A year passed.
Kaito was five, and Hina had just taken her first steps.
She waddled awkwardly across the grass behind their home, giggling as she chased after Kaito.
“Come on, Hina!” Kaito laughed, waving a stick shaped like a wooden sword.
“You’re too slow!”
Hina stumbled, plopped down, and let out a whine.
“Oh no, no crying!” Kaito rushed over, kneeling beside her.
“You’re strong, remember? You’re a wind warrior!”
“Wawwo!” she mumbled, wiping her eyes.
Their mother watched from the porch, sewing a new sweater for Hina, while their father was training nearby.
Grandma sat by the garden, humming softly, while Grandpa Raiden read old scrolls under the shade of a tree.
It was a perfect day.
That evening, they all gathered for dinner beneath the open sky.
The stars blinked above them as bowls of rice and grilled vegetables steamed in the cool breeze.
They sat in a circle—three generations of the Kaze Family, laughing, teasing, sharing stories.
Raiden told tales of his youth, of wild gusts and daring adventures across the mountains.
Hana scolded Kaito for trying to train too close to the cliff again.
Their father joked about how Hina already had more spirit than both of them combined.
And Hina?
She clapped at every laugh, pointing at the stars and babbling in her own language.
The seasons danced by.
Now six, Kaito’s small frame had grown leaner, his steps sharper, more purposeful.
Hina, almost two, was a whirlwind of energy, her hair tied in tiny buns that bobbed as she ran around calling, “Kai! Kai!”
Their family remained close.
On rainy days, they sat inside and told stories.
On windy days, they flew kites.
On cold days, they curled around the fire together, bundled in blankets and love.
One morning, the sun broke gently through the clouds, and the meadow behind their house swayed with the breeze.
Akira stood tall, arms folded, waiting for Kaito near the training grounds.
His white cloak fluttered behind him like a storm held at bay.
Hana sat on a woven mat with Hina on her lap, brushing her daughter’s hair while Toru leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, watching with quiet pride.
“Focus your breath,” Akira said, his voice calm but firm.
“Let it flow to your core. Now—strike!”
Kaito exhaled and dashed forward, slashing the air with his wooden blade.
A thin slice of energy was formed cutting through multiple trees in it’s path.
“Good,” Akira nodded.
“Now come. Today, we’re not just swinging sticks.”
Kaito stood upright, curious.
“What are we doing today?”
Akira gave a faint, almost knowing smile as he looked at Kaito.
“Tell me,” he said, his tone calm but probing, “what do you know about Myakudō and cores?”
Kaito tilted his head slightly, the question catching him off guard for only a moment.
His fingers tapped idly against the wooden sword resting on his shoulder as he thought it through.
“What do I know about them…” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Then he straightened a little, recalling the long hours he’d spent reading with his grandfather—old scrolls, dense books, explanations that had taken time to fully sink in.
“Well… everything that exists is made up of fundamental principles.”
Akira’s eyebrow lifted just slightly, but he said nothing, letting the boy continue.
“Myakudō,” Kaito went on, gaining a bit more confidence as the words came back to him, “is the rhythm created by those principles.” Nearby, Hina suddenly clapped for no clear reason, clearly excited despite not understanding a single word being said.
Kaito ignored her and pressed on.
“A core acts as a container… but it’s more than that. It regulates and anchors the Myakudō. Without it, you can’t really use that rhythm properly.”
Akira remained silent, his attention fixed entirely on Kaito now.
“For embodiments like us,” Kaito continued, “we’re made up of multiple principles that define who we are.” He lifted his hand, counting them off on his fingers as he spoke, trying to stay precise.
“Body, soul, spirit, connection, consciousness… essence.” He paused briefly before adding, “The essence depends on the individual. Mine is wind.”
Akira gave a small nod, encouraging him to go on.
“There’s also ontology, memory, and will,” Kaito added, lowering his hand once he was done.
