As a child, Tumoko Urishaki was no ordinary member of the Yami clan. Under the reign of the Second King of Yami, he was appointed as a junior officer—a position of honor, but also of infamy in his case.
He was mischievous, even wild—constantly disrupting rituals, vandalizing sacred scrolls, and mocking the ancient arts. "That child is a wild one," the elders would say as he passed, shaking their heads. Whispers echoed in the streets:
"He's painted and desecrated everything sacred to the Yami clan… he's a disgrace."
But Tumoko didn't mind the scorn. He embraced disgrace—even in hopelessness. Deep down, he believed in something greater.
He believed in Amaterasu, the Goddess of Liberation.
A warrior of light. A savior of the suffering. Her second coming, Tumoko believed, would spark a revolution and free the world from its choking darkness. She was his silent prayer. His only religion.
The King saw something in him—a spark no one else understood. Rather than exile the boy, he trained him. Brought him into the palace. And that's where Tumoko met her.
She was ten. He was eight.
A girl with radiant silver eyes and strange grace in her movements. "You're new here, aren't you?" she said cheerfully, offering her hand. "Welcome. This is my father's estate—King Kurosaki. He's going to retire soon, but don't worry. He'll train you in the best way possible."
She leaned in and smiled.
"My name's Uma. Nice to meetcha."
Tumoko blushed. "Tumoko. It's... nice to meet you too."
She was adopted—taken from the Mitsuki clan as a child. Her parents were still searching for her, somewhere beyond the borders. But Yami had claimed her now.
From that day on, Tumoko returned again and again—not just to train under the King, but to see Uma.
And on one sunny afternoon, as they walked through a garden near the edge of the palace, Uma knelt beside a field of dead flowers. They had wilted—choked by the black smoke from the forges of Yami.
"Why do you think such beautiful flowers die so soon?" she asked quietly.
Tumoko looked down at them, uncertain. "I don't know why."
Uma stared ahead, voice soft but heavy. "Because good people always die too soon. Just like these flowers. And I'm afraid for you, Tumoko…"
The following years unfolded like pages in a dream. Under the watchful eye of King Kurosaki, Tumoko trained daily in the sacred art of the Shadow Style—a technique passed down through generations of the Yami clan. The technique was powerful, fluid, and merciless. It demanded not only strength but total surrender to the void within.
And Tumoko... thrived in it.
Though reckless in his youth, he matured through pain, repetition, and wisdom. At just twelve years old, he did the unthinkable: he mastered the Shadow Style. His shadow bent at his will, sharp as a blade, swift as a ghost. The King himself proclaimed, "There's no longer a student standing before me... but a warrior."
And when those words were spoken, King Kurosaki smiled and retired, content that his mission was complete.
But it wasn't just the art that shaped Tumoko—it was Uma.
She had become a constant in his life. Training beside him. Laughing with him. Healing his bruises after rough sessions. She met his parents, Huma and Juro Urishaki, who were humble, warm-hearted villagers—known for their generosity and love of life. When Uma visited, they welcomed her as if she were their own daughter.
"She's a keeper," Huma often whispered to Juro as they watched the two spar or sneak dumplings from the kitchen.
"She's the one who tames the fire in him," Juro would reply with a grin.
And they weren't wrong.
While others in the clan still gossiped, still feared or distrusted the Urishaki boy, Uma stood by him. Unbothered. Unshaken.
One evening, after Tumoko returned home from training by rhe yami ninjas, she found Tumoko sitting with his mother on the porch, helping her peel vegetables.
"Your son's getting scary strong," Uma joked. "Might need to start training just to keep up."
Huma chuckled. "Just make sure he doesn't break his bones trying to impress you."
Tumoko's cheeks flushed. "I don't—!"
"Mm-hmm," Uma teased, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Tumoko sat beside her. The air smelled of firewood and cooking rice. For a moment, the world felt... right.
But peace never stays long in Yami.
