Denizens of the Labyrinth

Jazmel and Sadé sit at the table, enjoying their breakfast in the quiet of the Kuzuryu Prefecture's main house. The days had passed slowly, filled with discussions, and plans for their departure. Jazmel stirs his tea absently, his thoughts already drifting toward the next phase of their journey. Sadé, sitting across from him, picks at her food, lost in thought as well.

As Jazmel lifts his cup, he mutters more to himself than to Sadé. "It's time to leave. We've been here long enough." His words, though quiet, seem to break the morning's peaceful atmosphere. He sets the cup down, meeting Sadé's gaze. "We have things to do, people to find."

Sadé looks up from her plate, her expression thoughtful. "I know," she says, her voice soft but resolute. "But do you think you're ready?"

Before Jazmel can answer, Atan approaches them, overhearing their conversation. His steps are quiet, but when he reaches the table, his eyes are sharp with curiosity.

"I couldn't help but overhear," Atan says, his voice low. "You're leaving?"

Jazmel looks up, nodding slowly. "Yes. We've stayed long enough. There's more out there that needs to be done."

Atan pauses for a moment, then shifts his weight from foot to foot, clearly hesitant. "I... I have questions," he admits, his gaze flickering between Jazmel and Sadé.

Jazmel raises an eyebrow, then offers a half-smile. "I'll answer what I can," he says, encouraging the older man to ask.

Atan hesitates for a long moment before finally asking the question that seems to burn on his tongue. "Who... who are you, really?"

Jazmel's expression remains unreadable, but inside, a familiar pang of uncertainty flickers. After a long silence, he answers, his voice calm. "My name is Jazmel. My mother's name was Jhene Moxores."

Atan's eyes widen, his hand flying to his mouth in shock. He stumbles backward, his breath catching in his throat. "It cannot be!" he says, as if the very idea is too impossible to fathom. Jazmel doesn't react, simply watching Atan carefully as he processes the revelation.

Atan's mind races, and he mutters to himself, his thoughts tumbling out in a chaotic mix of disbelief and realization. "Your mother... Jhene. Does Baek know? Of course, he does..." His voice trails off as the truth clicks into place. He looks back at Jazmel, his eyes now full of wonder and something else recognition. "You are the lost heir, the son of Inumi?"

Jazmel remains silent, watching Atan carefully. He waits for the shock to pass, his posture calm. "What do you think?" he asks, voice steady but with a faint edge of curiosity.

Atan blinks, clearly stunned by the weight of what he's just said. He stares at Jazmel, a mixture of disbelief and awe in his eyes. After a long, tense moment, he whispered almost reverently, "I can see it now."

Atan stands in silence for a moment, his mind clearly racing. His eyes flicker with a mix of emotions shock, disbelief, and something more deeply buried: concern. As he looks at Jazmel, his shoulders slump slightly, and he lets out a long, heavy sigh.

Jazmel watches him, his expression softening. He can feel the weight of the moment, and for reasons he doesn't fully understand, he feels an unexpected sympathy for Atan. He sees the man's distress and, despite the revelations hanging in the air, his instincts push him to ask.

"What bothers you?" Jazmel asks quietly, his voice filled with empathy.

Atan's gaze shifts to the ground, the burden of his thoughts evident in the crease of his brow. After a few moments of tense silence, he speaks, his voice thick with emotion. "I never expected to meet you like this," he begins, the words heavy with a painful weight. "When Jhene died… it shattered everything. Inumi spent everything his wealth, his energy, his influence searching for you." He pauses, swallowing hard, as if the memories are too much to bear. "But all the leads… they were false. So many fakes. So many misleads. It left him broken, searching for a son that might never exist."

He shakes his head, his hands clenching at his sides. "The rumours were relentless. Many said you were dead. Others said you were hidden somewhere, being kept from him. Some even said you were... lost to the labyrinth." Atan's voice quivers slightly at the last part, the pain of those years still raw. "But now, here you are, standing in front of me, the son of Inumi, and I can't help but feel " He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as if the emotions are too much to speak aloud.

