What I wouldn't Give
Posted: Sun Sep 13, 2026 10:44 am
The heavy doors of the high council chamber had barely clicked shut behind the departing Delegates of the Inuki clan before the room fell into a suffocating silence. The scent of ceremonial pine incense lingered, coiling lazily toward the vaulted rafters. Outside, the twilight of Fushimashi was painted in bruised purples and deep indigos, but inside, the atmosphere was far darker.
Moments stretched. No one moved until Zion spoke. He sat with his hands folded so tightly that his knuckles were white, his body tense.
"Are we certain we have made the right choice?" Zion asked, unable to find any comfort in his high-backed seat. A slight tremble ran through his fingers—a betrayal of the deep anxiety gnawing at him. His gaze flickered toward the empty doorway. The city of Fushimashi was now vulnerable. Not one, but two of its pivotal protections were gone, dispatched on a gamble that felt increasingly reckless in the face of the encroaching dark.
"I share your concern, Zion," Cazzador said, his brow deeply furrowed. He had looked displeased throughout the entire audience, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his heavy ceremonial robes. "Kalm is so pivotal to the very structure of our lands' protection. Unfortunately, he knows it."
In truth, if Cazzador had his way, Kalm would never leave the confines of the Lunar Sanctum. He would remain sequestered in perpetual prayer and worship, his powers preserved solely to be unleashed when the horrific howl of the Zoku grew too loud on the city's outer perimeter. But Cazzador kept that dark preference quiet; to utter it aloud would invite a barrage of righteous lectures from Azara about the boy’s humanity, his rights, and the cruelty of treating a soul like a sheath for a sword.
" And he uses it to his advantage," Azara said, settling back into her chair. She had stood to watch the Inuki delegates leave, but now she returned to the table, realizing a debrief was unavoidable. A soft, internal sigh escaped her. It had been an exhausting day, but she would never leave her council in such a state of fractured nerves. She would hear their lingering concerns. "But fret not; with the Hanamori at his side, I am sure he will prevail."
"It is not simply his side that concerns me," Vera said candidly. She sat with one leg crossed gracefully over the other, her posture a stark contrast to the rigid tension of the men in the room. An attendant stepped forward soundlessly, refilling her porcelain teacup with a fresh, steaming brew. Vera raised the cup, letting the rich floral aroma loosen the tightness in her chest before taking a sip.
"We received a report during the meeting," Vera continued, her voice cool and even. "Several Zoku scouts have been spotted drifting closer to the Mona Veil."
A collective chill seemed to pass through the chamber. Zion’s eyes widened.
"That should be impossible," Zion muttered, shaking his head. "Minor Acheri can scarcely stand the mere smell of the Lunar Blossom forest, let alone traverse their groves. The ambient purity of the blossoms should have dissolved their physical forms before they could even glimpse the Veil."
"It could be as we have feared," Vera said, setting her teacup down with a soft, deliberate click against its saucer. "In fact, I am quite sure of it. Though we did not affirm their speculations during D’huro’s briefing, his reports concerning Aheri nature and composition match the recent thoughts of the Demonic Research department."
"The Acheri are growing in power," Zion affirmed, the realization etching deep, weary grooves into his forehead. "Which means those pacted to them—like the Zoku—are also changing. Adapting."
"Yakei's last report suggested as much. We, however, dismissed it, perhaps too hastily." Azara leaned forward, her voice carrying the steady warmth of a hearth fire in a winter storm. "We must hold faith, Zion. I do not dismiss the weight of your troubles lightly; rest assured, I see you. I see the burden you carry. However, Kalm, despite his station, is human. We cannot expect him to perform every duty without thought or emotion. He is not a tool, even if he sometimes fancies himself as such."
She paused, looking around the table at the faces of her oldest peers.
"Perhaps we are to blame for that mindset," Azara continued, her tone softening with a touch of remorse. "We have ingrained his duty into him so fervently from childhood. We never gave him the space to experience his emotions freely."
