The pale morning light slipped through the half-open curtains of Akira's room. He woke with a start, heart pounding, sweat clinging to his forehead. The last thing he remembered was the blinding light—and the shadows that surrounded him.
Now everything was silent. Too silent.
He sat up slowly, his breath uneven. The mark on his hand pulsed faintly, glowing with an inner rhythm, like something alive. "Was it… all a dream?" he muttered, tracing the faint red lines.
A sudden knock on the door broke the silence.
Akira hesitated before opening it. Standing outside was Ryozen—his expression unreadable, the same calm gravity that seemed to bend the air around him.
"Is there anything you need to tell me?" Ryozen asked softly.
Akira blinked, unsure. "You mean… about what happened last night?"
Ryozen didn't answer. He only nodded once.
So Akira told him everything—the crawling shadows, the figure who attacked him, and the blinding light that ended it all. Ryozen listened quietly, his golden eyes never leaving Akira.
When Akira finished, Ryozen stepped closer, his gaze falling to Akira's hand.
"That mark," he said in a low tone. "May I see it?"
Akira hesitated but finally raised his hand. The red symbol shimmered faintly in response to Ryozen's presence.
Ryozen's eyes narrowed. "As I thought."
"What do you mean?" Akira asked, uneasy.
"This mark," Ryozen said, touching it lightly, "didn't appear when the shadow attacked you. It was already there—sealed, waiting to awaken."
Akira frowned. "That's impossible. I would've noticed it before!"
"Not when it's hidden," Ryozen replied calmly. "This isn't random. It's in your blood."
"My blood?" Akira repeated, confused. "What are you talking about?"
Ryozen's gaze softened. "It's not from you. It's from your father."
Akira froze. "My… father?" He took a step back. "What does he have to do with this?"
Ryozen remained silent for a moment. "He's the key to understanding your mark—and the reason the shadows are drawn to you."
Akira's tone hardened. "You can't just say something like that. How do you even know my father? Who are you?"
Ryozen's expression didn't change. "Because I've seen that mark before—long before you were born."
He paused, his voice dropping lower. "Your father carried the same one."
Akira's breath caught. "That's impossible… he died when I was little. My mom never told me anything about him."
Ryozen nodded slowly. "She couldn't. Some truths are too heavy to share."
The room fell into silence. Akira stared down at his trembling hand, the mark pulsing like a second heartbeat. Ryozen turned toward the door, his coat brushing against the frame.
"If you wish to survive, you must become stronger," Ryozen said quietly. "The shadows will return—and when they do, you'll need to be ready. I'll find out what really happened to your father."
Before Akira could say anything more, Ryozen stepped outside and disappeared into the fading light.
---
Later that night...
The city was silent, blanketed in mist. Ryozen walked alone through narrow streets, his thoughts circling around Akira's mark. After hours of tracing sealed archives and forbidden records, he finally found a name—buried deep within old bloodline registries.
He murmured it to himself. "Kurogane..."
A faint smile touched his lips.
His path led him to the outskirts of the city, where an ancient graveyard waited under a dim, broken moon. Moss-covered stones stood like silent sentinels, and the air hung heavy with the scent of earth and rain.
Ryozen walked between the graves, his footsteps echoing faintly—until one stone caught his eye. Its carvings were almost worn away, but a faint trace of the same sigil as Akira's mark was etched near its base.
He crouched and brushed the moss aside. "So this is where you've been all along…"
When he placed his hand upon the gravestone, the world shifted.
The air rippled around him, shadows spreading like ink across water. The ground beneath him shuddered—then, in a single instant, everything inverted.
The graveyard vanished.
Ryozen stood in a vast black void, weightless, surrounded by drifting shards of memory and whispers that spoke in a language older than time.
And standing at the center of it all was a man clad in ancient armor, his eyes burning with defiance. A dark blade rested in his hand, smoke coiling from its edge.
The man's voice was sharp and cold. "How the hell did you get in here?"
Ryozen tilted his head slightly. "You make it sound like I wasn't supposed to."
The armored man's grip tightened on his weapon. "You shouldn't have come."
He whispered a spell beneath his breath.
"Kurayami no Saigai!"
Dark energy surged from the blade—waves of black flame spiraling across the void. The air screamed as the attack tore toward Ryozen.
A golden circle appeared behind him, vast and radiant.
"Wheel of Samsara."
The circle spun once—and the dark flames shattered against its light. The man staggered back, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "No one's ever broken that spell… who are you?"
Ryozen stepped forward, his eyes glowing faintly. "Names won't help you now."
The Wheel turned again, and chains of light wrapped around the man, binding him in place. Ryozen stopped inches away from him, his voice quiet but unyielding.
"Now tell me everything…"
He leaned closer, his tone sharp as a blade.
"Masahiro Kurogane."
The armored man's eyes widened in shock. "You… you know my name…"
The air trembled again, the void rippling like water under pressure. Ryozen's gaze hardened. "And I know you're not resting in peace."