Jazmel watches him closely, understanding more than Atan realizes. The weight of being the son of someone so powerful someone who had endured so much had clearly been heavy on Atan as well. He can feel the man's grief and the confusion at seeing the fragments of a past thought lost forever now unexpectedly gathered into one person.

"I know it was hard for him," Jazmel says softly, his voice filled with quiet understanding. "But I'm here now. And I intend to find out what happened. For all of us."

Atan doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he exhales sharply, his eyes glinting with a complex mix of emotions relief, guilt, and something else Jazmel can't quite place. After a long pause, Atan looks up again, his expression softening slightly, though still filled with the weight of his past. "Inumi… will be pleased to hear that," he says, his tone more subdued. "We all will be."

Atan's shoulders tremble as he stands there, his eyes welling with unshed tears that finally spill over. The quiet sobs catch in his throat, raw and heavy. Jazmel and Sadé exchange a glance, shocked by the depth of the emotion pouring out of Atan. They had never seen the usually composed man in such a state, vulnerable and broken by the flood of memories.

"I cry for hope," Atan says between quiet sobs, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His voice is thick with grief, his words shaking as they leave his lips. "But I cry for the tragedy of your mother." He looks up at Jazmel, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and admiration. "Jhene was a blessing. She was a radiant star of hope for our group. She was the heart and soul of us all."

Atan's voice falters, his grief becoming almost tangible in the stillness of the room. Jazmel can feel the weight of his words, the profound sense of loss that still lingers in this place. He stands in stunned silence, unsure of how to comfort the man before him.

Atan takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but his chest rises and falls with emotion. "She was the kind of person who gave everything for the people she cared about. She never gave up, even when things seemed hopeless. And now… now you are here. Her legacy, her son. A part of her still lives in you, and I can't help but feel…"

Atan shakes his head, unable to finish his sentence. The weight of the years lost, the missed opportunities, the longing for closure it all spills out in his tears. Jazmel, though overwhelmed by the rawness of the moment, steps closer, his empathy shining through.

"I didn't know her," Jazmel says quietly, his voice steady. "But I will honour her. I'll carry her spirit with me."

Sadé, who has been quietly observing, steps forward as well, her presence gentle but firm. "We will make sure her legacy lives on," she adds softly, her tone reassuring.

Atan nods, the tears finally subsiding, leaving behind a sorrowful but resolute expression. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice still thick with emotion. "Thank you for giving us hope again."

Jazmel stands there, silent, and still, his mind a swirl of conflicting emotions. The words Atan spoke reverberate in his chest, each one like a weight, pressing down on his heart. He can feel the lingering grief in the air, a mourning not just for Jhene, but for the loss of so much more the years, the missed connections, the knowledge of his mother's impact on those around her.

He doesn't know what to say, how to process the revelation, or how to even respond. His heart feels heavy, tangled in the past and uncertain of the future. He simply nods, the motion almost mechanical, as if trying to acknowledge Atan's pain without truly understanding it. His own emotions are tangled, the words Atan shared igniting a mixture of pride and sorrow that he doesn't know how to manage. How could he? After all these years of not knowing his mother, of being separated from this history, how could he suddenly comprehend the weight of it all?

Sadé, sensing his inner turmoil, steps closer to him, her presence steady and calming. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder, offering comfort without words. Her touch is soft, her warmth a silent reassurance. Jazmel doesn't flinch. He simply leans into the comfort, grateful for her quiet support.

"You don't have to carry it all at once," Sadé murmurs, her voice low and soothing. "One step at a time."

Jazmel closes his eyes for a moment, the weight of it all threatening to overwhelm him. But Sadé's words are a lifeline, a reminder that he doesn't have to rush through this. That it's okay to feel lost, to not have all the answers immediately.

After a long moment, he opens his eyes again, looking at Atan, who has begun to compose himself. "Thank you," Jazmel says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

Atan meets his gaze, the sorrow in his eyes giving way to something gentler, a shared understanding. "You're not alone in this," Atan says softly. "We're all here. And we'll help you find your way."

