BLOOD OATH "Rise of The Silent Blade "

Ashes and Echoes

The fire in Kairo’s mind didn’t burn out after he left Ravenspire.

If anything, it burned hotter.

Lord Nazar. The name echoed in his thoughts like a curse — heavy, ancient, and cloaked in shadow. No face. No history. Just a whispered title among assassins who feared even speaking it aloud. Now, it was a target. One Kairo intended to mark with blood.

They camped beneath the skeleton of a dead tree, miles from Ravenspire. The stars flickered above like distant sparks from a forge, cold and unreachable.

Ayame sat nearby, sharpening her curved blade with slow, methodical strokes. She hadn't said much since the fight with Jin. But her silence wasn’t awkward — it was calculated. Like she was waiting for the storm inside Kairo to settle before stepping into it.

“You didn’t kill him,” she said finally, not looking up.

“I got what I needed.”

“Is that why your hands are shaking?”

Kairo stilled. He hadn’t noticed.

He looked down at his fingers, still twitching from the adrenaline. Or maybe it was rage. Or fear. The kind of fear that came not from the enemy in front of you, but the one still hidden in the dark.

“I was trained to end lives, not to question them,” he said quietly. “Now I’m questioning everything.”

Ayame stopped sharpening. She looked at him, her eyes softer now. “That’s what makes you dangerous, Kairo. You’re no longer a blade they can control. You’re becoming something else.”

He didn’t know if that was a compliment or a warning.

Silence stretched between them for a while before Kairo finally spoke again.

“I need to return to the ruins,” he said.

Ayame blinked. “You mean—”

“Yes. The Ren compound. What’s left of it.”

She exhaled, nodding slowly. “Alright. But we move at first light. That place… it’s crawling with scavengers, and worse.”

By dawn, they were on horseback, riding hard through forgotten valleys and overgrown trails. The deeper they rode, the more the land changed. The air grew colder. The trees thinner. As if even nature had abandoned the place.

By midday, the ruins came into view.

What was once the proud Ren compound — a fortress of stone, firewood, and legacy — was now a shattered skeleton of memories. Burnt timbers. Collapsed roofs. Cracked statues. The main gate had fallen, twisted and half-buried in ash.

Kairo dismounted in silence, feet crunching over blackened debris. Each step was a memory.

His father’s voice shouting across the courtyard.

His mother’s hands lighting the ceremonial lantern.

His younger brother, laughing while trying to mimic sword drills with a stick.

All gone.

Ayame trailed behind, giving him space. She didn’t need to speak. Her presence was enough.

Kairo walked into what was once the central hall. Or what remained of it. Only half the structure stood. Vines snaked across the broken floor. The wall carvings — ancient family crests, warrior code inscriptions — were scorched and barely legible.

And then he found it.

The altar.

It stood at the far end of the hall, cracked but not destroyed. And resting on its surface was something that shouldn't have been there.

A scroll.

Untouched by fire.

Kairo’s heartbeat surged as he approached it. He reached out, fingers brushing the seal — the Ren family crest.

He broke it and unrolled the scroll.

Inside, written in his father's handwriting, was a final message:

“If you are reading this, my son, then fate has spared you. The sect came not for justice, but for fear — fear of the truth you carry in your blood. You are more than they allowed you to believe. You are the last of the True Flame.”

“Seek the Whispering Monastery. The monks there are bound by oath to our bloodline. They will guide you toward the truth buried in your veins. And if you still burn with vengeance, let it be the kind that brings change — not just ruin.”

— Master Ren Tairo

Kairo’s knees nearly buckled. He gripped the altar for support.

The True Flame. A forgotten bloodline, long thought myth. Said to be warriors infused with the essence of the fire god, capable of not just mastering martial arts, but channeling internal energy in ways the world hadn’t seen in generations.

Was that why the sect turned on his family?

Was that why he survived?

Ayame moved beside him, reading the scroll over his shoulder.

“Well,” she murmured, “that just made things a lot more complicated.”

He laughed, the sound dry and bitter. “Complicated is the only thing I know now.”

She smiled faintly. “So, what’s next?”

He rolled the scroll gently and tucked it into his cloak. “We ride east. To the Whispering Monastery.”

Ayame raised an eyebrow. “Through the Blackwind Cliffs?”

“Through whatever stands in the way.”

Kairo turned once more to face the ruins. He bowed his head.

“This is my oath,” he whispered. “By the blood you spilled and the truth you buried — I will rise. Not as your weapon. But as your reckoning.”

As the wind howled through the ruins like voices of the past, Kairo mounted his horse and rode out, the fire inside no longer just for vengeance.

It was for truth.