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Life has always had its ups and downs. Sekiro knew that for a fact. Though, recently there have only been downs for the man. He sits isolated on a random log in a random forest. The air is frigid- blue, his soft exhales behind his bloodied rag of a scarf wet his leaky nose with vapor. He sniffles, shivering, leaning forward rubbing his armless shoulder with a dry pale hand. His blemished clothing is not nearly thick enough to withstand this cold, though that’s never stopped him from continuing forward in the past. The only thing is he didn’t know what to look forward to this time, though he was more confused than concerned about his future at the moment.
He holds his head up, caressing the deep line that now runs around the circumference of his neck. Sekiro had beheaded himself for the hope that his young master and divine heir, Kuro, could live out a better life. For the faith that Kuro could have a normal childhood now that the curse of immortality had been lifted.
Though, Sekiro wasn’t supposed to have woken up again. His immortality should have been severed when he drew his last breath yet, here he was. He pulls his hand off his neck, the blood coating his chilled flesh still tepid compared to the taste of liquid metal that coated the roof of his mouth. He moved his scarf from his face, building up what little saliva he could in his dried mouth and spitting the bright red blood onto the snowed floor with a hack.
His prosthetic and any possessions he held of importance were gone, and he was nowhere near where he drew his last breath. He looks around, a black paved road a little farther to his right. He lifts himself, pushing off the tree stump- his feet wet with snow, and drags himself to the opposite side of the empty road to find himself leaning over old rickety railing.
High in some mountain where the wind was as ruthless as the snow, he looked down at an unfamiliar city filled with unfamiliar signs scattered with even more unfamiliar yet beautiful twinkling lights. Sekiro hadn’t gasped since he was young. In his awe and exhaustion, he leaned forward only for the railing to give in and break underneath him. The cliff crumbled beneath his feet before he was abruptly yanked by his collar into the snowed road behind him.
“Whatever you’re doing boy, it’s not worth it, I assure you…”
Sekiro looked up to see a familiar old man turned away from him with short braided white hair and a large and menacing back.
“Father…?”
He spoke without thinking. The old man turned to reveal he was wearing a dark green puffer jacket and thick hunting pants, a gun slung over his shoulder. He examines Sekiro before responding.
“What hell did you crawl out of, boy?”
Somehow, this brought a smirk to Sekiro’s face before he passed out in his own exhaustion.
He awakens in a warm room with a fireplace, his father look-alike nowhere in sight. He’s on a bed softer than any he’d ever laid on in his life draped in fuzzy flower patterned blankets. His scarf and sandals had been removed for the first time in what felt like years.
The old man came into the room from a door in front of the bed, a bathroom behind him. Sekiro stares in disbelief, his father’s appearance after his supposed death still surprising, even if this is the second time it’s happened. Though he was clearly cleaner and wearing different clothes, Sekiro had his suspicions that this may not be the Owl he knew. Along with the spectacular view of the city, he was certain this was not the Ashina he knew. Perhaps this was like his vision of the Hirata Estate, a mere memory for him to recollect on- though it felt all too visceral to just be a dream.
“What… year is it?” Sekiro asked for the second time in his life. The old man raised an eyebrow and took a seat at the end of the bed.
“2022?”
“…”
“An odd question from an odd child… What… is your name, boy?”
“..Wolf…Sekiro, sir..” he stutters, unsure of which name to use.
“Ah, you have manners it seems,” The old man chuckled, “I’m Ukonzaemon Uzui, but many call me Owl…”
“Owl…”
His name was exactly the same as his Father’s. Sekiro falls silent, that’s when a door swings open in another room, a young woman enters the bedroom after knocking a few times. Another familiar face of course.
“Ms. Emma! How are you keeping?” Owl turned around to say.
“Just fine, Mr. Uzui…”
She grows quiet when her eyes meet Sekiro’s, surprised at his appearance, though, who wouldn’t be. He was covered in his own blood, dirt, sweat and who knows what else. It seems at this time, Lady Emma and Owl get along, for there’s no reason for them to fight over any Divine Heir as far as Sekiro can tell.