Jazmel nods, his heart a little lighter than before, knowing that, at least for now, he doesn't have to walk this path alone.

Jazmel's throat tightens as Atan speaks, his words a bitter echo of everything Jazmel has carried deep inside but never voiced. He can feel the sting of old wounds reopening, the anger welling up in him. His father, Inumi Jazmel's mind races with the memories of the man who had been both a stranger and a figure too distant to understand. The complexity of the relationships, the love and the duty, the politics, and the grief it all feels too much to bear.

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Jazmel's chest tightens with the weight of what Atan has revealed, the burden of being the lost heir. How could they understand the depth of his absence? The years of his life lost to the unknown, to wandering, to being left in the dark about the very family that had been fighting for him. Atan's voice quivers with an empathy Jazmel is not sure he can bear right now. He chokes back the tears, swallowing the bitterness that rises in his throat.

"Don't tell me what he felt for her," Jazmel mutters, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "How can you say that about my father and Yuriko? How could he " He cuts himself off, shaking his head, trying to keep his composure. His eyes, usually filled with determination, now betray the rawness of the conflict in his soul.

Atan stands silently, watching him. He is no stranger to pain, and his eyes are filled with understanding deep, mournful understanding. The regret in his voice is palpable. "I didn't want to say this, Jazmel, but you have to know. Yuriko was never meant to replace your mother. She was... a necessary arrangement to secure the future. But she never could have had the love your father gave to Jhene." He pauses, allowing the words to settle between them, before continuing in a quieter voice, "Inumi loved your mother. He mourned her loss, every day."

Jazmel takes a slow breath, closing his eyes, feeling the anger burn through him. His fists clench at his sides as his mind reels. His emotions swirl in a mixture of anger, grief, and something else something unspoken. The political machinations that had led to his father's remarriage seem so distant, so cold. But here, now, in this moment, they hit Jazmel with an unexpected force. The stark contrast between his father's pain and his mother's legacy, the love they had shared, and the fractured world of responsibilities he had been thrust into it's too much to process.

Atan watches him carefully, allowing Jazmel the space to come to terms with the storm of emotions within. Finally, Jazmel looks up at him, his gaze unwavering, though his voice is thick with emotion. "What happens now?" he asks, his words carrying the weight of everything unsaid the legacy of his mother, the relationship with his father, and the fractured future that lies ahead.

Atan sighs deeply, his eyes dark with the years of loss and struggle. "Now, Jazmel, you walk forward. With your mother's legacy in mind. And with your father's heartbroken but still filled with hope for what you will do."

Jazmel's words hang in the air, charged with an intensity he hadn't anticipated. The weight of them feels like a release, as if by rejecting the expectations of a crown and a legacy, he's finally taking hold of something that truly belongs to him. His eyes linger on Sade, who watches him with an unwavering gaze. Her quiet support settles over him like a soft blanket, and for the first time, he feels truly understood.

"I choose the Black Wing faction," Jazmel repeats, more certain now than ever, his voice steady despite the depth of emotion swirling inside him. There's no hesitation. The Black Wing is his path, his family, and his future. The rest the crown, the kingdom, the expectations are a distant echo of a life he never asked for.

Atan, for all his solemnity, can't help but chuckle. The sound is rich and genuine, a mixture of surprise and amusement. "You name your faction the Black Wing," he says, shaking his head, "knowing your father's moniker is the Black Dragon, and you want nothing from him?" The laugh spills from him again, his tone playful but filled with an undeniable respect. "You're a bold one, Jazmel."

Jazmel doesn't flinch under Atan's teasing. Instead, he meets the older man's eyes with a quiet resolve. "I'm not chasing his shadow," he says simply, "I'll make my own path."