Soon, rumors began to spread—the new king to replace Kurosaki had ambitions... dangerous ones. And those trained by the old king, especially ones as powerful as Tumoko, were considered potential threats to his rise.
Tumoko didn't know it yet, but the peace he had found—the laughter, the warmth, the simplicity—was about to be tested.
The shadows he mastered would soon be used not just for survival…
But for love, loyalty, and war.
The years drifted on like falling petals, and with every season, Tumoko and Uma grew closer.
They trained together daily. Sparred until sweat soaked their clothes. Walked home under the moonlight, shoulders brushing, eyes meeting in moments too brief but too deep to be ignored.
By fourteen, Tumoko had earned the respect of even the highest-ranking Yami officers. His mastery of the Shadow Style was refined now—silent, lethal, and elegant. But Uma was never far behind. Though she hadn't fully mastered the style, her instincts were sharp, her speed unmatched, and her spirit? Unbreakable.
They no longer sparred to win—but to understand each other.
Sometimes, they trained just to spend time alone. No one else mattered in those quiet hours—just the dance of their blades and the unspoken rhythm between them.
One autumn night, they sat atop the Yami watchtower, overlooking the vast woods lit orange by the dying sun. Tumoko lay on his back, arms behind his head, while Uma sat cross-legged beside him.
"Remember when you said good people die too soon?" she asked.
He turned his head to her, the wind playing with his silver-streaked hair. "Yeah. I still believe that."
"You think I'm one of the good ones?" she asked softly.
He hesitated. "I think... you're the only reason I still care to be."
Uma blushed, but she didn't look away. "Then promise me something."
"What?"
"No matter how dark it gets here... don't become one of them. Don't lose the boy who used to paint over the sacred scrolls just to get a reaction."
He smiled. "That boy only exists because he met a girl who didn't run away."
They leaned toward each other slowly, hesitantly—as if the world might break if they moved too fast. And then, beneath the sunset and the silence, their lips met for the first time.
But peace is never permanent in Yami.
The new ruler had arrived.
King Zaigen, the Third King, was once a war hero, hailed for restoring order during the Crimson Rebellion. To the public, he was a man of wisdom—calm, rational, and always smiling.
But beneath that composed exterior lay a mind of pure calculation.
Zaigen didn't see strength the way Kurosaki had. He didn't see potential—he saw leverage. Control.
He watched Tumoko with quiet interest, eyes lingering too long on the boy's effortless use of shadow. He summoned Uma in private meetings, praising her "loyalty" and "potential," and then dismissing her with veiled threats.
Soon, a quiet fear began to grip the Urishaki household. Tumoko's father, Juro, warned him.
"He's testing you. Zaigen doesn't trust anyone trained by the old king."
Tumoko clenched his fists. "I'm not going to kneel just to survive."
Huma placed a hand on her son's shoulder. "Then be careful... because strong trees are always the first ones they try to cut down."
Meanwhile, Uma had grown quieter. Her usual joy dimmed. She never told Tumoko what Zaigen said in their meetings—but each time she returned, her hands trembled slightly, and her smiles came slower.
One night, as they sat beneath the stars, Tumoko broke the silence.
"Uma… What is he doing to you?"
She looked away, swallowing hard. "He wants me to be his personal shadow. An assassin. For diplomacy missions. I didn't agree. But he said... he owns me. That I'm not really Mitsuki anymore. That I'm Yami property."
Tumoko stood, fury in his chest. "You're no one's property. You hear me?"
"I'm scared, Tumoko..." she whispered. "Not of him. But of what he'll make you become."
He knelt before her, grabbing her hands. "Then let me make you a promise—if the darkness comes for us... I'll be your light."
She looked into his eyes and saw no hesitation, no fear. Just love. Fierce and unwavering.
And in that moment, they knew:
Their love wouldn't just be a comfort in the dark. It would be a weapon.
At sixteen, Tumoko Urishaki had become the youngest shadow captain in Yami history.
