BLOOD OATH "Rise of The Silent Blade "

A Blade Without a Name

The wind howled over the cliffs, carrying the cold bite of the north. Training had ended hours ago, yet Kairo still stood in the courtyard, bruised, battered, and motionless, staring at the Ember Tree like it held all the answers he didn’t know how to ask.

He held the scroll tighter in his hand, his father’s words echoing in his head:

> “To rise from ashes, you must first burn.”

He wasn’t sure what it meant yet. But something about it struck deeper than any blade.

Behind him, footsteps padded across the stone.

“You're going to catch your death out here,” Ayame said gently.

He turned and gave her a tired smile. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened this week.”

She stepped beside him, pulling her shawl tighter against the wind. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were reckless. Loud. Always ready to punch your way through things.”

Kairo raised a brow. “And now?”

“Now I know you're stubborn,” she said, then added softly, “But you care. Even when you don’t want to.”

He looked away, embarrassed. “I just… I need to understand who my father really was. What he was fighting for. Why did he die?”

Ayame didn’t answer immediately. Then, after a pause, she said, “Maybe finding those answers isn’t about looking backwards. Maybe it’s about becoming the kind of man he hoped you’d be.”

Kairo stared at her for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Maybe you’re right.”

The next morning, the monks led him deep into the heart of the monastery—past libraries, armouries, and forbidden doors sealed with iron runes.

They stopped in front of a heavy, circular stone chamber lit by torches in the shape of dragon claws.

At the centre of the room stood a pedestal, and upon it… a blade.

Not just any blade.

It was unlike any Kairo had ever seen—dark steel etched with red veins that glowed faintly like cooled magma. Its hilt was wrapped in old cloth, and the pommel held a single ruby-like gem that pulsed like a heartbeat.

“This is the Blade of the Forgotten Flame,” said Kael, his voice solemn. “Forged centuries ago in fire, tempered in blood, and bound to the will of its wielder. It has not accepted a master since your father left it behind.”

Kairo stepped closer, heart pounding.

“So… it chooses me?”

“It tests you,” Kael corrected. “Only one who understands sacrifice may wield it.”

Master Iroha stepped forward now, arms folded.

“The trial is not a fight. Not a riddle. It is… a mirror.”

Before Kairo could ask what she meant, the monks stepped back, and the door sealed behind him with a deep rumble.

The moment he touched the blade, the room vanished.

In its place stood fire. Endless fire. He was back in the village, watching it burn. The screams pierced his ears. The air choked him. The smell of ash, blood, and sorrow filled his lungs.

Then he saw them—his parents.

Alive.

His mother, smiling and calling to him. His father, unharmed, beckoned him home.

“I can’t—” Kairo whispered.

“If you choose to stay,” a voice echoed, “you can live in this memory. Safe. Loved. The pain will fade.”

Kairo dropped to his knees. His hands trembled.

“I want this,” he muttered. “I want them back.”

“But it’s not real.”

He looked up.

His father stood there now, no longer smiling.

“Kairo,” he said gently, “you can’t hold onto shadows. You must carry the flame forward.”

Kairo’s throat tightened. “Why did you leave me?”

“I didn’t,” the vision said. “I died so you could live. And now, you must decide what kind of man you will become.”

When he opened his eyes, the blade was in his hands.

The room returned. Kael stood watching him, a rare hint of awe in his expression.

“It chose you,” Kael whispered.

“No,” Kairo replied. “I chose me.”

The gem in the hilt pulsed once.

Alive.

That evening, the monks gathered in the courtyard. For the first time since their arrival, Ayame stood among them, not as a visitor but as an equal. She’d begun her own training under a healer named Sister Mira, mastering pressure points, herbal poisons, and the art of silent movement.

The Ember Tree seemed to glow a little brighter that night.

Kael approached Kairo in private.

“There’s something else you must know,” he said. “The men who burned your village—they weren’t random raiders. They were marked.”

“Marked by who?”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “The Crimson Syndicate. They once served under the Silent Blade… before betraying us.”

Kairo felt something in him freeze.

“Why?” he asked. “Why target my father?”

“Because he knew the truth,” Kael replied. “He discovered what the Syndicate was planning. And now that you carry the Flame, they’ll come for you too.”

Kairo tightened his grip on the blade.

“Then let them come.”

As the moon rose high over the Whispering Monastery, the wind carried a new sound—one not heard in many years.

The sound of steel being awakened.

The Silent Blade would rise again.

And this time… it would not be silent.