“Each of these principles produces its own kind of ‘beat.’ And when those beats are refined and brought into alignment…” He hesitated for a split second, making sure he remembered correctly.
“…they form a unified rhythm. That rhythm is what we call Myakudō.”
He looked back up at Akira, searching for confirmation.
“For embodiments, it’s called the Seimei Myakudō. And the exact type depends on the being itself—the combination of principles that make them what they are.”
Silence settled over the training field for a moment after he finished.
Hina clapped again, just as enthusiastically as before.
Hana smiled softly from where she sat, clearly amused, while Akira simply blinked once… then again.
…Impressive.
Inside his mind, Akira studied the boy more carefully than before.
Six years old, and he explains Seimei Myakudō theory with the clarity of someone twice—no, three times—his age.
His comprehension, the way he broke things down, the precision in his recall… it wasn’t normal.
This kid studies too much.
A faint smile touched his lips as he folded his arms.
If he had to estimate… the boy’s intellect was easily beyond anything considered typical.
“That is… correct,” Akira said at last.
Kaito’s eyes lit up immediately.
“Really?”
“You’ve studied well,” Akira replied, stepping a little closer.
“But understanding the theory and actually using it are two very different things.”
Kaito leaned forward almost instantly, his earlier seriousness replaced with excitement.
“Then teach me.”
“Very well.”
He gestured toward the open field around them, the wind moving gently through the grass.
“Myakudō is the rhythm formed when your internal principles synchronize,” he explained.
Then, reaching out, he tapped Kaito lightly on the chest.
“To use it properly, you first need to feel those principles within yourself. When they align, your Myakudō stabilizes.”
He raised a finger slightly.
“And once your Myakudō is stable… you can use Dangen.”
Kaito blinked, unfamiliar with the term.
“Dangen?”
“Dangen,” Akira clarified, “is the act of expressing your principles onto reality itself.”
Kaito frowned, thinking it through.
“So… like forcing reality to obey you?”
A faint smirk appeared on Akira’s face.
“Not forcing,” he corrected.
“Convincing.”
Kaito’s eyes widened slightly at that.
Without another word, Akira lifted his hand.
The air around them shifted.
Leaves rose from the ground, caught in a sudden current that hadn’t been there a moment before.
The wind began to gather, circling them in a controlled, steady motion.
“Let me show you,” Akira said calmly.
“Kaze no Dangen: Arashi no Seiiki.”
The air hummed, low and alive, as a translucent dome of swirling wind expanded outward, enclosing the entire training field.
The currents moved in perfect harmony, forming a barrier that shimmered faintly in the light.
Kaito stared, completely absorbed.
“What… is that?”
“A barrier,” Akira replied, resting his hands behind his back.
“Formed using four principles.”
Kaito stepped closer, eyes fixed on the moving wind.
“Which ones?”
Akira pointed upward slightly.
“Essence. Because the Essence is the medium through which the Dangen is performed. Connection. It links the barrier to the surrounding space.” Then he gestured toward the dome itself.
“Consciousness. It allows the barrier to recognize intent.” Finally, he placed a hand lightly against his chest.
“And Will—the principle that enforces its rule.”
Kaito swallowed, still staring.
“So… what does it actually do?”
Akira’s faint smile returned.
“Anyone who enters with harmful intent…”
The wind rippled gently.
“…is immediately removed.”
Kaito’s mouth dropped open.
“Seriously?”
“And I’m aware the moment it happens,” Akira added.
Kaito stepped even closer to the barrier, studying it with fascination.
“So different Dangens need different principles to work?”
“Exactly,” Akira said.
“Some require only a few. Others… far more.”
Kaito nodded slowly, absorbing it all.
“I think I understand.”
Akira watched him carefully.
He actually does.
Most people would need years before they could even grasp the concept of Dangen properly.
Yet Kaito had followed along almost effortlessly.
Akira let out a quiet breath.
This kid is terrifying.
“But this is only the beginning,” he said, straightening.
“Understanding Myakudō is just the first step.”
