Title: Duty
Author: jordannamorgan
Fandom: Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress
Characters: Young Kurusu and his father.
Setting: General.
Rating: G.
Length: 2,115 words.
Summary: Kurusu learned his duty from an early age.
Notes: Also written for "The Early Hours Before Dawn" at @genprompt_bingo.





On a summer night when Kurusu was six years old, his father gently awakened him before the dawn.

“Come with me, son. There’s something I want you to see before the sun rises.”

The tall, strong bushi’s voice was very grave. Puzzled but too well-raised to question, Kurusu rose and dressed, and quietly followed him from their family quarters on the estate of their master Lord Yomogawa. But for crickets singing in the garden and the bark of a distant dog, Aragane Station was night-silent all around.

A horse stood waiting in the courtyard. Father set Kurusu on the saddle and mounted behind him, and they set off to the east at a quick but steady pace.

Down through the sleeping streets of the town they traveled, and then out along the roads between farmers’ fields, above which drifted the tiny green sparks of fireflies. They rode for what felt to Kurusu like a long time. Father did not rein the horse to a halt until they came to the base of the eastern watchtower: a post where men stood day and night, their spyglasses trained beyond the station’s great protecting wall.

The wall that stood between their home and the monsters—the dread Kabane, the risen dead—that roamed the outside world.

A shiver passed through Kurusu. Father felt it, for his powerful arms gave an extra squeeze as he lifted the boy from the horse’s back. He set him on his feet, took him by the hand, and led him to the enclosed spiral staircase. Together they ascended, their steps echoing hollowly in the metal-enclosed space, the narrow treads of the stairs lit only by a lantern Father carried. They climbed until Kurusu was sure they were higher up than he had ever been before… but then, just below the platform at the top of the tower, Father paused to look down solemnly at his son.

“A large horde of Kabane was reported passing by the wall tonight,” he announced softly. “I think you’re old enough now to see them.”

Kurusu gave a start, his heartbeat instantly quickening.

Only a year old when the Kabane first rose, Kurusu could not remember a time when he hadn’t known of those monsters. He had lived his entire remembered life under the fearful shadow of their threat; and yet he had never seen one. Until now, the world of his childhood had been the comfortable safety of the Yomogawa estate, playing games and studying early lessons—and more recently, peeking in shyly at the tiny pink wonder that was Lord Yomogawa’s baby daughter. Although the consciousness of a lurking danger was always present, it was somehow an abstract and ethereal concern, far less tangible than the peaceful normalcy of the everyday.

If he actually laid eyes on a Kabane firsthand… then he knew the danger would be real to him in an entirely new way, and his life would never again be what it was now.

“Don’t be afraid.” Father leaned down, seeking Kurusu’s eyes. “We’re safe. The Kabane on the other side of the wall can do nothing to reach us now. But I want you to look at them, so you can understand why the world is the way it is… and what a great responsibility we carry as bushi.”

There were many emotions in Father’s voice. This was important to him. Although Kurusu was frightened, he swallowed and nodded. “Yes sir.”

With a nod of his own, Father turned to step up onto the platform; and clutching his hand tightly, Kurusu followed.

A bushi stood at the railing that ringed the deck, looking out through a spyglass. He must have expected the visit, for he turned with only a soft word of acknowledgment. He handed the spyglass to Father, gave Kurusu a little smile that looked somewhat pained, and then his footsteps rang on the stairs as he retreated from the platform—leaving the warrior and his child alone there.

Father gently guided Kurusu to the railing. There the boy leaned against the big man’s legs, his heart thumping as his gaze reluctantly crept past the wooden rails to take in the view. Beneath the mere sliver of moon that cast down its light, he could just recognize the farmlands and reservoirs of Aragane Station spread out below them; and beyond that, lighted at regular intervals, there rose up the white vastness of the station’s wall.

Kurusu had never been near the wall himself, seeing it only at a distance from the lofty terraces of his home. From here it still looked much as it did there, like little more than a stack of the building-blocks he had played with when he was younger… but now he could make out the sheds standing at its base, and the tracks leading up to the eastern gate that allowed mighty trains to come and go. He saw how completely the wall dwarfed those structures, and for the first time, he began to gain a perspective of its true size.

Densely wooded hills lay far off beyond the wall. Their peaks were visible from the Yomogawa estate at the highest elevation in Aragane, a mass of darkness even in the day. By night, that wild emptiness was so black that it felt as if the world truly ended outside the wall’s protection. Even here, from the relatively closer vantage point of the watchtower, it seemed to be no different…

At least at first glance. Staring deeper into that forbidding dark, Kurusu thought he could see the faintest glimpse of… sparks. Like the firefly light over the fields, but not. He might almost have believed he was imagining it; but when he strained his eyes as hard as he could, he was sure. Barely-discernible flickers that were not green like the fireflies, but a darker golden-red, moving in and out through the blackness beyond the wall.

Kabane hearts.

Seized with a sudden horror, Kurusu recoiled behind Father’s knees, his eyes shut tight as he buried his face and clutched fistfuls of trouser fabric.

