Of all the existing variables in the universe, there is one undisputed fact: something cannot come from nothing. Everything in existence has a defined origin, whether abstract or concrete.
The same applies to Vahir, one of the three arms of the Ashura Samurai. The practice of Vahir was adopted far later than the other two arms, for its origin did not lie within the domain of humans.
It all traces back to a timeless tale of two sisters who both bore the sword and the will of the Ashura Samurai.
Their beliefs led them into a hopeless situation—one of certain death at the hands of their foes. Their blades were shattered, their bodies mangled.
Then, in the depths of their despair, a radiant being appeared, glowing beneath the light of the moon.
She carried a presence unlike anything they had ever sensed—neither human nor djinn.
Her source energy was so vast it felt capable of spanning mountains, yet it remained calm and controlled, like the gentle moonlight she radiated.
Her presence brought a strange sense of security, and without understanding why, they reached out to her, begging for salvation.
"I do not possess the power to rid you of your despair," she said, her voice echoing through the silent night.
In the distance, their enemies drew closer. Desperate, they pleaded again.
"Don't let it end like this," one of the sisters cried. "There is still so much we want to see—a world of dreams just beyond the horizon. So don't snuff out the light of our hopes."
"We don't believe you are omniscient," the other added, "because we can feel the pulse of a living being within you, just like any other—and a burning desire in your eyes."
"Two people alone may not amount to much," she continued, "but through the efforts of many, that world of dreams beyond the horizon can become something real."
The woman regarded them calmly. "And what of your enemies? Do they not seek a world of dreams as well? What makes your wish more noble than theirs?"
"It isn't," the older sister replied, passion rising in her voice. "But it doesn't have to be. We are not asking you to judge us—we are asking you to give us a chance."
She raised her hand toward the figure above. "How else will you know what lies beyond the sky if you never reach out?"
"To reach out is to surrender to uncertainty," the woman said. "What if the world you seek does not exist?"
"It does," she answered, clenching her fist. "It has to. Otherwise, there would be no point in living."
At the back of her clenched fist, a faintly glowing mark appeared—two crescent moons curving inward, with a large star resting at their intersection, surrounded by smaller scattered stars.
On the other sister's hand, a similar mark formed, though her crescents curved outward.
As they marveled at the marks, they looked back at the woman. Her expression was troubled, as though burdened by something unseen.
"If you seek the future that lies beyond the dimming horizon," she said, "then you must fight. And even if you fail, your will shall live on in the hearts of others, and your vow in their strength."
She opened her palm. "The grace of the moon shines upon you. With it, a new path to the future is born."
Glowing particles gathered, twisting and colliding, before forming into the shape of a jasmine flower.
"You now possess this power," she continued. "Study it. Refine it. Teach it—until it becomes a guiding light."
"This is my gift to you—bearers of my Moon Seals. May you conquer uncertainty through the force of your will."
The clouds slowly covered the sky, and as the moonlight faded, she vanished—never to be seen again.
The two sisters spent the rest of their lives perfecting and teaching this new art to their comrades. Though met with skepticism at first, it soon took root, shaping their legacy for generations to come.
After their deaths, other warriors began to appear—marked in the same way, blessed with immense source energy.
It was later understood that these warriors unconsciously drew their power from the moon itself. What was once thought metaphorical was, in truth, their source of strength.
And so the question remained: who was the woman who appeared before the sisters that night—and where had she gone?
In time, the question was lost to the depths of history.
Yet in every generation, there are those who bear the mark—those blessed with the power of the moon.
And among them, those who carry the inner moon seal are given a name that has echoed across the ages—
The Crescent Huntress.
The sounds of clashing weapons reverberated across the field.
A puddle of blood splashed across the grass.
Her hand rested over her stomach, blood staining her white sleeves red.
She grimaced as she forced herself upright, facing her opponent once again. A spine-chilling sensation blended with the pain as her strength began to fade.
She tore part of her robe open, revealing the skin around the wound taking on a sickly green hue, her blood vessels blackening.
"Miyuki!" Takae yelled as she rushed toward her, but Miyuki raised a hand to stop her.
"Stay back," she said, her expression twisted. "It's not safe to get near me—we don't know what other tricks he has up his sleeve."
"That's commendable of you," Takeru said, holding his rods, one of them broken in half, "but there are no tricks up my sleeve."
"Now the hyper-energized bacteria invading your body will tear away at you and rot your flesh until there's nothing left," he continued. "You won't have time to react like she did—not with a wound that heavy."
Her twisted expression remained, but this time a faint smirk formed.
"Don't get too excited yet," she said. "You don't know what might happen next."
"And what is that?" he asked. "You suddenly gaining the ability to draw out the bacteria before they fully invade your body?"
"Spare me. You'll die here, and I'll take her back with me just as I intended before. Nothing has changed—not even if your friends managed to take down my brother. It all ends here."
"It's that kind of narrow-mindedness," she said, "that prevents people from growing."
She gripped her sword tightly with both hands before saying, "As long as you have the will to overcome uncertainty, then the future becomes something to be embraced—not feared."
At the back of her left hand, a mark appeared, glowing a faint white.
"I won't just stand here and let you predestine my end," she said, her voice rising with each word, "because my future belongs to me!"
What came next was unexpected for both Takae and Takeru alike.
Instead of charging, in one swift motion, she drove her own sword into her gut.