Cazzador remained silent, his jaw clenched, while Zion’s eyes drifted toward the polished floor, unable to meet her gaze.
"There is also the matter of his power," Cazzador finally spoke, his voice dropping to a gravelly register that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards. "Let us not forget: the strength of his Anthem is tied directly to his emotional state and his mental clarity. Allowing him free rein of every whim and inclination that arises in him would see him turn from our greatest boon to our most terrible bane." He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the council members. "We cannot have a repeat of... that night."
At those words, a heavy, suffocating silence arrested the chamber. The temperature in the room felt as though it had dropped several degrees, the memory of shattered glass, crimson rain, and the near-collapse of the city’s defensive barriers hanging like a shroud over them all.
Azara’s gentle expression vanished instantly. Her gaze turned razor-sharp, pinning Cazzador to his seat. The silent reprimand in her eyes was heavy enough to make the seasoned warrior shift uncomfortably.
"Kalm has grown much since that night," Azara affirmed, her voice steel-wrapped in silk. Slowly, her features softened once more, though the absolute authority in her posture remained. "It will not be repeated. He knows his limits, and the Hanamori knows how to anchor him."
She took a slow, deep breath, smoothing the fine fabric of her robes.
" Besides, we survived a hundred years between the birth of Kalm and the death of the previous Erabrashi. Fushimashi has weathered worse storms than this. Fushimashi will stand, come what may."
She let her words linger in the quiet room. Though the shadows of the Zoku lengthened beyond the city walls, and though their greatest weapon walked a path of his own choosing, the council had made their choice. There was nothing left to do but trust in the light they had fostered, and pray it would be enough to hold back the dark.
The incense burning in the grand council chamber of the Mizu-Tsuki clan was thick, choked with lotus ash and sacred oils meant to honor the divine moon. High above the polished obsidian floor, the elders sat in quiet judgment, their robes heavy with tradition. But the silence shattered the moment the heavy velvet drapes were pushed aside.
"Ah, you all are still here."
Abruptly, through the curtained double doors walked in a man clad in a neat black suit adorned with silver accessories. Cufflinks that glistened like captured stars caught the pale lantern light. Tinted black shades on his face hid the casual, sharp glare that he wore constantly. The air seemed to curdle gently when he entered—like a wolf enters a shepherd's field, unbothered by the sheep, yet terrifying in its mere existence. His voice was deep, yet its cadence refined, like woven notes from a master composer.
"Toshiro..." Azara said, her frail voice carrying across the dais.
"Hmp, do you make a habit of barging into places?" Vera said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. "You decided to make an appearance after all." She sighed, shaking her head. "Unfortunately, the Inuki have departed to their lodgings."
"Hmp, it is of no consequence to me, the qualms of the Inuki," Toshiro said smoothly, continuing his way toward the central dais. He stopped just short of the pedestal; each step echoed with a sharp, distinct rhythmic click as the red bottom of his shoes touched the immaculate floor of the chamber. "Had I found it interesting, I would have attended..."
He gestured vaguely with a gloved hand, dismissing the high-ranking emissaries as if they were nothing more than dust on his lapel.
"I simply came to check in on Kalm's reception to his directive. As well as deliver the latest reports of Yakei's metrics." Toshiro lifted his right hand to go into the inside of his suit jacket, where he pulled out a small cloth pouch. "Oh, and to give the Head Priestess her herbs."
At a faint nod of permission from Azara, a young attendant scurried forward, bowing nervously before taking the pouch from Toshiro's hands. After handing them over, Toshiro casually folded one arm under the other, standing with the effortless posture of a man who owned the room—and everything within it.
"All tasks that you could have given an attendant," Zion said sharply from his high seat, his brow furrowed in disapproval.
"Yes, we're sure you must be quite busy," Cazzador added, distrust clear in his tone as he leaned over the armrest. "Why trouble yourself with these mundane tasks?"
"Your scrutiny pains me," Toshiro replied casually, his piercing gaze hidden behind the dark tint of his glasses. "Does my station forbid me from taking the chance to get fresh air?"
