The stars were veiled that night. Not by clouds, but by something far older and far more silent.
In the city of Hoshikawa—a name forgotten by maps but remembered in whispers—life moved at its own hesitant pace. Flickering lanterns hung like tired souls above cobbled streets. Somewhere beyond the broken bell tower, a boy stood on the rooftop of a crumbling orphanage. His name was Kaito.
Hair tousled by the midnight wind, eyes glazed with the weight of dreams he never chose to carry—Kaito looked up at the blank sky and whispered:
"これでいいのか... 父さん... 母さん..."
(Kore de ii no ka... Tou-san... Kaa-san...)
"Is this really okay... Father... Mother...?"
Below him, the silence wasn't peaceful. It was...watching.
Kaito was sixteen. Old enough to see ghosts, too young to make them go away. The Matron at the orphanage told him he was cursed. But curses, Kaito had decided, were just misunderstood gifts wrapped in grief.
Every night, he heard voices no one else did. Ancient echoes beneath the floorboards. Lullabies behind closed doors. And sometimes... the soft weeping of a child from the walls.
He never told anyone.
Not after the last time.
The memory returned like broken glass underfoot: He was ten. He had screamed about a burning man who crawled through the ceiling. The Matron locked him in the basement for two days.
Since then, Kaito smiled when it hurt.
Laughed when he wanted to disappear.
And drew strange symbols in his notebook when no one was watching.
But that night—under the hollow sky—something changed.
It started as a hum. Low. Like a growl hidden inside a heartbeat.
And then...
A mark appeared on his chest.
It burned. Not like fire. Like memory.
Kaito collapsed to his knees. The symbol glowed, spiraling, ancient. His vision blurred as a voice echoed deep within his bones.
"お前は選ばれた... 死者の王の血を継ぐもの..."
(Omae wa erabareta... Shisha no ō no chi o tsugu mono...)
"You have been chosen... the heir to the blood of the King of the Dead..."
His scream never made it out.
Miles away, in a forgotten underground temple buried beneath the old Shinju forest, a figure in a black cloak opened one eye. The ground trembled.
"So... he's awakened."
Behind the figure stood a massive gate. Sealed with spells older than language. Carved into its center was a name:
"Lambu."
A name feared by monsters and mourned by gods.
The cloaked figure touched the gate gently. "あともう少しだ...今度は敗けない..."
(Ato mou sukoshi da... Kondo wa makenai...)
"Just a little longer... This time, I won't lose..."
And in the silence of a world slowly tearing open, Kaito's eyes turned silver.
The war had begun.
But no one knew it yet.
The rain hadn't stopped for hours.
Thunder rolled lazily across the dying sky like a bored god sighing into the abyss. In the corner of a broken-down town nestled between crumbling shrines and rusting train tracks, Sagaru Ren, 17, sat motionless beneath the hollow bell tower of the old school.
No one rang that bell anymore. Not since that day.
He stared down at the notebook in his hand — pages smeared with water and grief. The ink was beginning to bleed, just like his memories. His fingers trembled, but it wasn't from the cold. It was from the weight of something... unspoken. Unreleased.
"Why me...?"
His voice barely left his lips, stolen by the wind.
"Ore dake... naze..."
That question had haunted him for years.
Every night, that dream returned. A field of fire. The sky burning red. Screams. And a single shadow walking through the flames... calling his name.
A voice neither human nor beast.
A voice that promised destruction.
A voice that knew him.
Flash.
A sudden pulse of air cracked through the town. The birds scattered.
Sagaru's eyes snapped open.
He clutched his chest. The burn mark — shaped like an ancient sigil — was glowing again. Just like it had ten years ago.
His heart pounded like a war drum.
It was beginning again.
The curse.
The power.
The truth.
Somewhere far beyond the human eye, beyond clouds, beyond light…
A man in black robes stood at the edge of a blood-lit cliff.
Wind howled around him, but his cloak didn't sway.
Chains of darkness slithered behind him like serpents hungry for war. His eyes — crimson voids — scanned the world below.
He smiled.
Not the smile of a savior… but of a man who had already died a thousand times and returned to destroy.
"やっと起きたな… サガル…"
(Yatto okita na… Sagaru...)
"Finally, you've awakened..."
Back in the ruined city, Sagaru stumbled home.
His aunt — his only family now — had left early morning for her job. Their house was quiet, dusty, and filled with boxes they never opened. One room, always locked. One truth, never spoken.
As he dropped his soaked bag on the floor, the television flickered on by itself.
Static.
Then, an old news clip played from eleven years ago.
> "Unexplained explosion... Entire district vanished overnight... Survivors: none. Except... one child."
Sagaru's knees buckled.
His vision blurred.
> "The child showed signs of—"
CRACK.
The screen shattered.
And standing in its place... was a mirror.
But it wasn't his reflection.
It was him — but older. His eyes wild. His body glowing with runes. His voice laced with fury.
> "You're too late."