She sets her bag next to Sekiro, pulling out unfamiliar instruments, along with a notepad. Unconsciously twitching her nose when she grew closer to Sekiro, who smelled of gunpowder, blood and what was an unpleasant scent- from not bathing in what seemed like many months. Sekiro took notice.
“What is your name, sir?”
“Sekiro..”
“I’m just here to give you a little check up, if that’s alright with you?”
“…”
he nods, as she pulls out a stethoscope. Owl stands up and makes his way over to the fire place, Sekiro unconsciously staring at him. Ms. Emma notices, continuing her duty. An air of awkwardness, as a dirtied stranger sits in the old man’s bed. Only to Sekiro were the two familiar.
“How did you end up in the mountains, if it’s okay to ask?”
Sekiro looked up at Ms. Emma, unsure of how to answer that question when he himself didn’t know the answer.
“Hm,”
she hums, unable to get his sleeve off.
“You wouldn’t mind removing your clothing would you?”
Sekiro nods, pulling the blankets off with help from Ms. Emma. He pulls an arm out of his orange kimono, untying all the rags that kept his hakama up, Ms. Emma taking them and folding them neatly onto the table next to the bed. Then it was time to remove the armor, clanking metal shifting off of him, Emma could only assist him quietly, again, placing the worn metal on the table next to them.
He sits there with his chest bare, his many scars on display. The clear line dividing the dirt or possibly tanned skin from the untouched was visible. The only times where he’d bathed were when he’d jump into rivers in the past, even then it was not enough to clean himself. He had many old wounds, many left untreated resulting in raised scars. Sekiro could only think of the medicinal healing of the Gourd the divine heir had given him previously; working its magic in mysterious ways- now gone.
She holds the stethoscope up to his chest, the cold metal to skin, a familiar feeling to the Wolf. His heart beat rather slowly , maybe a side effect of the Divine Heir’s blessing? Or perhaps his training as a shinobi…Though it's not as if he ever noticed anything unusual.
“Do you have anyone we could call to tell them about your whereabouts?”
“Call..?”
The phone was unfamiliar to him.
“Ms. Emma, He must be a little confused, seems he lost a lot of blood just before I found him.”
Owl spoke with his back to them.
Ms. Emma looks over at the blood soaked and tattered scarf that was draped over the railing at the end of the bed, and the deep seated scar on Sekiro’s neck. His skin dirty, her nose twitching once again, she comments.
“I think it’d be best to get you cleaned up first if we’re going to treat all these little cuts.”
He’s instructed to bathe, he hadn’t in a millennia. Sekiro could not help but feel a little shame in allowing himself to reek so badly, he could give away his position. As a shinobi this could be life or death, though it seems his duties have been cut short.
The bath was foreign to him. Owl offers him a cloth and bar soap to wash off with. He scrubs his skin, enough to get the dirt off him, leaving the water muddy. His scalp sore from being unable to untie his hair, he pulls on the string holding his hair up which crumpled into his hands. Taking the soap into his hand he sniffs it, taking in the scent of pleasant Sakura petals and another sweet scent he couldn’t quite place his nose on. Wetting his head, lathering the soap between his fingers scrubbing the old oils and dirt out of his filthy scalp.
While the wolf bathes, Emma kneels beside Owl. “He looks just like him, isn’t it strange?”
“There are little differences, like that scar on his eyebrow and the white in his hair.” Owl responds
“It could be him, he seems to recognize you Mr. Uzui… I saw him staring at you earlier.”
Owl stares off into the fire.
“My son is dead, he may look like him but it’s certainly a coincidence..”
“Even his arm, though…”
“Emma!”
Wolf eavesdrops unconsciously while sitting in the hot bath. Confirming he’s not the Owl he knew, and that the worlds are indeed connected. Wolf continues to listen, before it grows quiet. He puts on the oversized robe they set out for him. He's clear of dirt, his wet hair dripping, he looks into the mirror inside the bathroom to find the dragon rot on his face had vanished.
