Chapter 29 #2
Every person waited to see if I would make it, if I would prove worthy.
The final step.
I turned, slowly, carefully, and faced my people.
The Empire spread before me.
Thousands of faces, thousands of lives, thousands of hopes and fears and desperate prayers. They needed me to be strong.
Needed me to be divine.
Needed me to save them from the darkness that threatened to swallow everything.
I settled onto the Imperial seat.
The wood was exactly as uncomfortable as Father had promised. Still, I sat straight, ignoring the splinters, ignoring the pain, and let them see their emperor enthroned.
My escort flowed into position, spreading out in perfect lines on either side. The moment stretched, silent and sacred, as the Empire held its breath.
Then Goro, the Minister of Rites, shuffled forward. He was ancient with a face like leather and hands that shook as he lowered himself to his knees. An escort placed a gilded box in his trembling hands, and Goro raised his head just enough to speak.
“Great Tennō”—his voice carried across the silent gardens—“we beseech you, raise The Eye of the Gods, that you may see clearly the needs of your people.”
He opened the box.
Inside, nestled on a scarlet pillow, lay a shimmering stone the size of a fist. It caught the light and threw it back in colors that had no names—purples and greens and golds all at once, shifting and alive.
This was The Eye, one of the three sacred treasures, the first gift of the gods.
I raised my hands, and the crowd leaned forward.
“Amaterasu, Lady of Light,” I recited. My voice was steady and strong and not my own. “Grant your son vision that he may lead your people well.”
I lifted the gem from its case and held it aloft.
Light exploded from it.
Not metaphorically—actual light, blazing out in waves that washed over the crowd.
People gasped.
Some cried out.
The gem felt alive in my hands, warm and pulsing like a beating heart.
And I could see.
Gods, I could see.
Not with my eyes but with something deeper.
I saw the threads connecting me to everyone present, saw their hopes like golden light and their fears like shadows. I saw the Empire spread out before me, vast and broken and desperately holding on.
I lowered the gem slowly and placed it back in the box.
My hands trembled.
One treasure received.
A second escort appeared, presenting a mirror bound in gold. Its surface was polished to impossible perfection, reflecting not just light but something more, something true.
“Great Tennō, we beseech you, accept the Sacred Glass. See into the depths of your divine soul as our Lady did, that you may be freed from mortal chains.”
I took the mirror and raised it above my head, showing it to the crowd, then lowered it to look upon myself.
A stranger stared back.
No—not a stranger. Me, but transformed. My skin glowed with inner light, and my eyes held something ancient and powerful.
The boy was gone. The prince was gone. In his place was something divine, someone who would never be fully human again.
I handed the mirror back to Goro. He bowed so low his forehead touched the dais.
Two treasures received.
One remained.
A third escort appeared to Goro’s right. In her hands, wrapped in silk the color of fresh blood, lay something that made every person present hold their breath.
The sword. The blessed blade.
Amaterasu’s gift.
It was the physical manifestation of the tether between heaven and earth, though only a precious few knew its true meaning. Even wrapped, I could feel its power radiating like heat.
The silk fell away, revealing a hilt of gilded gold, the etching of Suda—the dragon of the first emperor—snaking along the ornate scabbard. The legend of this sword was older than memory, passed down through generations until it became more myth than history.
But it was real. All of it was true.
I could feel the truth wafting off the blade in waves.
“Great Tennō.” Goro’s voice trembled. “We beseech you, receive this blessed sword that your enemies may fall, and the land and Kami may be one.”
He held the blade aloft, his hands shaking and head bowed.
This was the moment: the binding, the transformation. The point of no return.
My hand quivered as I reached out.
The Empire held its breath.
The sword gleamed in the morning light. As my fingers brushed the hilt, a faint glow escaped the scabbard, and the dragon’s eyes—jewels set into the etching—blazed to life.
The wind picked up, gentle at first, then stronger. Pennants atop the ramparts snapped and cracked. The silk banners rippled like water. People grabbed at their hats, clutched at billowing fabric.
I gripped the hilt fully.
The world exploded.
Light burst from the scabbard like silver flame, so bright that thousands shielded their eyes.
But I couldn’t look away.
My gaze remained fixed on the blade as I drew it free, the steel singing as it cleared the scabbard. It gleamed like captured moonlight, and along its length ran characters in a script so old that no living scholar could read them.
But I could read them now.
By blood and light, duty and sacrifice, by the will of Heaven and the needs of man—bind.
I stood. I hadn’t meant to, hadn’t planned it, but I stood because the power flowing through me demanded it. The sword blazed in my hand, its light flowing like the raging of a river, and I felt everything shift.
The words came automatically. I’d memorized them only hours ago, practiced them until I could recite them in my sleep, but now they meant something. Now they were more than words.
“Amaterasu, Lady of Light.” My voice rang across the gardens, amplified by mahou I had not called.
“Your Son rises. Bless him this day with your divine presence. Grant him wisdom that he may shepherd your people. Give him strength to protect those who are weak and defeat those who would bring your people harm.”
The light grew brighter as I felt the tether snap into place, felt it connect me to something infinite and ancient and overwhelming.
“Breathe life into your dragon once more, that wonders may return and your Son might have his companion.”
