The morning sun struggled through the cracks of Akira's shattered window, spilling pale light over the remnants of last night's battle. Dust motes danced in the rays, disturbed by the faint smell of smoke and charred walls.
Akira sat on his bed, hands clenched around the dark pendant that had once been Masahiro Kurogane's blade, Kurohikari. It was small now, an innocuous charm of black metal wrapped with silver threads, yet it pulsed faintly in his palm, alive. His gaze drifted to his arm, where the mark lay dormant, cold and quiet. But deep inside, he felt a stirring, something awakening beyond comprehension.
The city outside whispered chaos — sirens, distant shouting, and reports of "unexplained violet lights and black rain." Akira didn't know what had happened; only fragments of memory lingered — screaming voices, shadows, a searing pain that had ripped through his veins, and finally… light.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts.
"Come in," he called, voice low and uncertain.
Ren entered, calm as always, his uniform crisp and his expression unreadable. Yet, something felt… wrong. The air seemed heavier, colder, and the shadows around him stretched unnaturally, like liquid darkness.
"Hey," Ren said lightly, taking a seat by the desk. "You look like hell."
Akira let out a dry laugh. "You're not wrong."
Ren's gaze lingered on him, sharp and unsettling. "Violet lights, black rain… you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"I… just flashes," Akira replied cautiously.
Ren leaned forward, voice calm, yet carrying an edge Akira couldn't place. "Sometimes, we lose pieces of ourselves when we try to remember what wasn't meant to be remembered."
Akira frowned. "You sound like you've seen something."
Ren's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe I did."
For a fleeting moment, the room fell silent. Akira's mark pulsed faintly — a whisper of fire in his veins — when Ren's hand brushed the desk. The pendant responded, glowing subtly in the dim light.
Ren noticed, his eyes narrowing, but he laughed softly and stood. Akira caught a flicker in the window — Ren's reflection moved independently for a heartbeat before snapping back into alignment.
---
Later, Ren walked the empty streets, the city unnaturally quiet. Puddles reflected the pale light as his footsteps echoed. The air shimmered faintly, distorted, as if reality itself bent around him.
Memories returned in fragments. Last night, he had been chasing Akira, racing against violet lightning splitting the sky. Akira had hovered in the storm's center, black energy twisting around him. Ren had reached out, but a shard of darkness struck him, melting into his veins like ink.
Inside him, a voice whispered — ancient, cold, patient.
> "You envy him… the chosen one, while you remain forgotten."
Ren tried to resist, to scream, but the whisper curled around his mind, tightening its hold.
> "You wanted power… to stand beside him. Or above him."
The darkness settled, fragmenting and merging with his soul, quiet yet insidious.
When he opened his eyes, the world was muted — colors dim, sounds distant. Humanity felt distant. His reflection revealed something darker. Oblivion's eyes stared back.
"I… will not be your puppet," Ren whispered.
But the shadow behind him only smiled.
> "You already are."
The air warped around him. His shadow stretched unnaturally long across the street, edges writhing, alive. Something fundamental had changed.
---
Meanwhile, Akira sat by his window, uneasy. The pendant pulsed, a single dark heartbeat. His mark flickered faintly. For a fleeting second, a whisper filled his ears:
> "The bond… is breaking."
Akira froze. The voice was unknown, yet it resonated with truth. Two hearts. Two marks. And a fate beginning to unravel.
---
Hours passed, but the weight in Akira's chest only grew. That night, he slept fitfully, visions tearing through his dreams. Shadows from a past long buried danced before his eyes. He saw Masahiro Kurogane, ancient armor gleaming in black light, standing amidst twelve figures — monstrous, twisted, each radiating a terrible aura.
"Who… who are you?" Akira whispered in the dream.
Masahiro's voice echoed, calm yet commanding. "Everything you need to know… the Shadows, the bloodline, your power… it begins here."
Akira's mind burned as visions surged: he saw the twelve Shadows moving like phantoms — their forms terrifying, their power unimaginable. Each fragment of darkness carried their essence, and he felt the weight of their hunger pressing against his soul. The pendant pulsed violently, responding to the visions.
And then, he saw Ren. Half-formed, shadows crawling through his veins, fragments of Oblivion taking root. Akira gasped, recoiling in the vision. The boy he knew, twisted, yet not entirely lost.
A voice — deeper, colder — whispered in his mind, yet he knew it was Ren.
> "I am… still me… but the bond… the bond is fraying…"
Akira awoke with a start. The room was dark, the pendant glowing faintly. His hand trembled as he touched the mark, now searing with heat.
The bond was breaking.
And somewhere far beyond his understanding, fragments of Oblivion slithered through Ren, patient, waiting for the perfect moment to awaken fully.
Two friends. Two marks. And a fate beginning to tear itself apart.