In the deepest belly of the Kenshin mansion, even the breath of the world seemed muted. We had descended so far that time itself appeared reluctant to follow. Down there, the underground opened into an enormous cavern whose ceiling was lost in darkness, echoing only the distant drip of water on stone.
Rows of torches, raised like columns of fire, stretched in a straight line toward the edge of a cliff.
Their flames burned fiercely, fueled by something older than oil or wood — as if the very essence of the moon kept them alive.
At the end of the path, amid shadows and mist, stood Aura.
She awaited us, upright and solemn as a priestess, holding a silver tray in her hands. Upon it rested four crystal goblets, each brimming with a golden liquid — living, luminous, as if it were the distilled blood of divinities. The icy wind rising from the abyss behind her wrapped around us, carrying with it a sinister omen, like invisible whispers calling from the valley below.
Her voice echoed with the gravity of an ancient rite.
"Before you rests the heritage of the Kenshin, the immortal flame that sustains our name through the ages. This elixir is neither wine, nor gold, nor human blood. It is the liquid fragment of a forgotten moon, harvested by our ancestors on the nights when the sky split open in veins of light. It forges the blade that cuts even the shadow itself — the Sword of the Phantom Moon, the greatest legacy our lineage bears."
The four of us approached in silence, surrounded by our attendants.
Our breathing was heavy, and each step rang like an echo toward an irreversible fate. Aura lifted the tray slightly, and the goblets shimmered as though alive.
"Each of you will take the goblet destined for your spirit. Each cup bears a moon, and each moon shapes the first step on the path of the sword."
She turned to Alvin, offering him the first goblet. He reached out and took it. Engraved beneath its base was the image of a dark moon.
"New Moon… concealment and silence. Interesting."
Alexa reached for the goblet on the far end. Aura raised an eyebrow.
"Crescent… ascension and promise."
Aurora leaned forward, taking the middle-left goblet. Aura bowed her head slightly, almost mournfully.
"Waning… decline and cunning."
Finally, her eyes fell on me. She turned the tray slowly until the last goblet gleamed before mine.
"And for you… the Full Moon. Wholeness, brilliance, and madness."
The weight of the crystal startled me.
It wasn't like holding a goblet — it was like lifting a block of burning iron. Its surface seared my skin as if forged in living embers, yet I held it firm.
Aura then spoke again, her tone sounding more like a sentence than an explanation.
"Each of you will enter the Kenshin family's sanctuary, where the phases of the moon are revealed through trials of iron and blood. There, you must reach the first three steps of the Sword of the Phantom Moon. If you succeed, the technique will be engraved upon your inner world, and your coming of age will be complete."
She paused briefly, her gaze flicking between us like the edge of a blade.
"But remember this: this is a trial of life and death. There is only one way to return — by mastering the Sword of the Phantom Moon. If your strength is enough, glory will await you. If not… may fate grant you infinite luck to return triumphant. Now drink."
There was no hesitation. One by one, we raised the goblets to our lips.
The golden liquid slid down our throats like heavenly honey — sweet, smooth, almost divine.
But once it reached the stomach, the divinity turned to damnation.
The burning was instant, violent, as though a thousand serpents poured molten venom into our guts. The sweetness curdled into bitterness, and the bitterness into fire. Our bodies convulsed, arching, trembling as if possessed. A silent roar erupted from within, and before we could recover, we felt rough hands at our backs.
Without warning, the attendants kicked us forward. Our bodies were hurled off the cliff, swallowed by the void.
The chasm devoured us mercilessly. The sensation was not of falling — but of dissolving. My vision burned as if embers had been cast directly into my eyes. Everything burned — veins, skin, nerves — and yet, I could barely feel the wind. My wings, once natural extensions of myself, locked up as though they had never existed. My limbs, paralyzed, refused my commands.
We fell for what felt like centuries in the space of seconds.
