The storm raged across the mountains as if the sky itself had been torn apart. Rain hammered the earth with furious force, each drop stinging the skin. Wind howled between the trees, bending branches like brittle bones. Lightning carved jagged scars across the heavens, followed by thunder so deep it seemed to shake the soul.
Within that raging storm—two blades clashed.
Again.
And again.
The sound sliced through the night like a living thing. Sparks leapt through the drenched clearing, only to vanish instantly into the sheets of rain pouring down from a wounded sky. The ground had long since turned to mud, yet the two figures moved across it faster than the storm itself—two shadows dancing amid flashes of lightning.
One step ahead of death. One strike from losing everything.
Steel slammed against steel. The shock traveled down their arms and into the soaked earth beneath their feet.
The young samurai staggered back, boots sinking into mud. Blood streamed from his side, mingling with the rain plastering his dark hair to his skin. Every breath burned in his chest, each inhale a shard of broken glass.
And then—
SHHNK.
Cold metal slid into his ribs. Pain erupted like fire. The world tilted.
From the ridge beyond the battlefield, a desperate cry cut through the storm.
"SHIN!!"
The mountains swallowed the scream, yet it reached him, cutting deeper than any blade.
He dropped to one knee, ragged shivers wracking his body. His vision blurred, edges dissolving into gray haze as rain dripped from his lashes.
His heartbeat slowed. The cold of the storm crept into his bones.
A single thought surfaced as darkness washed over him:
…It began… not long ago.
Before the storm—before the blood—before everything changed…
The storm swallowed him whole.
---
Before the Storm.
The forest had been unnaturally quiet that night—until a terrified scream tore through it.
A young girl sprinted between ancient trees, breath sharp and panicked. Branches whipped against her arms. Leaves tangled in her hair. Shadows pursued her, fast and violent.
Behind her, a huge creature with glistening fangs burst from the underbrush, claws tearing through branches like paper. Its breath came hot and foul, steaming in the cold night.
The beast lunged.
A single slash answered.
Clean. Precise. Final.
The monster collapsed, sliding through leaves before falling still.
The girl gasped, frozen in shock. Her heart pounded against her chest. She turned—eyes wide—and saw him.
As moonlight shone, the samurai who had saved her—exhausted and drenched in blood—dropped beside the creature he had slain. Deep wounds pulsed, blood soaking into the roots beneath him.
"M- mister—!"
Panicking, the girl—pink hair like cherry blossoms—hauled him up. He was heavier than expected, but she refused to let go. She dragged him through mud, roots, and shadow toward the edge of the forest, where a small wooden house sat quietly beneath the night sky.
Lantern light flickered from inside.
She banged on the door.
"Grandpa! Grandma! Help!"
The door slid open.
An elderly couple rushed out, faces pale when they saw the fading swordsman.
"In heaven's name—!what happened!" the old man asked, worried in his voice.
"I'll explain later, but he saved my life,"she responded.
"Quick, bring him inside!" the old woman rushed to get a cloth as she doused it with a liquid.
They lifted him with trembling hands, dragging him to a futon near the hearth.
The old woman pressed the cloth against his wounds.
As the cloth met his wounds, the samurai's body tensed, a strained "raahh" slipping from his lips—unconscious, but not beyond pain.
"Listen dear—warm water. Now!" she snapped, her voice sharp with urgency.
The old man hurried, hands shaking as he heated water over the fire.
Hours passed, rain began to fall.
The girl remained beside him watching over the samurai, never once leaving.
Finally, hours later, the swordsman opened his eyes.
His ribs wrapped tightly with bandages, body stiff with pain. Every breath stabbed like a thin blade. He tried to sit up, instinct and habit warring with injury, but groans forced him back down.
Beside him, the girl slept with her head on her knees, dirt and leaves tangled in her pink kimono from running.
When she noticed him move, her eyes snapped open.
"Y-You're alive!, i —i meant don't—don't move too much!"
The young samurai said nothing, pressing fingers to his ribs with a quiet wince.
She explained everything in anxious, hurried breaths—how she had dragged him here, how her grandparents had tended to his wounds, how they feared he would not survive.
He listened silently, expression unreadable.
Then he asked the only thing he cared about:
"…My sword?"
She pointed to the corner where it leaned safely against the wall.
"That's the first thing Grandfather saved."
--
The Old Couple entered soon after, relief softening their eyes.
The young samurai stood, holding his sword.
"Sorry, for the inconveniences, I'll take my leave now."
"Your wounds are severe," the old man said, voice rough with age.
"Stay until the storm passes. No traveler could survive outside in that state."
The swordsman glanced toward the window. Rain still lashed the world mercilessly. He exhaled and lay back down, accepting reality—for now.
Later that night, he tried to leave. Three steps, and his legs gave out beneath him.
The old woman clicked her tongue.
"It's already late. Step outside now and you'll die before reaching the village road."
He clenched his fist.
"Having me here will only bring trouble."
"We will decide what trouble is," she replied firmly.
"Not you."
That night, as he rested, he overheard the couple whisper quietly by the fire.
"I heard from Daizo… more people have gone missing near the river path."
"The bandits again?"
"Aye. They've grown bold. I fear the girl walking alone."
The swordsman closed his eyes, but their words remained with him.
—
The Next Day
Morning arrived with pale light filtering through heavy gray clouds. The storm had weakened, but distant thunder still rolled across the mountains, low and restless.
Smoke curled gently from the small chimney above the wooden house, thinning into the gray morning sky. Inside, the hearth crackled softly as the old woman knelt beside it, stirring a simple pot of rice and herbs. The warmth of the fire pushed back the damp chill that clung to the walls.
