"Patriarch"

Somewhere in Europe

Darkness stretched like a canvas around him. Ray blinked once, then again, but there was no waking. He was already awake, but not in the world he knew. Instead, he found himself seated on a grand, gothic throne made of obsidian and veins of silver. His wrists were bound with iron shackles, tight, ancient, and humming with some unseen energy. The throne was elevated on a black marble dais, and around him stretched a cavernous, cathedral-like hall cloaked in shadows. Blood-red banners hung from pillars. Faint firelight flickered, casting eerie silhouettes across the stone walls.

He looked down at himself. He wasn't in his usual attire. A regal, dark-embroidered robe draped over his broad shoulders, his chest armored with a golden symbol etched into black leather. He looked like a king. A monarch crowned by misfortune.

Ray jerked against the metal restraints. Nothing. No give. Panic flickered in his gut.

Then came the sound.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Heels. Approaching. Slow and deliberate, each step echoing through the cold chamber. His heartbeat rose with each click of her heel.

She emerged from the shadows like an angel fallen from heaven.

Risa.

Ray's mother.

She hadn't aged a day. Her face remained ethereal, beautiful beyond human comprehension. Dressed in a long black gown with hints of crimson, her hair flowed like dark silk down her back, and her pale skin glowed under the faint firelight. Her lips curled into a warm smile, her eyes soft and hungry with affection.

"My darling," she said with a voice smooth as satin and sharp as glass.

Ray's lips parted, but no sound came out.

"You've grown so beautiful," she whispered as she approached him, the train of her gown flowing behind her like liquid shadow. Her hand, soft and warm, caressed his cheek.

Ray stared at her in disbelief. This couldn't be real. She was supposed to be gone. Dead, maybe. Or worse. But here she was, standing before him, radiant, terrifying, divine.

"Now we're bound together..." she said, fingers brushing the side of his jaw, "and forever."

Together? Forever?

Ray shook his head, heart hammering, lips trembling to form words that wouldn't come.

Then the sound grew.

A roar. No... a chant.

"PATRIARCH!"

"PATRIARCH!"

"PATRIARCH!"

"LONG LIVE THE MATRIARCH AND THE PATRIARCH!"

"WE WILL KILL AND DIE IN THE NAME OF MATRIARCH AND PATRIARCH!"

They all chanted in Latin.

It was thousands of voices. Maybe more. Shouting in rhythm like a fanatical army.

His breath shortened. The shadows around the throne flickered and formed into humanoid shapes, kneeling to him in waves. But he wasn't their leader. He didn't want this.

Risa leaned forward, her breath warm against his lips.

"Together, we shall rule this world, my beloved son."

She tilted her head. Her lips neared.

Ray struggled violently. The bonds held firm.

"No..." he croaked faintly.

But it was too late.

Her lips met his.

And the world turned to screaming silence.

February 5th, 2026

At Shigeyoshi residence - 8:12 AM

Ray bolted upright, a gasp tearing from his throat. Sweat soaked his shirt and beaded down his forehead. His breathing was ragged, frantic. His sheets twisted around his legs like vines.

"What the fuck was that?" Ray muttered, terrified by his nightmare.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The taste of that cursed dream lingered on his tongue. His heart refused to slow. No matter how many times he wiped his face, the sweat returned.

Was it just a dream?

Or a memory?

It felt so real....

He tried to forget the feel of her fingers. The softness of her voice. Her lips.

"Goddamn nightmare," he whispered.

He stood, slowly. His body felt heavier, like the weight from that dream followed him into the waking world.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

A knock at the door. Sharp. Familiar.

Ray narrowed his eyes. His hand reached instinctively for the small dagger he kept under his pillow. He crept toward the front door.

He opened it.

There he was. Keito. His childhood friend.

"Ray! Damn, you look like hell. Rough night?"

Ray blinked, disoriented. Not expecting this.

---

Meanwhile...

Sakura Himura stood on the wide, marble balcony of the Himura estate—a home so lavish, even Japan's elite would call it excessive. The early morning sun gleamed off the glass walls and gold-trimmed pillars. The estate overlooked a private hill surrounded by trees, lakes, and flower gardens. A billion-yen sanctuary.

Dressed in a satin silk robe, her long light-brown hair gently swept by the morning breeze, Sakura held a porcelain coffee cup to her lips. Her dark hazel eyes were fixed on the view below: gardeners tending to the rose maze, groundskeepers maintaining the koi pond, and elite staff moving in perfect synchronization.

Yet her mind wasn't on her empire.

It was on him.

The silver-eyed man. The stranger in her home. The son of her husband.

Ray.

She hadn't stopped thinking about him since he stepped into her house. There was something about him. The way he looked at her - wary, controlled, stormy. That wild hair, those eyes, that voice. A presence both familiar and magnetic.

She sipped slowly, aware of the heat rising in her chest.

Suddenly, her phone rang.

She turned away from the view and stepped inside.

The spacious living room echoed with the classical music humming from hidden speakers. She picked up the phone.

Unknown caller.

She answered.

Static.

Then the voice.

Distorted. Filtered through encryption.

"His name is Ray Rourke Shigeyoshi."

Sakura froze.

The same voice she had contacted the night before. A fixer. An information broker.

"His mother, Risa Rourke, an Englishwoman. A part of Royal family in England. Missing or presumed dead."

"Not much to know about this woman. Other than the fact that she married your husband and gave birth to Ray Shigeyoshi. Her records are null and void in the Japanese government. Basically, she's a hit and go."

The voice paused.

"The boy went abroad for five years. United States Delta Force. Skilled, capable, and dangerous."

"Enough," Sakura whispered, gripping the edge of the counter. Her heart thumped louder than the string quartet playing in the background.

"Shall I go deeper?"

"No... Not yet," she replied, her tone unreadable.

"I just find it curious," the distorted voice chuckled. "You're not usually curious about strangers, Himura-sama. Especially not young men."

She ended the call.

The silence returned.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirrored wall. Her expression was unreadable, yet there was a storm beneath it.