He notices he looks older since he’d last properly seen his reflection. Lines of old age and stress marked his forehead and eyes. A moment of recollection spurs inside of his mind, he thinks of whether or not Kuro was finally able to be happy. He takes a moment before opening the bathroom door and proceeds to walk behind them. Startling Emma and prompting Owl to look his way. Owl quickly standing up.
“I’ll get some food ready, Ms. Emma, are you staying long?”
“No Mr. Uzui, I won’t be long. Remember I also need to give you a check up.”
“Bah, I’m as healthy as a horse, you should know that by now.”
“It never hurts to check, sir,” Ms. Emma smiled. She approached the bed and patted the area next to her, Sekiro walked towards the bed, taking a seat, finally able to check his blood pressure properly with what few tools she brought.
“You said your name was Sekiro?”
“Yes..” he replied
“Do you have a place to stay?”
“…”
“You don’t have anybody to call it seems, and I’m not sure how you ended up in the mountains like this, but I’m sure Mr. Uzui wouldn’t mind letting you stay here for a night or two.”
“… I see..”
“If need be, you can come with me to the estate I reside in, I’m sure my employers wouldn’t mind another guest…”
“…why are you being so generous?” Sekiro asked.
“Huh? Oh, well…” she seemed to need a moment to think, that’s when Owl came back in with two bowls of rice porridge he’d heated on the stove.
“This is for you boy,”
he places it on the table next to Emma’s instruments, taking his seat in front of the fire again. Emma fiddles with her trinkets, taking notes on her notepad.
“And, all done,” Emma said, after dressing small wounds on Sekiro’s body with a gel. He noted how she avoided the question, which must have something to do with his resemblance to a certain someone in this world…
“Thank you..” Sekiro stared into her eyes. She raised her eyebrows, looking away smiling.
“It’s my job, you’re welcome” she stood up, packing her supplies. “Don’t stay up too long Mr. Uzui, I know how you are.” She teased.
“Yes yes, now don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
She rolled her eyes, smiling, checking her watch and waving goodbye.
“Do call if anything happens, you’ll get your check up next time sir”
She closed the door behind her. Sekiro turned and grabbed for the bowl of warm food. That’s new. He didn’t use the spoon, he simply drank from the bowl. The owl turned to see Sekiro’s eyes sparkle a bit. He turns around with a soft laugh, a sad smile. Sekiro looks up,
“Thank you.. for your hospitality.”
“You’re welcome!” He laughed. “Now, tell me about yourself.”
“…”
“Come on, I can’t have a stranger sleeping under the same roof”
He speaks turning his way.
“… what do I talk about?”
“Where are you from, kid?”
It took Sekiro a moment to think about, for his home was with Owl in a estate not to unfamiliar to this hut, though that never lasted long as he’d move plenty from place to place settling on the outskirts of the Hirata Estate just outside of the village. His home surrounded by flowers. He settles.
“..Ashina.”
“Ashina..” he paused for a moment, as if thinking about something, “…hmm, is it far?”
“I’m not sure…”
“Not sure, hm?”
The fireplace crackles as a piece of wood begins to crumble, Owl grabs the metal stick, and begins poking at the fire. The flames remind Sekiro of Shura… the sculptor
“something wrong?”
Owl snapped him out of his trance.
“You’re hairs awful long, know how to braid kid?”
“Braid…”
his hair wasn’t as long as Owl’s of course but it was long enough. Sekiro used to braid his father’s hair as a kid, an important skill when it comes to making your own rope...
“Not with one hand, not anymore.”
Sekiro wobbled, standing up. The robe draped to the floor on his lithe body, like a child in his parents clothes. Owl patted the floor in front of him, placing a pillow down for him to sit on. He walked over and sat down. The notion somehow feeling incredibly natural. His childhood was spent training to be a master shinobi. Mastering the art of sneaking around and silent murder, but every so often there were moments spent enjoying the company of his father.
