The fire crackled under the twilight sky as Takemaru looked upon his children. The years had been kind to the Shōten their valley prospered, their name was spoken with both awe and reverence. But Takemaru knew that peace was fragile, a flame in the wind.
He turned his gaze to his heirs: Raiden, tall and calm, the eldest son who carried the weight of responsibility with quiet dignity. Beside him sat Hana, serene and gentle, her touch often sought by villagers for its healing comfort. Miyu leaned against a rock, eyes sharp with restless ambition, her spirit blazing as though fire itself flowed in her blood. And finally, little Daichi, still growing into his strength, watched his siblings with eager admiration.
They were not ordinary children. Each carried about seventy percent of Takemaru's Kryptonian essence able to leap across ravines, bend steel with their hands, and endure wounds that would cripple any warrior. Yet Takemaru had seen how raw, untamed strength could destroy as easily as it could protect.
He rose to his feet.
"Tonight," Takemaru began, his voice steady and commanding, "the Shōten cease to be only my blood. From this day, we are a clan. Not rulers, not conquerors but guardians of this land."
The gathered kin stirred, whispers weaving through the crowd.
Raiden's deep voice broke the silence. "Father, then we are to stand as the world's shield?"
Takemaru nodded. "Yes. We wield power few can imagine. But power used for dominion becomes tyranny. We must be restraint. We must be justice."
Miyu frowned, arms crossed. "But why should we not end the wars ourselves? Why let men fight and suffer when we could stop it with one strike?"
Takemaru's gaze softened, though his words were firm. "Because Miyu, to force peace is still tyranny. The world must walk its own path. We stand not above it, but alongside it."
Hana's quiet voice carried into the circle. "Then let us be the hand that catches the falling, not the chain that binds the free."
Daichi, his young voice earnest, raised his hand to echo her. "I want to protect too, Father!"
A rare smile touched Takemaru's lips. He drew his iron blade a symbol more than a weapon and planted it into the earth.
"This is the First Oath of the Shōten Clan: We do not rule. We do not conquer. We protect. We guard. We are shields of the innocent, and blades against the destroyer. So long as even one heart believes in peace, the Shōten shall endure."
One by one, his children and kin placed their hands to their hearts, voices uniting as the oath bound them together. That night, the Shōten were no longer a family they were guardians, their name destined to echo across history.
The Trials of Recognition
Word of the Shōten oath spread quickly. Many villages welcomed them, grateful for protectors who asked for no tribute. But not all were convinced.
Renga, a warlord chief, sneered at the clan. "Guardians? Police? No… watchers, jailers."
Takemaru challenged Renga's strongest warrior and defeated him without a single killing blow. Instead, he returned the man's blade and spoke, "Strength is not tyranny. Abuse of strength is."
From that moment, fear gave way to respect. The Shōten became arbiters of disputes, summoned when clans threatened war.
The Strain of Power
Yet inside the Shōten household, struggles flared.
Raiden, despite his calm, feared his own fists. Once, sparring with Kaien from another tribe, he shattered a tree instead of the wooden staff he aimed for.
Hana discovered that her strength, mixed with delicate chakra control, could heal as well as harm — but every attempt drained her dangerously.
Miyu, impatient and fiery, often pushed too far in training. Her mistakes cracked stone walls, and once, nearly killed a horse.
Daichi, though young, sometimes frightened himself when his laughter-fueled leaps sent him sailing over rooftops.
Takemaru drilled them mercilessly. "Power without control is destruction. You are not beasts. You are Shōten."
The Balance of Blood
Generations passed slowly within the clan. While other families multiplied, the Shōten remained few. Their lifespans stretched beyond two centuries, but children were rare sometimes only one born in an entire generation.
This curse, or gift, preserved the balance. They would never flood the world with Kryptonian blood. They would always be scarce, and always respected.
Thus, they were not an army. They were a watchtower.
On a cliff overlooking their valley, Takemaru stood with Raiden, Hana, Miyu, and Daichi. The villages below thrived, untroubled by raiders. Smoke curled from hearths, not from war.
Raiden spoke softly. "Father… perhaps this oath is the beginning of a new age."
Takemaru placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "No. It is the beginning of a duty. The world will test us. And we must never falter."
The wind carried his words across the horizon. The Shōten Clan's vow had been forged a beacon of strength, honor, and restraint.