Two streets further, nestled between the old stone houses and ancient trees of Western Chronos, stood a building both modest and imposing. Dark wood, grey stone, and a curved roof: the Kazan Dojo.
Samuel stopped before the heavy sliding doors.
"This is the place."
Beside him, Canon nodded and crushed his cigarette underfoot.
They pushed the door open. A subtle chime echoed in the silence.
The interior smelled of polished wood, dried herbs… and a faint trace of sweat. It was simple, yet well-kept. A young woman in a blue apron, sweeping near the entrance, looked up as they approached. She looked to be in her twenties, her hair tied in a neat bun, her eyes sharp.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Are you here for a class?"
Samuel shook his head gently.
"We're looking for Master Kazan. Is he here?"
She narrowed her eyes slightly, then offered a polite smile.
"He's in his quarters. I can let him know you're waiting. May I ask what it's about?"
Samuel answered with a calm but firm tone:
"An urgent matter. Thank you."
She nodded and led them down a short hallway to a modest room with a low couch, a table, and a window looking out onto the inner courtyard.
"Please wait here, I'll inform him. Would you like some tea?"
"With pleasure," Canon replied, flashing his usual half-smile.
She returned quickly with two steaming cups, served them carefully, and added softly:
"He shouldn't be long."
Silence settled in the room, broken only by the gentle sound of tea being sipped.
Canon, cup in hand, turned to the window.
"Tss… look at that."
Outside, in the courtyard, a few students in white kimonos were training. But clearly, their coordination was lacking. One was striking too slowly, another stumbled over his own footing, while a third chained basic skills without conserving mana.
"Looks like they're winging some bad stage choreography."
Samuel remained silent.
Canon raised an eyebrow, noticing something—or rather, someone—further away, under the shade of a large tree.
Lying on the grass, arms crossed behind his head, was a young blond man wearing round orange-tinted sunglasses, lazily watching the clouds. His dark blue shirt was unbuttoned halfway, revealing a toned chest. Beside him, a katana rested in the grass, just barely within reach.
Canon stared at him.
"Seriously… if that guy's their teacher, this new generation is screwed."
But just then, a figure appeared in the doorway.
An old man with a steel gaze. The master of the dojo.
His back was slightly hunched, yet he carried the undeniable presence of a seasoned warrior—one you instinctively knew not to underestimate. His long white beard, meticulously kept, fell to his chest. His hair, tied back, revealed a balding crown. He wore a dark blue kimono lined with sky-blue trim—worn with time but immaculately clean, reinforced at key points as if still ready for battle.
His hands, knotted and scarred, bore the living marks of ancient combat. And still, he stood upright and calm, eyes locked onto Samuel and Canon with intense silence.
He walked toward them slowly, each step echoing softly on the wooden floor.
"So, you're the two strangers who came looking for a ghost…" he said, voice deep and slow, but sharp as ever.
Samuel stood immediately, serious. Canon followed, a bit more casual.
"Kazan, I presume?" Samuel asked.
The old man nodded.
"That name doesn't carry much weight these days, but yes."
Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped forward and sat down. He studied them in silence, letting a heavy stillness linger.
Then, breaking the calm himself:
"I'm listening. But fair warning—I don't have time for nonsense."
Samuel crossed his arms.
"I'm not chasing nonsense… I'm looking for the Heart of Aethril."
Kazan raised an eyebrow. A faint, unreadable glint passed through his steely eyes. But he didn't answer right away.
Next to him, Canon muttered as he lifted his cup:
"Well… at least he's being direct."