Senko's breath hitched as he bolted upright, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat like a blade through silence.
He was in a bed—an actual bed. The room around him was dim and unfamiliar, washed in the soft glow of moonlight seeping through tall, narrow windows. His shirt clung to him, drenched in sweat, and his limbs trembled as though they'd forgotten how to hold him.
The infirmary.
He blinked several times, trying to calm the storm inside him. His eye throbbed—not from physical pain, but from something deeper, something that pulsed with unnatural rhythm beneath the surface. The memory of Itami's voice slithered into his thoughts.
"That's the demon that's inside your eye."
Senko clutched his temple, a chill running down his spine. The phantom weight of the demon's gaze still clung to him like frostbite.
"Finally awake, huh?"
The voice was familiar—steady, a little tired. Leon sat slouched in a wooden chair beside the bed, arms crossed over his chest, eyes red from a night of watching over his friend. His presence was grounding, like a tether holding Senko to the waking world.
"You passed out in front of half the academy," Leon said, standing and stretching. "You looked like a corpse. Freaked everyone out."
Senko opened his mouth, but his throat felt like sandpaper. "How long…?"
"Almost a full day," Leon replied. "Master Hornstein carried you here himself. Said not to wake you. He left this."
Leon reached into his coat and handed Senko a folded piece of parchment. The words were scrawled in precise, sharp strokes.
We need to talk soon. —Hornstein
Senko didn't react. His eyes were fixed on his shaking hand. He could still feel it—that wild, unstable power surging through him like fire under ice. The demon's presence. The truth about his father. The Sanguivar Sword.
"Senko?" Leon asked, voice lower now. "What happened to you out there?"
Senko didn't answer. He couldn't. There weren't words for what he saw, and even if there were, he wasn't ready to speak them aloud. Instead, he muttered, "Just… overdid it. I'll be fine."
Leon studied him for a moment before sighing and sitting back down. "You've been saying that a lot lately."
Senko forced a smile. "And yet, here I am."
But inside, he didn't feel "fine." He felt like a dam with cracks spidering through its walls. And the water behind it was rising.The next day, the door to the infirmary creaked open again. Senko turned his head lazily, expecting Leon or maybe Hornstein. Instead, he saw her.
Korra Jafar leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, dressed in the sleek black and crimson uniform of the Dark Crimsons. Her long Gold hair was tied back in a high ponytail, and her usual expression of amused disdain was softened with something dangerously close to… concern.
"You look like hell. Again."
Senko snorted weakly. "Must be a weekly tradition by now."
She stepped inside, her boots quiet against the stone floor. "You passed out during a Stabilized Hora drill. That's not normal."
"I didn't sleep," Senko said. "Wasn't thinking straight."
Korra arched a brow. "So you started glowing and nearly collapsed the aura field because of insomnia?"
Senko didn't answer.
Korra sighed, then sat in the empty chair Leon had left. "I've seen a lot of hotheaded idiots try to stand out. But whatever that was… it wasn't you trying to show off. Something's wrong."
Senko looked away. "You wouldn't believe me."
"Try me."
He wanted to. For a brief moment, he really did. But then he saw the demon again in his mind—the wicked smile, the swirling purple aura—and the words caught in his throat like a curse he didn't dare say.
"I'm just… figuring things out," he said finally.
Korra studied him, her eyes narrowing as if trying to peel him apart layer by layer. Eventually, she stood and headed for the door.
"Whatever you're fighting, Yuhira," she said over her shoulder, "don't lose. That'd be annoying."
Then she was gone.High above the academy, in a tower that overlooked the eastern training grounds, two masters stood in silence.
Master Hornstein, arms folded, stared out the narrow window, his long silver hair rustling slightly in the wind. Beside him, Master Keen—the one with the blue beard and katana always strapped to his hip—remained still, his purple eyes unreadable.
"It happened," Hornstein said.
Keen nodded slowly. "How bad?"
"He lost control for just a few seconds. Enough to feel the corruption. Enough for it to whisper."
Keen exhaled through his nose. "The seal is weakening."
"I believe so."
There was a long silence before Keen spoke again. "If that demon takes full control, this academy won't survive it."
Hornstein's jaw tensed. "He's still a child."
"So was his father," Keen said, his tone sharp as a blade. "And his father nearly doomed us all."
Hornstein turned to face him. "Senko is not his father."
"We'll see," Keen replied quietly. "But we must prepare… just in case he is."
Outside, the wind howled.That night, unable to rest, Senko slipped out of the infirmary, his thoughts storming.
He made his way to the eastern yard—one of the less-used fields reserved for advanced dueling. The moon cast pale shadows across the cobblestones. It was quiet. Still.
He stood in the center, drew the Sanguivar Sword, and held it in front of him.
It felt heavier than usual.
He took a breath. Remembered the movements Hornstein had demonstrated in class. The flow of Hora. The focus. The channeling of energy through the body, into the weapon, and outward.
He tried to mimic the form.
His breath stilled.
And then, it ignited.
But not in orange. Not red. Not even the crimson hues of Armor Hora.
No.
A violent, unnatural violet aura burst from his blade. It spiraled like smoke around him, edged with black lightning that crackled with malevolent force. The ground at his feet fractured in a ring. A shockwave pulsed outwards.
Senko stumbled back, nearly dropping the sword. His arm felt like it was on fire.
"Too much," he gasped. "That's too much…"
Then came the voice. Soft. Seductive. Inside his mind.
"Let me help you."
Senko froze.
"You don't have to fight me. I can make you strong. Stronger than all of them."
"No," he whispered. "You're the reason I'm like this."
The voice chuckled. "And I'm the only one who can teach you to control it."
His grip tightened around the sword. His knuckles whitened. "I'm not a vessel."
"Aren't you?"
Senko roared, swinging the sword and sending a violet wave into a training dummy across the yard. It exploded on contact, splinters flying in every direction.
Silence returned.
Senko fell to his knees, breathing hard.
The aura flickered and vanished, but the cold sensation in his spine remained.
"I'll master this," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll learn it. Control it. But I won't become you."
He stood slowly, shaking, and walked back into the night—each step heavy with purpose, fear, and fire.
To be Continued…