Dawn broke like a wound across the horizon.
Pale orange light spilled over the mountains, filtering through the thinning mist. Hizusuki and the girl had traveled through the remainder of the night in silence, the exhaustion heavy in their limbs, but neither spoke of it. The fight with the Demon Wolf still lingered in their minds.
They now stood at the edge of a long-forgotten path—a broken road of stone slabs half-swallowed by earth and vines. The old road led toward the coast, but more importantly, toward the next fragment.
"The village of Sairen," Hizusuki said. "It was once home to swordsmiths who forged spirit-bound blades. My father told me the second fragment lies within their ruins."
The girl clutched his sleeve. "Do we have to go there?"
"Yes," Hizusuki replied, his voice firmer than he felt. "Because the blade that waits there remembers me… and I need to know why."
---
The ruins of Sairen were quiet, bathed in gold and dust. Once a proud town nestled between cliffs and sea, it was now a skeleton—burned beams, shattered gates, collapsed towers.
But in the heart of the ruins stood something untouched by time: a blacksmith's forge, sealed by prayer stones and lines of sacred ink long faded. Crows perched on the rooftops, watching.
Hizusuki stepped across the threshold, and immediately, the air thickened. The temperature dropped.
"She's here," he muttered.
The forge's inner chamber was dim, lit only by shafts of light slipping through cracks in the walls. At its center stood a pedestal, and upon it, a blade—untouched by dust, gleaming despite the years.
It was a katana like no other. Its sheath was wrapped in crimson silk, and its guard was engraved with a lotus in bloom. It pulsed faintly, as if breathing.
When Hizusuki approached, the blade whispered.
> You… finally returned.
He froze. The voice wasn't just in his mind—it was in the air, curling around him like smoke. The girl backed away, her eyes wide.
"This blade…" Hizusuki said slowly, "it knows me."
> I knew your father, Naku Hizusuki. I drank the blood of his enemies, and wept when he fell. I have waited through fire, storm, and silence… for you.
Hizusuki reached for the sword—but it moved on its own.
It floated upward, suspended by a force unseen. And then it surged toward him—not to strike, but to test. Its spirit unbound, the sword twisted into the shape of a woman cloaked in fire and ash. Her face was serene, but her eyes were molten gold.
> Prove you are worthy. Or be consumed.
She struck.
Steel and flame exploded in the forge. Hizusuki barely drew his katana in time, parrying the first blow. Sparks flew. The spirit woman's blade danced like lightning—faster, stronger, filled with memory and rage.
But Hizusuki matched her. Step for step.
His breath slowed. His mind calmed.
> This is not a fight, he realized. It's a remembrance.
He allowed her to strike again, but this time he didn't resist. He caught her sword with his own—locking their blades—and whispered:
"I am not my father. I do not seek vengeance. I seek balance."
The forge blazed with white light.
When it faded, the spirit woman was gone.
And the sword rested gently in Hizusuki's hands.
It felt warm. Familiar. Heavy not with iron—but with history.
From the hilt, another Legacy Fragment pulsed into his chest, merging with the first.
He gasped.
Visions poured in—memories not his own: battles long buried, betrayals never spoken, and a man—his father—kneeling before a shrine, whispering his son's name like a prayer.
> Naku… live not as I did. But stronger.
Hizusuki opened his eyes. The girl ran to his side.
"You're crying," she said.
He wiped his face. "No. Just… remembering."
---
Outside, the crows had vanished.
But on the distant hills, a shadowed figure stood watching them.
A tall man in dark robes, with one eye glowing beneath a hood.
He turned away and spoke to the wind:
> "He has two fragments. It begins."