Father was a man of few words. He spoke of honor and integrity. He spoke of his love for mother and me. Then, when he said those words, he was dying. Father was old and wise, like an oak. The snow on his boughs weighed them down, but gave strength. My mother was in the other room crying, for she knew his time had come. She was petite, his flower he said. A flower next to an oak.
"You will do our name justice."
He never placed emphasis on name or family tradition. He did not need to. When he spoke, people listened. His words moved them, so he spoke rarely. He was not a politician. He did not consider himself an important man. Just another officer in the Naval Forces. He was decorated, even in death. The people did not know him, except for what little he had said.
"They need not fear your name. They need not know it."
My father, whose words carried power, preferred silence. In these cold spaces, I always wondered why. People would perform injustices or slander him and he would be. A boulder against a river, immovable.
One day, it was snowing outside of our home. My father sat with me, and we looked at the white. From the mass of descending snow my father said,"Look, son, a wyrm."
The sound was unsettling between us. I didn't see it then, but the snow itself was quiet. It was in reverence of the mighty dragon. It took many years to realize what and who the dragon was.
My father was a warrior poet. His favorite form of poetry was the haiku. They are brief, concise, and to the point. In many ways, they reflected the kind of man he was. His favorite subject was the elusive 'snow wyrm.' I didn't understand why when I was young. I one time asked him and he gave me a haiku in response.
Snow wyrm flies fiercely
Silent wings, silent tongue; no
Flames come from its maw
I did not understand when he told me. I just smiled and nodded, then continued. My father was a distant man, then. It was before I could understand him.
Death is a feather
Weightless, it brings a release
Life is a mountain
That was the last haiku he wrote. He had peace within himself, something no external force could change. It was an unusual peace for a warrior to have, given that he had seen countless battles, heard men dying around him.
He left me his Chimera, theSnow Wyrm.I did not enlist in the Naval Forces under my name. I sent a transmission to an admiral, a friend of the family. He understood, and took responsibility for my actions.They need not fear my name.It is not my name I fly under. It is not my name I give homage to. They need not know my name.My name is meaningless. My honor is my own. The ship's name is all anyone needs.
My father was killed, my birthright ripped from me. His wingmates tried to console me, but the rage built. I demanded to know who was responsible. They did not have a name, only Snow Wyrm.My father's beloved Katana, which he loved almost more than his own wife and son, was scrapped by thisSnow Wyrm.For months I was not allowed to leave Kyoto. They said I was a danger to myself and to others in my state. They realized the depth of my fury. They realized that my blood cried for vengeance.
Years passed, however. I built a new Katana from scratch, spare parts. I perfected its design. They say that Snow Wyrmdied in his sleep, and his son now carries on the tradition. A favorite saying of my father came to me when I heard this:
Let the sins of the father be visited upon the son.
So my new ship became my new identity. My old one would not suffice for this task. To hunt and kill the son of the man who robbed me of my father. From now on, I would be known asFire Wyrm.
![[Image: snowwyrm2.png]](http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll35/Jim_Markey/Sigs/snowwyrm2.png)