"Huuuuuu... all of this is truly exhausting," Fujiwara no Arikuni exhaled, his breath hitching as he watched the cattle move through the tall grass. "All we do is sacrifice. I've lost count of how many heads of cattle we have offered up this month alone."
He stood at the edge of the enclosure, one by one, counting the beasts. To the world, the Fujiwara were masters of the Capital, but here on the family estates, Arikuni could see the literal wealth of his lineage dwindling into nothing thought still much more than any other clan. They could always extract more coin from the peasants, but it took years for cattle to grow.
"The elders of our clan are fools," he spat, his eyes narrowing. "They serve a master they have never even seen. Surely, after all this time, they should have abandoned these delusions of immortality. It is their fear of death that will be the death of this family."
"Arikuni-sama! What are you doing here?" a small, frantic voice broke his reverie.
A young servant girl rushed toward him, her hands trembling as she grabbed at his sleeve. "A man of your stature... You shouldn't dirty yourself with the filth of the fields!"
Arikuni didn't resist, but his gaze remained cold as he allowed her to pull him away. "Who sent her this time?" he wondered silently. "Was it Sukemichi? No, he is in the royal palace for now"
As they walked back toward the main compound, the weight of the clan's politics felt heavier than it usually did. "The only way to save the lineage and myself is to seize control over the family. But Sukemichi has been watching him with a hawk's intensity lately. Any move toward the leadership will lead to my death. I have to build my reputation more before I try to confront him." This thought shuffled in his head.
They reached the inner gates of the compound. As Arikuni moved through the polished wooden corridors, the atmosphere shifted instantly from the muddy fields to a suffocating silence.
Servants dropped to their knees the moment his shadow touched them. They didn't dare look him in the eye.
"Arikuni-sama..." they murmured in a rhythmic, terrified chorus, their foreheads pressed against the cool wood of the floorboards.
Arikuni ignored them all.
"Look at them all," Arikuni mused, his eyes sweeping over the rows of servants pressed against the floorboards. "They bow to show respect, but there is not an ounce of loyalty among them. I suppose that is human nature; loyalty only takes root where there is a benefit to be harvested."
"Arikuni Fujiwara."
The voice was cold and perfectly modulated. Arikuni turned to find his brother, Fujiwara no Sukemichi, approaching. Sukemichi was draped in heavy Imperial robes, the stiff silk rustling with a sharp, rhythmic sound. A few paces behind him, a young scholar-retainer walked with his head bowed, a living shadow to Sukemichi's authority.
"Shichōja-sama is calling for you," Sukemichi stated. His face was a bland mask; neither a smile nor a frown touched his features. It was a masterpiece of imperial stoicism.
"Mmmm... he said Shichōja-sama," Arikuni noted, his pulse quickening. "This is an official summons. Not a father calling a son, why did he warn me though, I will have to be careful."
Arikuni handed his book to the trembling servant girl and followed his brother toward the southern end of the compound.
The Patriarch's quarters stood isolated in the south, a building of dark wood and white screens that seemed to radiate a silent, oppressive power. Guarding the entrance were two massive Komainu sculptures, their jade eyes catching the dim light.
Sukemichi stopped at the base of the stairs, refusing to go further.
"Prepare yourself," Sukemichi said, looking not at his brother, but at the closed doors ahead. "And do not make a fool of yourself. As your elder brother, this is the only advice I will give you."
Arikuni remained silent, but his mind was racing. "What is he talking about? Not to make a fool of myself? No matter how much I think about it, I cannot understand why Father would summon me so abruptly. There are no guests expected... nothing that warrants a formal audience."
The air near the Patriarch's door felt different, thicker, colder, and smelling of incense and old parchment.
Sukemichi stepped aside, his Imperial robes casting a long shadow across the threshold.
"I have to face this either way."
Arikuni took a deep breath, adjusted his sleeves to hide the tremor in his fingers, and stepped toward the sliding screen.
The shoji screen flung open. Without lifting his gaze, Arikuni dropped to one knee, his forehead nearly touching the polished wood of the veranda.
"Fujiwara no Arikuni greets the Shichōja," he announced, his voice steady despite the prickling of his skin.
"Come in."
A voice boomed, vibrating the floorboards beneath Arikuni's knee. He stood, then stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him. Though the sun was at its zenith outside, the interior of the Patriarch's quarters was as black as a moonless midnight.
As the latch clicked, a wave of pure dread swallowed him.
"The autumn wind stirs the leaves..."
The voice boomed again, echoing from every corner of the room simultaneously. Arikuni squinted, his vision swimming in the void. His instinct screamed at him to flare his Reiryoku to burn away the shadows, but he suppressed the urge with a wrenching effort. To use power here would be an admission of fear.
"...scattering them across the garden path, as fleeting as our meeting beneath the moon," Arikuni answered, completing the verse with the precision of a scholar.
Immediately, a narrow path of soft, ethereal light ignited on the floor before him. He stepped forward, the darkness pressing against the edges of the glow.
He had only taken a few paces when the air grew colder, smelling of damp earth and iron.
"The enemy waits beyond the mountain pass..." the voice challenged, the tone now sharp as a whetstone.
Arikuni did not hesitate this time he corrected his frame and his own voice boomed. "...yet the autumn mist conceals our movement, and with dawn we strike from shadowed paths."
Again, the path of light extended, carving a way deeper into the heart of the Patriarch's sanctum. Arikuni followed, each step was a commitment. He did not yet realise it, but was being initiated into a conversation that most Fujiwara would never live to hear.