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Takeru would often dream of the flames.
It was one of his earliest memories. The quick planning, and coming up with a way to protect the Shiba heir.
You are Shinken Red now, his father’s body littered with arrows, bloody and pained, and Takeru—
He understood, and yet not, what was expected of him. He just knew that his life as he knew it was about to end.
It did not matter who he was anymore, because he was no one, who had to pretend to be someone.
So he’d dream of the flames a lot, because that’s when things broke.
Even when they met the former Shinkengers, the previous generation, nobody would have remembered who Takeru was, or that he may have been a bit too old. The heirs were often more hidden, after all. Keep them out of trouble.
Nobody quite knew when was the Shiba heir born.
Such an easy deception, is it not?
The fires were always there in his dreams, and at first, it was usually just memories, warped and destructive, and then it twisted. Usually into finding Hikoma right there, lying in the middle of the house, dead like Takeru’s father had been - and a lot of kuroko, their bodies everywhere, still doing their duties till the end.
As they would - as they all would.
Now, things were getting—
He did not expect he’d have to call in the Shinkengers. He hoped he alone would have been enough to stand his ground, to hold the frontline, until—
Until the true heir would take her rightful place, and if she or her own descendant needed, they would call in their Shinkengers.
But now, here they were.
The house that was once mostly quiet - as Takeru would practice and train all day long, and Hikoma would try his best to be there and help him. And the kuroko, their footsteps silent, but ever-present, so it still felt so quiet through the years when Takeru was growing up.
Now— now it was the opposite of quiet.
Even when it was just his first four vassals there, they quickly filled in the silence of the Shiba house. Their footsteps were noisier, they talked loud, they bickered, they argued, they laughed.
Their swords clashing, their mojikara exploding, and just their voices, and Takeru thought this would have been weird and hard to get used to, and yet—
And yet, he got used to it way too quickly.
And it made his nightmares different.
The fire was still there. Fire consuming the Shiba house, dead kuroko, and—
And the further he went into the house, he’d find their dead bodies.
One by one.
Chiaki at first, at the entrance, body broken, and he still grinned at Takeru.
“Look at you. I was here first. Isn’t that me finally beating you?”
Kotoha was found next, around more kuroko, and she coughed up blood.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I should have been stronger. I have disappointed you.”
Mako was propped up against a wall, with a small smile on her lips.
“This is what we were supposed to do, right? Takeru? We do our duty.”
All of this was wrong.
Genta and Ryuunosuke in the main room, and Genta wasn’t even moving anymore, and Ryuunosuke’s eyes were empty, glazed over, looking at Genta.
“He came here to help you, and where were you, Lord? Wasn’t your job to be here?”
Takeru couldn’t say anything, under Ryuunosuke’s pained glare as he focused his eyes on him.
And just as always, just as before, the dream ended with the flames still raging on, but not touching Takeru.
He was not allowed to die.
He opened his eyes without a word, staring at the ceiling, only feeling his heartbeat in his chest.
Just take a deep breath.
It was a dream.
(But wouldn’t they do it regardless?)
He would wait in the bed for a few hours - the house was indeed silent at these late hours, everyone being awake, hidden behind the wards that kept all of them safe, giving no need for anyone keeping guard.
He just lay there, quiet.
In a few hours, the kuroko’s and Jii’s quiet footsteps would start moving. He might as well get up when that happens as well, just to get in some training before breakfast.
He had to be—
His job was to be a wall, a shadow. Someone to stand tall, to be strong, so he can play his role.
And for that, he needed to be sure his nightmare would never come real.
So he’d train outside, and not think about them inside - because what could he even do?
His shadow had to hide the true Shiba head, and also— also it was to protect what even he could.
They would also join him in the training, even if Chiaki was grumbling, and Ryuunosuke cheerfully would say great idea, breakfast will feel better after training, and Genta would ask hey do we have to do this, and then Mako would tease him over well you wanted to join, and Kotoha mostly quietly would join in, and then all of them would be just…
There.
And maybe they won’t even have to go out and fight that day.
And when they did, everything would be fine. Why wouldn’t they be?
His team were—
…
No, they weren’t his team.
They were not his team.
This was something that he had to keep reminding himself of.
Until–
Up until—
Until that day in the forest, on the ground, and telling him we are following you.
Why would they do that? He was nothing more than a shadow who sometimes allowed himself to believe.
And yet, they picked the shadow.
They picked the shadow, even if Genta wasn’t there in the forest, he always picked him, because that was why he was here, and the other four as well, just—
They all picked him.
I want—
He couldn’t finish the sentence, there in the forest, on his knees, but he didn’t have to. He had a feeling all of them, all of his team already knew.