✧ Shotoku's Promise

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Shotoku sat alone in his office, going through his papers of study and thoughts. The night was silent, all except for the shuffling of the papers, his breaths, and in the other room, his son sleeping soundly. With every other verse he read, he’d look to his side, unnervingly eyeing his katana against the wall. Even after years of not having to use it, the blade never dull or collected dust. After all those years, it still gleamed brightly; he could still see his reflection in its sheen, as if it were taunting him. Shotoku absolutely hated looking at it, but it felt wrong not to. After all those years, it seemed the urge to kill never left him.

He felt disgust, shame, even. Why did it have to be this way?

Laying back in his chair, he sighed crossly. His gaze wandering on his blade, or perhaps something else silently calling him forth.

Why? Why do you continue to tempt me?

A familiar anger welled up from inside of him like boiling water; an emotion he knew all too well, but before he could crack into flames, another familiar presence came upon him.

“You promised you’d come early…”

Shotoku turned to his son, breaking his contact from the blade immediately as he was brought back to his bliss. The young boy was rubbing his eyes, reminiscing of sleep. The sight tugged at Shotoku’s heart strings like he was being played with.

It’d been hours since Shotoku had promised he’d be with his son, and there he was, reminiscing of his old ways! Had he not already had enough in his life to think of such?

“Ashitaka,” he gasped. “What are you doing awake?”

Ashitaka quietly mumbled to himself as he continued to rub the sleep off of his eyes, tugging at Shotoku’s kimono.

“I’m cold,” he said. “Dad, come on...”

Shotoku bit his tongue before he could make any more excuses, because why would he? He took his son’s hand in his own, and stood up from his chair, leaving the papers he was just reading scattered across his desk and…his sword to the side.

Never leaving his uneasy gaze. It had eyes of its own.

He took a deep breath to clear his thoughts, trying to keep his mind off of it entirely. “...Of...of course,” he sighed. I will not make you wait any longer. Let’s go.”

He held Ashitaka’s hand firmly as they both headed to their shared room. In one big futon, both father and son huddled up beside each other, careful not to separate by even an inch. As soon as he had been awake, Ashitaka had fallen asleep, comforted by Shotoku’s presence.

Shotoku’s breathing turned slow, and he closed his eyes, but despite this, he lay in unnerving wake. It was dark in his vision.

In his sleep, the sights were more certain. The taste of the air was crisp, and his paranoia heightened.

The night was unbearably loud with rain and thunder; it was no surprise Ashitaka couldn’t sleep. The only songs came from the rustling of the leaves against the wind whispering; calling Shotoku to the home he knew.

“Shotoku, the moon rises. Seek forth,” they said. “Find destiny.”

The night was drenched with cold sweat as he struggled to sleep. He tossed and turned, unable to keep the violence out of his mind: the urge to hunger, to eat. The stars (?) called, but how longer would he deny them?

For Shotoku, the answer was straightforward.

Never!

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