The power still sizzled under Ayame’s skin as she stood in the quiet aftermath. The red flames that had engulfed her now flickered gently around her wrists like whispering embers. Her breath was steady, but her heart raced with a rhythm she didn’t recognize—ancestral, relentless, unyielding.Kairo watched her carefully, arms folded, his expression unreadable. “How do you feel?”Ayame looked at her hands. “Like there’s something inside me that’s been waiting to wake up for centuries.”The spectral Keeper hovered near the altar, his translucent form growing fainter. “You now carry the Inochi no Honō—the Flame of Life. It feeds on your will, your resolve. Doubt it, and it will consume you.”Ayame nodded slowly. “Then I won’t give it the chance.”Kairo approached the mural behind the altar, tracing the outline of the chained entity. “Who is this creature? The one bound by your ancestor?”The Keeper’s gaze darkened. “It has no name spoken among mortals. We called it the Yokubō no Kami—the

The morning fog wrapped around them like a mourning veil as Kairo and Ayame made their way through the ruins of the forest temple. The air was damp, heavy with a stillness that felt unnatural—as if the world itself was holding its breath. Birds no longer sang. Even the wind whispered in hushed tones, careful not to disturb what had been buried just days ago.Ayame walked beside Kairo, her fingers brushing against his. Neither had spoken since the burial of the staff. The battle with the masked figure, the collapse of the Circle’s curse, and the sacrifice it had demanded still weighed on them. Aysel’s death lingered like smoke after fire—present in every breath, in every step forward.Kairo stopped near a half-broken statue of an old deity, moss growing over its blind stone eyes. “This place used to be sacred. I can feel it… like echoes, still trapped in the walls.”Ayame nodded, her voice soft. “It wasn’t just a battleground—it was a gate. The staff, the runes, the Circle… they, were

The descent into the lower sanctum was like walking into the forgotten marrow of the world. The passage wound downward in endless spirals, carved in obsidian stone and lined with glowing runes that pulsed like slow, ancient heartbeats. Dust choked the air, but not from neglect—it was the kind of dust that clung to history itself.Kairo led the way, Nocturnis strapped across his back, its faint hum resonating with the sigils etched into the walls. Every step down felt heavier, not just with exhaustion, but with weight—of responsibility, of legacy, of the buried truth now clawing its way into the light.Ayame followed close, her fingers tracing the runes as they passed. Her sword remained sheathed, but her body was taut, alert. She had fought beasts and men, watched friends bleed out in her arms—but nothing felt as ominous as this quiet.Soris walked in silence, her face unreadable. The light from her pendant offered no comfort now, only dim clarity.“What exactly lies at the bottom?” A

The wind screamed as it passed through the narrow peaks beyond Vareth’s Spire, the sound like a dying hymn echoing across the frozen land. Snowflakes drifted gently from the grey sky above, covering Kairo and Ayame’s cloaks as they descended the final steps of the ancient catacombs. The book clutched in Kairo’s hand pulsed faintly, as if it held a heartbeat not quite its own.He hadn’t spoken since they emerged from the spire. His thoughts churned in silence, haunted by the vision of the First Silent Blade—the man who bore the weight of peace and burned for it.Ayame walked beside him, her fingers occasionally brushing against his as if to anchor him to the present. She understood the look in his eyes too well. She had seen it in her own reflection after battles that stole pieces of her soul. But this was different. This was a wound deeper than blood.“Kairo,” she said softly, “you don’t have to carry it alone.”He didn’t respond at first, only tightened his grip on the book.“I saw t

Eldenmoor had once been a quiet village nestled between the forest and the hills, known only to wandering traders and shepherds. Now, it stirred with cautious hope. Whispers spread like wildfire—from candle-lit homes to the muddy paths between huts—about the warrior with silver eyes and the glowing sword, the man who had once been bound but now walked free.Kairo remained on the hill until dawn’s orange glow crowned the trees. Below, Ayame slept lightly inside Lira’s modest home, while villagers prepared for their day, unaware of the storm that would soon descend upon them.He closed his eyes and drew in a breath, letting the wind brush against his skin. For the first time in what felt like centuries, he wasn’t haunted by the voice of the cursed blade. But that silence brought unease of its own. What lay in the void it left behind? Was it peace—or simply the calm before a greater storm?Footsteps behind him drew his attention. Ayame stood barefoot, her robe wrapped tight against the m