Chapter 3: Two Sons of Wano

[Date: 10/4/1493 → M/D/Y]

X

Daichi wiped his forehead with the back of his soot-covered hand, barely holding back a string of curses. The morning rain had brought about a chilling cold with it, and even now, late into the afternoon, it was still biting. 

He thought once the rain cleared, he’d be fine to work the forge—he’d been wrong. The effort was pointless. 

The forge had gone cold, and the blade he’d been commissioned to make for an old samurai deep in Ringo, who planned on giving it to his grandson as a birthday present, was practically halfway to ruin. 

“Damn it,” he muttered, his stiff fingers struggling to relight the forge. The fire had sputtered out for the second time, and his old bones couldn’t function in the cold as they once did. 

He toiled on with his endeavor a moment longer before leaning back and exhaling, watching as his breath condensed into mist. 

The bright glow of the forge had been the light of his mornings, and now—much like himself—it was half a step away from ruin, flickering faintly, thoroughly extinguished by the many rainfalls. 

A gust of wind blew in from the open doorway, carrying with it the cold and bringing Daichi the shivers. His teeth clattered as he stood and moved beside the anvil, hoping the furthest point from the door would bring about a little warmth.

He was getting old, that much he’d stopped denying years ago. His shoulders hurt in ways they never used to, and his breath came shorter than before. He’d never imagined a day when a great blacksmith would let a simple fire win a fight against him, but here it was, gloating silently in the cold.

He looked down at his hands: burned, scarred, rough, and calloused—all in service of Ringo. Hands that had forged thousands of blades for as many people. But these days, fewer samurai came by asking for swords. 

The number of orders went down, as the time spent on each order went up. He couldn’t help it; age had caught up to him. 

Moving seats did nothing to alleviate the cold or the miserable feeling that only grew worse day by day. Generations of steel workers, generations of ringing hammers, and now it seemed it would all come to an end with him.

“Shouldn’t be thinking like this, my bones might be old, but my spirit is still young,” he muttered, his words infused with optimism he didn’t feel. Yet, despite that, he still stood and began to strike flint. 

He was met with a tiny flicker that could barely even be called a spark. The miniature embers fizzled uselessly against the damp wood. 

Daichi sighed, running a hand through what was left of his hair, dirtying it in the process. He didn’t care much.

Perhaps it was time to pack up for the day, maybe even time to close the shop down for good—

“—You realize, you’ll long be frozen to death before that fire ever listens to you, old man?”

Daichi’s head snapped up, partly in panic, and partly in surprise. That voice was familiar, and lo and behold, there stood a tall young man in a dark haori, sword at his hip, and a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Lord Hikaru?” Daichi spoke, his tone filled with questioning and disbelief. After all, it wasn’t every day that one saw the young lord of Ringo. “You shouldn’t—I mean, there’s no reason for you to be in such a dingy pl—”

But, before he could even finish, Hikaru had already stepped inside, smoothing his haori of any wrinkles. 

“The rain brought about quite the cold weather, and since I happened to be in the area, I decided to swing by and see my favorite blacksmith. Good thing I did, who knows, maybe he’d have burned the place down if I hadn’t,” Hikaru chuckled.

Daichi barked out a laugh despite himself. “Ha! That’d be quite the miracle—I can’t even get a fire going.”

Hikaru crouched beside the hearth, his eyes roaming the unlit pile of wood and coal. “You’ve been using wet oak, can’t quite say I’m surprised at your outcome—or lack thereof,” he deadpanned.

Daichi rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “This was the whole batch the merchants brought, I can’t help that they all got wet in the morning,” he said, rubbing his palms together, desperately trying to create some warmth. 

“Besides, it’s a good thing—I think—I mean, the dry kind burns too quickly. This at least—”

“—doesn’t burn at all,” Hikaru finished, glancing up at him with a grin. “Move aside.” 

