The sun had long dipped behind the cursed canopy of the Death Forest, leaving only slivers of gold piercing through the dying trees.
Ash walked in silence.
His newly awakened blades — one glowing like dawn, the other seething with shadow — were now sealed in energy, hovering behind him like spirits, responding only when called.
He no longer felt the cold. Not with this mask over his face. Not with power humming through his blood. He was no longer the swordless boy.
But he was not ready to be Ash either.
Not here. Not yet.
He would remain hidden — a ghost with no name.
---
As he approached the outer edge of the forest, smoke caught his eye. The faint shimmer of flame. A sound — steel against claw, screams cracking through the trees.
Instinct overrode thought.
He dashed forward.
---
A royal carriage, bearing a golden crest half-burned into its side, had overturned on the forest trail. Its guards — some already dead, others barely holding on — were in a losing battle against three monstrous beasts: twisted fangs, dark scales, and burning red eyes.
Inside the broken carriage, a girl gripped the wooden panel with trembling hands.
Her lavender cloak was torn at the edge. Her silver-blonde hair glowed faintly in the smoke, and her violet eyes scanned the chaos with terror and defiance. A blade sat in her lap — untouched, ceremonial.
Alya.
But Ash didn't know that name.
All he saw was a girl seconds from death.
---
One beast lunged.
Too late.
The wind cracked.
A blur split the air — silver and white.
Slash.
The monster's body collapsed, neatly cleaved in half.
Alya gasped, clutching her mouth.
Through the settling dust, a figure emerged — cloaked in flowing robes that shifted between light and shadow. A silver and white mask covered his face, only his eyes visible:
One golden, glowing like the sun.
One red, burning like a cursed star.
She froze.
Even the monsters hesitated.
The guards stared, half in awe, half in fear.
Ash didn't speak.
He raised both hands — and summoned the swords.
They formed in mid-air behind him, materializing with a thunderous hum: one bathed in holy light, the other in hellish flame.
Alya's heart skipped a beat.
"...Two swords?" one guard whispered. "That's... impossible..."
"No one can wield both," another muttered.
But he did.
---
Ash moved like a shadow set ablaze.
Every swing was precise. Every motion effortless.
The final beast charged — its jaws wide.
He didn't flinch.
He let both swords hover, crossed before him.
And then—
He vanished.
Flash.
He reappeared behind the creature.
Silence.
Then the monster split apart in a clean line — disintegrating before it hit the ground.
The battle was over.
---
Alya couldn't breathe.
He turned to her.
Their eyes met.
She felt her heart pound, not from fear — but from something else.
Something deeper.
His presence was terrifying… and yet safe. Distant… and yet familiar.
She took a step forward, her lips parting.
"W-who are you?"
Ash said nothing.
The wind stirred his cloak.
He looked away, turning toward the forest again.
She panicked.
"Wait—please!"
Still, no answer.
Only a soft murmur as he disappeared into the woods:
"You shouldn't remember me."
But how could she forget?
A man with two swords that should not exist.
Eyes that burned with fate.
And a presence that made even the monsters tremble.
---
Alya stood in the broken carriage, staring into the forest long after he was gone.
She didn't know his name.
But in her heart, something had begun.
The first ember of love.
And the legend of the Masked One had just begun to spread.
---