Prologue

Inhale. Exhale.

The boy felt air rush in and out of his lungs. Felt his heartbeat slow down to a steadier pace. Not enough, he thought. He still could not feel it – the second set of heartbeats within him, underneath the first set.

He gathered strength into his legs. His bare feet sensing every grain of the wooden floor. He knew that he had to act fast. Once he saw movement, he needed to run.

Inhale. Exhale.

He started to feel it – like a whir of a thousand tiny cogs inside of him. With each deep breath he coaxed the cogs to whir faster, and he felt strength flow throughout him.

“Keep alert!” The mentor shouted from across him, reiterating what the boy already ought to know. “You need to be able to use magic without stilling your heart!”

The boy relaxed his stance and eyed his mentor – his mother. “This is pointless,” he mouthed. His opinion wasn’t new. He had failed to understand why his mother, and his father as well, had insisted that he learn magic-as-combat. Now of all times? When the world was finally at peace?

“Focus! Remember your duty. Remember your name.” She wasn’t in the mood to be motherly, which he suspected was the default. She was rarely motherly, especially in the absence of his father.

Morimoto. A name disgraced by his grandfather. A name disgraced by his father. A name he was groomed to restore to glory. That was his duty, or so it was said. How to accomplish that, however, no one knew. All he knew that he came from a long line of great generals. And a very short line of magicians. In this time of peace and in a country that fears magicians, though, his inheritance is of little use or consequence to him.

His mother flicked her wrist, and immediately, a volley of fireballs came flying his direction, catching him unaware. He struggled, trying to find his second set of heartbeats again.

Dust – smother all of creation

“Primary undoing,” he mouthed, his hands drawing glowing circles in the air. He felt the thousands of cogs whir faster and faster, a tingling sensation flowing from his chest into his arms and legs. He braced for impact, begging for reality to obey him. He shut his eyes, unsure if his magic had worked.

He felt no heat, no fire upon him. Instead, he only felt his mother’s hand stroke his head.

“Well done, my son.” She smiled. It was one of those rare moments where she was motherly. “That’s it for today’s lesson. Come, let us get supper.”

The day had been uneventful. The usual studies of magic theory with exercises on practical application. And while the young boy had demonstrated considerable aptitude – talent, even - in both theory and practice, the same could not be said of his self-doubt. It was as if using magic scared him.

“That is something I’ll have to discuss with your father when he comes back,” the mother said as they ate. “There’s nothing wrong with your mind. Your heart is just… elsewhere.”

“When is Father coming back?” the boy asked while downing his broth and noodles. He knew that she didn’t know either. Asking just made him feel a little better. He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that his mother didn’t answer.

They ate in silence after that. The only sounds they could hear was the waves of the lake crashing into the shore as darkness gathered around them, the sunlight paving way to magical orbs of light the mother and child conjured in its stead.

But soon, a different light shone in front of them. A blue tongue of fire. And from it a voice issued.

“Lord Morimoto,” it addressed the boy.

“I-I’m not Lord Morimoto.” The boy stammered. He looked into the flame, and saw a familiar face. It was the face of a young man – Prince Akira, Crown Prince of Shin Rikoku. At least, it looked like his face. The face looked as if he was hiding tremendous grief. “Lord Morimoto is my father.”

“Morimoto Soushi has been relinquished of his lordship. You are now Lord of Bukijima, Morimoto Yuuichi.”

The boy eyed his mother, who similarly wore a quizzical look.

“You are needed here at the capital, Lord Morimoto,” the prince in the flame said.

“Under whose authority?” the mother slammed her palms at the table, startling Yuuichi. Her lips were pursed, and her brows were furrowed in anger. “I will NOT allow my son to leave this place!” She bellowed.

The flame turned around and faced her. “You must be Suitake Kanae,” the man said coolly. “While I understand why you might not want to do so, I believe we…” a little hand emerged within the flames, motioning to all three of them “have no choice. Circumstances have changed.”

“What do you mean?” Kanae asked, her brows not relaxing at all.

“The nobility are dead. The heirs of the noble houses must convene as a new council.”

“What do you mean, ‘the nobility are dead’?” Yuuichi asked. Surely, he doesn’t mean that all the lords and ladies suddenly died, does he?

“It means what it means. There’s been… an incident.” The voice trailed off saying those two words, as if the reality was too painful to bear.

Mother and son looked at each other, exchanging pained looks. Kanae’s eyes welled with water. “I see.” They conceded.

“It’s settled then. I, Watanabe Akira, Lord of Reinaguchi and King of Shin Rikoku order you, Lord Morimoto Yuuichi, Lord of Bukijima, to represent your family, as is the sworn duty of all the noble heads. Now that I have said it, so too must it be done.”

“So too must it be done.” Yuuichi mouthed, and the flame extinguished.

Kanae cried, and embraced her son. She was losing another part of her family, and it pained her so.

“Remember your duty. Remember your name” She told her son in between sobs. “A life without purpose is no life at all.” She caressed his face, whose eyes were likewise watery.

He held tightly to his mother, as he wept bitterly. Feeling inside him, he felt the little tics of the cogs as they gyrated slowly as his second heartbeat. Do what must be done. Restore honor to your name. He told himself.

His head swam. He was much too upset that he forgot to breathe.

Inhale. Exhale.

Kanae slept beside her son that night, for the first time in ages. Neither mother nor son found it in their hearts to sleep. Instead, she stroked his small head. Her boy, barely thirteen, was being taken away from her. She sung him a lullaby.

Fourteen Centuries Ago,

The Seven Sages rebelled

Against the Grand Architect

They sparked a war

That almost destroyed the world

But thirty-six heroes

Wielded Truth as a sword

They slew

And one of those heroes’ names

Was Morimoto.

When Yuuichi had arrived at the Capital, mere moments after his magic whisked him off that lakeshore, what greeted him was a very crowded palace. It had been merely days since The Incident, and the funeral pyres were burning scores of corpses. The air was thick with a nauseating stench mixed with the unmistakable scent of brimstone as blue fire consumed the bodies of the dead. All that could be heard was the sound of relatives wailing in agony for their loss, over the drone of priests saying prayers to the deceased. There was so much death in such a little space, dozens of bodies being reduced to ash, and a sea of black-clad people came in and out, mourning.

Inhale. Exhale.

He was not mourning. He had no one to mourn for. His mother was safe, and his father was who-knows-where but likely still alive. While he felt lonely without them, how could it compare to a generation that suddenly became orphans literally overnight? His loss was fleeting, temporary. Theirs was much more profound - something he cannot possibly fathom. So why was he alone content amidst this sea of grief? No one knew. Perhaps, the Morimoto Family had been dishonored a third time, by a Lord who betrayed them. The whispers of the traitorous Lord and his traitorous bastard began making its rounds. And that’s when the bitterness started. Three whole years of it.