Praised publicly as the King's finest weapon, he was dispatched on assassination missions, border control operations, and silent recon deep into enemy territory. The name Urishaki was now feared across neighboring clans.
But behind the mask of duty... lived a soul tormented by compromise.
King Zaigen tested him constantly—subtly, strategically. Missions that seemed honorable on the surface often revealed sinister motives beneath. Assassinate a "traitor," only to learn it was a healer who refused to weaponize their knowledge. Eliminate a "spy," only to find it was a child escaping forced conscription.
Each decision chipped away at Tumoko's conscience.
Each time, he returned to Uma—now 18, sharper in both body and mind, but growing wearier of the world they were trapped in.
"You're still loyal to him," she said one night as they stood by the lantern-lit riverbank. "Even after everything."
"I'm loyal to the people," Tumoko replied. "Not to Zaigen. I walk the line to protect those I love. And that includes you."
She said nothing—but stepped forward and rested her forehead against his. In the silence, words became unnecessary.
A year later, they were married in secret.
The ceremony was small—held deep within the ancient forest shrine, where only the moon and trees bore witness. Huma and Juro were there, crying quietly. A single priest of the old order blessed their union in defiance of Zaigen's regime.
That night, beneath a canopy of stars, Tumoko and Uma shared their vows not just as warriors—but as souls bound beyond blood and beyond shadows.
Then came the child.
A boy.
Born during a thunderstorm so fierce the elders said the heavens were testing the newborn's spirit. Tumoko held him close, unafraid of the lightning that split the sky.
He named him Kimikage — "Shadow of Hope."
His mother, Uma, smiled weakly as she held their son for the first time, her fingers brushing the baby's dark hair. "He has your eyes," she whispered. "But my stubbornness."
Tumoko laughed, tears falling freely. "Then he'll survive anything."
They kept his birth hidden from Zaigen, who forbade unauthorized marriages and offspring among shadow officers, fearing it would create bloodlines beyond his control.
But Tumoko didn't care.
His loyalty to Zaigen was over.
Now, he was loyal to Kimikage.
To Uma.
To the light they built in secret, beneath the kingdom's watchful eye.
But kings don't sleep.
And the King would soon find out.
What he could not control... he would aim to destroy.
The thunderstorm that marked his birth had passed, and for a brief season, peace settled over the Urishaki household.
Their hidden home, tucked into a quiet grove just beyond the outer Yami training fields, was shielded by trees and silence. Inside, joy bloomed where war and shadows dared not tread.
And in the center of it all... was Kimikage.
A soft, curious baby with hair dark as night and faint streaks of auburn from his mother. His wide, shining eyes sparkled with innocence—eyes not yet darkened by the world. But even as a newborn, he made his preferences known.
"Goo gaa gaa!" he squealed, tiny arms reaching upward.
Tumoko leaned over his cradle, a playful grin on his face. "Who's Daddy's boy, huh?" he asked, scooping the baby into his arms.
Kimikage burst into giggles, his small fingers tugging at his father's brunette hair.
From across the room, Uma raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me—nuh uh—he is Mama's boy," she said, marching over dramatically.
Tumoko held Kimikage protectively. "Nope. He clearly knows where the strength lies."
"Strength? Please," Uma snorted, snatching the child from his arms. "He's just being polite."
Kimikage blinked between them and then squealed again as Uma playfully tickled his belly.
"Gili gili gili!" she sang softly, spinning around with him in her arms.
The baby's laughter filled the small room—bright, pure, and uncontaminated by the weight of the Yami world outside.
Tumoko walked up beside her, placing his hand gently on her back as they both watched their son laugh.
"I never thought I'd have this," he whispered. "Not in a place like this."
Uma rested her head on his shoulder. "Me neither… But somehow, here we are."
They stood there for a long moment, just the three of them. A warrior marked by shadow. A woman born of stolen bloodlines. And a baby destined for something they couldn't yet understand.