> "He's already here."
Sagaru backed away. The air turned cold. The mark on his chest burned hotter.
He ran out of the house, breath sharp, tears unnoticed. He didn't know where to go.
But something pulled him.
Like a string tied to his soul.
To the old abandoned shrine deep in the woods.
A place his aunt forbade him from entering.
Under the moonlight, the shrine whispered.
Ancient symbols glowed on the stones. Forgotten names etched into the walls. And in the center — a sword. Pierced through a gravestone. Glowing faintly blue. A voice whispered from it...
> "Your soul… belongs to the storm."
Sagaru reached out.
And the moment his fingers touched the hilt—
B O O M
A vision crashed into his mind like a tsunami.
Wars. Worlds colliding. Blood. Screams. A woman's voice crying his name.
And the villain…
That man with eyes like bleeding galaxies.
The same man who had destroyed the world once…
...and would do it again.
> "俺の名前は… ラクフ."
(Ore no namae wa… Rakufu)
"My name is… Rakufu."
> "And your fate… is mine."
Sagaru screamed.
The ground split open. The trees howled.
A symbol etched into the sky itself — like the world had remembered something it had once buried deep.
Sagaru collapsed.
And the storm began.
Again.
Silence.
A suffocating kind of silence, the kind that doesn't just fill the air — it swallows it.
Sagaru lay in the center of the broken shrine, his body shaking, his eyes open wide but unfocused. The sword... it was gone. Disintegrated into blue flame the moment he touched it — like it had been waiting centuries for him. Now, the shrine pulsed with strange symbols, glowing veins spreading across the moss-covered floor like ancient circuits.
"W-What... was that...?"
His voice was fragile.
His hand instinctively reached for his chest — the mark was no longer just a burn. It was alive. Glowing like a cursed sun, its pattern shifting… breathing.
And then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Measured.
Crunching leaves.
Sagaru turned sharply, heart racing.
From the shadows of the torii gate, a figure emerged — cloaked in black, with a white mask etched with seven blood-red tears.
Not a word.
Just presence.
Crushing.
"Who are you...?"
Sagaru's voice cracked.
The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, it lifted its hand… and the trees withered around him. Animals fled. Time seemed to bend.
Then the voice came — not loud, not even angry. Calm. Too calm.
> "You carry the key to everything I once lost."
> "You shouldn't exist… and yet, here you are."
> "生まれ変わったか…サガル."
(Umarekawatta ka… Sagaru.)
"You've been reborn, haven't you... Sagaru?"
Sagaru stepped back, hands trembling.
He couldn't understand why… but his soul remembered that voice.
From his nightmares.
From the ruins.
From the fire.
> "You're… him."
The man nodded slowly, removing his mask.
Beneath it — a face scarred by time, betrayal, and hatred. But his eyes...
They were identical to Sagaru's.
> "I am what you will become."
Sagaru froze.
The stranger lifted a hand, and dark chains slithered from the earth, latching onto the shrine's walls. The ground cracked. Symbols rearranged themselves beneath Sagaru's feet, forming a ritual circle.
A seal.
> "You were never supposed to live, Sagaru."
"But destiny is cruel... It repeats."
"You are the harbinger and the lock."
"And I… I am the key."
With that, the figure raised both hands—
The storm screamed above them.
Lightning crashed into the trees, igniting the forest in violet flames.
> "I will reclaim my fate. Even if I must rip it from your corpse."
But Sagaru wasn't the same frightened boy anymore.
In that moment… something awoke within him.
Memories that weren't his.
Battles that never happened — yet felt too real.
A woman in white armor. A burning castle. A promise whispered at death's door:
> "When the seal breaks, you must choose… save the world, or bury it."
And a name…
A forbidden one.
The name of the power sleeping inside him.
> "Arkeon..."
The mark on his chest exploded in blue light.
The circle shattered.
The shrine howled.
Sagaru's body lifted into the air — his hair whipping wildly, eyes glowing silver-white, veins lit with blue fire.
> "You want my power?"
"Come and take it."
"俺は…サガルじゃない."
(Ore wa… Sagaru janai.)
"I'm not just Sagaru anymore…"
> "I am the storm they buried — and I REMEMBER EVERYTHING."
The man laughed.
A slow, cruel, bitter laugh.
> "Then let us begin the second war."
BOOM!!!
Light exploded between them, tearing the sky open.
🌑 Somewhere Else...
Inside a secret council chamber far from the human realm, five cloaked figures stood watching the storm tear through space from a magical mirror.
One of them turned.
> "He's awakened."
> "After all these years... the Storm-Bearer walks again."
Another whispered with trembling lips,
> "Pray he doesn't find out who he truly is… before we're ready."
🌧️ Back at the shrine...
Sagaru collapsed.
The blue light faded.
The masked man had vanished.
All that remained… was a single black feather — burning gently on the stone.
And a message etched into the shrine's wall:
> "This is only the beginning."