Chapter 3.1 "Resurfaced Memories"
He retook to going up the stairs, though he went up as slowly as his feet would allow him to. The fog in his will to think had coerced his brain into incoherence. As if he were the same as a baby lacking the words to depict their urgent necessity and so what comes out of them is unintelligible blabber. What remains is the frustration of their inability to do as they wish to. And with his eyes absorbing much of the same fog in his mind, he tripped on the steps like a drunkard walking.
Why... now...? he thought and his breath hiccuped along the way, failing or failing not as he inhaled desperate. Waves of lightheadedness kept trying to wash his conscious away. The dizziness was so great it became an excruciating headache like an awful ringing in his head.
But despite the suddenness of all this, he knew it would come. Because it had happened before. Many times.
He recalled the times when he would wake up as if straight out of a nightmare. And in a completely different setting. He wasn't ever given an explanation, but he had noticed the pattern for when it would start.
My mind and memories turn foggy... Voice annoys me more than usual to find a breach in my consciousness... Then a headache and a fever come about before I black out...
Sweat trickled down his forehead as if trying to alleviate him of something he wasn't even aware of. He then touched his face—it was burning.
He stopped in place with his knees failing him as they quivered. Breaths came out quick and scorching and his body felt cold and hurting despite the hot in his skin. This is all because I can barely control myself, he thought, his face reddening—from fever, from embarrassment, from anger.
I know it's for the better, but because of the whole pressure on me, it keeps growing bigger in my head— ugh?!
Ren's vision suddenly shifted and his side became his down as his body arched, him losing balance immediately after. He rolled down the stairs like a toddler whose head was too heavy, protecting himself his best as he cradled his own body.
"Ugh... guh... agh...!"
Soon, he was at the bottom of the staircase again.
He groaned, pain punching his whole body. He could barely understand anything around him now—he was sure he had had a concussion. But he calmed his breath and waited. The noise he made while falling was loud, so even though it hurt, he was sure someone would come now.
Quickly before it comes.
He became hysterical with these thoughts. He was in a state of flux where he could not tell if his chest did the correct motions for breathing. But he could still hear his heart pumping. A bit too loudly though. So it felt like a ticking bomb waiting on the right timing.
No, no... don't panic. Don't stress yourself. Calm down... Just don't close your eyes. You can't. Or it will happen again.
"I- can't... faint n...ow..." He gasped. "-huff... need to... wait... for Mom..." he said, voice so weak and dragged out it came out as incoherent mumbling. Still, despite all his ugly begging toward himself, he felt his eyes weigh heavier by the second. Barely not closing. But barely resisting the urge to finalize their run.
No! No, no... don't let yourself rest! You cannot...! he thought, face in sluggish anguish. However, his mind had already been creeping toward a land where both dreams and memories walked together. And he could do nothing other than to brace himself for it.
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"Uncle, why won't you take me with you to the seas? I'm really strong and you know that!'"
"Hohoho. The world is enormous and there are so many dangers outside Wano you can't even begin to imagine. You are just a frog inside a well the state you are... too blinded by the walls that surround you to see properly."
"Walls? But I can see everything from the top of this mountain! There are no walls here that can blind me!"
My uncle then laughed at me.
"Walls aren't just one type, my nephew. I hope they will tell you all in the future..." He patted my head. The movement somehow felt melancholic.
And I could only look at him confused as to what he meant then.
But maybe right now... maybe... he was talking about—
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The smell of iron picks my nose and I open my eyes. I groan how much my head is aching. Am I going delusional because of the pain? Iron? In the library? In there exists no metal.
Then actually looking, I'm not in the library.
"Agh!" The pain hits me sharper and I groan again. Why is my body so alert? The winds feel crispier and every sound is harsher on the ears. I see even the tiniest insect on the ground.
"Huff... where—?"
But nevermind that, my mind feels as cramped as the boulevards in the capital. I can identify nothing but the high trees around me, though they only pay me back with vertigo when I look up at them. It still felt like a familiar sight though. Perhaps I am just right by the library, on the path I always took to go to it. But with the sun gone? I can't dare to speak with surety.
I look down after noticing the dripping sounds below me since I woke up and... a puddle of blood is beneath my feet. I cringe and jump back from the scare. But weirder is the fact I'm standing already. When you first wake up you are meant to have been lying down, no?
My hand weighs for long enough and it falls, my arm feeling numb. My katana... I hadn't even noticed I had it in my grip. Chills go up my spine when I notice the blade. It's bloodstained. The weapon I carried with me in innocence for years is... bloodstained.