Before Daichi could protest, Hikaru reached forward, striking the flint once. The resulting spark, which could barely even be called that, didn’t surprise Daichi, though it did bring him some dismay. Lord Hikaru had wasted his time coming all the way here, and he couldn’t even provide him any warmth.

But, before Daichi could even get a word of consolation out, with a deft twist of his wrist, Hikaru caught a flint between the steel and pressed down, his armament-hardened fingers grinding the metal until friction flared it bright. 

The flame caught instantly.

Daichi blinked, trying his best not to show his awe, although, by the amused smile Hikaru gave him, it seemed he had failed in that regard. “…Show-off.” 

The young lord of Ringo just grinned. “It was efficient.”

Despite the absurdity of the situation, Daichi couldn’t resist laughing along with Hikaru.  

The forge was alight again, an orange light illuminating both their faces and bringing some much-needed warmth to Daichi. 

Daichi stared at it for a moment, feeling warmth seep back into his bones after what felt like years of laboring in the cold. “You shouldn’t waste your time in an old man’s forge,” he muttered quietly.

Hikaru snorted, brushing soot from his fingers. “I don’t think time spent helping someone who built this land is time wasted,” he said simply.

That caught him off guard. Few bothered to help a struggling old man who could do little in return. 

Daichi kept his eyes fixed on the flickering firelight, still unsure of how to respond.

Then he laughed, breaking into a hysterical fit of giggles unbefitting a man of his age. Hikaru, too, was clearly caught off guard, looking at him as one would watch a man who had lost his mind.

“I just thought,” Daichi began when his laughter had finally died down. “Of the two of us, you seem more like the decrepit old pile of bones.”

Hikaru clicked his tongue. “I’ll take that as a compliment, young man. I just hope that you youngins without back pain begin to pay heed to my infinite wisdom.”

Daichi chortled, his body racking with laughter. “I meant no disrespect, my lord. It’s just sometimes you speak like you’ve lived sixteen hundred years, not sixteen.”

“I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I hope you stay the way you are right now—young and healthy, that is—for a long time yet.”

“Hmm, well, I certainly hope not. For I’m afraid, the only way to stay young is to die young.”

“…Then I take it back,” he muttered. “To hell with staying young. Grow old till your bones rattle and scream like mine, lord Hikaru.”

Hikaru froze, his mouth agape, before he threw his head back and let out a long stream of laughter. And, despite the grim topic, Daichi found himself joining his future Daimyo in his mirth.

X

(Kozuki Moria’s POV)

Snow drifted past, carried by the signature Ringo morning breeze he had become so accustomed to. 

His own home was admittedly threadbare—his master wasn’t the biggest fan of luxurious living arrangements, unfortunately—hence, he had taken to long morning walks as a way to step out and see the rest of Ringo, and he was glad he had. 

Although Ringo was beautiful all year round, nothing could compare to autumn and winter. 

He ignored the crunch of snow underfoot, turning his gaze toward the street that was bustling with chatter. Despite the cold, merchants still kept their shops open, and he saw Kyoki, a street stall-owner who—in his own, very unbiased opinion—made the best yakitori in Ringo, haggling with a mother.

Her two children’s gaze remained fixed on the yakitori before being distracted by their friends, opting to run along and make shapes in the snow. Their mother gave an exasperated huff upon their departure, and Kyoki made no effort to hide his laughter.

“Lord Hikaru! Lord Moria!” someone called from across the road.

Moria raised a hand in reply, albeit a bit stiffly, a small part of him yet to acclimate to the favor behind the addressal. The title of Lord itself was nothing new—he’d heard it since he was nothing but a child, but the kindness along with it was something that had changed only some time ago.

Once, in a not-too-distant past, when he walked the streets, people had avoided him. Children especially. 

Creepy, ghoul, and demon were words that held familiarity. Truthfully, he didn’t blame the residents of Ringo for their sentiment. A glimpse in the mirror was enough to justify the words. 

