That night, Nara slept beneath a velvet sky, the stars smothered by clouds heavy with silence.
The newly arrived disciples had each been shown to their sleeping quarters—small rooms with sliding doors and straw mats, lit by the soft glow of spirit-lanterns. The palace grounds were calm, unnervingly so. A breath held too long.
Zenith lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling above.
Sleep came slowly.
And when it did—
It came with fire.
It began in silence.
Not the kind that comforted, but one that swallowed sound.
Zenith stood barefoot in a field of red ash, embers drifting like falling snow. His robes were different—black, loose, ancient. A katana hung at his side.
All around him were ruins—broken spears, collapsed temples, dragon statues shattered in half. Wind swept through the remnants, carrying a smell that made his chest tighten.
Burnt blood.
Old fire.
Memories not his own.
A voice echoed from behind.
> "They called me savior…
Until I said no."
Zenith turned.
At the far end of the field stood a figure.
A tall man in black armor, long white hair flowing like threads of moonlight. He faced away, staring up at a sky choked with smoke.
> "They offered eternity…
In exchange for silence."
The figure raised a hand—and the wind froze.
Zenith tried to speak, but the air felt like stone.
> "But I chose to stay…
With the ones I loved.
And they… burned it all."
The world shifted violently.
Flames erupted from the earth, forming twisted shapes—ghosts of women and children screaming in silence, devoured by divine fire. Their shadows danced along broken walls, flickering and fading.
Zenith stumbled backward
"What… is this?"
The man turned his head slightly—just enough to reveal a golden eye.
A single tear of black blood slid down his cheek.
> "To stand against the gods…
Is to forfeit your soul."
The dream shattered.
Zenith sat up with a gasp, heart pounding like war drums in his chest. His body was drenched in sweat, his hand trembling.
He looked around.
No flame.
No figure.
No voice.
Only his dim room.
Only breath.
He pressed a hand to his chest, still hearing the echo of those words in his mind.
"They burned it all."
He didn't understand.
Not yet.
But somewhere deep inside, the name Arashi floated to the surface of his thoughts—like a whisper dragged from the bottom of the sea.
He had never heard it before.
And yet… it felt familiar.
Outside, beneath the faint howl of the wind, a single petal fell from a branch above the training courtyard.
In the shadows of the shrine wall, a spirit fox watched the boy's window with glowing eyes—silent, observant, and waiting.