An ugly keepsake from my childhood I thought it. Nothing other than something I received and had so I could fashion it to others saying, "Hey, I am like you too, you know?"
Because I am fabricated.
I thought I would never use it... because why would I even?
And now. I can tell. Because the blood of humans has always had a worse smell than that of other creatures—I can tell. Even more so now.
My heart almost thumps out of my throat. I'm not in the right mind to even consider that. No way I've done that.
I bring my katana close to my nose and I smell it. It's from there that the smell of iron is coming.
Don't jump the gun...
I sigh a sigh of anxiousness. A sharp one. Lots of things can branch out from this. I can't decide based on feeling. Maybe if I dig deep enough into my memories...
But.
Only an inconvenient memory pops up.
I see clearly in my head as the background changes from darkness. My father's office. I can almost smell its scent even.
A man is talking to my father. I'm behind the door, hiding, gaze trembling, hands bandaged. My feet are small, the same for my vision, so I can only look up at the two from afar. The clansman describes how it was after I fainted. It was the first time it had happened. He says I wasn't myself, as if a beast had possessed me.
Not myself... it rings in my soul. My heart thumps louder in my ears.
Multiple things could explain the blood on my katana... and killing someone innocent isn't off the possibilities. Killing someone...— the bad taste in my mouth sours again until it is a horrible taste. My eyes get as wide as my fear of iniquity. Just what have I done?
I walk up north while guessing I'm somewhere between the transition of snow to forest in the mountain, having fallen leaves and horrible snow snuggle my feet—the noise scraps at my ears as if an indecent moan. Trees host nocturnal birds, sometimes their sung chirp mellowing in my ears. Them soothing me is like an imbroglio between myself and my actions. The last thing I want now is some sort of comfort for what I've possibly done. My hands are bloodied.
I continue wending my way up. Mind is tired. Body is tired. Though it would be an understatement to say I'm just tired. The feeling is so grand it is like a high, numbing the pain as I continue walking. I've never felt as jaded as now. My feet feel like they are separate, sentient beings from myself—the whole lower half of my body feels the same too by now.
Panting, my vision turns encapsulated in the path ahead, an invisible flashlight highlighting the path I need to walk. And like a zombie, I continue and continue through it. Until a harsher smell of iron clogs my nostrils. My feet stop automatically. This time the smell isn't from the blood on my katana. I'm sure of it.
It's coming from a bit ahead.
A hunch pinches me through influence, brain telling me not to see ahead. But the body is a tool of its own. Consent is hardly regarded when moving with wayward feet. So I step forward and reach it.
"Upp—!" I hold myself from vomiting.
Bodies on top of bodies, reminding me of a centipede how many limbs are sprawled around, looking like tiny legs of a much bigger terror. Their eyes are frantic, as if they saw their nightmare personified before death.
The kids from the library.
The acid fills my mouth again, and the taste is so unbearable I'm incapable of holding it in this time. I fall on all fours, unmoving, only panting, watching as the gastric liquid lolls along the grass, mixing in with the blood of the children. Just earlier they were studying in the library, with passionate eyes that I had never seen in myself, so I know they deserved better. At least better than me. They really did. So why am I the one alive?
They were painting the ugliest picture I had ever seen, with their blood painting the snow and grass red through their one lifeless lump of flesh. No names I knew. No faces I could remember. But they deserved to be so much more. To paint something as grand as the title I will carry. Not this.
I cover my mouth as my cheeks fill again, but I gurgle it back this time. The only thing left is a coldness that spreads in my nose. So I begin sniffling. The breeze or the grief? There's nobody around for me to lie to anyway. So I get up and look at them once again, eyes moist. They have multiple cuts in non-fatal places, as if they were made to die slow deaths through bleeding. The perpetrator did it in a way they would suffer through the process.
Oh no... no, no, no...
I begin to feel the sickest I've ever felt. My stomach feels tied and refusing to let go of the knot. Probably because if it did, then I would probably vomit it out. But when I look thrice, this time more carefully, I see someone else next to them—a masked man in a jet-black uniform. His body is as lifeless as theirs.
The man's body is cut in all places. But the worst cut is still the one on his shoulder, flesh torn apart in a format like a widow's peak. A chunk of his body is off. It resembles the markings I would perform on the ground with my sword while training. Did I fight him? His sword is shattered.