"I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know he wasn't leaping for light when told the Flower Guard would be accompanying him to the expedition," Vera interjected, watching Toshiro closely for a crack in his armor.
"Why, Madam Vera, you wound me; you make me out to be some sort of sadist toward my own kin," Toshiro said smoothly.
"Well, you and the boy's rapport is... quite strained," Vera continued.
"Teenagers... they know so little, yet pride and ego have grown so large. Regardless of his... temperament—" Toshiro paused.
The air in the room seemed to agitate. Slowly, Toshiro reached up with two fingers and lowered his glasses just over the bridge of his nose. For a brief, agonizing second, the casual mask slipped, revealing his almost feral gaze—a set of fearsome amber eyes that stewed like simmering pools of molten light, dangerous and ancient.
"I'm sure you all are aware by now that there is nothing I wouldn't give to protect my family." Toshiro's voice became somber, firm, and resolute. "Most of all, my son."
Cazzador shifted uncomfortably under that terrifying glare. "Why did you approve of Kalm's presence in the expedition, then? Surely you fear for his safety."
Toshiro pushed his glasses back up his nose, the golden light instantly swallowed by dark glass. "There is no cause for me to truly object. I simply know Kalm; he works better when he feels he's doing something I don't like."
"You mean you simply object to... motivate him?" Vera asked, a faint, skeptical smile touching her lips.
"I assure you, if there is one thing my son cannot stand more than the sound of an Acheri howl, it is my opinion on any matter," Toshiro said dryly.
"My, that's quite manipulative, even for you, Toshiro," Cazzador murmured. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. " And the Hanamori were to make sure he has backup, but to also keep an eye on him."
"Rest easy tonight knowing he will succeed just to spite me," Toshiro said. His tone hardened into cold steel. "Besides... Kalm will not die, least of all by the hands of damned demons."
Satisfied that the matter was settled, Toshiro began to bow smoothly in preparation to depart. He had fulfilled his self-imposed duties, and he had little desire to linger in the stagnant halls of the old council. But as he bent his knee, Zion’s harsh voice halted him in his tracks.
"We missed your presence at the Lunar Mass yesterday," Zion said inquisitively, leaning over the stone railing. "Do you think yourself above the will of our lord, Toshiro?"
"..."
Toshiro remained utterly silent.
Beneath the flawless black wool of his suit, his muscles coiled tight. A wave of profound, suffocating disdain rippled through him. He despised the grandiosity of the Faith, the blind fanaticism of the elders, and above all, the entity they worshipped. To Toshiro, Tsukuyomi was not a benevolent savior—it was a parasite, an ancient tyrant that demanded blood and obedience while mortal men bled in the dirt to keep its realm whole. Yakei Enterprises was built on logic, steel, and human ambition; it relied on things that were real, not the fickle whims of an ambient god sitting in the high heavens.
Yet, to voice such blasphemy here would mean war—a waste of time and resources he could ill afford.
"You may be the head of Yakei Enterprises, but you are a Mizu-Tsuki clansman before all!" Zion yelled, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings with a passion that was casually dismissed by Toshiro's complete lack of reaction. "It is required by our god!"
"Hmp, that was yesterday? My, the time must be getting away from me..." Toshiro said after a long, contemplative silence.
It was a blatant lie, wrapped in dry indifference, but it spoke volumes concerning his thoughts on the worship of Tsukuyomi. Ultimately, he feigned ignorance to avoid an unnecessary confrontation; he had far more pressing matters to attend to than kneeling on cold stone to pray to a hollow sky. Yet, the heavy weight of his unspoken contempt settled over the chamber, leaving an unmistakable chill on the backs of everyone present.
"If you all would excuse me."
Without waiting for a dismissal, Toshiro turned on his red soles and walked out.
