The summit chamber still buzzed with murmurs long after the last ember of Davis's call to arms. Banners stirred gently in the breeze, golden sunlight catching the edges of scarlet silk. Yet amidst that warmth, a quiet chill settled over Shin Soma.
He stood near the central table where Davis had laid the campaign map, but his attention was drawn not to strategy lines or territorial borders. His gaze was fixed upon a stone pedestal nestled at the edge of the room, where an ancient Soma relic rested: a slab of obsidian veined with luminous threads that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The Crest of Elders.
It had appeared in the aftermath of Kharzad's liberation, unearthed by rebels clearing out a Falzath sanctum beneath the city's oldest temple. No one knew how it had survived—not even Davis. But its Soma markings were unmistakable, matching the ancestral calligraphy carved into the hilt of Yoshimatsu and the glyphs encircling Shin's crystal orb.
The relic thrummed softly, as if whispering a story only Shin could hear.
He stepped forward and placed a hand on its surface.
A pulse.
Then another.
Images flooded his mind: a great hall bathed in moonlight, Soma elders kneeling in a circle around a young warrior. A blade passed from hand to hand. A voice—Murasabe Soma, his father's—speaking of honor, duty, and the burden of legacy.
A vision emerged—one of peace, taken for granted. The night before his sixteenth birthday. The Soma Council had gathered in the moonlight chamber, the smell of sandalwood and cherry blossom in the air. Murasabe stood tall, flanked by elder Shinobi and mystics. "The boy is ready," one said. "He has his mother's speed and your fire."
Murasabe smiled. "And his own storm yet to come."
But beneath the reverence, subtle cracks. A shadowed figure slipped through the ornate doors. Tristan, golden-robed, face concealed with respect, yet his eyes glinted with contempt.
"You honor us, Tristan," Murasabe had said.
"I honor what once stood strong," Tristan replied.
Elsewhere, a secluded corridor in the Soma stronghold: Queen Mariam, adorned in a cloak of royal purple, walked beside Tristan. "Will he truly accept the gift?" she whispered.
Tristan's lips curled. "The Crest of Elders is no gift. It is the key. To reshape the world, we must destroy the foundation."
"And if the Soma resist?" Mariam asked.
"They won't have the chance."
A blade passed from hand to hand.
Then fire. Betrayal. Screams.
Shin gasped and staggered back.
"Are you alright?" Zera asked, her hand steadying his arm. Her sapphire eyes, always observant, narrowed with concern.
"The relic," Shin whispered, his voice strained. "It carries the truth of the Soma fall. It saw it. It remembers."
Zera frowned. "Do you think Tristan touched it?"
"No," Shin said, jaw tightening. "But he feared it. That's why it was buried. Sealed beneath the ground like a shameful memory."
From the far archway, Dalen stepped in, brushing desert dust from his armor. His twin swords hummed faintly from the fire and wind infused in them. "Scouts spotted movement near the southern ridge. Renegades. Maybe two dozen."
Zera turned immediately. "I'll go."
Dalen nodded. "I'll cover you."
The two warriors vanished into the outer corridors, light gleaming from Clarent's edge as Zera unsheathed her blade.
Alone again with the relic, Shin turned to his orb. The crystal sphere shimmered faintly. He knelt and summoned Yoshimatsu from its depths, the katana materializing in a brilliant flare of foxfire. Its steel hummed with ancestral resonance, its crimson lightning flickering down the blade like a living current.
He stood, sword drawn, staring at the map on the war table. Redvale lay marked in crimson. Their first target.
But the relic called to him still.
The Crest of Elders, he thought. It's not just history. It's a warning. It's a legacy that demands to be answered.
Laverna appeared at his side, her steps silent as wind through grass. Her tiger eye necklace sparkled in sync with Yoshimatsu's blade.
"You saw something, didn't you?" she asked.
"My father. The elders. The betrayal," Shin said quietly. "The relic remembers everything."
Laverna placed her hand on the stone. Her eyes widened.
"I can feel it too," she whispered. "Pain. Guilt. But... not hopelessness. There was love in the end."
He turned toward her. "You think that's enough to move a continent?"
"It was enough to move me," she said.
Meanwhile, in the shadows of Laginaple, far from the summit halls, Tristan stood in the candlelit cathedral of the Falzath Court. Queen Mariam walked beside him, adorned in violet silk, her hands folded before her.
"They've found the Crest of Elders," Tristan murmured.
Mariam smirked. "Then it's only a matter of time before the boy sees it all."
"He already has."
She tilted her head. "Then you should be afraid."
"I am," Tristan admitted. "But not of him. Of what that relic might unlock. It was meant to be hidden. Buried with their blood."
Mariam's voice lowered. "And yet, fate dances with foxes."
Back in the summit chamber, Zera and Dalen returned. Both bore fresh cuts, but victorious grins. Clarent glowed brighter than before.
"Scouts dispatched," Zera reported. "But there's more. They were whispering about 'the Marked One.'"
Shin stiffened. "The what?"
"You," Zera said softly. "They know about the crest. About the relic. They believe... it's awakening something ancient."
Davis entered then, flanked by Mira and Rynn. He looked at the relic, then at Shin. "It's time you claimed your place, Shin. The Crest of Elders isn't just a memory. It's a symbol. Of what the world once was... and what it can be again."
The orb pulsed. Yoshimatsu thrummed. Laverna's necklace shimmered. And somewhere beyond the chamber walls, the wind howled with promise.
The summit had ended.
But Shin Soma had only just begun.