They laughed again, as if laughter could keep the world away just a little longer.
Candlelight glowed softly across the wooden walls of their hidden home. Outside, the night was silent, but inside, peace hummed like a sacred hymn.
Uma sat beside their son's cradle, gently rocking Kimikage in her arms. His breathing slowed, his eyes fluttering.
Then, softly, Uma began to sing.
"From the silver sky she came,
Wings of dawn, eyes of flame.
Light to lift the broken sea,
Amaterasu, set us free…"
The melody filled the room like a memory returned from another life.
Tumoko, standing near the doorway, closed his eyes, letting the song settle into his soul. He knew the hymn. He had whispered it to himself in the trenches of war. He had sung it under his breath before assassination missions. To him, Amaterasu was real—the light he clung to in a world that swallowed light whole.
Uma continued, swaying gently with their son.
"Through the shadows, she shall dance,
Sword of stars in sacred trance.
Child of light, dream and see—
The Goddess walks through you and me…"
Kimikage let out a quiet coo, then drifted into peaceful sleep. Uma kissed his forehead, her eyes glowing faintly white with love and lineage.
She turned her gaze toward Tumoko, who was already approaching with that same boyish smile he always wore when she spoke of her clan.
"I could listen to that forever," he said.
"You've heard it before," Uma replied, half-smirking.
He nodded. "When I was younger, before I was an officer… before I met the King. My mother used to sing it too. Said Amaterasu wasn't just legend—she was our only chance at real freedom."
Uma blinked. "Your family believed in her?"
Tumoko chuckled. "Still do. She's why I paint the way I do. Why I rebelled against the clan. They feared light—but I chased it."
Uma's expression softened, and in her eyes shone something more than love—recognition. A shared flame.
Then she raised her hands and began to move—gracefully, like a whisper carried by wind. Her arms danced through the air with slow spirals and precise flicks, each motion filled with meaning.
Tumoko watched in awe. "The Dance of Liberation?"
Uma smiled. "The Amahira Ritual. It's how we honor her. Each motion reflects a piece of her story—how she descended, how she fought, how she freed those bound in chains."
She looked at him meaningfully.
"Want to join me?"
He grinned. "You already know the answer."
She took his hand, and the two began to move together. Step by step. Light and shadow in harmony.
For a brief moment, there were no kings, no clans, no war or politics—only two believers, honoring the Goddess they both trusted in. Each motion was a vow. Each breath, a shared prayer.
Later that night, with Kimikage sleeping beside them, Tumoko whispered, "Do you think he'll inherit your eyes?"
Uma traced her fingers through the baby's hair. "Maybe. Or something even stronger… something the world's never seen."
"And if Zaigen finds out?" he asked quietly.
She looked up at him, eyes white and unwavering.
"Then may Amaterasu herself burn his kingdom down.
Tumoko took her hand and pressed it to his heart. "Then let's make sure Kimikage grows up knowing the truth. Of her. Of who he is. Of who we were."
Uma smiled, resting her head against his chest.
"And who we'll become."
The quiet sanctuary of Tumoko, Uma, and Kimikage would not last.
Deep within the towering halls of the Yami palace, King Zaigen sat in shadows, his piercing gaze fixed on a parchment spread across a darkened table. It was a secret report—slipped to him by a traitorous spy—that revealed the truth: Kimikage was not just the son of a shadow captain and a Mitsuki survivor. He was the bloodline of Amaterasu herself, the child destined to wield power beyond any living shadow.
Zaigen's lips curled into a thin smile. This was no ordinary rebellion. This was a threat to his very throne.
"Find them. Bring me their heads… and the child." His voice was cold, a shadow swallowing the last flicker of mercy in the room.
The Hunt Begins
In the dead of night, Yami ninjas moved like ghosts through the dense forest surrounding Tumoko's hidden home. Their footsteps silent, their blades thirsty for the blood of traitors.