Atan's amusement fades slightly, replaced by a thoughtful look. "You know," he continues, his voice lowering, "you need to meet him. If he weren't traveling, I'd take you to him myself. But your father uses the delving of the labyrinth as respite. He refuses to return until he's good and ready." The tone shifts, becoming more serious, as if Atan is weighing the importance of the next steps. "You may not want the crown, but the weight of being Inumi's son is something that will follow you regardless. Whether you choose it or not."

Jazmel feels a pang of discomfort at the mention of his father's name, but he doesn't allow it to show. He had made his decision, and no matter the implications, he would stand by it. Sade's presence beside him reassures him, and he turns to her briefly, letting her steady him with the quiet strength she always offers.

"I've made my choice," Jazmel says firmly. "I'll forge my own destiny with the Black Wing, not as his son, but as me." His words settle in his chest with finality, and though the path ahead may be unclear, one thing is certain: Jazmel will no longer be bound by a legacy that wasn't his to inherit. The Black Wing was his future, and that's all that matters.

Jazmel's words hang heavily in the air, the weight of them sinking deep into his chest. He speaks with a clarity that comes from a place of quiet frustration, a yearning that has been building inside him for as long as he can remember. His gaze is steady, unwavering, as he speaks of his parents and the world he's tried to carve for himself.

"You are right," he begins, his voice almost distant, but firm. "I took that name Moxores as an ode to my parents, but what else do I have of them? What do I really know about them? I've spent all this time in my father's home, yet I have never even seen him. He's been a shadow in my life, an unreachable figure, and I've lived without him." He pauses, his thoughts lingering on the weight of those words.

"I have my own responsibilities now. I have people I'm accountable for. And that's enough. The life they left me with isn't something I want to cling to. I've already forged my path with the Black Wing. Now, I'm going to return to my home. It may not be what they intended for me, but it's mine." He speaks the last words with a conviction that surprises even him, the finality of his decision clear in every syllable.

The silence that follows is thick with emotion, but Jazmel doesn't flinch. He knows that this decision, this journey, is his own. He's no longer just the son of Inumi. He's Jazmel, the leader of the Black Wing faction, and that's who he chooses to be. No more shadows, no more expectations. Just him, moving forward.

DING!

YOU HAVE FOUND YOUR FAMILY!

PERSONAL PLOT COMPLETED!

YOU HAVE FOUND YOUR ORIGINS AND ARE AWARE OF THE BEGINNING OF YOUR STORY!

MANY HAVE SUFFERED FROM THOSE WHO THEY ARE TIED TO

WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO DO WITH THIS INFORMATION IS YOURS ALONE!

…

DING!

REWARDS INCOMING!

TIER V SWORD TOKEN GAINED! with this token, you can upgrade the tier of your sword. Raising it to tier V! This can only be applied to one sword of your choice, and it is permanent! Choose wisely!

Jazmel grinned at that, he knew immediately what he was going to do. Yoru No Tsubasa had quickly become his sword of choice; he patted its sheath absentmindedly before pulling the item into his ring.

He had another item and pulling it out. Using his eyes, he scanned, it was a tiny vial of some gold liquid, well closer to amber but the life essence in the vial was beyond anything Jazmel had seen. Looking with his Mana attuned eyes, he had to squint and look away. It was as if he had looked into the sun.

TIER IV VIAL OF THE SCRYING EYES GAINED! the essence of a seer, this item will greatly enhance the eyes of any who bathe their eyes in it. This item is greatly enhancing and can change the very nature of any previous perception skills!

Jazmel grinned, smiling as he put this away, he was going to use that as soon as he got some free time. When he finished with his items, he looked up and saw Atan and Sadé staring at him. he smiled before shrugging.

"A personal plot from a while back, I finally completed it." Jazmel explained and Sadé nodded while Atan smiled and sat back.

"the more I look at you, the more I see your father. Inumi will be stricken!" Jazmel listened, not commenting as he didn't know what to say.

Jazmel stands quietly at the gate of the main house, his eyes scanning the familiar yet distant surroundings. The warm glow of the sun slowly begins to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the stone path that stretches before him. His thoughts swirl as he waits for Baek, the sound of distant footsteps catching his attention. Charme and Sade stand a little off to the side, their presence offering a steady calm, but Jazmel's gaze remains fixed on the grandeur of the house before him.