Moments like this.
Owl runs his thick fingers through Sekiro’s thin hairs, the ends were shriveled and not taken care of. He separates Sekiro’s checkerboard hair into thirds, looping one strand over the other, and using a rubber band he had around his wrist to tie it tight down. He then patted Sekiro’s head. In a calm yet gruff voice,
“… you remind me of my son..”
“…”
“He looked just like you, though certainly not as dirty,”
he chuckled, scratching his head full of white hair.
“…what happened to him?” Sekiro asked, curious about his look alike.
“… he..”
Sekiro turned to look at Owl. Owl’s black eyes reflecting the flame of the fire, suddenly glistening at the sight of him. Something Sekiro wasn’t fond of seeing his father do. Though, this wasn’t really his father, was it? This one was softer, not that he minded.
Sekiro turns back towards the fire,
“..is it alright that I’m staying the night here?”
“..Oh, yes of course it is.. I never have much company all the way up here besides small visits from Little Emma.”
“Little Emma..” he keeps note of that.
Owl looks up at the clock on the wall, the insistent ticking that Sekiro tried to ignore.
“We’ll sleep then, it’s getting late anyway.”
The old man pulls out some spare blankets and rolls them out on the floor, changing into pajamas (a white shirt and some knee length shorts), he lays on the floor, the fire would keep him warm.
Sekiro feels a little strange sleeping in the bed… but of course he didn’t mind it. The fire goes out and soon the room is only lit by little embers of the past flame and moonlight glowing through the cracks of the window above the bed- as well as Sekiro’s night eye ability. He never slept well because of this ability. It’s quite hard to differentiate between night and day when you have night vision.
His mind wanders a bit- Sekiro fingers the scar on his neck, and thinks about how Genichiro Ashina also beheaded himself… he couldn’t possibly be in this world could he? Sekiro left all attachments in the other world when he decided he wanted to end his life for Kuro, but now he’s back alive and uncertain. Could there have been a way to end the blood lineage without his death? He looks over at Owl, who seems to also be awake. Sekiro’s eyes glow in the darkness as he makes eye contact with Owl. Owl is silent for a moment before asking
“What’s up with that?”
“What’s up with what?”
Sekiro turns his head to look upwards at the wooden roof of the cabin they’re in. A natural at gaslighting.
“…” the old man clear his throat, rolling over. Certain that Sekiro is the ghost of his late son, maybe- just maybe. Sekiro closes his eyes, sleeping well for once under a warm blanket.
…..
Day time comes and the light peaking in shines directly at Sekiro’s eyes. He sits up, the warmth still feeling unreal to him. The clock reads 5 in the morning and although short, it was the best sleep he’d had in awhile. The Old Man was nowhere in sight once again as Sekiro stood from the bed, shoving the fur blankets off himself with one arm. Not as woozy as the day before, his strength was slowly recovering.
His hair was still braided, although a little frizzy, but he was contempt with it. He pulled himself through the little cabin the Owl look-alike resided in, the robe dragging along the floor. He peaked out the window near the bed, noticing the building was in an area higher on the mountain he first woke up in.
This cabin sat with two bedrooms, a kitchen, and two bathrooms with a living room area. In the kitchen, a high table and two stools sat comfortably. One was higher than the other, it would fit Sekiro… He walks past the kitchen, a living room with a small couch and low coffee table, rather dusty, unused. The smaller sofa, made of a light green leather, not nearly as dusty. He turns to see a small frame face down on the coffee table- lifting it to see portrait of Owl with a version of himself that was more kept in a uniform, taller, with a prosthetic arm made of metal, rather than wood and bone like his older more familiar version.
Neither of them were smiling in the photo.
A strange sight, to see himself in such a tiny yet accurate painting, this was all still unfamiliar to him of course. The Owl walks in from the other room holding fabrics, and he slams the door behind him causing Sekiro to turn abruptly. He places the portrait back, face down and Owl approaches him.