Pale skin, purple hair, sharp teeth, and protruding horns. A creepy look, indeed. 

However, just because the words held veracity, it didn’t change the accompanying sadness. And yet, a young man from Ringo had stood up for him since the very moment they had first met. 

He was not ignorant. His actions had certainly warmed the people, but his best friend’s very vocal declarations had done just as much, if not more. 

“Big Brother Hikaru! Big Brother Moria!” the small voice cut Moria from his musings.

A little girl came barrelling toward them, her hair barely held by a red ribbon that threatened to come undone with every step. In her clutched hands were two rice balls.

Moria winced, one of the perfectly wrapped riceballs had become squished, without her being any wiser. 

“Careful, you’ll slip—”

His warning proved to be too late. She stumbled, caught herself on his leg, and hugged it tight instead, giggling up at him with cheeks pink from the cold.

Moria froze before shaking his head with a smile. “You’ve gotten braver, haven’t you?” he said, taking one of the rice balls with exaggerated care, although the height difference did make not squashing it a challenge.

“Did you make these yourself?”

The girl nodded proudly. “Mama helped!”

Hikaru crouched down beside her, brushing a bit of snow off her shoulder. “That’s impressive. But you’ll catch a cold if you keep running around without gloves.”

“Okay!” she said, bowing before scampering off.

Across the street, her mother called after her, bowing deeply toward the two young men. “Forgive her, my lords, she should know better than to trouble you!”

“Not at all,” Hikaru called back with a grin. “I think the two of us, both, appreciate her gift,” he finished, holding his squished rice ball up.

Her mother looked at the riceball, paused, and immediately began scolding her daughter, before promptly dragging her back to her stall by the ear.

Moria sniggered, and even Hikaru could not help but laugh.

“I’m going to miss these people,” Hikaru sighed, leading them toward the secret exit they planned on using.

“That makes two,” he replied, fiddling with the sword strapped to his hip.

“How’s Hyogoro been treating you? I’m sure he gave a last-minute “lesson” before you set off.”

Moria winced. His friend was right, Hyogoro did indeed impart a final lesson prior to his departure. Well, if a one-sided ass beating could be called a lesson. 

Not that he was surprised, his master’s training methodology could very much be surmised with: if one punch didn’t solve the problem, then a second would. 

“About as well as you’d expect,” he said, waving to a passing couple. “He’s got it in his head that the greater the beating now, the less it’ll be on the sea.”

The future Daimyo of Ringo snorted. 

“Well, I suppose, if nothing else, you can take solace in the fact you’re being trained by the great Hyogoro. It should be a great honor, really,” he laughed.

“A great honor indeed,” he replied drily, rubbing a bruise he’d gotten from his mentor.

The rest of their walk was spent in silence, and he was sure Hikaru was reminiscing about the time spent in the Country of Gold, just as he was.

When they reached the cliffside path leading toward the hidden harbor, Moria paused. He turned back to look at Ringo, the town just as bustling as before. 

He tore his gaze away from Ringo and back toward the harbor where the ships Hikaru and he had prepared were stationed. 

The sea was as majestic as it was immense. It stretched as far as his eyes could see, the only blemish in his sight being the two ships gently rocking against the icy water. 

One flew a freshly painted flag, dark purple, stitched with a crude skull he’d drawn himself. The other bore a crescent moon with a bird flying toward it.

Moria grinned, clasping hands with Hikaru. This was it.

His friend had set sail once before; he had, too. Long ago, when he was but a child, he moved to Wano. His parents believed it was time for him to meet the rest of his family. 

That first moment at sea, feeling the volatile currents beneath sway the ship as he ran around the deck, was the moment he’d fallen in love with the sea. Now, it seemed it was time for him to set off again. 

“You ready?” he asked, taking a step back.

X

End of the chapter, hope you enjoyed it. 

Btw, if you have a shadow, you’re Moria upscale. 

[Moria upscale]