Episode 4 — The Child in the Ruins
The night after the siege was quiet. Too quiet.
In the distance, smoke still coiled into the heavens where villages had burned. But high in the mountains, where dawn mist clung to the stones and the chill air smelled of pine, the world seemed untouched. Still. Silent.
Until a sound pierced that silence.
A cry.
A baby's cry.
It was faint, almost swallowed by the wind, yet insistent. It echoed across the ravine like a fragile thread connecting life to the waking world.
Through the haze of dawn, a man walked the mountain path with steps steady as iron. His long gray hair was tied into a warrior's knot, streaks of white glinting in the faint light. Age had etched lines into his face, but his body radiated the coiled strength of a predator still dangerous. His robe was worn, its edges frayed from years of use, yet his presence alone made the forest seem to bow in silence.
This was Master Ryuzen. Once a martial legend, feared and revered in equal measure. Now retired, he lived quietly, training the next generation in his humble dojo below the mountains.
But fate had not finished with him.
Ryuzen stopped mid-step. His sharp eyes, honed by decades of battle, caught sight of something strange in the rubble ahead.
A pile of broken beams. Torn cloth. Cracked stone. Amidst it, faint light shimmered.
And there, wrapped in splinters and dust, lay a child.
The infant stirred, his cries softening. For a heartbeat, Ryuzen thought he saw a glimmer within the boy's eyes — a strange, otherworldly symbol flashing across them before vanishing as quickly as it came. Then, only soft, innocent eyes remained.
Ryuzen's brow furrowed. His deep voice rolled into the silence. "An abandoned child? …No. The heavens don't play tricks like this."
He knelt, his scarred hands moving with a gentleness that surprised even himself. As he lifted the child, the baby cooed and reached up boldly, grasping a handful of his beard.
Ryuzen winced. "Tch. Bold little thing, aren't you?" But his gruff tone softened when the baby giggled. His lips curved into something rare — a faint smile. "…Very well. Seems fate has decided I'm not done raising brats."
By sunrise, the old master walked into town. The baby was swaddled in his cloak, eyes wide as he peeked out at the bustling market. Merchants shouted over their wares, children chased one another, farmers led carts of produce. But the moment people noticed Ryuzen, voices dropped. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through grass.
"Is that… Master Ryuzen?"
"With… a baby?!"
"Don't tell me he has a mistress outside the city!"
"Hah! So much for 'discipline and honor.' Even legends have their secrets."
Ryuzen's face twitched. The child in his arms let out a happy gurgle, as if laughing at the scandal.
"Stop that," Ryuzen muttered, glaring down. "You're making me look guilty."
The gossip followed him all the way to the dojo.
At the gates, two small figures were already waiting.
"Papa!" A boy of five came barreling forward, hair sticking out in messy tufts, his grin wide. This was Taro, Ryuzen's eldest adopted child — full of fire, full of trouble, and never short on energy.
Behind him ran a girl of four. Her hair was tied into uneven buns, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. Mika, sweet-faced but clever, who loved nothing more than teasing her brother and her master alike.
"Papa, you're late again!" Taro huffed, puffing out his cheeks — then froze when he saw the bundle. "Wait… what's THAT?!"
Mika hurried closer, hands clasped behind her back. "Ooooh… a baby!" She poked at the child's cheek. "He's so tiny!"
The infant blinked, then smiled.
"Don't poke him like he's a stray cat," Ryuzen grumbled.
Taro's grin turned sly. "Don't tell me… Papa brought home another brother? What, do babies just follow you around now?"
Mika giggled, sing-songing, "Maybe Papa's got a lady outside town~"
"Silence, both of you!" Ryuzen barked, though his ears turned red.
Inside the dojo, rows of students bowed as their master entered. But waiting in the center stood Kenji, the assistant. Tall, stern, always composed — he had been Ryuzen's right hand for years, the one who kept the dojo running whenever the old man wandered.
"Master," Kenji said flatly, arms crossed. "Once again you vanish without notice. You cannot abandon your duties so easily."
"I was busy," Ryuzen muttered.
Kenji raised a brow. "Busy?" His gaze dropped to the infant. His jaw tightened. "…Master. Whose child is this?"
The room fell silent. Students leaned forward, eager to hear.
Before Ryuzen could answer, Taro shouted proudly, "Papa brought him home! He's our new brother!"
Kenji's frown deepened. "A dojo is no place for infants. We are not—"
But Mika cut him off, fists on her hips. "Then we'll make it a place for babies! He's ours now!"
Kenji froze, her glare pinning him in place. Around them, students chuckled.
Ryuzen coughed, hiding his smile. "There. Settled. He stays."
Kenji groaned, defeated. "The heavens curse me for serving this man…"
Time passed.
The baby was given a name: Shin. He grew surrounded by fists and shouts, laughter and discipline. He crawled across the dojo mats, copying stances he saw, his tiny arms flailing as if already practicing martial forms. He tugged at Ryuzen's robe during lessons, demanding attention. He laughed when Mika tickled him, and cried when Taro pushed him too hard.
The disciples soon grew used to him. Some teased that he'd be their youngest brother-in-arms. Others whispered that his eyes, so strangely deep, held something unusual.
At night, Ryuzen often sat cross-legged with the boy on his lap, guiding his breathing. Though Shin was too young to understand, his little hands mimicked the motions. In the torchlight, his eyes shone with an intensity beyond his years.
Years slipped by. By six, Shin's fist could knock over a wooden dummy. By seven, he sparred playfully with Taro, both boys shouting challenges until Mika joined in with cheers and teasing.
Shin was quieter than the others, more focused, but never cold. His strength grew quickly, his strikes precise. Taro boasted loudly but sometimes found himself flat on the ground. Mika laughed the hardest at those moments.
Ryuzen watched them all with a gaze that softened more often than he admitted. He had raised many students, but this boy… this boy felt different.
And though he would never say it aloud, in the quiet of the night, he sometimes wondered: Why did fate place you in my path?