“These… belonged to my son.”
He presents some clothing that are about Sekiro’s size, only a little larger- A worn grey sweatshirt, a green puffy vest, worn dark blue jeans, thick socks and hiking boots. Sekiro tried to shoes on, only to find them a but uncomfortable, as they squeezed his feet and toes close together. He held the pants in front of himself, they were slightly too long for him. In this world, perhaps his look alike was able to grow more, with having more to eat as a child. Owl must be quite wealthy if he can afford all these luxuries he felt. Even if they were what one would call normal.
“We’re going to the town later, I thought I’d ask you some things.”
The owl took a seat on the couch, a small plume of dust flying up. He gestures for Sekiro to take a seat, and so he does, on the green leather sofa. The owl brushed his beard, before breaking eye contact and looking over at the portrait.
“Do you… know who I am?”
His voice breaking a little. Sekiro was unsure of how to answer, so he answered honestly.
“You look like my father…”
he furrowed his eyebrows.
“But I’m not your father, am I?”
Sekiro shook his head. This Owl noticed how strange this all was, lowered his head. He brushed his hand through his beard again, furrowing one brow.
“You look and behave just like him, it’s a strange thing…”
The Owl leans forward in his seat, reflecting.
“Well then, I suppose you should get dressed though, Emma is not too far off from here.”
He said in a rough voice. He points to the room he’d walked out of prior to their conversation. Sekiro stands up and enters the room, empty except for a bed frame and dresser. Such foreign clothing, he quickly grasped the zipper function, but struggled to latch and zip it, leaving it open. As he finished Ms. Emma was there to pick them up in her car.
“Good morning Mr. Uzui!” Emma called out from inside the car, shiny black, seemed brand new.
“Of course you have to pick us up in style, move over and I’ll drive.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Uzui,”
Emma chuckled. She was far more elated than the Emma Sekiro used to know. Sekiro makes his way outside to inspect the vehicle. He touches its smooth reflective paint, and the scent of gasoline fills his senses.
“Sekiro, good morning!” She greeted him. Sekiro nods his head in response,
“Good morning,,” he grunted
She chuckled, while they waited for Owl who retrieved a long black case from the room the two slept in. Owl getting in the front seat, the car leaned with his weight. Sekiro boarded the back seat, looking out the window and taking in the new view with awe, though he didn’t show it.
They were making their way to her employer’s estate, a wealthy old man whom she was tasked with taking care of. Ms. Emma seemed to enjoy her job. A quiet car ride, they arrive to the estate which was quite large homing a garden in the front surrounded by walls. The kanji on the front gate reading Ashina.
…
They exit the vehicle. Owl slinging the bag over his shoulder he slams the car door shut. Emma said she’d introduce Sekiro to Mr.Ashina, who ran this dojo out of his home teaching swordplay even in his old age. She hurried inside checking her watch, leaving Owl and Sekiro standing outside the car.
“Well then, seems the old man hasn’t passed yet.”
Owl chuckled, Sekiro turned towards Owl when something out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He shoots his head in the direction, the person disappearing from behind the wall, little footsteps growing more distant.
Owl begins to walk into the Estate, Sekiro following close behind disregarding the curious person. Looking around, he was able to find similarities between the Estate and the much larger one back in Ashina: vases, random armor standing upright against the paper walls, and plumes of pink, rose scented smoke hanging from the roofing outside the building.
He looked up making sure there were no kites in the sky.
Sekiro and Owl make there way through the naturally lit halls of the Ashina Estate, when his ears are drawn to the sound of a swinging blade. The way metal cuts air has a distinct taste that left Sekiro wanting more. He looks to Owl before running off on his own, Owl paying no mind
“as eager as ever, little wolf…” he mumbled, sharply exhaling out of his nose and smiling to himself.
Sekiro followed the sound of the blades, to find a large dojo with one extremely tall man with familiar black markings running along his face and arms. Sekiro’s eye’s widen, as the man turns to greet him.
