The morning sun rose slowly over the horizon, its warmth bathing the grasslands in gold. Takemaru sat cross-legged atop a smooth boulder near the edge of the tribe's camp. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the warmth of the sunlight seep into him.
Each breath filled his body with vigor, a vitality no mortal man could truly comprehend. His senses stretched outward, catching faint details: the rustle of leaves as a hare darted through the underbrush; the low growl of a distant predator stalking; the measured breathing of the tribesmen still asleep in their crude huts.
Every day, it grows stronger, he thought. This energy, this power inside me—it's like the sun itself is carving me anew.
When he opened his eyes, the camp was stirring. Men and women emerged from their shelters, yawning, stretching, preparing for the day. Children scampered about, their laughter a fragile sound in such a harsh world.
Takemaru rose from the boulder and walked toward the center of the camp, where the scarred leader—Korin—was already giving orders.
"Takemaru," Korin greeted, his tone gruff but not unfriendly. "We hunt today. Meat is low."
Takemaru nodded. "I'll join you."
Korin raised an eyebrow. "You've proven strong, stranger, but the hunt is no game. A wounded stag can gore a man as easily as a wolf."
A faint smile tugged at Takemaru's lips. "Then it's a good thing I'm not an ordinary man."
Korin studied him for a long moment, then smirked. "So you keep claiming."
The Hunt
The hunting party left at dawn. Korin, three seasoned hunters, and Takemaru moved silently through the forest. The undergrowth crackled underfoot, but they moved with practiced grace.
Hours passed before they found their quarry: a massive stag grazing in a clearing. Its antlers stretched like branches, each tipped with jagged points.
Korin gestured, and the hunters began to flank. But the stag's ears twitched it bolted with startling speed.
"After it!" Korin barked.
The hunters sprinted, but Takemaru surged ahead with unnatural speed. Trees blurred past him as he gave chase, his body responding effortlessly. He lunged, tackling the stag by its hind leg. The beast thrashed wildly, antlers slicing at the air. Takemaru wrestled it down, his grip like iron, until finally the creature stilled.
When the hunters arrived, breathless and wide-eyed, Korin simply stared.
"You caught it… with your bare hands."
Takemaru stood, blood staining his arm but not his expression. "Food is food. What matters is that your people eat tonight."
The hunters exchanged murmurs, their gazes shifting with something new—respect, and perhaps a trace of fear.
Around the Fire
That night, the tribe feasted. The stag's meat was divided among families, and for the first time in weeks, children laughed with full bellies.
Takemaru sat near the fire, chewing quietly. Korin approached, crouching beside him.
"You speak often of this… clan," Korin said. "Something greater than tribes and raids. Something that lasts. Do you truly believe it possible?"
Takemaru's gaze flickered over the people men with scars, women weary from toil, children too thin from hunger. He set down his plate.
"I do. Because what we live now is no life. Tribes wander, fight, die, and are forgotten. But a clan… a clan builds. It grows. It protects its own and passes its strength to the next generation. It leaves a legacy."
Korin frowned. "And what of enemies? Rival tribes will not let such a thing rise easily. The world itself resists change."
Takemaru's eyes hardened. "Then we'll be strong enough to withstand them."
Something in his tone calm, absolute made Korin fall silent. Finally, the scarred leader chuckled.
"You are mad, Takemaru. But perhaps… madness is what we need."
The Test
Two weeks later, the first test of Takemaru's vision came.
A rival tribe descended at dawn dozens of warriors painted in red clay, their war cries echoing as they stormed the camp. Chaos erupted as huts burned and women screamed.
Korin rallied his men, but they were outnumbered. Spears clashed, bodies fell. Blood soaked the ground.
Takemaru stepped into the fray. His heart pounded, not with fear, but with something else resolve.
A warrior charged him, spear raised. Takemaru caught the shaft mid-thrust, snapped it like a twig, and struck the man across the chest. The warrior flew backward as if struck by a battering ram, crashing through a burning hut.
Another came from behind. Takemaru pivoted, fist slamming into the attacker's jaw with a crack that echoed across the battlefield. The man crumpled instantly.
The tribesmen stopped, eyes wide. Takemaru moved like a storm, his blows heavy, precise. He was not yet invincible cuts marked his arms, blood stung his skin but each wound closed faster than it should. Each strike carried more strength than any human could muster.
By the time the sun crested the horizon, the enemy tribe was broken. Survivors fled into the wilderness, leaving the camp battered but alive.
The tribe stared at Takemaru, fear and awe mingling in their gazes. Korin approached, his voice low.
"You are no ordinary man. What are you?"
Takemaru met his gaze steadily.
"A builder," he said. "And today is the first stone."
The First Oath
That night, after the dead were buried and the wounded tended, Takemaru gathered the survivors around the fire. His body ached, but his spirit burned bright.
"We cannot live as prey anymore," he told them. "We must become more. Today, we fought not as scattered hunters, but as one. And together, we endured."
He looked around the circle at Korin, at the hunters, at the women and children who had held their ground despite terror.
"So I ask you: will you follow me? Not as a wanderer, not as a stranger, but as kin. As the first of a clan that will outlive war, famine, and time itself."
Silence hung heavy. Then Korin stepped forward, his scarred face grim but resolute.
"I have lived many winters," Korin said. "I have seen tribes rise and fall. But today… I saw something different. Something worth following. If you will lead, Takemaru, then I will be the first to kneel."
And he did, bowing his head.
One by one, others followed. Men. Women. Even children mimicked their parents, bowing their small heads.
Takemaru's chest tightened. For the first time since his rebirth, he felt it not just survival, not just power, but purpose.
The first oath of loyalty was spoken that night.
The seed of the Shōten Clan was planted.
A Glimpse of Immortality
Later, when the camp had quieted, Takemaru sat alone under the stars. His wounds were already fading, his strength returning faster than it should. He knew what it meant.
He would not wither like others. He would not die so easily. His blood, his power, his very cells denied the chains of mortality.
Immortality was his burden, but also his gift.
He clenched his fist and looked toward the horizon, where the faint glow of distant fires marked the presence of other tribes.
"This world doesn't know it yet," he whispered, "but I will change it. Not today, not tomorrow… but in time. This clan will endure long after the names of gods and kings are forgotten."
The wind carried his words away, but the stars seemed to listen.
And so began the rise of an immortal king, hidden in the dawn of history.