Even the youngest of children knew the hearts of Kabane glowed like furnaces. Some of Kurusu’s elders said their hearts were furnaces, forging the iron armor of their cages from molten metal that flowed through the monsters’ veins. When he was very small, those stories had given him nightmares about Kabane that breathed fire like a steamsmith’s blowtorch.

Of course they didn’t breathe fire, not really. But the horrors that adults confirmed to be true, fangs and brute strength and a corrupting curse that doomed all who suffered the smallest bite, were terrifying enough… and now Kurusu had seen the telltale heart-lights of those very creatures, lurking a mere stone’s throw beyond the wall that protected everything he had ever known.

He didn’t want to ever see that again.

Father’s hand reached down and back, coming to rest on the top of Kurusu’s head. Rather than scold him for looking away, he merely stroked his hair and whispered patient, soothing words that it was alright; that they were safe. He assured him that so long as the wall was properly cared for, the Kabane could neither climb its straight steepness, nor break through its massive density of stone and brick.

“…So the Kabane will never be able to reach us?” Kurusu murmured at last against the back of Father’s leg.

The hesitation was slight, but it came with a quiet sigh that made the boy’s heart sink.

“I’m afraid only time will tell. The Kabane themselves can’t breach the wall—but that doesn’t mean there is no danger. Although the gates that allow trains to come and go are necessary for our survival, they’re also the weak point in our defenses. An accident could damage one of them. Or a steamsmith could unknowingly be tainted with the curse through Kabane blood carried in by a train. The inspectors might even miss a bite on a visiting traveler. These are all things that can be avoided if people are careful, and I pray we always will be… but the longer we live with the reality of the Kabane, the more complacent I fear we’ll become.”

Father paused then, and gently drew his son back from him, kneeling down to grip his shoulders and look into his face.

“That is why we bushi must always be prepared, Kurusu. If the worst should ever happen, it’s our duty to protect Lord Yomogawa, his family, and all our people from the Kabane. I know that thought is frightening… but if you learn to understand and accept this burden from a young age, I think it will be easier for you to bear.” Father almost chuckled, but the sound was sad and even a little uneasy. “…Unlike my own generation, who spent our lives training for war against mere men instead of monsters.”

Kurusu gulped and breathed deep. “But… can we fight them and not die?”

“Not all of us,” Father admitted with grim honesty. “If the station were to fall, many lives would be lost; not only bushi, but even brave townfolk who would choose to stand between their escaping families and the Kabane. But as long as some remnant of our people could reach safety, something of Aragane will survive… and then our duty would be fulfilled, and those lives not lost in vain.”

The assessment seemed frighteningly bleak. For a long moment Kurusu was silent and somber, digesting those heavy words… but then Father smoothed his hair and gave him a faint smile.

“In any case, I was only speaking in terms of what we’re capable of now. Five years has hardly been enough time to adjust to living with the Kabane threat, much less find ways to fight them effectively.” He looked out at the ominous red-gold glimmers that dotted the darkened landscape, his expression hardening. “In time, men who are clever as well as brave will learn more about the Kabane. They’ll discover their weaknesses, and use that knowledge to create new weapons that can kill them. I’m sure of that.”

“Do you think I could have weapons like that when I’m old enough to fight?” Kurusu asked faintly.

Father’s flinch at those words was unmistakable.

“I hope you’ll never have to fight at all,” he whispered, drawing the boy into his arms to hold him tightly. “I hope this wall might protect Aragane Station for many years after you and I are both gone—or even that someone can find a way to destroy the Kabane forever, so the wall won’t be needed anymore. But if the day ever does come…” Kurusu heard Father swallow, felt the twitch of his cheek in another pained smile. “I know you’ll be ready.”

Wrapped in the strong embrace of his father, Kurusu inhaled a deep breath, and looked out once more at the dark light of Kabane hearts lurking beyond the wall.

This was the danger he had been taught about all his life. It was real and terrible, and just one person’s small mistake could someday let it in to destroy everything he knew. The people, his home, even Father and Lord Yomogawa… and little Miss Ayame, delicate and defenseless in her crib.

A flicker of anger began to eat away at Kurusu’s fear. The thought of harm coming to her was suddenly much worse than the prospect of being hurt himself. Even at his young age he could make a fist, could hit and kick, could at least die trying to beat back any monster that threatened him; but Miss Ayame was unable to do even that. And there were many more like her in Aragane. Not just the infants, but the elderly and the sick. People who mattered, who were loved by others no less than she was, but who would never have a chance to raise a hand for themselves if the Kabane came.

It was so unfair.

But that unfairness was the very reason why things were this way. It was the reason why protecting the powerless was the duty of the bushi, just as Father had always taught him.

Kurusu felt he understood that duty now as never before… and a sudden resolve surged in his heart.

He would learn how to grow strong. He would follow his father’s path, and be a shield for those who could not defend themselves. If the walls of Aragane should ever fail, then no matter how horrifying the Kabane might be, he would be prepared to stand between them and all the people he cared about.

The words he whispered then were not only for Father, but for Miss Ayame too.

“…I promise.”

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2019 Jordanna Morgan