Something stirred in my chest, something that had been sleeping and waiting and coiled tight for centuries.
“Amaterasu, Lady of Light, your people call. Hear our prayer. Roll back the stone and see thy beauty beyond.”
The thing in my chest unfurled. It stretched. Then it woke.
“Amaterasu, Lady of Light, by right of blood and divine light, I, Akira Haru, son of Akiro Takashi, claim your sword. I answer your call. I stand in your stead, for your people and these isles, until my dying breath.”
Power erupted from me. Light blazed from my chest, from my hands, from the sword itself.
Sparkling tendrils of kokyu—the divine energy that powered mahou, that connected all living things—flew outward in a web of shimmering shards.
It touched every priest, every monk, every Samurai with even a drop of mahou, connecting them to me, binding them to their emperor.
It touched Yoshi.
And Kaneko.
That startled me, brought my gaze to them. One, then the other. Their heads were bowed, but I was sure they felt my eyes upon them.
Those touched glowed with my light. Wonder bloomed in their eyes. Joy and terror and awe mixed as they felt what I felt—the tether, the goddess, the infinite power of heaven flowing through mortal flesh.
Then the web faded.
A single strand of luminescence remained, flowing from my chest, snaking around the throne. As it moved, it grew thicker and wider until my hand could have barely spanned it. The light hardened, took shape, then became solid.
Scales appeared.
Crimson and gold, gleaming like sunrise until . . .
They faded, darkening and draining of brilliance until only the absence of color remained.
Black claws extended from black legs freshly formed. A black head emerged, knobby and serpentine, with keen amber eyes that fixed on me with ancient intelligence.
The dragon—my dragon—drew her first breath.
She was magnificent, no longer than my forearm, no thicker than my wrist. She was young, a new hatchling really, with eyes almost as large and round as her belly.
She was fury and grace and primordial power made flesh.
And she was mine.
I felt her in my soul, felt her thoughts brush against my own, felt the joy of her awakening sing through our bond.
“Haru, my brother.” Her voice resonated in my mind, young and old all at once, the voice of a child with the weight of oceans behind every word. “I believe you owe me a name.”
I nearly fell off the dais.
The dragon’s amusement rippled through our connection as I gathered myself.
I turned to face the cowering crowd—thousands on their knees now, even the warriors then, even those who’d remained standing throughout the ritual, all prostrate before the divine.
“Amaterasu, Lady of Light,” I declared, and my voice carried to every corner of the gardens, “your dragon, my soul, breathes again at last. In her flames, forge your empire anew and harden our blades against all who might oppose your heavenly will.”
I turned toward the dragon who watched me with those amber eyes, ancient and knowing and infinitely patient. I inclined my head, and she returned the gesture, a graceful bow of her tiny serpentine neck.
“Gift of Kami, blood of my blood,” I said, and the name came to me as naturally as breathing, as inevitable as sunrise, “I name you Tsuki, so all may feel hope in even the darkest night. Together, by the grace of our Lady, may we guard her people and rule them well.”
Tsuki rose to her full height and unfurled her wings, midnight membranes stealing the light. Her throat swelled as she opened her jaws wide and belched . . . well . . . a tiny puff of smoke.
It was surely a breach of all things sacred, but the dragon looked so proud at her column of not-flame that I could barely hold back. I had to cover my mouth to keep the snicker from escaping.
Goro gasped at my irreverence.
Tsuki lifted her tiny chin and turned her head aside as though offended by my lack of awe.
“You should not laugh at your divine dragon,” I heard in my head, nearly startling me out of balance.
Forgive me, great one. It was a magnificent display of a dragonfly’s fart, I replied, still struggling to contain a grin. Besides, the puff suits you. You are too adorable to be fearsome.
Warmth flooded the newly formed bond between us, and a childlike giggle danced in my mind. “I really am, aren’t I?”
Goro cleared his throat, reminding me that an entire empire awaited my next words.
Right. Back to the ceremony.
I raised the sword high above my head, and Tsuki belched another puff of harmless mist.
“People of Mugen,” I declared, my voice ringing with divine authority, “our Lady Amaterasu grants the isles a new Son. Rise and walk in Her Light.”
Soldiers slammed their pikes against the cobbles, the sound rolling across the garden like thunder, as the crowd erupted in cheers.
Monks, their mahou suddenly restored, summoned fire and ice.
Priests called forth healing light that washed over everyone present, soothing hurts, mending wounds, filling them with renewed strength and hope.
And I stood on the dais, the sword blazing in my hand, Tsuki coiled beside me, the weight of the Empire on my shoulders, and divinity burning in my veins.
I was no longer Haru.
I was Haru Tennō, Emperor and Son of Heaven, dragon-bonded and gods blessed.
I was a divine instrument.
The sun climbed higher, bathing everything in the goddess’s light.
In the midst of the majesty and glory of the moment, my eyes somehow found Esumi, his armor reflecting the sun, a beacon of brilliance and beauty. His smile outshone even the brightest of Amaterasu’s rays as his voice mingled with the thousands arrayed before me.
“Praise Amaterasu, Mother of Light. Praise Akira Haru Tennō, Son of the Gods!”