Behind him, the air slowly thinned as the council dispersed in uncomfortable silence, and an attendant gently helped Azara toward her private quarters. The grand doors swung shut behind Toshiro as he stepped out into the night air, crossing the courtyard toward his waiting transport. Leaving the shadows of the council behind, he began his journey back to Yakei HQ—where real power was forged.
Moments stretched. No one moved until Zion spoke. He sat with his hands folded so tightly that his knuckles were white, his body tense.
"Are we certain we have made the right choice?" Zion asked, unable to find any comfort in his high-backed seat. A slight tremble ran through his fingers—a betrayal of the deep anxiety gnawing at him. His gaze flickered toward the empty doorway. The city of Fushimashi was now vulnerable. Not one, but two of its pivotal protections were gone, dispatched on a gamble that felt increasingly reckless in the face of the encroaching dark.
"I share your concern, Zion," Cazzador said, his brow deeply furrowed. He had looked displeased throughout the entire audience, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his heavy ceremonial robes. "Kalm is so pivotal to the very structure of our lands' protection. Unfortunately, he knows it."
In truth, if Cazzador had his way, Kalm would never leave the confines of the Lunar Sanctum. He would remain sequestered in perpetual prayer and worship, his powers preserved solely to be unleashed when the horrific howl of the Zoku grew too loud on the city's outer perimeter. But Cazzador kept that dark preference quiet; to utter it aloud would invite a barrage of righteous lectures from Azara about the boy’s humanity, his rights, and the cruelty of treating a soul like a sheath for a sword.
" And he uses it to his advantage," Azara said, settling back into her chair. She had stood to watch the Inuki delegates leave, but now she returned to the table, realizing a debrief was unavoidable. A soft, internal sigh escaped her. It had been an exhausting day, but she would never leave her council in such a state of fractured nerves. She would hear their lingering concerns. "But fret not; with the Hanamori at his side, I am sure he will prevail."
"It is not simply his side that concerns me," Vera said candidly. She sat with one leg crossed gracefully over the other, her posture a stark contrast to the rigid tension of the men in the room. An attendant stepped forward soundlessly, refilling her porcelain teacup with a fresh, steaming brew. Vera raised the cup, letting the rich floral aroma loosen the tightness in her chest before taking a sip.
"We received a report during the meeting," Vera continued, her voice cool and even. "Several Zoku scouts have been spotted drifting closer to the Mona Veil."
A collective chill seemed to pass through the chamber. Zion’s eyes widened.
"That should be impossible," Zion muttered, shaking his head. "Minor Acheri can scarcely stand the mere smell of the Lunar Blossom forest, let alone traverse their groves. The ambient purity of the blossoms should have dissolved their physical forms before they could even glimpse the Veil."
"It could be as we have feared," Vera said, setting her teacup down with a soft, deliberate click against its saucer. "In fact, I am quite sure of it. Though we did not affirm their speculations during D’huro’s briefing, his reports concerning Aheri nature and composition match the recent thoughts of the Demonic Research department."
"The Acheri are growing in power," Zion affirmed, the realization etching deep, weary grooves into his forehead. "Which means those pacted to them—like the Zoku—are also changing. Adapting."
"Yakei's last report suggested as much. We, however, dismissed it, perhaps too hastily." Azara leaned forward, her voice carrying the steady warmth of a hearth fire in a winter storm. "We must hold faith, Zion. I do not dismiss the weight of your troubles lightly; rest assured, I see you. I see the burden you carry. However, Kalm, despite his station, is human. We cannot expect him to perform every duty without thought or emotion. He is not a tool, even if he sometimes fancies himself as such."
She paused, looking around the table at the faces of her oldest peers.
"Perhaps we are to blame for that mindset," Azara continued, her tone softening with a touch of remorse. "We have ingrained his duty into him so fervently from childhood. We never gave him the space to experience his emotions freely."
Cazzador remained silent, his jaw clenched, while Zion’s eyes drifted toward the polished floor, unable to meet her gaze.
