Chapter 2
Rain fell heavier as night settled.
It should have soaked the streets, smeared neon lights into bleeding colors, filled the gutters with filth and memory. Yet wherever Dino walked, the rain slid away—never touching, never lingering. Not because of a barrier, not because of power, but because reality itself had learned discretion.
He did not notice.
Or rather—he noticed, but no longer questioned it.
A narrow alley opened before him, lit by a single buzzing streetlamp. The kind of place stories liked to begin badly in. Dino stepped into it without hesitation, white robes untouched, Eternum steady at his waist, the silver-black bamboo resting calmly beside it.
Someone laughed.
Slow. Mocking. Too loud for such a quiet place.
"Well, would you look at that."
Five figures emerged from the shadows. Young men, supernatural-adjacent, half-trained, half-delusional. Talismans stitched into jackets. Cheap enchanted blades. The kind who had tasted a little power and mistaken it for authority.
Their leader eyed Dino's scabbard and snorted.
"An empty sheath?" he said. "You lost the sword, old man?"
Dino stopped.
He turned, calmly, fully, giving them his attention—not out of fear, not even irritation, but courtesy. It was rare these days for anyone to address him directly.
"I didn't lose it," Dino replied.
One of the men squinted. "Then where is it?"
Dino glanced down at Eternum, then at the bamboo.
"…Everywhere."
The alley went silent.
Not because of his words.
Because something had listened.
High above, invisible to all but one, the moons adjusted their orbit. Not closer. Not farther. Simply… attentive.
The men felt it.
A pressure. A sensation like standing at the edge of a cliff in the dark, knowing there was no ground beneath the next step.
The leader forced a laugh. "You hear that crap? This guy thinks he's"
He stepped forward.
And stopped.
His foot refused to move.
No chains bound him. No magic froze him. His body simply… declined. Muscles stiffened. Breath caught in his throat. His heartbeat skipped, then stuttered, then slowed.
Dino frowned slightly.
"Ah," he said. "That's unfortunate."
The man's eyes widened in terror. "W-what did you do?!"
"Nothing."
And that was the truth.
Dino had not attacked. Had not released intent. Had not even considered violence.
But once—long ago—he had killed so much, so completely, that existence itself had learned to associate him with an ending. That association had never been erased. Only buried.
Now, briefly, it resurfaced.
The other men stumbled back, panic breaking their bravado.
"T-this isn't funny!" "Get away from him!" "He's cursed!"
One dropped his blade. It shattered on the ground like glass, unable to endure proximity.
Dino sighed.
He stepped forward once.
The pressure vanished.
The frozen man collapsed to his knees, gasping, sobbing, alive.
Dino knelt in front of him, eyes calm, unreadable.
"You should leave," Dino said gently. "And forget this."
The man nodded violently, scrambling away. The others fled without another word, disappearing into the rain.
The alley was quiet again.
Dino straightened, adjusting the strap of Eternum at his waist.
"People these days," he murmured. "Too impatient."
From above, Luna watched.
She had not intervened. Had not needed to.
Her red eyes softened—not with amusement this time, but something closer to concern.
He still didn't realize how frightening he was.
Not because of his weapons. Not because of his past.
But because even now—after infinity—he chose restraint.
She descended.
Not fully. Not visibly. Just close enough that the air around him changed, subtle as a held breath.
Dino paused.
"…You're closer," he said.
Luna smiled.
"You noticed."
Her voice did not echo. It did not travel. It simply existed beside him, as if it had always belonged there.
Dino turned his head slightly. Not toward her face—he did not yet see her—but toward the place where her presence felt warmest.
"I usually am," he replied. "I just don't always acknowledge it."
A pause.
Then, softly: "Why?"
He considered.
"Because," Dino said, "acknowledging things has a way of making them stay."
Luna's smile widened.
"That's the point."
For the first time in a very long while, Dino said nothing.
They walked together out of the alley, rain parting around them. To any observer, he was alone—an odd man with an empty scabbard and a bamboo at his waist.
But the moons followed.
And for the first time since the pre-epoch, Dino's steps were not entirely solitary.
Far away, deep in forgotten realms, ancient beings stirred.
A name—long erased—brushed against memory.
The Blind Swordsman.
And the world, unknowingly, took its first step toward remembering.
End of Chapter 2