Despair seized my heart like a frozen poison: to die crushed before even touching the cursed sword technique would be a ridiculous fate. The black ground was rushing up fast, a solid abyss waiting to devour me whole.
And then it happened.
With no hope of reacting, no resource beyond instinct, I crossed my arms in front of my face — a useless, almost childish gesture, bracing for impact.
But the impact never came.
Where my body should have shattered, we pierced through a black, glass-like membrane. It was thick and cold, swallowing us soundlessly. And suddenly, the fall changed.
The chasm was gone. We were above the clouds.
The sky unfolded into an impossible vision: four moons hung simultaneously, each in a different phase, illuminating the heavens with a spectral glow. The entire world seemed suspended within a fever dream.
Below us stretched an endless mountain range, its peaks shrouded in silver mist that shimmered like stardust. Then, a voice — without mouth, without master — resonated inside our minds: 'Valley of the Shadowed Echo.'
But the enchantment lasted only a breath.
Our descent did not slow. It accelerated, dragging us faster toward the ground. Reality struck with brutality: if I couldn't move, if I couldn't reclaim control of my body now, I would end as nothing more than a red stain across those sacred peaks.
"AGHHHHHHHHHH!" My scream tore through the void like a blade.
It was more will than sound. I forced my arms to move — an inch at a time — and each inch was an eternity stolen from pain, paralysis, and the golden venom devouring my nerves.
Finally, my hand reached my back. I grabbed the base of one wing and yanked it open with every ounce of strength left in my convulsing body. It unfurled, trembling like torn fabric.
But only one.
The speed decreased, yes, but the control vanished. I began spinning, spiraling in a wild descent. The world whirled so fast it crushed my consciousness, smearing sky, clouds, and mountains into a spiral of color and agony.
I forced my other arm to move. My fingers brushed the second wing — but it was already too late.
The collision struck like a dry thunderclap.
My awareness flickered. A black flash exploded behind my eyes.
Everything hurt.
From hair to nails, every bone groaned, every tendon screamed.
A metallic taste filled my mouth, a hot stream ran from my nose, and I vomited blood — too much.
Then I felt it — cold. Water.
With a crash, my body was swallowed by a small lake hidden among the mountains.
The impact drove me to the bottom, and pain blanked me out for an instant. But I was alive. Still alive.
I awoke as if torn from the depths of a nightmare, lungs convulsing in panic, swallowing more water than air. Life was slipping from my grasp, a thin thread about to snap. Instinctively, I swam, each stroke heavy as lead, until my fingers found the edge of the lake — and I dragged myself out.
"HAHAAAAH!" The scream burst out mixed with water and blood, a hot, metallic gush that stained the stones along the shore. My body collapsed backward onto the cold, rough ground, and I lay there, gasping like a wounded animal, feeling reality return in fragmented waves.
"What a shitty way to start a treasure hunt..." I muttered, spitting the last traces of lake water from my lungs.
A few minutes passed before I could pull myself together. I rose slowly, muscles screaming, and began to take in my surroundings. The ground was gray, rocky, dead — no signs of life anywhere. A thin, silvery mist hung over everything, forming veils that cut visibility down to a few meters, distorting shapes and edges as if space itself refused to be understood.
"Well, where do I even start looking for this Phantom Moon technique?" I asked myself, a skeptical curiosity vibrating beneath the pain.
There was nothing to guide me — no altar, no path, no sign. It was like being lost in a world that didn't want to be found. I waited a few more minutes to stabilize, my body still trembling, wet clothes clinging to me like living ice. The wind blew sharp, carrying a strange cold that wasn't just temperature — it bit into my bones, as if this place was testing not only my body, but my spirit.
"Let's warm up the blood…" I muttered, patting my arms lightly, forcing myself out of that sluggish haze.
I began to march. Step after step, the sound of my boots striking the rocky ground echoed in a dissonant rhythm, each noise repeating itself in distant echoes — echoes that didn't return the same, but distorted, like whispers from other worlds calling from afar. The air was dense, and each breath dragged fine silver particles into my lungs.