Tumoko stood by the cradle, watching Kimikage sleep. Uma's Shintsugan glowed faintly as she scanned the perimeter.
"They know," Tumoko said quietly. "Zaigen knows."
Uma nodded. "We must leave now."
Before they could move, a chilling roar shattered the night.
From the darkness emerged a colossal shadow demon, twisted and corrupted—its form a grotesque mockery of the Yami clan's once-proud soldiers. This was Goretsu, Zaigen's deadliest weapon: a fallen captain fused with dark shadow, lost to corruption but controlled by Zaigen's will.
Its massive clawed hand slashed the trees, crushing them as it advanced, eyes glowing with unnatural hunger.
The night air hung heavy with tension as the towering form of Goretsu, the corrupted shadow demon, roared a sound that shook the very trees. Its grotesque body pulsed with dark energy, jagged claws ready to rend flesh and spirit alike.
Tumoko stepped forward, the shadows around him coiling like serpents at his command. His eyes, sharp and focused, reflected unwavering resolve.
Uma's Shintsugan ignited in her eyes—a fierce white glow fractured by spinning crimson streaks, mandala patterns swirling ominously.
They exchanged a silent nod. No words were needed. Their mission was clear: protect their son. Defeat this nightmare.
Tumoko vanished into the shadows, moving like a living silhouette. His body flowed seamlessly between form and void as tendrils of darkness whipped around him.
With a swift, fluid motion, he summoned Shadow Blades—razor-sharp extensions of his chakra, slicing through the air with a whisper of death.
He darted toward Goretsu's massive arm, slicing tendons and blackened flesh with precision.
The demon bellowed in rage, swinging its claw in a deadly arc.
Tumoko leapt backward, shadows swirling around him like a cloak. Then, with a spin, he unleashed Shadow Pulse Strike, a concentrated burst of dark energy that blasted Goretsu's chest, staggering the beast.
As Goretsu recovered, Uma locked eyes with the demon, activating her Eye of Rurily torn from its body, paralysis freezing its movements.
The shadow demon lunged, its claw swiping with terrifying speed.
Tumoko caught the blow with his own arm, searing pain exploding through his flesh. Uma moved beside him, eyes blazing white as she channeled her Shintsugan.
The demon's claw plunged toward them again.
With a final, agonized cry, Tumoko and Uma clasped Kimikage tightly.
"Ana… Jaigen Ominaki," Uma whispered fiercely. "Our friends—the foster family we trust. Take him. Protect him at all costs."
Tumoko nodded, tears mixing with blood.
"Run. We'll hold them off. Our son's future depends on it."
With a last embrace, they thrust Kimikage into the arms of two figures stepping out of the darkness—Ana and Jaigen Ominaki, a stern yet kind couple known for their loyalty to the old ways and fierce protection of the innocent.
The news hit Former King Kurosaki like a thunderclap: his daughter Uma was dead. And with her, the light that once dared to pierce the shadow.
His heart shattered—not just as a father, but as a mentor to Tumoko, the boy he had once believed could lead the Yami clan toward a new dawn.
Flashback — The Fire Blossom Festival
Kurosaki remembered the laughter of two children beneath the blooming fire blossoms—Uma and Tumoko, so young, so free.
He recalled teaching them the Dance of Liberation, their fingers entwined in hopeful promise.
He had seen their love, fragile but fierce, and dreamed of a future where shadow and light might coexist.
Flashback — Training Days
Kurosaki's stern gaze softened as he thought of Tumoko's relentless spirit, the boy who mastered shadow with a mischievous grin.
"That child is a wild one," Kurosaki had once said with pride.
He had trained Tumoko himself, guiding him through the ancient techniques, sharing secrets of the clan's true legacy.
The Breaking Point
But Zaigen's ruthless rise shattered that hope.
The former king had watched in silence as Zaigen corrupted Yami's core, sending Goretsu—his greatest weapon—after Uma and Tumoko's son.
