The moonlight carved silver streaks across the dense forest, casting long shadows that danced in eerie silence. Yun moved with purpose through the underbrush, his boots silent against the moss-covered earth. Behind him, the air was thick with whispers of bloodshed—his recent confrontation with the Crimson Howlers still lingered in his thoughts.
But tonight, Yun wasn't pursuing enemies. He was chasing answers.
According to Old Kaen, the former Royal Scout, there was a forgotten shrine deep within the Nightshade Glade. It was said to house Shisetsu, a blade forged by a mad craftsman who believed weapons chose their own wielders. The legends claimed that Shisetsu could judge a person's truth just by touching their soul—and Yun needed answers that only a weapon like that could grant.
He emerged into a clearing where the moonlight was strongest. At its center stood a small, crumbling shrine made of obsidian stone, half-swallowed by vines. In front of it, planted in a jagged slab of rock, was the sword.
It shimmered unnaturally, its blade blacker than shadow yet edged with a subtle glow—like starlight caught in steel.
Yun stepped closer. Each movement felt heavier, like the air around the sword resisted his approach. The moment he reached out, the wind died. Not a leaf stirred. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath.
His hand hovered inches above the hilt. His heart pounded—not out of fear, but anticipation.
"Why have you come?" The voice was not spoken but embedded in his thoughts.
"I seek the truth," Yun said aloud, his voice steady.
The blade pulsed. "Truth is pain. Are you willing to bear it?"
Without hesitation, Yun gripped the hilt.
The world exploded.
His mind was dragged into a swirl of visions—memories, thoughts, regrets, hopes. He saw himself as a child, rejected by the Royal Guard. He saw himself standing silently at the Great Gate, watching heroes walk by while he remained unseen. He relived every moment of guilt and every buried rage.
Then, he saw something new—a memory not his own.
The first wielder of the sword—a warrior bathed in fire, standing against the monstrous shadow of a dragon. A man whose eyes mirrored Yun's own: focused, driven, but broken inside.
The blade whispered again, this time with a gentleness that surprised him. "You do not seek power. You seek to understand. That makes you worthy."
Yun opened his eyes.
The sword was in his hand.
The weight of it felt right—not heavy, but responsible. As if it wasn't just a weapon, but a vow made solid.
From the shadows of the forest, something stirred. Yun turned slowly, now instinctively attuned to every vibration, every breath of wind.
A figure stepped out—a woman clad in black armor, bearing the insignia of the Ashen Order. Her presence was cold and calculating, but her eyes widened slightly when she saw the sword in Yun's grasp.
"So it's true," she said, voice sharp. "The gatekeeper has awakened the blade."
Yun said nothing, his grip tightening.
"Then I have no choice," she continued, drawing her own blade. "Orders are orders. You're not allowed to live."
The shrine trembled.
And Yun, for the first time in years, smiled—not in arrogance, but in readiness.
"I wasn't alive before," he replied, raising Shisetsu. "Now, I am."