combative. Though his stakes in this campaign were deeply personal, he could not allow himself to be blinded by emotion. To do so would mean operating from true hubris, endangering the lives entrusted to him. His father had played a masterstroke on the board, leaving Kalm outmaneuvered.
"If you all will excuse me... I will return to my quarters and prepare," Kalm said coldly. "Commander D'huro, I shall see you when we are set to leave..."
Without waiting for formal leave, he turned and exited the chamber. His personal attendant, Hiruki, met him outside the heavy doors, struggling to match the rushed, furious stride of the young lord.
Inside, Azara stood up slowly, waiting until Kalm’s footsteps had thoroughly faded down the stone corridor before addressing the remaining guest.
"D'huro Inuki," she said, her voice ringing with deep reverence and immense weight. "We hope you understand the significance of what has just transpired. We are placing within your hands... within the hands of the Inuki... the most treasured aspect and jewel of our faith."
It was not a threat, but a solemn plea: return our light to us unblemished.
"Please, take sojourn within Fushimashi for as long as you need," Azara continued. "It is far too dangerous to travel at night with the Zoku about. Besides, I must rest. Bringing you all here without disabling the Mona veil required a considerable amount of naten..."
She faltered briefly, a subtle tremor passing through her frame before she regained her footing, attempting to mask her profound fatigue behind a facade of priestess dignity.
"If there are no other questions... the attendant will show you to your dwelling for the eve."
To stop Kalm was an impossibility, and they all knew it. They did not fear violence from him—none believed him capable of harming a single hair on a fellow kin’s head. Kalm had thrown his life before a full platoon of his people in the past; the weight of his declaration was rooted in hard, bloody truth that they had witnessed with their own eyes. If Azara pressed the issue, she might talk him down into a temporary state of complacency, but dimming the bright, burning bastion of their faith felt far riskier than this campaign. Besides, Vana was certain of the inevitable: if forbidden, Kalm would simply slip into the dark and join the cause regardless.
From Kalm’s perspective, the warnings offered by the council and D’huro had not fallen on deaf ears. He was intimately aware of the gravity of his demand; as the Erabrashi, the terrifying weight of the risk was clearest to him. Yet, he refused to waste breath on the empty platitudes the elders required to feel at ease.
Since the birth of the breach, both the Mizu and the Inuki had existed within a prison, both literal and metaphorical. Fear governed their every choice; caution championed their every move. As if being born on Edoan soil—a land defined by strife and bloodshed—was not enough, they were forced to bear the crux of facing the demonic. They were all slaves to this fate, bound by chains of duty to an endless cycle of sacrifice.
How many more comrades must he watch die while tied to the palace? How many friends would he lose? How many friends would he never have the chance to make?
And his younger brother... The mere thought of the boy coming of age to face these horrors ignited a sun of burning angst in Kalm’s chest, so searing it felt impossible to contain.
No. He had lost too much already.
They spoke of his duty as though he were ignorant of his pact. His solemn charge was not the protection of Fushimashi alone. His duty—the five-thousand-year-old covenant between the First Erabrashi and the Lord of Petals—was his very inheritance: to slay Acheri in the name of his god. What better opportunity existed than to step directly into the heart of hell itself?
This was no petulant demand or childish fit. His proclamation was not born of hubris, and the council knew it. Kalm was never one for words; small talk annoyed him, and empty grandstanding was useless filler. He said only what was necessary, fully intent on turning every word into absolute fact.
A subtle shift broke the stillness of the room. An attendant standing at Azara’s flank touched his own ear, leaning down to whisper into the High Priestess’s ear.
"I see... if that is his wish," Azara murmured.
She relayed the message to the surrounding council members. In an instant, their solemn expressions shifted in unison, as though they had finally been handed the key to move forward.
"Very well, Erabrashi," Azara began, her voice slicing through the thick atmosphere like a swiftly drawn blade. "We have heard you, and the council is in accord."
"However, while we do not doubt your prowess, it would be sheer folly to allow you to stride into enemy territory alone," Cazzador intercepted, his sharp eyes narrowing. "You are powerful, Kalm; that much is certain."
"But you are neither immortal nor omnipotent," Zion added, folding his hands deep into his wide sleeves. "Besides... this is not your burden alone to bear."
"But I—" Kalm tried to interject, taking a forward step.
