That amphora did not look particularly different from a common wine or water bottle. Its shape was quite standard, wider in the middle and narrower at the top and bottom.

However, the material it was made of was rough and hard, more like a weird metal alloy than a ceramic. Yoichi couldn't help but rub his fingers over the engraved letters, letting his fingertips make those words more vivid and thinking who could be the maker of that inscription.

Ryutaro had definitely received that object as a gift from Tatsui, perhaps at the same moment he had inherited the Tear. Probably, before the Emperor, his father and grandfather had passed down that magical artifact, going back to the early days of the history of the Tentochu Empire.

"Tweet!" Miru chirped, calling Yoichi back and inviting him not to waste any more time. The robin moved its small head forward, pointing its beak at the stone sink as if suggesting its listener to come forward.

Yoichi, with the black amphora clutched in his hands, approached the Tear of Therion. After removing the lid, he dipped the container inside the magical liquid and let it flow into the rounded mouth.

In a few seconds, the young tamer emptied all the contents of the basin into the amphora, helping himself with the lid and using it as a kind of ladle. All that was left of the Tear in its original place were a few drops that would evaporate in a day or two.

Yoichi's hands pushed the lid onto the amphora, making sure it fit perfectly and allowing the air inside to escape. When he was sure the Therion's Tear was vacuumed, he pushed down on the two metal hooks that pressed the lid even more, sealing the amphora.

"Perfect. That should be enough," he said to himself, tilting the object and carefully checking to make sure the liquid couldn't leak out. "Thanks, little one! Without your help I never would have got that," he chuckled, looking at Miru and smiling.

"Tweet!" - Conscious that it had accomplished its task, the little robin demon responded to Yoichi's thanks and took flight, twirling happily into the air and leaving the sacred Goldhaven Dojo.

The reddish light of the sun grew fainter and fainter, and with the advancing darkness, Yoichi's time to pack his stuff was running out. Everything he would be taking with him was ready: the books were locked inside the blanket, the Tear was in the amphora, and the incense was enclosed in the straw mat carefully rolled up and tied to the ancient tomes.

Phew... I hope Ichiro can carry all this stuff. How am I supposed to tie it onto his back? Damn, I wish I had more time to prepare for a trip I don't even know the duration of, Yoichi thought, grabbing his luggage and taking one last look around the room.

He set his stuff down outside the door and looked carefully in each corner, checking to see if he had forgotten anything. He picked up the piece of cloth with the blood writing on it and put it in his pocket. At that exact moment, his gaze landed on Ryutaro's kabuto.

The helmet was similar to the face of a rabid Oni, with narrow, elongated eyes and long fangs covering the mouth of the warrior wearing it. Yoichi tried to imagine Ryutaro's face under that metal surface, wondering what his real face looked like and what color his eyes were.

One of the kabuto's two horns, so long they looked like two antennae, reflected off the wall across the room from the bed. Beyond the stone sink, another object particularly dear to the gatekeeper was about to be abandoned in the Dojo.

The long, chrome-plated blade hung on the wall, pointing toward the door. It terminated in a dark red handle with orange details, consisting of carefully twisted laces up to the round guard, also dark red.

"Your katana, Sensei," Yoichi whispered, letting those words come out of his mouth almost involuntarily. For some strange reason, while preparing everything that would be useful to him on his journey, Yoichi hadn't even thought about his master's sword.

Perhaps, within himself, the young tamer did not feel worthy of wielding such a legendary weapon, knowing that, in Ryutaro's hands, it had written the history of the Tentochu Empire, protecting Emperor Tatsui and serving the people of the faction.

Step by step, he approached that wooden wall with the same reverence of a worshipper approaching a deity. Involuntarily, even his breath stopped making the slightest noise and, his gaze followed the blade of Ryutaro's katana as if time around him had suddenly stopped.

"I can't leave it here, Ryutaro-Sensei," Yoichi said aloud as if the mere proximity with the sword allowed him to sense his master's presence. "I know that I am not yet worthy of wielding it, but I know your hatred for Emperor Shinzo and I am sure that if it fell into his hands your honor as a warrior would be lost forever," he added.

His hand brushed against the ornate scabbard and his fingers gradually gripped it, lifting it from the wooden hooks that held it hanging on the wall. "Your sword will come with me and I will defend it at the cost of my life, knowing that it will give me the same treatment and defend me with equal thoughtfulness."

The young warrior's right hand clutched the long handle of the katana and pulled it away from the wall, holding it tightly and trying to feel its weight. In his mind, before lifting the sword, Yoichi was convinced that all that metal would have a substantial weight and that, without worthy training, he would never be able to handle it properly.

Contrary to his suspicions, Ryutaro's katana was incredibly light and maneuverable: with a slight flick of his wrist, Yoichi twirled the sword left and right, cutting through the air and letting it sing, emitting an imperceptible whistle on the edge of the blade.

Yoichi clutched the hilt in his right hand, immediately noticing a small detail. The hand-woven strings were slightly flattened in some spots, recalling the shape of his previous owner's hand.