The scent of cooked grain filled the room.
"Rin," the old woman called, her voice firm but gentle.
Rin appeared from the back room, tying her sleeves with a thin cord.
The old woman lifted a wooden tray, arranging a bowl of steaming rice, a few pickled vegetables, and a small portion of dried fish. She placed it into Rin's hands.
"Listen, dear," she said, adjusting the tray so it wouldn't tip.
"Bring this to the young man before you go to deliver the charcoal to the village."
Rin nodded quickly.
"Alright, Grandma," she replied with a soft smile.
The old woman reached out and rested her hand on Rin's head, her touch warm and familiar. She smoothed down a strand of pink hair that had fallen loose.
"Be careful on the road," she said quietly.
"And don't wander too far into the forest."
"I won't," Rin promised.
With the tray held carefully in both hands,
Rin slid open the door to the room where the young swordsman had been resting.
It was empty.
The futon lay neatly folded. His sword was gone from the corner.
Her brows knit in worry.
"…He's not here?"
She hesitated, then carefully set the wooden tray down near the doorway so the food would not spill. The steam drifted up into the cold air, fading too quickly.
A soft sound reached her ears—
the faint scrape of wood against stone.
Rin turned.
She followed the sound through the narrow passage beside the hearth and slid open the back door.
Beyond it lay a small courtyard, open to the sky. Rainwater still clung to the stones, and the earth was dark with moisture. Low wooden fencing marked the edge of the yard, and beyond it, the forest loomed in quiet shadow.
There, beneath the heavy clouds, the young samurai stood alone.
His blade moved slowly through the air—
steady… controlled…
but his breath came uneven, betraying the pain he tried to hide.
Rin paused at the doorway, clutching her sleeves.
"That's where he went…"
She took a careful step into the
courtyard.
Despite his injuries, the young samurai trained.
His grip on the blade remained steady, but his body betrayed him. Halfway through a basic stance, exhaustion crashed down. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, breath ragged—then paused.
Someone was standing in front of him.
Rin held out a clean towel with both hands.
Her soft blue eyes shimmered like morning rain.
Her pink kimono fluttered softly in the wind.
Her expression was shy, worried… but kind.
"Um…" she hesitated. "You're hurt. You shouldn't push yourself like that, and if you're hungry, your meal is waiting inside."
He stared at her for a moment, then slowly took the towel.
"…Thanks."
Her face brightened, just a little.
Rin drew in a small breath, then bowed deeply.
"I should be the one thanking you… for saving me back there."
Her voice trembled as she lowered her head. "Thank you. Truly."
The samurai looked away slightly.
"There's no need to thank me."
Before he could say more, she suddenly stepped forward, closing the distance. She grabbed his hand tightly, her voice rising.
"There is," she said firmly.
"If not for you… I wouldn't be alive right now."
He stiffened at her touch, discomfort flickering across his face as he froze in place.
She noticed immediately.
"Oh—! I'm sorry!" she said quickly, releasing his hand and stepping back, her cheeks flushing.
The wind passed between them, carrying the scent of rain and something unspoken.
"My name is Rin," she said gently. "What's yours?"
He said nothing.
The silence stretched.
As the samurai looked away, cleaning his face with the towel, he glanced at the dark clouds above.
"It looks like it's going to rain again," he
said quietly, voice low.
Rin smiled faintly. "You're probably wondering why the weather is always like this."
He didn't respond, but she continued anyway.
"In the land of Raindell, rain falls like it's trying to drown the world. It's always been that way."
"No wonder," the young samurai muttered. "Since I entered this land… the rain hasn't stopped."
Rin nodded. "But something beautiful happens too."
She looked up at the sky, eyes glowing with wonder.
"Once in a very long time, there's the Starfall Festival—when the skies light up with shooting stars. Legend says it only happens once every five hundred years… or at least that's what my grandpa used to say."
For a brief moment, the swordsman's expression softened.
Then Rin hesitated, then spoke softly.
"Um… if you don't mind me asking," she said, avoiding his eyes,
"Are you the Dark Samurai?"
For a brief moment, the swordsman didn't move.
Then his expression changed.
Rin quickly shook her head.
"No—sorry. That was rude. You can't be."
She forced a small, nervous smile.
"You look almost the same age as me. I mean… you're too young."
The air shifted.
"I… I heard something," she said quietly.
"They say there is a wandering samurai called the Dark samurai. A rebel. Someone who's done terrible things."
The swordsman's movements slowed.
"They say he leaves destruction wherever he goes," Rin continued, unsure if she should stop. "That he's caused countless deaths. People believe he might be hiding somewhere in this land."
The air felt heavier.
The swordsman expression changed—not with rage, but with something sharper.
"Rumors," he said.
He stood, wiping his blade clean.
"People believe what they don't understand. They repeat what they hear, judge lives they've never seen, and call it truth."
His voice lowered, edged with bitterness.
"They decide who you are based on someone else's fear. Someone else's story. That kind of judgment spreads faster than fire."
Rin looked up at him, startled.
"…Wait," she said slowly. "Don't tell me you're—"
"Enough."
The word cut through the air.
He turned to her, eyes cold—not shouting, but unmistakably firm.
"Leave me be."
Rin froze. "I didn't mean to—"
She swallowed, shaken.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Just go."
The calm in his voice made it worse.
Rin recoiled, hurt flashing across her face. She bowed quickly and walked away.
He exhaled, hand on his head.
…Maybe I said too much.
Or maybe I should have said nothing at all.
Chapter One End.