I tap my nose and hold my disgust before going to touch all of their bodies. They aren't cold. But they aren't as warm as the usual body either. Little time has passed since whatever struck here occurred. Just where is everyone? What happened here? Why am I even here and alone?
I huff out a weak breath. The cold is prickling my skin. My stomach is grumbling. The stench of blood habitates the air and it smells the worst. I really can't... do anything on my own.
I grasp my shirt and fall still. I will just lay here until either I die by a wild beast or someone appears.
I decide to engrain in my brain the sight in front of me forever. And as such, seconds pass. Minutes then. Hours? I don't think it reached that point, but finally, a shade of warmth reached my skin as I looked to the side, eyes zombie-ed out. But vigorous they become when I see what it is. Lights are approaching me! They are finally coming to rescue me!
I begin to run towards them.
"Huff... puff... huff—"
Still, I'm incredibly slow. My steps aren't quite like how they usually are.
I finally look down but at myself.
My body is cut all over too... Since when?
A lot of blood has probably spilled from my injuries already. I can tell from the frozen blood on my clothing and skin.
Is this why I'm so tired?
I had been so focused on everything but myself—
And then, the exhaustion from before strikes me ten times as hard.
I feel dizzy once more.
Oh, I'm about to faint.
"Not again... I just... woke up."
My thoughts slow down and... I flop to the ground as my eyelids go for their millionth kiss.
Black makes my vision. Not red anymore... Thank the heavens.
And so, I fail to resist the urge to just lay there and sleep forever.
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"..... want to know-... happened..."
"Please calm down-... must... this... wakes up first..."
"You're telling me-... calm down-... insane?!"
Small voices constantly picked at Ren's ears. Louder they became the more he woke up. Until his eyes were wide enough the light on the ceiling blinded him.
Where am I? he thought, eyes squinting and head a mess. Conversation still happened around him.
He immediately noticed his lips were cracked and his throat was parched. His body felt as stiff as that of bears just off their hibernation. And so unable to move, he tried speaking to catch their attention. But what came out was the driest cough ever, him jumping up in ado.
"Cough! Cough!"
Heads turned like barrels aiming at enemies. Voices went silent one after another, stupor assuming their eyes as they saw the conversations' pigeon had awakened. The silence, however, was as long as two flaps of a bird's wing.
"Young Master, are you okay?!"
"Ren, what happened?!"
"What were you doing?!"
"Why did you disappear?!"
Shots of a rifle were the rapidly-fired questions thrown at him. Ren could only flinch, no matter how much awoken he was.
Sen noticed and stepped up in a flash, arms spread as if to shield Ren from the hungered vultures. "Have some sense! He's just got up! Can't you see he's confused?!" She leaned forward and her figure grew, eyes ablaze with the promise they would burn whoever dared cross this line she had just drawn.
The chosen one, Ren looked and thought, and grimaced at himself for being such a fool of a brother.
They stepped back, gaits changing under her gaze. She seemed a divinity and was treated as one in these places. But as nervous as they had gotten, their impatience wasn't misplaced. Even the slightest act of ill-nature against their only to-be heir would cause chaos if it were to spread around. They couldn't let it happen.
Ren had gotten a good grasp of the situation by now. He wanted to sigh but he felt it would be disrespectful considering the atmosphere.
They are this restless because of me, he thought, fingers fiddling below his blanket. Because of what I have possibly done. Fearing what it would imply if I, the expected heir to the Ashikagas, was really the one to blame. The chaos that would engulf...
Ren stood thinking for some seconds.
For him, it felt like a millennium had passed how much he overthought everything. Overpowering sorrow occupied his eye for a second and he thought: So it wasn't a dream.
He sat straight and looked through all the faces present. Impatient faces no less. His parents, teacher, sister—and all who shared his blood—were present. Even his aunt who seemed to despise his existence was there too.
Tensions were so broad they made their way into Ren's tongue, and he had to swallow the sourness away. "First of all—" He started but froze in a second, feeling the gazes on him tenfold. They were so intent, eyes demanding answers or anything to ease their doubts to come from him. It was like they were judging him, surely Ren thought, to spike him for his horrendous crimes. He breathed, "I... I barely remember what happened then. I only have short memories that feel more like fever dreams... of seeing some of the kids who were reading in the library before, in a forest... and dead. There was a man I couldn't recognize too."
Everyone looked at each other confused—two people the exception. Sakamoto and Miyuriaki exchanged glances and nodded.
"How can you not remember—" Hara tried to speak but was stopped by Sakamoto as he upped a hand. He then turned to look at one of the people present in the room.