Azara raised a smooth, commanding hand, bidding him immediate silence. "It is the decree of the Council that you shall be accompanied by the Hanamori."
Kalm recoiled slightly, taking a step back. "T-the Hanamori?"
"Yes. You have forced our hand with your declarations," Cazzador explained, his gaze like sharpened daggers. "We were content to provide our knowledge to the Inuki, but seeing as you are now joining this excursion, we must spare no expense to ensure that our Legacy returns to us... alive."
Deploying both the Erabrashi and the Hanamori was a measure reserved strictly for existential crises. With the Zoku clan pressing so firmly against the veil, Cazzador shuddered at the potential ramifications of leaving their home vulnerable. Yet, action was required; they were being pressed from all fronts.
"The Hanamori—or in the common Vescrutian tongue, 'those who guard flowers'—are the Royal Guard of the Mizu clan," Zion clarified smoothly. "Four of the strongest Mizu shamans, personally appointed by this council and the Head of Yakei Enterprises."
"I don't need—"
"It is not up for debate, Kalm," Vana interrupted. Her firm, unyielding voice was the only one Kalm consistently heeded in moments of duress. "It is a mandate by Toshiro himself. And we agree with his input as the father of the Erabrashi."
Kalm’s eyes widened as the truth struck him.
Toshiro. This had been his father’s ploy all along. Toshiro had never intended to let Kalm act unchecked; he had predicted his son's defiance and quietly maneuvered his trap into place long before Kalm ever stepped into the chamber.
"Tch... Fine. I... understand," Kalm muttered.
His wide gaze narrowed back into its usual, simmering indifference. Beneath that stoic veneer, a whirlpool of annoyance burned toward his father, but he ultimately conceded. The last thing he wished was to appear irrational or combative. Though his stakes in this campaign were deeply personal, he could not allow himself to be blinded by emotion. To do so would mean operating from true hubris, endangering the lives entrusted to him. His father had played a masterstroke on the board, leaving Kalm outmaneuvered.
"If you all will excuse me... I will return to my quarters and prepare," Kalm said coldly. "Commander D'huro, I shall see you when we are set to leave..."
Without waiting for formal leave, he turned and exited the chamber. His personal attendant, Hiruki, met him outside the heavy doors, struggling to match the rushed, furious stride of the young lord.
Inside, Azara stood up slowly, waiting until Kalm’s footsteps had thoroughly faded down the stone corridor before addressing the remaining guest.
"D'huro Inuki," she said, her voice ringing with deep reverence and immense weight. "We hope you understand the significance of what has just transpired. We are placing within your hands... within the hands of the Inuki... the most treasured aspect and jewel of our faith."
It was not a threat, but a solemn plea: return our light to us unblemished.
"Please, take sojourn within Fushimashi for as long as you need," Azara continued. "It is far too dangerous to travel at night with the Zoku about. Besides, I must rest. Bringing you all here without disabling the Mona veil required a considerable amount of naten..."
She faltered briefly, a subtle tremor passing through her frame before she regained her footing, attempting to mask her profound fatigue behind a facade of priestess dignity.
"If there are no other questions... the attendant will show you to your dwelling for the eve."
Last edited by Kalm Mizu on Thu Sep 10, 2026 10:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Of Moon and Sky; Fushimashi; Village Betwixt the Cherry Blossoms
D’huro said nothing while the Mizu Tsuki discussed among themselves. The result ultimately led to Kalm exiting on account of his father's wishes. But as the sound of the Erabashi's footsteps faded beyond the threshold of the chamber, the entire venue seemed to grow progressively smaller in his absence.
The inner workings of their politics were beyond Dhuro's immediate knowledge, but he was familiar with the name of their Royal Guard.
The Hanamori. Storied shamans of Fushimashi, whose legend and prestige had only been overshadowed by the clandestine nature of their origins. He was confident that their inclusion in the campaign to Acheron would undoubtedly elevate their chances of success. But that was not what occupied D’huro's thoughts.
It was Azara's final request.
..But Kalm was different. Azara had not spoken of him as a weapon. But as something precious. Something.. Irreplaceable.
D’huro slowly exhaled through his nose and lowered his head. “First Lotus,” He began, his voice quieter now than it had been throughout the entire meeting. “..while I understand your words and vehemently thank you and the people of Fushimashi for your audience, and magnanimity. I ask you now to hear mine.”
