The path to the capital felt longer than it should have.
Ichigo rode alone, the royal summons tucked safely into his satchel, though it weighed heavier than steel on his back. The letter hadn't said why the king had summoned him—only that it was urgent. That was all it took to poison his thoughts with a hundred questions.
He hadn't told his mother.
She hadn't woken that morning.
Just lay there—motionless, breath shallow, eyes barely fluttering under her lids. He left her water, packed her medicine leaves, and whispered a goodbye through trembling lips. A part of him didn't want to go. But something deeper—instinct, maybe—told him this journey wasn't one he could avoid.
The trees along the mountain trail stood like ancient statues, silent and watching. They held the air like a breath that refused to exhale. Even the birds seemed reluctant to sing, as though nature itself sensed something stirring beyond the horizon.
Ichigo had always imagined the royal capital as a place of light. Gold towers. Thunderous drums. Walls that scraped the skies.
But what met him as he passed through the iron gates was… different.
Smoke curled from chimneys, yes. Soldiers patrolled the walls. But the faces—of merchants, monks, travelers—were taut with unease. And everywhere, the symbol of the empire fluttered not with pride, but like a warning.
He didn't know where to go at first. A servant spotted the seal on his scroll and wordlessly guided him through winding corridors toward the palace's inner courtyard.
That was when the chill hit him.
Something was wrong.
As he entered the courtyard, two guards stepped aside.
A tall man in priestly robes approached him with bowed head. His face was thin, eyes lined with worry.
"You are Ichigo, son of Ren?"
"I am."
The man hesitated. "Come with me."
He was led through a smaller door this time—one of the inner chambers meant not for council or war, but quiet matters. Matters of life… and death.
Ichigo's throat tightened.
And then he saw her.
Laid out on a woven mat, her hair combed neatly behind her ears, her skin pale as snow.
His mother.
Dead.
He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. His fingers trembled, reaching out halfway before stopping, suspended in air.
No one spoke. No wails. No soft music. Just the sound of silence. The kind that gnawed at bone.
"I'm sorry," the priest said at last. "She passed just before dawn. She left this for you."
He held out a folded cloth bundle. Inside, Ichigo found a simple wooden carving—a wolf curled around a sword—and a note written in delicate ink.
"When the wolves cry beneath the moon, remember: you are not alone. Forgive me for hiding the truth. Forgive me for being afraid."
There was no name.
No explanation.
Just that.
⸻
The burial happened that night.
The king himself had not appeared, though Ichigo had caught glimpses of men in silken armor watching from balconies above. Something was happening in this palace—something larger than a simple death.
The temple maidens lit the incense. The monks chanted quietly. Ichigo stood barefoot, watching the flames consume the body he had once clung to as a boy. No tears came. Only numbness. A hollow silence that pressed against his ribs until it hurt to breathe.
A priest approached him as the fire cracked behind them.
"She spoke your name before the end. Said she saw your father's eyes in you."
Ichigo turned slowly. "You knew him?"
"I knew of him. Few did."
The priest hesitated.
"Do you know what he truly was?" he asked.
Ichigo shook his head. "Only stories. Some say he was samurai. Others say ninja."
The priest gave a faint smile. "Perhaps he was both. Or neither. The truth is rarely what people whisper."
Ichigo frowned. "Why summon me here, now? Why not tell me before?"
The priest looked to the stars, his voice low.
"Because you are being watched, Ichigo. By more than men. There are those in this palace who believe your blood carries something forgotten. Something dangerous. Your presence here… was expected."
A chill ran through Ichigo's spine. "Expected by whom?"
But the priest only bowed and said, "The king will see you in the morning."
⸻
That night, Ichigo didn't sleep.
He wandered the palace rooftop, wrapped in silence. Below him, the capital spread like a nest of glowing veins. He looked toward the distant mountains—toward the home he'd left just days before—and wondered if this had all been set in motion long before he was even born.
When he looked up, the moon was full.
But a shadow passed across it, just for a moment.
And though the night was windless, he felt something brush past him. A presence. Faint, like the whisper of steel drawn in the dark.