In Ryuzan, a small nation, the air often smelled faintly of dried herbs and old paper. This was because many families there dedicated their lives to healing and writing.
Sunlight came through the delicate paper windows of their old family homes, lighting up shelves full of carefully labeled bottles and scrolls tied with worn leather.
These families were highly respected, almost worshipped. Their knowledge, passed down quietly through generations and practiced with serious rituals, felt sacred.
The very act of their work – grinding powerful roots or making elegant brushstrokes – showed their deep traditions, a quiet resistance to time passing.
Because of this lasting wisdom, Ryuzan had a subtle prestige. Messengers with the seals of faraway kingdoms and the important symbols of the Concordat Empire were common sights on their quiet streets. Their urgent requests silently showed how much they valued Ryuzan's unique skills.
Within Ryuzan's peaceful borders, you could find healers whose touch was said to mend broken bones as easily as a weaver fixes torn cloth. The air in their treatment rooms seemed to hum with a faint energy, sometimes thought to be from rare minerals in their medicines, other times from the healer's intense focus.
Some were famous throughout the land, their names linked to miraculous recoveries from deadly illnesses. Others, even more mysterious, were believed to understand the very flow of mana in the world.
This mana was a shimmering energy that felt almost real, believed to come from the spiritual core of all living things. Certain legendary people had learned to control and shape it. They could use it to sharpen their senses until the rustling of leaves sounded like a symphony, or to heal wounds incredibly fast.
There were different ways to use mana. Some people, with strong muscles, focused on channeling the energy to make their bodies stronger, moving incredibly fast or hitting with tremendous force.
Others, with calm eyes like ancient forests, tried to connect deeply with nature. They could sense subtle changes in the wind, understand the silent language of animals, and even gain strength from the ground.
And then there were the quiet scholars and careful researchers who spent their lives trying to understand the complex secrets of this amazing force. They studied old texts and did delicate experiments in private rooms, the faint glow of concentrated mana their only light during long hours of study.
Considering how deeply their unique skills affected the world, it's easy to see why the small nation of Ryuzan was so respected. Their expertise wasn't just something to buy; it was a vital resource in a world often full of danger and the limits of being human.
(Ryuzan, the Ishi Residence)
"Lady Miyama! Lady Miyama!" The frantic shout broke the quiet of the Ishi residence.
The young servant, his face red and sweaty, stumbled through the shiny hallways, his sandals hitting the wooden floor with each hurried step.
In a sunny room overlooking a carefully kept garden, another servant, moving gracefully and calmly, knelt beside a low couch. Her long, slender fingers gently massaged Lady Miyama's delicate hand.
Lady Miyama was lying against silk cushions, her dark hair around a beautiful face, though a hint of impatience showed in her deep eyes. She looked to be in her thirties, and her elegant silk robes whispered softly as she moved slightly.
The breathless servant finally reached the doorway, panting.
"Forgive me, but Lord Ishi's reply has arrived!" He held out a sealed letter, his hand shaking a little.
The second servant took the letter with practiced respect and offered it carefully to her mistress. "This time," the attendant added, his voice full of hope, "I'm sure it's good news!"
"Shush! Can't you see Lady Miyama has been waiting for the Lord's return for what feels like forever?" the massaging servant said softly, still looking at her mistress's hand.
"How utterly inconsiderate can you–" But before she could finish her scolding, Lady Miyama waved her hand slowly, looking tired but tolerant.
"Hush now, it's alright," Lady Miyama said, her voice soft and smooth. "I understand his excitement. After all, we've all been waiting anxiously for my Lord's return. The worst that can happen is that his journey has been delayed again. I refuse to get my hopes up."
Yet, despite her calm appearance, she was the one who most eagerly awaited Lord Ishi's arrival.
Oh, how I long for him! She thought, her inner turmoil very different from how she looked.
He has ignored me for years, leaving me to suffer without the attention I deserve. Poor, neglected woman that I am! I long to be pampered and loved with the most tender affection from my husband! When he finally comes home, I will certainly make him pay for these lonely years!
Though no one spoke of it, everyone in the room strongly felt the longing for the Lord's return. His long absence had created a subtle worry in the household.
The lower servants whispered about their future pay, while Lady Miyama secretly worried about her less-sparkly jewels, gifts she connected with his favor.
Every eye in the room was now on Lady Miyama, their faces showing a mix of hope and fear as they waited for her to open the letter, desperate for any news that might ease their unspoken worries.
"AHH!?"
The sound that escaped Lady Miyama's lips was a soft gasp, but it had a sharp intensity that cut through the quiet tension, loud enough to be heard throughout the house.
Her eyes, wide with disbelief and growing horror, stared at the parchment in her trembling hand.
A rush of quiet footsteps echoed in the hallway as servants hurried toward the room, their faces showing concern.
They found their mistress slumped against the silk cushions, her face pale, having fainted from shock. Beside her, the terrible letter lay on a pile of beautifully embroidered fabrics, the stark black ink of its message a cruel contrast to the delicate cloth.
The words, clearly written, delivered a devastating blow: LORD AYATO ISHI HAS DIED FOLLOWING AN ATTACK BY BANDITS ON HIS JOURNEY HOME.
In that frozen moment, the air in the room seemed heavy, and everyone held their breath.
....
"I still can't quite believe that Lord Ishi is really gone"
One of the older serving women murmured, her voice sad and worried as she carefully folded a silk robe, the fine fabric feeling strangely lifeless in her hands.
"Yes…" another servant sighed, looking distant as he straightened a row of lacquered boxes.
"I don't know what I'm going to do now. It's not easy to find good work in a small country like ours."
A clear feeling of uncertainty hung in the air, thick with unspoken fears about the future.
"Without being born into a rich family, just being able to live becomes impossible… ahh…" Both of them sighed wearily, feeling the weight of their difficult situation.
"I am so terribly sorry for all this… this trouble…" A soft voice, barely a whisper, came from the shadows of a nearby alcove.
A figure, so thin and still it could have been mistaken for a ghost in the dimness, slowly stepped out.
"AHH!"
Both servants jumped back, their eyes wide with shock. They had been so focused on their sad conversation that they hadn't noticed a third person until the delicate figure was fully in the soft light from a nearby window.
They quickly realized it was a young man, his features delicately beautiful, almost otherworldly.
"Young Master Ishi! We didn't… we didn't see you there. You startled us," they both murmured, their initial shock turning into quiet respect as they recognized Lady Miyama's son.
Ishi Shiro was a seventeen-year-old who was quietly intriguing among Ryuzan's elite. He was known for his sharp mind in medicine, a talent that seemed natural to him, and for his surprisingly strong love for poetry, his verses often having a sad beauty that seemed older than he was. Yet, a strange mystery surrounded him.
His father had always been strangely unwilling to introduce him to Ryuzan's society, keeping him hidden from public view.
Even more puzzling was the unsettling news that, when he died, Lord Ishi had left his only son with no inheritance at all, a shocking and disturbing omission that added to the already sad atmosphere of the Ishi residence.
"Now that my father has passed away," Ishi Shiro murmured, his voice soft but with a hint of quiet determination, "many things will undoubtedly change…"
The meaning of his words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the uncertain future that now lay before them all.