D’huro's expression hardened—not with hostility, but with the grim certainty of a commander who had already begun calculating the lives that would be placed beneath his command. “I will not make you a promise I cannot keep.”
Immediately, he heard several members of the Moon Flower Council shift in their seats in response to his words. “I cannot promise that any man or woman who enters beyond that breach will walk back in one piece, let alone return alive.”
His gaze briefly looked back at the party of Inuki Hunters at his flank and a faint breath escaped his nose. “..we have buried too many soldiers to insult their memory with promises made for the sake of comfort.”
He then looked back to Azara.
“What I can promise is this,” D’huro placed a closed fist against his chest. “The Erabashi will not see a battle where I am not at his back.. and my brothers are not at his side.”
He then slowly turned toward the Inuki Hunters accompanying him. He could tell by their expressions that they heard every word he said. Whether or not they agreed with them, however, was another story. Many of these men had grown up together in New Vorelia. They had fought beside one another, survived the horrors of Acheron together, and even grieved the loss of loved ones who had died trying to keep the breach contained.
They had been conditioned from birth to fight for their kin. To die for them, if doing so meant another among them could live. It was their way.. But to do so for a stranger? For the Mizu Tsuki? Well, that was different. It felt.. weird, if not simply wrong altogether. Many of them were young—far too young to understand the ancient lore surrounding the Erabrashi, let alone what it meant to stand beside one. They didn't exactly know how they felt about Kalm, but the animosity that existed among these two clans had only proliferated throughout generations.
It had survived wars, treaties, and the entire lifetimes of those who perpetuated it. Even now, with the specter of an apocalypse looming over Vescrutia, those inherited divisions proved difficult to abandon.
But Dhuro wouldn't have it. Not here.. not now, and never again..
“You heard the woman.” His voice smouldered as he looked across his unit, arms folded now across his massive chest. Immediately, the Inuki Hunters straightened, almost seamlessly falling into formation.
“The Mizu Tsuki have entrusted us with one of their own. An act of faith and trust I'd sooner die than dishonor.” He said, allowing his gaze to linger long and hard upon every face in his unit. “What say you?”
“OORAH!”
The response of his delegation thundered through the chamber with such fervor that, if only for a moment, it seemed to fill the entirety of the venue with the Inuki's mindset of strength, commanderie, and unwavering determination. It was more than a simple battle cry. It was a declaration, and a reminder to themselves of who they were and what they were fighting for.
D’huro nodded once and began walking the length of his formation.
“We no longer have the luxury of hating our fellow man.” His boots struck the floor with measured, deliberate steps. “Each of us—Inuki and Mizu Tsuki alike—have watched generations disappear beneath the claws of a familiar enemy.” Again, his golden eyes seemed to address every face attuned to his voice. “We have sacrificed blood, family, and even our sanity to ensure that whatever lies beyond that gate remains beyond it.”
His jaw tightened and he suddenly stopped
“And we have done so alone.”
The final word seemed to hang in the chamber.
Dhuro's fist slowly clenched at his side. The frustration he had carried for centuries—the deaths, the funerals, the endless cycle of vengeance and sacrifice—was suddenly rising beneath his skin. Hot like magma..
But this time, it was not anger that drove him, but resolve.
“No longer.” He turned toward the council. “May this day mark the beginning of something new. And the end of that divisive line in the primordial sand, drawn so many years ago.” He paused before looking at the council, and speaking a sequence of words that would have sounded impossible to him only days ago. “From the moment we step foot in Acheron, there is no Inuki, and there is no Mizu Tsuki.” And then, his voice hardened as he seemed to address Azara directly. “There is only us.. versus them.”
The chamber fell silent behind Dhuro's words. He bowed deeply, and the Inuki delegation behind him followed suit.
For most of his life, the man never considered himself a diplomat, nor an ambassador of any kind prior to the lengthy journey to Fushimashi. He was commander of men. A soldier, and weapon forged for little else other than warfare.. The Grand Luminary would have been here himself if not for his deteriorating condition, but D’huro couldn't help but think that he had chosen the wrong man to act in his stead.
Perhaps a diplomat would have been better suited for this. Someone more eloquent, and accustomed to treaties and political maneuvering. Yet as he remained bowed before the Moon Flower Council, he found himself thinking of what Raizen would say. Or at least trying to imitate it. And in doing so, he understood why he was chosen.
He glanced back at his men, who more than resonated with his words and could feel the warmth of Raizen's pride settle in his chest.
