Morning came slowly.
Ren woke up feeling tired, but lighter than before. The dream stayed in his mind, clear and strange.
"…A talking mask," he muttered.
"…I really need more sleep."
He sat up and reached for his sword.
His arm hurt.
He looked at it and froze.
A dark mark sat just above his elbow. It looked like a bruise—but deeper. Older.
"…That's new," he said quietly.
"…I don't remember earning that one."
He covered it with his sleeve and stepped outside.
The training yard was already busy.
His elder brother practiced in the center, strong and calm. Their father watched him closely, just like always.
Ren stood at the edge.
He waited.
The father spoke without looking at him.
"Today's training will be harder," he said to the elder brother.
"You must not hesitate in battle."
"Yes, Father," his brother replied.
The father paused.
"For someone with strength," he continued,
"hesitation can still kill."
Ren felt the words land heavily.
He tightened his grip on his sword.
The father finally glanced toward Ren.
Just for a second.
His eyes stopped at Ren's arm.
At the hidden bruise.
His expression changed—only slightly.
Then he looked away.
"…Train carefully," he said, not to Ren, but to the air between them.
Ren blinked.
"…Yes, Father," he answered anyway.
Later, as training ended, Ren overheard his father speaking quietly to his elder brother.
"Do not walk into darkness just to prove yourself," the father said.
"Some paths cannot be returned from."
"…Like what?" his brother asked.
The father was silent for a long moment.
"…Like mistakes," he replied.
Ren stood still behind the wooden wall.
He did not understand.
But he felt it.
That night, Ren returned to the river.
He practiced quietly.
The forest watched.
Far away, Shirugami felt the tension growing—not only from demons, but from humans.
"…The father knows," the spirit whispered.
"…Or at least, he remembers."
The Nanaira Mask rested in the dark.
One mark glowed faintly.
Not bright.
Not yet.
The story continued.
And so did the silence between a father and a son.
🎭