I had no idea what awaited me, but deep down I knew: this place wasn't merely a trial. It was a filter — a spiritual abyss built to separate those with souls of steel from those with only flesh.
After a while, something changed.
I knew something was following me before I ever saw it.
The silver mist didn't lie — it whispered, moved in patterns that didn't belong to the wind. Each step I took was swallowed by silence until a nearly imperceptible tremor in the air forced me to stop. My hands slid to the hilt of my sword, the cold steel comforting me like an old friend.
I took my stance, eyes sweeping across that opaque ocean of silver.
At first, there were only silhouettes — thin, distorted shadows — but I realized, freezing inside, that it was the mist itself gathering, as if a conscious organism were trying to solidify before me.
I shifted my footing, advanced a few steps, but space seemed to bend, and no matter how far I moved, the distance never closed. The place was a labyrinth of echoes and illusions.
And then finally, it took form.
I don't know if the creature emerged or if it had always been there, waiting for me to notice it. It was tall and lean, its skin the same gray stone as the ground. Its limbs were made of uneven plates, and from its joints, fine sand fell, as if its body was constantly crumbling with each movement. Where a face should have been, there was only a smooth, blank surface — no mouth, no eyes.
From its shoulders, strands of silvery smoke burned like living embers, the same hue as the mist surrounding us.
It dragged behind itself a colossal blade, filled with jagged, uneven teeth like the maw of some ancient predator. But there was no handle — the creature held the weapon directly by the serrated body, as if flesh and steel were one and the same. The metal was rusted, yet glimmered with a sinister, hungry sheen.
I barely had time to think before the mist burst apart in a flash and the thing lunged.
It didn't walk or run — it fell upon me, like a predator revealing itself only in the instant of the strike.
The energy inside me roared awake. My muscles coiled tight, the ring above my head pulsed, and in a sweeping motion I raised my greatsword, meeting the monster's charge with a counterblow.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
The impact was so violent that the veil of mist shredded apart, scattering in spirals. The ground beneath us split open, stones flying like shards of glass. For an instant, we were locked — blade against blade — and I felt my bones vibrate beneath the sheer force of it.
"A worthy opponent..." I thought, but couldn't finish the thought.
"BOOOOOOOM!" I was launched like a rocket.
My body slammed into a boulder, pain erupting through me in waves from head to toe. Blood surged up my throat and spilled hot from my lips.
"What the hell?!" I shouted, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
"BOOOOOOM!"
My body ricocheted across the gray field like a projectile. Each impact of that serrated blade against my sword thundered like the sky itself, and I struggled to keep my guard.
The initial clash was always balanced — strength against strength, muscle against muscle — but the balance shattered in a heartbeat. Always.
In the very next instant, it was as if an invisible wave tore through me, wrenching me off the ground and hurling me away like a rag doll.
Stone after stone shattered under my weight.
I spat blood, the metallic taste reminding me that each collision was breaking me from the inside — and still, I forced myself to rise.
I dug my feet into a rock, the impact resonating through my legs to the bone. I used the pain as fuel and hurled myself forward again.
"CLAAAAANG!"
Blade against blade.
"BOOOOM!"
Shock against shock.
A dozen clashes — always the same result: defeat. The initial stalemate gave me hope, but soon after, something — something beyond mere strength — crushed me.
"What the hell is this…" I growled, coughing dust and blood, crawling out of the shattered remains of a stone that had swallowed my body whole after yet another beating.
The creature stared at me with its blank, featureless face, silver smoke burning like embers.
There was no hatred, no emotion — only inevitability. It was like fighting a mountain, like defying a law of nature that refused to yield.
And I couldn't understand it. Strength? Equal.
Speed? My muscles responded.
So why was I being crushed like a child playing with wooden swords?