“Lotus Council, and pillars of Fushimashi,” His eyes moved across the chamber. “All of New Vorelia sends its gratitude.”
Then he turned toward his delegation, and his expression changed immediately. The ambassador disappeared, and The Commander returned. “Hunters! We leave at first light.”
Again, the Inuki warriors immediately sharpened their posture in response.
“But tonight,” His eyes softened.“..we rest.”
The inner workings of their politics were beyond Dhuro's immediate knowledge, but he was familiar with the name of their Royal Guard.
The Hanamori. Storied shamans of Fushimashi, whose legend and prestige had only been overshadowed by the clandestine nature of their origins. He was confident that their inclusion in the campaign to Acheron would undoubtedly elevate their chances of success. But that was not what occupied D’huro's thoughts.
It was Azara's final request.
D’huro had heard countless titles throughout his lifetime. Most had been used to venerate kings, saints, champions, weapons, martyrs.. He had watched men and women become symbols so revered that their humanity was eventually forgotten within the whirlwind of worship and sycophancy. He had seen warriors march into battle beneath banners bearing the names of gods, only to return as ashes beneath those same banners.“..The most treasured aspect and jewel of our faith..”
..But Kalm was different. Azara had not spoken of him as a weapon. But as something precious. Something.. Irreplaceable.
D’huro slowly exhaled through his nose and lowered his head. “First Lotus,” He began, his voice quieter now than it had been throughout the entire meeting. “..while I understand your words and vehemently thank you and the people of Fushimashi for your audience, and magnanimity. I ask you now to hear mine.”
D’huro's expression hardened—not with hostility, but with the grim certainty of a commander who had already begun calculating the lives that would be placed beneath his command. “I will not make you a promise I cannot keep.”
Immediately, he heard several members of the Moon Flower Council shift in their seats in response to his words. “I cannot promise that any man or woman who enters beyond that breach will walk back in one piece, let alone return alive.”
His gaze briefly looked back at the party of Inuki Hunters at his flank and a faint breath escaped his nose. “..we have buried too many soldiers to insult their memory with promises made for the sake of comfort.”
He then looked back to Azara.
“What I can promise is this,” D’huro placed a closed fist against his chest. “The Erabashi will not see a battle where I am not at his back.. and my brothers are not at his side.”
He then slowly turned toward the Inuki Hunters accompanying him. He could tell by their expressions that they heard every word he said. Whether or not they agreed with them, however, was another story. Many of these men had grown up together in New Vorelia. They had fought beside one another, survived the horrors of Acheron together, and even grieved the loss of loved ones who had died trying to keep the breach contained.
They had been conditioned from birth to fight for their kin. To die for them, if doing so meant another among them could live. It was their way.. But to do so for a stranger? For the Mizu Tsuki? Well, that was different. It felt.. weird, if not simply wrong altogether. Many of them were young—far too young to understand the ancient lore surrounding the Erabrashi, let alone what it meant to stand beside one. They didn't exactly know how they felt about Kalm, but the animosity that existed among these two clans had only proliferated throughout generations.
It had survived wars, treaties, and the entire lifetimes of those who perpetuated it. Even now, with the specter of an apocalypse looming over Vescrutia, those inherited divisions proved difficult to abandon.
But Dhuro wouldn't have it. Not here.. not now, and never again..
“You heard the woman.” His voice smouldered as he looked across his unit, arms folded now across his massive chest. Immediately, the Inuki Hunters straightened, almost seamlessly falling into formation.
“The Mizu Tsuki have entrusted us with one of their own. An act of faith and trust I'd sooner die than dishonor.” He said, allowing his gaze to linger long and hard upon every face in his unit. “What say you?”
“OORAH!”
The response of his delegation thundered through the chamber with such fervor that, if only for a moment, it seemed to fill the entirety of the venue with the Inuki's mindset of strength, commanderie, and unwavering determination. It was more than a simple battle cry. It was a declaration, and a reminder to themselves of who they were and what they were fighting for.
D’huro nodded once and began walking the length of his formation.
“We no longer have the luxury of hating our fellow man.” His boots struck the floor with measured, deliberate steps. “Each of us—Inuki and Mizu Tsuki alike—have watched generations disappear beneath the claws of a familiar enemy.” Again, his golden eyes seemed to address every face attuned to his voice. “We have sacrificed blood, family, and even our sanity to ensure that whatever lies beyond that gate remains beyond it.”
