Darkness.
Not void.
But a blanket of ink, warm and old, wrapping Asaki's soul in silence.
She didn't feel her body. No breath. No weight. No pain. Just a floating awareness, drifting through a sea of memories forgotten and voices long buried.
And then—
Chime.
A single bell rang in the distance.
Soft.
Pure.
Like the sound of her mother humming in the garden, long ago.
Her feet touched something solid—stone, maybe—but the ground was pale and smooth like moonlight. She opened her eyes slowly.
She stood at the base of a wide staircase, carved into a snowy mountain. Sakura trees lined the path, their blossoms suspended mid-fall, frozen in time. Above, nestled among clouds and moonbeams, sat a lone shrine—its vermillion gates glowing with ethereal light.
She knew it without knowing:
This is the inner shrine of Kiyoku. The Soul-Sanctum.
The blade had brought her here.
A voice called to her from above the steps, distant and feminine.
"Climb, Asaki."
She hesitated. Her legs felt strange—as if they were both hers and not.
But she moved.
Each step took effort, not from weight, but memory.
With every footfall, a whisper echoed around her.
> "Coward."
> "Weak."
> "Useless child."
She gritted her teeth. Her father's voice. A long time ago, in a dim room with no windows. Her fists clenched.
Step.
> "Why do you always cry when others fight?"
> "You'll never protect anyone like that."
A boy's voice. One she once loved. One who had died on a battlefield while she cowered in a shelter.
Step.
> "Naomi died for you."
> "And you still doubt yourself?"
Her knees buckled. That one hurt.
Her heart screamed.
She wanted to run.
But she climbed.
Snow fell gently now. Warm snow. Like feathers from a forgotten heaven.
When she finally reached the top, she found herself standing at the torii gate of the shrine. The doors slid open without touch.
Inside—
Was a room of mirrors.
Infinite.
Silent.
And within each mirror—
Asaki saw herself.
Bleeding. Failing. Crying. Screaming.
Every version of her, broken.
Every version of her that she hated.
She tried to look away. But one mirror drew her gaze.
It showed her just minutes ago. On the battlefield. Holding Kiyoku. Screaming her technique through cracked lips, knowing she might die.
But in that mirror—she wasn't alone.
Behind her stood a woman.
Pale. Long white hair. Eyes soft like snowdrifts, yet piercing.
Kiyoku.
She turned to find her—and there she was.
In the shrine. Standing beside a paper lantern, arms folded in the sleeves of a silken kimono. Her presence was quiet, but undeniable. She radiated peace and sorrow in equal measure.
"You came," the woman said.
"I… was pulled here. Am I dead?"
Kiyoku smiled faintly. "Not yet. But very near. Had you fallen an inch harder… your soul would be ash."
Asaki lowered her head. "I was too weak."
"No. You gave everything. And now you pay the price."
The room flickered.
The mirrors vanished.
Now the shrine was a garden.
A white koi pond. Snow-lotus blooming from stone. Bamboo rustled in windless air.
Kiyoku gestured, and they sat across from one another. Between them rested a low table, with tea that steamed silver.
"What is this place… really?" Asaki asked.
Kiyoku looked at the pond. "This is the space between life and rebirth. All true blades have hearts—souls. When you called my name, and offered your spirit to me, we became bonded. Our spirits merged. This shrine is where that connection lives."
"I don't understand. I didn't do anything special. I was just trying to help…"
"And that," Kiyoku said gently, "is what made you worthy."
Silence passed.
Kiyoku lifted her sleeve, revealing a faint scar across her palm. "I was once human. A swordswoman of a long-dead kingdom. My name… lost. My people… gone. But my spirit clung to my blade. I became what you now hold."
"You were alive?"
"I loved. I fought. I failed." Her voice grew soft. "And I burned."
Asaki's eyes widened. "You… failed?"
"I let my sister die to protect my lord. The shame turned to fire. That fire became this blade. Kiyoku — Purity born from Ruin."
Asaki whispered: "That's what I feel when I hold you. Not just power. Regret."
Kiyoku smiled faintly.
"And now… I choose you, Asaki. If you survive this, I will walk beside you. But you must understand—my power has a price."
"What price?"
Kiyoku's form flickered. Now she stood behind Asaki, one hand on her shoulder.
"You must face all versions of yourself—even the ones that cry, that scream, that give up. You must accept them. Only then will Kiyoku truly obey."
The wind rose suddenly.
Snow swirled. The shrine shook.
Asaki stood.
She looked at her reflection in the koi pond. Not perfect. Not proud. But honest.
And she whispered:
"I accept her. All of her. Even the broken me."
Kiyoku nodded.
The world shattered.
Light poured into the void.
And Asaki woke—
---
Her eyes snapped open, lungs gasping.
She lay in a tent. Wrapped in wool. A fire beside her. Ishikawa sat nearby, eyes closed in meditation. Yoshinobu was cooking rice over a small pot.
Kiyoku rested beside her. She reached for it. It felt warmer now.
And in her mind—
That same gentle voice:
> "We begin again, Asaki. You and I."
To be continued