The morning sunlight spilled weakly through the curtains of Hoshino City, painting Akira's room in pale gold. He stared at his reflection in the mirror — tired eyes, the faint red pulse of his mark barely hidden beneath his sleeve. The memory of last night's visions and battles clung to him like a shadow, heavy and cold, and the quiet in the room felt oppressive.
He ran a hand over the black pendant resting in his palm, its surface smooth, almost pulsating faintly. Its warmth resonated with the faint tremor of his mark, as if trying to communicate. But the meaning was unclear. Something was coming. He could feel it, though he couldn't name it.
Down the street, the familiar sound of hurried footsteps caught his attention. Ren.
---
At the school gates, Ren walked ahead, his posture calm — almost too calm. His uniform was neat, and the slight sway of his movements seemed deliberate, precise. His eyes, once bright and familiar, carried a distant emptiness now. Akira caught up beside him.
"Morning," Akira said, trying to sound casual.
Ren didn't look at him. "Yeah. Morning," he replied, flatly, without emotion.
There was something… off. The way Ren's voice sounded monotone and controlled, the slight stiffness in his walk — almost imperceptible, but enough to trigger unease in Akira's gut.
Before Akira could say anything more, Ren stopped abruptly, turning slightly with a faint smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
"Don't be late again," he said. But there was no teasing in his tone, no warmth — only cold precision.
Ren walked away, his shadow stretching unnaturally across the ground. Akira froze.
The shadow didn't move with Ren. It moved after him — flowing, alive, writhing at the edges as if it had a will of its own. For a split second, Akira could've sworn it was staring back at him.
His breath hitched. "What… was that?"
The mark on his hand burned faintly, reacting to Ren's presence as if warning him. A sharp chill swept through the air, and for a fleeting heartbeat, Akira thought he heard a whisper — low and distorted:
> "He's awakening…"
The echo faded into the morning hum of the city, leaving only a lingering tension. Akira's stomach knotted. Something about Ren was different — stronger, darker. And that shadow… it wasn't natural.
---
Far across the city, in the forgotten sector near the river, Ryozen stood at the edge of an ancient, abandoned shrine. The morning wind swept through broken windows and cracked walls, carrying the faint scent of rust and wet stone. His eyes traced the sigils etched into the stone floors, worn and faded with time. But now, they pulsed faintly, as if alive.
He pressed his hand against one of the carvings. A rush of black mist spiraled upward, coiling and twisting, almost sentient. His pupils glowed gold briefly as a wave of pressure struck him — deep, resonating, a power older than anything he had felt in decades.
> "So… it's stirring again," he murmured, voice low, almost reverent.
The air thickened around him, vibrating with a hum that seemed to echo from somewhere beyond the city, beyond the world itself. Shadows twisted in unnatural patterns along the shrine walls, drawn by the latent force. The weight of it pressed against his chest, threatening to make him stagger.
He clenched his fist. "This isn't the Shadows' doing," he muttered, voice edged with both caution and certainty. The pressure, the aura — it wasn't something human. It was a force of pure will, a fragment of something far greater and crueler than even the strongest of the Shadows.
The ground cracked slightly beneath his feet, and the mark on his neck flared violently. The sensation was unmistakable, and a shiver ran through him. This power — whatever it was — had reached beyond the boundaries of normal realms.
Ryozen's expression darkened. "It's not gone… and it seems its influence has already touched him," he whispered. His voice carried no fear, only the weight of knowledge.
Behind him, faint golden light traced the edges of the Wheel of Samsara, rotating once in silent defiance before fading back into the air. It was a warning, or perhaps a marker — he wasn't entirely certain. But instinct told him to watch. To prepare.
Straightening, Ryozen's gaze cut through the morning fog, sharp and unyielding. His coat fluttered in the wind as he muttered quietly to himself:
> "The next storm begins with that boy… and the power moving inside Ren… it's mine."
Even as he spoke, the faintest ripple passed over the shrine floor, echoing into the streets of Hoshino City. The world itself seemed to hold its breath. The air between the skyscrapers, the empty alleys, the quiet parks — all seemed suspended, waiting. Waiting for the collision that was coming.
---
Back at the school, Akira's unease hadn't faded. Even as he watched Ren's form disappear into the distance, his mark pulsed. The warning inside him grew stronger, a silent alarm against the presence of unnatural power. He could feel it — not fully, not yet — but enough to know that the calm surface was hiding a storm.
He clenched his fists, the black pendant pressing against his palm, glowing faintly as though it shared his worry.
> "Something's wrong… really wrong," he whispered, eyes narrowing.
Every instinct screamed at him, every muscle in his body tensed. He didn't understand the full magnitude yet, but he knew — the calm before the storm was over.
And somewhere, unseen but felt in every ripple of the wind, the threads of fate were tightening.
---
The morning carried on, oblivious to the invisible tension stretching across the city. The boy with the mark and the pendant felt the stirrings of forces he could not name, and the man watching from the shadows felt the pulse of that same power — the silent thread that would pull them together in the days to come.
Both unaware of the full picture, yet bound by the inevitability of it. The awakening had begun. And Hoshino City, bright and ordinary on the surface, was already the stage for something far darker, far larger than anything its citizens could imagine.