His jaw tightened and he suddenly stopped
“And we have done so alone.”
The final word seemed to hang in the chamber.
Dhuro's fist slowly clenched at his side. The frustration he had carried for centuries—the deaths, the funerals, the endless cycle of vengeance and sacrifice—was suddenly rising beneath his skin. Hot like magma..
But this time, it was not anger that drove him, but resolve.
“No longer.” He turned toward the council. “May this day mark the beginning of something new. And the end of that divisive line in the primordial sand, drawn so many years ago.” He paused before looking at the council, and speaking a sequence of words that would have sounded impossible to him only days ago. “From the moment we step foot in Acheron, there is no Inuki, and there is no Mizu Tsuki.” And then, his voice hardened as he seemed to address Azara directly. “There is only us.. versus them.”
The chamber fell silent behind Dhuro's words. He bowed deeply, and the Inuki delegation behind him followed suit.
For most of his life, the man never considered himself a diplomat, nor an ambassador of any kind prior to the lengthy journey to Fushimashi. He was commander of men. A soldier, and weapon forged for little else other than warfare.. The Grand Luminary would have been here himself if not for his deteriorating condition, but D’huro couldn't help but think that he had chosen the wrong man to act in his stead.
Perhaps a diplomat would have been better suited for this. Someone more eloquent, and accustomed to treaties and political maneuvering. Yet as he remained bowed before the Moon Flower Council, he found himself thinking of what Raizen would say. Or at least trying to imitate it. And in doing so, he understood why he was chosen.
He glanced back at his men, who more than resonated with his words and could feel the warmth of Raizen's pride settle in his chest.
“Lotus Council, and pillars of Fushimashi,” His eyes moved across the chamber. “All of New Vorelia sends its gratitude.”
Then he turned toward his delegation, and his expression changed immediately. The ambassador disappeared, and The Commander returned. “Hunters! We leave at first light.”
Again, the Inuki warriors immediately sharpened their posture in response.
“But tonight,” His eyes softened.“..we rest.”
-
Kuno Inuki
- Drifter
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Wed Jul 15, 2026 12:50 pm
Re: Of Moon and Sky; Fushimashi; Village Betwixt the Cherry Blossoms
The stillness was tantamount to the silent howl of the wind blowing off a mountain's peak, whereas one wrong move could start an avalanche. The tension was pulling tighter by the second, and Kuno's gaze only served to tighten that string as he interpreted every subtle movement like an eagle searching for any wings that tried to fly higher than it's altitude. For D'huro, this may have been a political mission to gain allies to their cause but Kuno was seeking an opening to start a complete upheaval to the way they executed demonic warfare.
The peak shifted with the attendant appearing at the council's side, the head of them it seemed, the one that had the power to open their doors to them. The sharpest eyes, the heaviest hand, referred to as Azara, was second to someone that influenced the entire council. With the exchanging of words at his behest, the entire council was moved, and one final order was given that even their 'All Powerful' Eribashi could not refuse, object as he might.
Kuno's eyes had watched it all silently, blankly observing the passing or murmurs amongst the council, the boy's pained rebuttal and retreat, even the chairman's exhaustion as she stood to leave. All was perceived by the young prodigal commander, already calculating and constructing his first mental battlefield, whether driven by anxiety of failure or conviction of success he did not question, but he knew there would be little rest for him tonight.
However, as a soldier of the Inuki clan, his eyes trained back to their commander as he turned to address them. Every word he had spoken so far he had spoken in earnest, commanding honesty with his own vulnerability, all while staying loyal to the Inuki values and never betraying their leadership or the lives he commanded in the process. Kuno could only hope to garner the amount of respect that this hardened warrior earned over his lifetime, much less that of his fathers.
The warrior, in formation like the rest of his squad, exclaimed proudly in unison. Kuno did not disagree with a word D'huro had spoken so far, but he knew his opinion was unlike the rest of the Inuki. Even though this did not deter him from following the commands of his superior, he was most definitely not planning on retiring tonight. Thusly, their delegation remained unanimous before the attendant began the process of escorting them out after their commander excused them to their rest.
The rhythmic echo of footsteps began as they entered the stone corridor, the company of soldiers following closely behind D'huro and the attendant at the lead. Kuno followed up the rear as he was recently accustomed to, already ascertaining the only door to the council room his eyes traced their path, naturally mapping the structure for his inevitable return. However he would eventually make his way passed their ranks in order to excuse himself from prying eyes.