Only then do the man’s eyes seethe with confusion, anger, and then rage. He suddenly, begins a sprint towards Sekiro, blood lust in his eyes. Sekiro quickly rolls out of the way, the man putting a hole in the sliding door and basically pulling it off it’s frame. It falls to the floor with a clamorous thud and the large man takes a step forward, his blade planted in his direction. Sekiro quickly grabs a sword from one of the stands around the room. He holds it still and motionless with one hand, his energy may have decreased a bit, but his strength hadn’t deteriorated one bit. He smirked a little at this.
“Shinobi of the divine heir… to think I’d catch you lurking here..” the man uttered with a deep growl in his throat.
“Genichiro Ashina…” Sekiro responds. The man he’d fought on several occasions. They waltz around the room, on their guards keeping their distance from one another.
“I think it’s time we finished what we started,”
Genichiro furrowed his brow, rushing towards him. A flurry of attacks, Sekiro parry’s each thrust with timed precision. Genichiro being the person who stabbed Kuro, Sekiro felt a surge of desire to fight again, a fire lit in his eye. They exchange blows, each other’s blade ricocheting off of the other, forming sparks in the air. This caught the attention of other students who happened to be in the building. A group of teenagers and grown men flocking around the broken door to watch these two men spar, even though they were fully intent on murdering each other.
Genichiro thrusts his sword towards Sekiro, who stops it with a forceful stomp into the wooden floor. Caught in his grip, he instinctively swings his blade at Genichiro’s head. The larger man’s eyes widen as the blade swings at his cheek-
Thwack!
“!!”
Sekiro grunts, realizing the blade isn’t sharpened.
He falters in his shock and Ashina quickly thrusts his arm forwards, and grabs him by the neck, lifting him an inch off the floor with pure strength. Sekiro squeezes at his wrist with all his power, looking him dead in the eye furrowed brows- angry, trying to get air into his lungs, wheezing at his defeat.
“You have no right to be angry!”
Genichiro yelled, scowling. The students realized this fight may be more serious than they thought and some go to call for help.
“I lost so much to you… I lost her!!”
His grip loosened as his eyes watered, Sekiro kicks him in the side with strength hard enough to shatter bone, that being the case only if Genichiro were a normal person.
He drops Sekiro to the floor, who then rolls out of the way, catching his breath, hacking in a ball on the floor. Genichiro grips his side, breathing heavily.
“I lost Ashina, because of you…”
he kneels down to pick up his blade, and approaches Sekiro intent on hitting him at least once, when he sees the scar on his neck,
“you…”
Just as he is about to speak, someone approaches to smack him hard up side the head. His shoulder length hair whooshes in the air as the loud thud of palm to skull reverbs off the walls. The students watch on from behind the door.
“What are you doing?!”
Genichiro turns in shock, but instantly lowers his head at the sight of an angry Emma. Sekiro wipes his mouth to turn and see a group of people and Genichiro being chewed out by an angered Emma; along with an all to familiar child.
Sekiro’s eyes widen.
“Sir, Kuro!”
Sekiro shouts without thinking. The teenagers and grown men move out of the way to reveal a Kuro standing still and silent. He stood with that air of nobility to him, much like he did in the past. Glowing though lacking those white strips of hair. Emma looks at Sekiro in shock, while Genichiro could only stare in disdain.
“How do you…”
Emma uttered before being cut off by a glaring Genichiro.
“Come with me, Shinobi. I’m not done with you.”
He commanded with a stern voice. Everyone stood silent and confused, Genichiro and Sekiro death glaring one another, Emma standing uncomfortably between them.
Genichiro places his sword in one of the kids hands who happily accepts it. The two maintain eye contact as Sekiro follows him outside the dojo- turning a corner as he manages one last look at Kuro, a glimmer of relief in his eyes that at least the divine heir is alive and well in this world.