"There is also the matter of his power," Cazzador finally spoke, his voice dropping to a gravelly register that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards. "Let us not forget: the strength of his Anthem is tied directly to his emotional state and his mental clarity. Allowing him free rein of every whim and inclination that arises in him would see him turn from our greatest boon to our most terrible bane." He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the council members. "We cannot have a repeat of... that night."
At those words, a heavy, suffocating silence arrested the chamber. The temperature in the room felt as though it had dropped several degrees, the memory of shattered glass, crimson rain, and the near-collapse of the city’s defensive barriers hanging like a shroud over them all.
Azara’s gentle expression vanished instantly. Her gaze turned razor-sharp, pinning Cazzador to his seat. The silent reprimand in her eyes was heavy enough to make the seasoned warrior shift uncomfortably.
"Kalm has grown much since that night," Azara affirmed, her voice steel-wrapped in silk. Slowly, her features softened once more, though the absolute authority in her posture remained. "It will not be repeated. He knows his limits, and the Hanamori knows how to anchor him."
She took a slow, deep breath, smoothing the fine fabric of her robes.
" Besides, we survived a hundred years between the birth of Kalm and the death of the previous Erabrashi. Fushimashi has weathered worse storms than this. Fushimashi will stand, come what may."
She let her words linger in the quiet room. Though the shadows of the Zoku lengthened beyond the city walls, and though their greatest weapon walked a path of his own choosing, the council had made their choice. There was nothing left to do but trust in the light they had fostered, and pray it would be enough to hold back the dark.
The incense burning in the grand council chamber of the Mizu-Tsuki clan was thick, choked with lotus ash and sacred oils meant to honor the divine moon. High above the polished obsidian floor, the elders sat in quiet judgment, their robes heavy with tradition. But the silence shattered the moment the heavy velvet drapes were pushed aside.
"Ah, you all are still here."
Abruptly, through the curtained double doors walked in a man clad in a neat black suit adorned with silver accessories. Cufflinks that glistened like captured stars caught the pale lantern light. Tinted black shades on his face hid the casual, sharp glare that he wore constantly. The air seemed to curdle gently when he entered—like a wolf enters a shepherd's field, unbothered by the sheep, yet terrifying in its mere existence. His voice was deep, yet its cadence refined, like woven notes from a master composer.
"Toshiro..." Azara said, her frail voice carrying across the dais.
"Hmp, do you make a habit of barging into places?" Vera said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. "You decided to make an appearance after all." She sighed, shaking her head. "Unfortunately, the Inuki have departed to their lodgings."
"Hmp, it is of no consequence to me, the qualms of the Inuki," Toshiro said smoothly, continuing his way toward the central dais. He stopped just short of the pedestal; each step echoed with a sharp, distinct rhythmic click as the red bottom of his shoes touched the immaculate floor of the chamber. "Had I found it interesting, I would have attended..."
He gestured vaguely with a gloved hand, dismissing the high-ranking emissaries as if they were nothing more than dust on his lapel.
"I simply came to check in on Kalm's reception to his directive. As well as deliver the latest reports of Yakei's metrics." Toshiro lifted his right hand to go into the inside of his suit jacket, where he pulled out a small cloth pouch. "Oh, and to give the Head Priestess her herbs."
At a faint nod of permission from Azara, a young attendant scurried forward, bowing nervously before taking the pouch from Toshiro's hands. After handing them over, Toshiro casually folded one arm under the other, standing with the effortless posture of a man who owned the room—and everything within it.
"All tasks that you could have given an attendant," Zion said sharply from his high seat, his brow furrowed in disapproval.
"Yes, we're sure you must be quite busy," Cazzador added, distrust clear in his tone as he leaned over the armrest. "Why trouble yourself with these mundane tasks?"
"Your scrutiny pains me," Toshiro replied casually, his piercing gaze hidden behind the dark tint of his glasses. "Does my station forbid me from taking the chance to get fresh air?"
"I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know he wasn't leaping for light when told the Flower Guard would be accompanying him to the expedition," Vera interjected, watching Toshiro closely for a crack in his armor.