"Excuse me, Mr. Attendant, do you think you could point me to the restroom?"
His search for outside resources was something the he couldn't bring up to D'huro any longer, and an audience with so many motives could deter but Kuno concluded their was a head missing from that meeting. Perhaps even a crown, someone with the means to deploy the renowned Royal Guard of the Mizu who could definitely reach the resources he knew the Inuki had to further his research.
"Yes sire, its actually down the last corridor we passed and to your right. Your rooms will be right up here down the corridor on your left if you get lost."
"Gotcha, thanks."
Kuno said avoiding eye contact with D'huro, retreating and letting the rest of the entourage pass he followed the directions of the attendant and disappeared inside the bathroom. Both literally and figuratively, he summoned a clone before flushing the toilet, and disappearing into thin air. One warrior would be seen leaving the restroom even though they both exited at the same time.
Taking the directed path he wandered his way back to the rooms the attendant, finding any empty room with little effort. However, the other found his way back to lay eyes on the council doors.
The peak shifted with the attendant appearing at the council's side, the head of them it seemed, the one that had the power to open their doors to them. The sharpest eyes, the heaviest hand, referred to as Azara, was second to someone that influenced the entire council. With the exchanging of words at his behest, the entire council was moved, and one final order was given that even their 'All Powerful' Eribashi could not refuse, object as he might.
Kuno's eyes had watched it all silently, blankly observing the passing or murmurs amongst the council, the boy's pained rebuttal and retreat, even the chairman's exhaustion as she stood to leave. All was perceived by the young prodigal commander, already calculating and constructing his first mental battlefield, whether driven by anxiety of failure or conviction of success he did not question, but he knew there would be little rest for him tonight.
However, as a soldier of the Inuki clan, his eyes trained back to their commander as he turned to address them. Every word he had spoken so far he had spoken in earnest, commanding honesty with his own vulnerability, all while staying loyal to the Inuki values and never betraying their leadership or the lives he commanded in the process. Kuno could only hope to garner the amount of respect that this hardened warrior earned over his lifetime, much less that of his fathers.
"OORAH!"Fate I wrote: Sun Sep 06, 2026 1:20 pm“You heard the woman.” His voice smouldered as he looked across his unit, arms folded now across his massive chest. Immediately, the Inuki Hunters straightened, almost seamlessly falling into formation.
“The Mizu Tsuki have entrusted us with one of their own. An act of faith and trust I'd sooner die than dishonor.” He said, allowing his gaze to linger long and hard upon every face in his unit. “What say you?”
The warrior, in formation like the rest of his squad, exclaimed proudly in unison. Kuno did not disagree with a word D'huro had spoken so far, but he knew his opinion was unlike the rest of the Inuki. Even though this did not deter him from following the commands of his superior, he was most definitely not planning on retiring tonight. Thusly, their delegation remained unanimous before the attendant began the process of escorting them out after their commander excused them to their rest.
The rhythmic echo of footsteps began as they entered the stone corridor, the company of soldiers following closely behind D'huro and the attendant at the lead. Kuno followed up the rear as he was recently accustomed to, already ascertaining the only door to the council room his eyes traced their path, naturally mapping the structure for his inevitable return. However he would eventually make his way passed their ranks in order to excuse himself from prying eyes.
"Excuse me, Mr. Attendant, do you think you could point me to the restroom?"
His search for outside resources was something the he couldn't bring up to D'huro any longer, and an audience with so many motives could deter but Kuno concluded their was a head missing from that meeting. Perhaps even a crown, someone with the means to deploy the renowned Royal Guard of the Mizu who could definitely reach the resources he knew the Inuki had to further his research.
"Yes sire, its actually down the last corridor we passed and to your right. Your rooms will be right up here down the corridor on your left if you get lost."
"Gotcha, thanks."
Kuno said avoiding eye contact with D'huro, retreating and letting the rest of the entourage pass he followed the directions of the attendant and disappeared inside the bathroom. Both literally and figuratively, he summoned a clone before flushing the toilet, and disappearing into thin air. One warrior would be seen leaving the restroom even though they both exited at the same time.
Taking the directed path he wandered his way back to the rooms the attendant, finding any empty room with little effort. However, the other found his way back to lay eyes on the council doors.
The team