"Yamamoto," he called, his voice directed solely at the individual. "I presume you know that you owe me a good, long explanation about all of this." Sakamoto's eternal frown had almost disappeared. Only the coldness of his stare remained as he glared over the man.
"Yes, Patriarch." Ren's teacher got on a knee as he answered, head low.
"Don't you think you should've started explaining yourself already?" Sakamoto spoke once more, tone bearing irritation just sightly.
"Yes, Patriarch. I'm willing to commit seppuku to pay for my wrongdoings," Yamamoto spoke, still wholly avoiding the subject.
"DON'T YOU IN THIS WORLD'S DAMN UNDERSTAND WHAT I MEAN?!" Sakamoto rumbled, voice bringing into the quiet room a thunderstorm. "Not only did you let an assassin approach the most important offsprings of this clan during the assault in the library... but you went out and searched for everyone but my son and while he WAS ILL TOO?! YOU WENT AND TOOK EVERYONE OUT OF THE LIBRARY BUT HIM? WHAT IN THE DAMN WERE YOU SO OCCUPIED WITH THAT YOU COULDN'T FIND HIM? DID YOU EVEN LOOK FOR HIM AT ALL?!"
Thunder struck the Ashikaga Manor. Bursts of energy enveloped the room until the same couldn't contain those. They continued until they knocked out even the farthest servants that worked there. Some in the room fell like cut trees.
Yamamoto was struggling to keep his composure. The kneeling position didn't help too as it made him feel like his head weighed a ton. However, he wasn't in a position to complain. He had messed up.
Ren gathered all his courage and spoke, "Fa-Father, wait a minute...!" He grimaced. He had spoken too low. Sakamoto's aura had gone out of control, affecting even innocent people who had no hand in dealing with this.
Garnering strength, he walked out of bed with some difficulty and grasped his father's sleeve. "Father! Please, stop! We can think things through in some other way or time instead of doing this right now! Please!" He yelped. His throat was aching, head spinning, yet he pleaded the loudest he could.
Turning an eye to his son, Sakamoto hesitated, then abided by his wishes, aura decreasing until it was no longer felt. He hadn't lost all sense after all.
While supporting himself on his father's sleeve still, Ren spoke with his head down to hide the guilt he felt. "Father... I think I might've been the one behind the killings. I remember seeing the cuts on that man's body...the types of cut that only our family can perform. I was also the only one from the family present at that time who could've possibly done the deed..."
"Don't mix things up, Ren," Sakamoto said, breaking him off with stern eyes. "We have already checked the area. We just wanted some confirmation from you, though it seems your memory is blurry as of now.
"As to what might've happened—the kids found you after you fainted and amid the chaos the library was going through after it was raided, they tried bringing you off there and toward the manor to get help. However, the man you saw, or better yet, one of the assassins, saw you and found this the perfect opportunity to eliminate a huge target. The kids tried defending you but were killed in the process. Then, I'm guessing you woke up and finished the job.
"When we found you, you were unconscious so that should be why you can't remember anything right now."
Voices and hums of wonder or accordance flew around the room. Many made sense of his reasoning while others found the veracity of it all dubious.
Ren finally looked up but with his brows raised. He couldn't remember doing or seeing a thing his father assumed happened. The only thing he barely recalled was that strange memory—almost a dream, or nightmare—and the feeling of cutting through flesh with hatred... hatred and hunger to murder someone.
He shivered at the thought.
"Hah... having something like this happen so close to your ceremonial birthday is like divine bad awful luck," Sakamoto said. With a rough tap on his son's shoulder though, he walked away. "You should rest well for now. Many problems have arisen with this ordeal and they beg my immediate attention, so I'll need to leave." Before he passed through the door though, he spoke one last time, back turned still. "I'll wait for you at my office with a proper explanation, Yamamoto." Anger oozed from him for a moment before it retracted back.
And so the door slammed. Everyone followed after him, paying their good wishes and goodbyes to Ren before leaving.
Miyuriaki spoke with Ren for some good minutes, Sen by her side, talking when she was needed. Ren explained he wasn't yet feeling well some time into the conversation and they nodded, although sadly, and left the moment after.
His head weighed tons. All kinds of thoughts had booked stays in his head. And he, left alone in the room with only himself to talk to, had the bad thoughts amplify. The worries straight out of his worrisome nature.
The bed was his only solace, so he plunged his head into the pillow. "What a day..." He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to catch any sleep. Somehow.
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