"Why, Madam Vera, you wound me; you make me out to be some sort of sadist toward my own kin," Toshiro said smoothly.
"Well, you and the boy's rapport is... quite strained," Vera continued.
"Teenagers... they know so little, yet pride and ego have grown so large. Regardless of his... temperament—" Toshiro paused.
The air in the room seemed to agitate. Slowly, Toshiro reached up with two fingers and lowered his glasses just over the bridge of his nose. For a brief, agonizing second, the casual mask slipped, revealing his almost feral gaze—a set of fearsome amber eyes that stewed like simmering pools of molten light, dangerous and ancient.
"I'm sure you all are aware by now that there is nothing I wouldn't give to protect my family." Toshiro's voice became somber, firm, and resolute. "Most of all, my son."
Cazzador shifted uncomfortably under that terrifying glare. "Why did you approve of Kalm's presence in the expedition, then? Surely you fear for his safety."
Toshiro pushed his glasses back up his nose, the golden light instantly swallowed by dark glass. "There is no cause for me to truly object. I simply know Kalm; he works better when he feels he's doing something I don't like."
"You mean you simply object to... motivate him?" Vera asked, a faint, skeptical smile touching her lips.
"I assure you, if there is one thing my son cannot stand more than the sound of an Acheri howl, it is my opinion on any matter," Toshiro said dryly.
"My, that's quite manipulative, even for you, Toshiro," Cazzador murmured. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. " And the Hanamori were to make sure he has backup, but to also keep an eye on him."
"Rest easy tonight knowing he will succeed just to spite me," Toshiro said. His tone hardened into cold steel. "Besides... Kalm will not die, least of all by the hands of damned demons."
Satisfied that the matter was settled, Toshiro began to bow smoothly in preparation to depart. He had fulfilled his self-imposed duties, and he had little desire to linger in the stagnant halls of the old council. But as he bent his knee, Zion’s harsh voice halted him in his tracks.
"We missed your presence at the Lunar Mass yesterday," Zion said inquisitively, leaning over the stone railing. "Do you think yourself above the will of our lord, Toshiro?"
"..."
Toshiro remained utterly silent.
Beneath the flawless black wool of his suit, his muscles coiled tight. A wave of profound, suffocating disdain rippled through him. He despised the grandiosity of the Faith, the blind fanaticism of the elders, and above all, the entity they worshipped. To Toshiro, Tsukuyomi was not a benevolent savior—it was a parasite, an ancient tyrant that demanded blood and obedience while mortal men bled in the dirt to keep its realm whole. Yakei Enterprises was built on logic, steel, and human ambition; it relied on things that were real, not the fickle whims of an ambient god sitting in the high heavens.
Yet, to voice such blasphemy here would mean war—a waste of time and resources he could ill afford.
"You may be the head of Yakei Enterprises, but you are a Mizu-Tsuki clansman before all!" Zion yelled, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings with a passion that was casually dismissed by Toshiro's complete lack of reaction. "It is required by our god!"
"Hmp, that was yesterday? My, the time must be getting away from me..." Toshiro said after a long, contemplative silence.
It was a blatant lie, wrapped in dry indifference, but it spoke volumes concerning his thoughts on the worship of Tsukuyomi. Ultimately, he feigned ignorance to avoid an unnecessary confrontation; he had far more pressing matters to attend to than kneeling on cold stone to pray to a hollow sky. Yet, the heavy weight of his unspoken contempt settled over the chamber, leaving an unmistakable chill on the backs of everyone present.
"If you all would excuse me."
Without waiting for a dismissal, Toshiro turned on his red soles and walked out.
Behind him, the air slowly thinned as the council dispersed in uncomfortable silence, and an attendant gently helped Azara toward her private quarters. The grand doors swung shut behind Toshiro as he stepped out into the night air, crossing the courtyard toward his waiting transport. Leaving the shadows of the council behind, he began his journey back to Yakei HQ—where real power was forged.