He turned around, following at a distanced pace behind his rival. The man’s back was as large as ever; rippling with muscle and sweat from their match, he was truly dedicated to the craft of swordsmanship even in another world. Though he seemed to remember more than what a doppelgänger should. Certainly he was… Sekiro’s thoughts were cut short as Genichiro began to speak
“The wound on your neck… how did you get it, Shinobi?”
Sekiro wraps a clammy palm around his throat,
“I did it myself.”
Genichiro turns around, slamming his hand into the wall next to Sekiro’s head. Sekiro stood firm as Genichiro shoves his scowling face in front of his, a game of intimidation.
“What, did you have to lose that made you want to kill yourself, huh?” His anger felt undirected,
“Lose?… It was for a greater cause.” Genichiro stares him dead in the eye, Sekiro notices they no longer twinge with the passionate red they once did.
“A greater cause, heh?”
“To sever the ties of immortality… for The Divine Heir.”
Genichiro’s eye twitched, then looking over his shoulder he sees Kuro standing tall. He’d grown since Sekiro last saw him.
“Genichiro… is he the one you told me about?”
Kuro asked. Sekiro looked up at Genichiro, and back at Kuro. What exactly had he told him? Genichiro pulled off of Sekiro, a visible dent in the wallpaper where his hand used to be. Genichiro looks downward with a clenched fist at his side, one hand slicking his hair back in stress.
“I know it was in the past and its something I can’t help… if only id been given a chance… it might’ve been prevented..”
in a slur of random incomprehensible mumbles he turned around and continued down the hall they were walking down, turning another corner, disappearing. Sekiro did not turn to watch him leave, he simply leaned against the wall, staring at his socks.
“I’m Kuro, what’s your name?”
The boy asked, innocently. Sekiro turned towards him, unconsciously getting on one knee, surprising the boy.
“Wolf..”
Sekiro spoke without thinking, introducing himself formerly.
“Well, Mr. Wolf, I’m sorry I don’t recall ever meeting you before…”
Sekiro looks down, of course this wasn’t the Divine Heir he knew and protected, but he was still glad to see he was okay, nonetheless. Kuro continues
“But, Genichiro tells me a lot about how ‘The Shinobi’ and ‘The Divine Heir’ knew each other in the past. Though I don’t think he was ever expecting to see you again…”
“So, he’s talked about me…”
“Genichiro says when he.. slit his own throat… he woke up in his bed in this Estate. He was very confused… was that how it was for you?”
Sekiro shook his head,
“I woke up in the forest,”
“Was that… also after you slit your own throat?”
Kuro asks, pointing at his own neck while looking at Sekiro’s self inflicted scar. Sekiro touches his throat, hands cold compared to his body.
“Oh.. I’m sorry if that offended you, you don’t have to answer that..”
“No, you’re correct.”
He replied directly. He had nothing to hide.
“Oh, I see…”
Emma approaches from behind Kuro,
“You don’t have to answer all his questions, Mr. Sekiro..”
She places a hand on Kuro‘s shoulder,
“now get back to training, I’m sure you’ll have fun with the other boys your age.”
She smiled, Kuro nods in agreement, looking to Sekiro, waving and smiling sweetly before running off. Ms. Emma watches him leave before turning to Sekiro with a concerned look. She motions with her hand to follow her, and Sekiro heads her command.
Ms. Emma leads Sekiro into a room with a slender elderly man sitting with a drink in hand, and three empty pillows for sitting. One for Emma, Owl, Sekiro and another one possibly for Genichiro- who was nowhere to be found. Sekiro took a seat next to Owl.
“Have fun, boy?”
Owl asked, chuckling looking forward. Sekiro looked up at the slender old man who sat in front of them. He donned a scar around the anterior portion of his neck that wrapped around stopping just at the front where his Adam’s apple sat.
“Sekiro, it seems we’ve crossed paths yet again.” The old man laughed- taking a sip from his cup. Sekiro sat with a determined expression.
“Hello again, Lord Isshin.”