The battlefield of Furu lay in ruins. The wind howled across the scorched plains, carrying the remnants of smoke, dust, and the faint echo of what had just transpired. Akira stood in silence, his breath uneven, his body trembling—not from fear, but from the weight of everything that had happened.
Ren was gone. The darkness had taken him.
Ryozen stood a few steps behind, his coat torn, aura faintly glowing from the residue of sealing techniques he had used moments ago. His eyes followed the horizon, sharp and still, as if measuring the unseen waves of corrupted energy that lingered in the air.
The faint hum of energy pulsed in Akira's chest. His mark—once dim—began to emit a faint, silver glow that gradually shifted to a deep, blazing crimson.
Something inside him was stirring.
"Ryozen…" Akira's voice was barely a whisper. "He's… gone, isn't he?"
Ryozen's eyes softened for a brief moment. "Not gone," he said quietly, turning toward him. "But lost. For now."
Akira clenched his fists. The memory of Ren's last look—the twisted smile, the shadow that consumed him—burned in his mind. He wanted to scream, to fight, to destroy everything that stood between them. But before he could speak, he felt a sharp pain pierce through his arm. His mark flared violently, light bursting from it like lightning tearing through the night sky.
The ground beneath him cracked.
The air trembled.
Ryozen instantly turned, his expression shifting. "Wait—your mark…"
A deep, resonating hum echoed through the area. Akira fell to one knee, gripping his sword. The once-dark blade of Kurohikari began to shake violently, its black surface shifting into a deep obsidian hue, etched with glowing veins of red light.
And then—
The sword shattered.
But instead of fading, the fragments suspended in mid-air, swirling around Akira in a spiral of light and shadow. Each fragment hummed with energy, resonating with the mark on his hand. A wave of heat and darkness radiated from him, expanding outward like a pulse of living flame.
Ryozen narrowed his eyes. "So… it's finally happening."
Before Akira could ask, another presence appeared.
From the edge of the battlefield, a faint shimmer of light formed—then solidified. An old man with silver hair and calm, ageless eyes stepped forward. His coat fluttered softly as he walked through the dust, staff in hand.
"Masahiro…" Ryozen muttered.
Akira looked up, his breath ragged. "Old man… you again?"
Masahiro smiled faintly, his gaze landing on the swirling fragments around Akira. "No… not again. This time, I came because the seal inside you is awakening."
"The seal…?" Akira winced, gripping his chest as a surge of energy raced through him.
Masahiro stepped closer, eyes glowing faintly golden. "Yes. You have finally awakened it. The true nature of your blade."
The fragments suddenly drew together, forming into a new weapon—a blade longer, sharper, and far more intricate than before. Its edge shimmered with an otherworldly radiance, the core pulsating like a beating heart. The aura it emitted was both divine and cursed.
Akira could feel it—the soul of the weapon itself.
It wasn't just steel anymore. It was alive.
He stared at it, overwhelmed. "What… is this?"
Masahiro's smile widened, proud but solemn. "You've awakened it. Yamitsurugi."
Akira's eyes widened in disbelief. "Yamitsurugi? But… this is Kurohikari. That's the name I feel when I hold it."
Masahiro nodded. "And that's because Kurohikari is the form your heart gave it. The reflection of your own will. But Yamitsurugi… that is its awakened form. The true name it carried long before you ever touched it."
Ryozen stepped closer, the faint light of his Wheel of Samsara dimming around him. "So it has finally chosen him," he murmured. "The sword that can pierce through shadow itself."
The air thickened as Akira raised the blade. Power surged through his veins, vast and endless, but controlled—this time, truly his own. His eyes shimmered faintly red and silver. For the first time, he could feel everything—the flow of energy, the breath of the world, the lingering echoes of Ren's shadow somewhere beyond the horizon.
He clenched his fist around the hilt. "Then I'll use this power… to bring him back. No matter what it takes."
Masahiro's expression grew somber. "Power like this always comes with a price, Akira. Yamitsurugi answers to strength, but it was born from sorrow. Wield it with hatred, and it will consume you. Wield it with purpose… and it will transcend the darkness."
Akira looked down at the blade, its crimson veins pulsing faintly. "Then I'll make sure it listens to my purpose."
For a brief moment, silence enveloped them. Only the sound of the wind filled the space. Then suddenly, Akira's mark flared again—this time brighter than ever.
A dark sphere began to form in front of him. It pulsed violently, space itself twisting as if being pulled inward. Ryozen's eyes widened immediately. "Wait—Akira! That energy—"
The sphere erupted, swallowing the ground in a flash of black and gold.
Masahiro and Ryozen shielded their faces as the shockwave rippled through the plains. When the light faded, Akira was gone.
In his place was only a hovering black object—small, ancient, and pulsing with faint red energy.
Masahiro's staff glowed as he examined the air around it. "He's been… transferred."
Ryozen's gaze hardened. "To where?"
Masahiro turned toward him, his tone grave. "The Void Between Worlds. The realm where the fragments of Azrion still stir. He's entered it… through his own resonance."
Ryozen stared at the fading energy where Akira had stood. His aura dimmed, and his voice lowered to a whisper—calm yet heavy.
"He should not be disturbed. That place will test not his strength… but his soul."
Masahiro looked at him curiously. "You seem certain."
Ryozen turned away, adjusting his coat as his Wheel of Samsara began to shimmer faintly behind him. "Because that blade—Yamitsurugi—was never meant for destruction. It's a key… one that leads to the truth behind the Shadows."
He started walking away, his boots echoing against the shattered earth.
But as he moved, the air began to change. A ripple—a faint disturbance—passed through the ground.
Ryozen stopped, his expression sharpening. "So… it's starting again."
Masahiro frowned. "You feel it too?"
Ryozen looked up at the distant, blood-red sky, his voice low and certain.
"The fragments of Azrion won't stay sealed for long."
A sudden gust of wind swept across the field, scattering dust and debris. The black object that once pulsed where Akira stood flickered once more before vanishing into thin air.
Ryozen's eyes narrowed.
"Akira… survive the Void," he murmured. "Or everything we've done so far… will mean nothing."
The scene faded with the final echo of his words—
and the quiet hum of Yamitsurugi's power lingering faintly in the air, like a heartbeat between worlds.