The Alcali Clan
Akari stood facing Yuzuki, gripping her sword tightly. The blade caught the moonlight as she adjusted her stance. The night's chill made the wind cut at her skin, but none of it seemed to distract her. Yet, as she looked at Yuzuki, something inside her wavered.
She glanced down at her sword, and a wave of memories flooded her like a whirlwind.
"Why does he want me to fight him?" she wondered for a brief moment, but her thoughts were quickly pulled into the past.
She remembered her childhood, the moment her life fell apart.
At ten years old, Akari sat in a narrow alley at the heart of the Alcali clan.
With tangled pink hair and a worn tin can in her hands, she watched passersby stroll by without so much as a glance. "One coin… just one coin," she begged in a weak voice.
It was useless. Everyone knew who she was.
An elderly woman whispered to the man beside her.
""She's the traitor's daughter. What did you expect? That they'd care for her?""
""She should have been sacrificed along with her mother,"" the man replied.
Akari bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back tears. The physical pain seemed less than the weight of her emotions. Some merchants had beaten her that day, shouting that she had no right to steal. Her legs ached, and she could barely move.
As the day dragged on, the sounds of the street blurred together. Her vision grew hazy, and the cold of the night seemed to swallow everything around her. That was when she felt a presence.
""What happened to you?"" asked a low, deep voice.
Akari raised her eyes slowly. A tall man stood before her. His white hair shimmered in the moonlight, and his crystal-blue eyes seemed to see right through her. He said nothing more, simply kneeling to meet her at eye level.
Akari tried to speak, but her voice failed her. She was too exhausted. The man extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it.
When she opened her eyes again, she lay in a warm bed. The scent of herbs filled the air, and for the first time in a long while, she felt comfort. She tried to move, but a sharp pain shot through her leg.
""Don't try to get up yet. You need to rest,"" the same deep voice said.
She turned and saw the white-haired man. He sat in a simple chair, slicing pieces of bread. His expression was calm, but his eyes were full of determination.
""Who are you?"" Akari asked in a hoarse voice.
""My name is Zyon.""
""Why… did you help me?""
Zyon looked at her for a moment without answering. He stood, fetched a bowl of soup from a nearby table, and handed it to her.
""Eat,"" he said simply.
Akari did not argue. She was starving and devoured the soup so quickly she nearly choked. Zyon remained silent, watching her.
Days passed, and Zyon continued to care for Akari. He spoke little, but his actions were constant and kind. He cleaned her wounds, prepared meals, and when she tried to walk and stumbled, he lifted her without a word.
""Are you always this quiet?"" Akari asked once, with a faint smile.
Zyon shrugged.
""Words are loud. I prefer silence.""
Akari laughed—a sound she hadn't made in a long time.
One night, as she sat in bed, Zyon entered the room carrying a book. He placed it on the table beside her and prepared to leave.
""Where are you going?"" Akari asked.
""Work.""
""What kind of work?""
Zyon paused. His usually calm eyes were dark.
""Things that need doing.""
""Are you… are you an assassin?""
Zyon looked at her, his expression inscrutable.
""I do what is necessary.""
Akari did not press further. She felt he carried a heavy burden—one he would never admit.
A Month Later, Akari was already walking by herself again. Zyon continued to leave at night, always returning at dawn. He never explained himself, but Akari didn't mind. She saw him as a father figure, someone who had lifted her out of misery when no one else cared.
One night, she waited for Zyon to return and confronted him again.
"Why did you save me?" she asked, looking directly at him.
Zyon hesitated for a moment before answering:
"Because no one else would."
Those words were etched into Akari's heart. Zyon never explained more than that, but she knew there was something in his past he kept hidden. Still, she began to love him as a father.
The Second Father
Zyon was everything to Akari. For seven years, he had raised her, taught her, and protected her in ways no one else ever had. There was no doubt he was more than a guardian—he was her dad.
Among ordinary days, there were moments of tenderness. Zyon, despite his quiet nature, showed affection in simple ways. He'd play with Akari, improvising games with stones or twigs, and tell short jokes that always made her smile. He was a strict teacher but a fair one.
Akari remembered the first time she held a sword.
"You do not fight to harm. You fight to survive," Zyon said as he adjusted her hands on the blade.
She trained every day under his watchful eye, learning precise movements and developing quick reflexes. Over time, her technique became refined, and Zyon seemed increasingly proud, though he rarely showed it in words.
"One day, you will need to protect yourself. The world is cruel, Akari, and no one will care about your pain but yourself."
Those words echoed in her mind with every strike she practiced.
One day, while running errands, Akari noticed something.
"Zyon, no one will sell anything to you. It's better if I stay home…"
Zyon looked at her for a moment, his crystal-blue eyes shining with determination.
"No. You're coming with me."
"But…"
"No matter what they say or do. I'll handle it."
Akari knew he was resolute. Still, she felt the weight of others' judgment whenever she accompanied him. People avoided Zyon, averted their eyes, whispered behind his back. He was feared, almost like a legendary, dangerous figure.
In the markets, the tension was palpable. Merchants hesitated before serving Zyon, but a single severe glance from him was enough to make them comply.
"Why are they so afraid of you?" Akari once asked as they walked home.
Zyon did not answer.
"Did you… do something in the past?" she pressed.
"The past is just the past, Akari. Don't worry about it."
Akari asked no more. Despite the mystery surrounding him, Zyon was her safe harbor.
Years passed, and their bond only grew stronger. Akari no longer saw Zyon as just her savior—he was her father, her mentor, her family.
"I never thought I'd have someone like you," Akari said once as they shared a simple dinner.
Zyon looked at her, his expression gentle.
"And I never thought I'd find someone who needed me as much."
One night, Akari woke from a nightmare. Sweat dripped down her forehead as she struggled to catch her breath. Thirsty, she got up to drink water.
In the kitchen, she heard sounds from the backyard: clashing swords, muffled cries, and finally a deafening roar of energy.
Her heart raced. "Zyon?" she thought, frozen in place.
Not knowing what to do, she climbed a hidden stairway to the attic. There, a small window overlooked the yard. Akari approached cautiously and peered out.
What she saw left her paralyzed.
Zyon stood in the center of the yard, surrounded by bodies. He wielded a terrifying weapon: a massive sword nearly two meters long, fused with a chainsaw. The blade hummed with deadly energy as Zyon fought several men in Alcali and Kugutsu clan armor.
Zyon's strikes were precise and brutal; every swing of his weapon brought destruction. He seemed unstoppable, moving like a predator in the chaos.
Akari covered her mouth to keep from screaming.
Then Zyon looked up.
His eyes met hers at the attic window.
For a moment, everything froze. The world seemed to stand still as father and daughter stared at each other. Zyon showed no surprise, no anger—just looked at her as if speaking without words.
Slowly, Akari backed away and returned to her bed. Her heart pounded, and tears streamed down her face. She didn't know what to think.
That night, she barely slept.
When she woke the next morning, the house was silent.
Zyon was gone.
Days turned into weeks, and then months. He never returned.
Akari understood that, in some way, Zyon had fulfilled his mission. He had raised her, trained her, and prepared her for the world. Now, she had to continue alone.
As she looked at the sword he had given her, Akari felt a mixture of sadness and gratitude.
"Thank you, Zyon," she whispered, pressing the blade against her chest.
He was not just her savior. He was her father. And even in his absence, Zyon continued to guide her.