The wind scraped across the cliffs—slow, patient. It moved through the grass like fingers through old hair, brushing past weeds that clung to the stone as if they were still hoping it meant something to stay.
A boy stood there, once a golden child, now a disgrace to the 4 kingdoms. He was older now, but still him, somehow. His hair became messy hair his eyes didn't chase anything, just held.
He didn't move when the footsteps came.
They weren't urgent. They weren't loud. Just steady, like someone who knew they wouldn't be turned away.
The old man's cane clicked against the rocks, but it was more a rhythm than support. His cloak was frayed near the bottom. Dust lined the fold of his hood. Still, he didn't look tired.
"You're hard to find," he said, voice low.
"I wasn't hiding."
A soft smile touched the man's face. "The Yamato Kingdom thought you disappeared."
Izumi didn't answer. Just… looked. Not at the man. Not at anything in particular.
The old man stepped up beside him. They watched the same sky, the same stretch of dead stone and stubborn green.
"Izumi Virasat," he said. "Do you still go by that?"
A pause.
"..."
"…So, dropped the name?"
"It wasn't mine to keep."
The wind ruffled his hair.
"Your grandfather," the man said, gently, "he wore that name like armour. It meant something to him. Everything, really."
Izumi didn't blink. Didn't speak.
"When he died, your father became head of the family and ex—"
"Exiled me," Izumi said. Flat. Not bitter. Just a fact.
"Yeah," the man replied, after a breath. "You were nine. Still remember your eyes that day."
"You're late."
"Seven years too late."
There was the hint of a smile at the corner of Izumi's mouth, but it didn't stay.
The man reached into his robe. Pulled out a scroll, sealed in wax—seven-pointed star pressed into the red.
"There's a village. Edge of the Yamato forests. Quiet place. Simple people."
Izumi didn't turn.
"The Cult of Omnir's been sniffing around. There's a child, your age. Marked. Not awakened yet."
Still nothing.
"If they get to her first…"
"They'll twist her," Izumi said. "Make her dissonant."
The scroll passed into his hand like it was always meant to.
"No one's asking you to be a hero," the man said. "But someone who's touched Sin… someone who didn't break—he might listen to that."
Izumi nodded. Once.
The man turned. Walked a few steps, then stopped.
"…Haruki," he said softly. "He would've been proud."
Izumi said nothing.
He stayed there a little longer, until the wind stopped scraping and started carrying.
Then, slow and quiet, he turned.
And walked—toward the woods. Toward the spark.