As he looks at the tall, intricately carved gates and the sprawling courtyard beyond, a heavy thought presses against his chest. What would it have been like if they had lived here? he wonders. The vision of his mother, Jhene Moxores, and his father, Inumi, moving through the halls, sharing moments in this very place, feels like a distant dream. A life that could have been yet was never truly his. The idea of them together, building a home, a family, fills him with both longing and a quiet sadness.

He finds himself lingering on the thought of what might have been if they had remained together. Would this house have felt like a home then? Would his father have been different if they had been a family? But the question remains unanswered, leaving only echoes of possibilities that will never come to pass. Jazmel exhales slowly, pushing these thoughts aside. It's time to leave. The past is gone, and the future is his to shape, regardless of the shadows that linger behind him.

When Baek finally approaches, Jazmel looks up, his expression more resolute than before. The moment to say goodbye has arrived, and with it, the chance to forge ahead into a future of his own making.

Jazmel's eyes flicker, a faint scent lingering in the air a delicate perfume that catches his senses. Almost as if by instinct, he turns, his gaze narrowing. Standing off to the side, almost as if blending into the shadows of the courtyard, is Yuriko. She stands with a grace that commands attention, her presence both subtle and undeniable.

Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back, the strands gleaming in the fading sunlight, catching the wind just enough to make them sway gently. She wears a flowing, deep burgundy kimono, embroidered with intricate silver patterns that shimmer in the light a stark contrast to the dark, muted tones of the garden around her. The sleeves of her kimono flare out slightly, the hem trailing elegantly behind her as she steps forward, moving with an ethereal fluidity.

Her face is striking, though her beauty is tempered with a reserved, almost distant air. High cheekbones, pale porcelain skin, and piercing dark eyes that seem to hold a thousand unspoken words. Her lips are lightly tinted, their shape soft yet defined, offering a faint smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. There is an air of grace about her, but something in her expression hints at complexity, a depth that is not immediately apparent. Jazmel can feel her gaze settle on him, the unspoken tension between them thick in the air. It's clear she is a woman of careful calculation, someone who knows how to hide her true emotions beneath a veil of calm.

Yuriko's eyes flare with fury as Jazmel speaks, her lips trembling with the force of her anger. "I am done here," he repeats, his voice thick with emotion, though it cracks under the weight of everything he's held in. "The Black Wing faction is my family, and Moxores is my stronghold. I am done with the prefecture. Anything more, and it will break my heart."

His breath comes in short bursts, his mana still sparking around him in the tension of the moment, his anger pulsing visibly in the air. The words spill out like a torrent he can no longer hold back. His gaze meets Yuriko's one last time, his chest tightening as he sees the fury and disbelief in her eyes, but he no longer cares to defend his decisions. He never intended for things to be this way. All he wanted was to understand where he came from, to understand the family he had never known, and the truth of who he was. But now, it seems that everything is more complex, more painful than he could have imagined.

As he breathes deeply, trying to steady himself, he hears Baek's voice, calm yet firm, calling his name, a quiet but unmistakable signal for him to step back. Jazmel's fists are clenched by his sides, trembling slightly as he pulls his hand from Yuriko's wrist and steps away. Baek, standing a few paces off with the elders and Siromi at his side, looks at Jazmel with understanding, though his face remains carefully neutral. Siromi, on the other hand, is watching quietly, his features unreadable.

Jazmel doesn't even glance back at Yuriko, his shoulders hunched, his heart pounding. He wanted to say more, to explain everything he has felt, but the words are lost to him. All that remains is the bittersweet knowledge that nothing he says will ever change what has been built between him and this woman, who has spent so much of her life battling the ghosts of a lost love.

He turns away, walking toward Baek and the others. He knows this moment has marked the end of something for him, and though it hurts, it also feels like the start of something new. The Black Wing faction the family he's chosen is waiting for him. And that, he tells himself, is enough.