Kaito didn’t hesitate.
“Then what comes next?”
Akira studied him for a moment before asking, “Have you ever heard of evolution?”
Kaito shook his head.
“No.”
“I expected that,” Akira said.
He stepped closer, his tone becoming slightly more serious.
“We evolve. And each evolution results in a drastic increase in power.”
He paused briefly.
“At least ten times stronger.”
Kaito’s eyes widened.
“Ten times?!”
“At minimum,” Akira replied with a quiet chuckle.
Kaito stared at him.
“Then… have you evolved?”
“Yes.” Akira replied.
“How many times?” Kaito asked.
Akira shook his head lightly.
“That’s not important right now.”
Kaito blinked.
“…I know.”
“But when you do,” Akira continued, “something very interesting will happen.”
Kaito leaned forward again.
“What?”
Akira’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“The first stage of evolution is called ‘FirstBorn.’ When you reach it… you become a FirstBorn.”
Kaito repeated the words under his breath.
“FirstBorn…”
“And during that process,” Akira went on, “you gain something.”
Kaito waited.
“An Eidolon.”
For a brief moment, even the wind seemed to still.
“Eidolon?” Kaito asked.
Akira nodded.
“A primordial manifestation—the original form of yourself. For you… that would be the wind in its purest, earliest state.”
Kaito’s eyes widened.
“Primordial Wind Embodiment?”
“Yes.”
“Are they strong?” Kaito asked.
“Extremely. Its power either matches yours or surpasses yours.”
Kaito hesitated.
“So… it’s like a partner?”
“That’s a good way to think about it,”Akira said.
He glanced toward the sky.
“Eidolons existed long before most civilizations. They are echoes of the world’s earliest forces.”
Kaito’s excitement was impossible to hide now.
“So when I evolve… I’ll meet mine?”
Akira’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
“If you ever make it that far.”
Kaito didn’t miss a beat.
“Then what comes after that?”
A quiet chuckle slipped from Akira.
“You don’t tire, do you?”
“Why would I?” Kaito shot back, leaning forward a little.
“If there’s more, I want to know.”
Akira watched him for a moment, saying nothing.
There was something steady in the boy’s eyes, something that didn’t flicker or waver even when he was being brushed off.
It wasn’t impatience.
It was hunger, the kind that didn’t settle easily.
He reached out and tapped Kaito lightly on the forehead.
“That part can wait,” he said.
Kaito pulled back with a groan, rubbing the spot.
“You always do that.”
“And you always ask ahead of yourself.”
“That’s because you never answer properly.”
Akira laughed under his breath.
“Or maybe you just don’t like the answers you get.”
Kaito crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced.
“So you’re really not going to tell me?”
“Not today.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Then get stronger,” Akira replied, his tone calm but firm.
“Master Myakudō first. Once you do, the rest will come naturally.”
Kaito held his gaze for a second longer, as if trying to squeeze something more out of him, then clicked his tongue and looked away.
“Fine. But when I figure it out on my own, don’t act surprised.”
“I won’t.”
There was no doubt in Akira’s voice.
He studied the boy quietly after that, taking in the small things—the way Kaito stood, the way his attention never drifted for long, the way he kept circling back to what mattered instead of letting it go.
Most children lost interest halfway through explanations.
Kaito pushed further.
Akira’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in quiet recognition.
…He learns fast.
Too fast.
His gaze shifted past Kaito, toward the edge of the field.
Hana stood there with a gentle smile, her hands folded as she watched.
Toru remained beside her, arms crossed, his posture relaxed but his attention sharp.
A few steps away, Hina bounced lightly on her heels, unable to stay still for long.
“Kai!” she called out, waving both arms as if he might somehow miss her.
Kaito turned at once, the tension in his shoulders easing.
“Hey!”
He lifted a hand and waved back, a grin breaking through without effort.
For a brief moment, the tension faded.
And the wind moved gently across the field, as if the world itself had been listening.