When the message arrived—Uma was gone—Kurosaki's grief burned into fury.
The Duel of Shadows and Light
In the throne room, Kurosaki confronted Zaigen.
The air crackled with ancient energy as the two kings faced off—a battle not just of strength, but of ideals.
Zaigen, twisted by ambition and darkness, sneered. "You cling to the past, Kurosaki. Your era is over."
Kurosaki's voice was calm but resolute. "Light never fades, Zaigen. It waits for those brave enough to carry it."
Flashback — The Last Lesson
As Kurosaki summoned his chakra, memories flooded back—Uma's white eyes glowing with the Shintsugan, Tumoko's shadow blades dancing in tandem.
He saw again their final dance, a promise whispered beneath the stars.
With a roar, Kurosaki unleashed a torrent of shadow and light, overwhelming Zaigen's dark power.
The corrupt king fell, defeated—not just by force, but by the strength of hope and legacy.
A New Dawn
With Zaigen's fall, Kurosaki reclaimed the throne.
He sent word to Ana and Jaigen Ominaki, welcoming the foster family and young Kimikage back into the heart of Yami.
At the gates, Kurosaki stood tall, tears in his eyes as he held the boy—his granddaughter's son, the future of the clan.
Present Day — Mitsuki Territory, Shrine of the Moonborn
The sky above the Moonborn Shrine was pale and cold. Thin snowflakes drifted down in silence, vanishing as they touched the glowing white trees of the Mitsuki Forest. This land shimmered unnaturally—almost holy—untouched by corruption.
Kimikage Urishaki Ominaki, now eighteen, sat cross-legged at the base of a great stone, his breath steaming in the crisp mountain air. Behind him flowed the sacred spring of Amaterasu, known only to the inner Mitsuki bloodlines.
His white cloak bore the crest of the goddess, embroidered in silver threads, its edges torn from travel. His face was calm—but it was the stillness of one who had walked through fire.
He had left Katakuichi—his closest brother—and the last remnants of the Yami behind.
And he hadn't looked back.
The Rift Within
That night, he stood before the moonlit spring, removing the bandage from his right eye.
It glowed fiercely—Shintsugan fully awakened. But his left eye remained dim, infused with Shadowblood Chakra. It pulsed violently. The two sides rejected one another. A Divine Rift, unstable.
His hands trembled.
The Gates of Mitsuki opened under the high sun—etched with ancient symbols of light and memory, a thousand years of divine blood flowing behind them. Kimikage Urishaki Ominaki, now wearing the full ceremonial robes of a Mitsuki heir, stood before the sacred temple court.
Behind him, bell chimes rang in the wind. Ahead of him, Lady Suna, the Matriarch of the Mitsuki, stepped forward with solemn eyes. Her own Shintsugan glowed faintly, dimmed by age but sharp as ever.
"Kimikage," she said. "You are no longer a guest here. You are Mitsuki."
He bowed deeply. "Then let the curse I carry be yours to bear with me."
She raised his chin. "You are not cursed. You are the blade Amaterasu left behind."
Cheers erupted softly from behind the temple walls. Elders bowed. Disciples whispered his name. He was home.
Ryu welcomed him too
Katakuichi's sister
The Fall of the Shadow Brother
Far beneath the black stone towers of Yami, where the sky never shone, Chernobog's altar pulsed with sickening shadowlight.
And there stood Katakuichi, bathed in that corruption. Not resisting it—but embracing it.
He wore new robes—black, torn like burnt paper—and his eyes were cold, drained of warmth. The mark of the Singular Shadow pulsed on his chest—his birthright.
The voice of Chernobog thundered inside his skull like the beating of ancient war drums:
"You were not meant to follow light. You were born to replace it."
"The boy has run to the sky. You will rise from the pit."
And Katakuichi... accepted.
He let go of his brother.
Of Kimikage.
Of hope.
He was now the vessel.
The Forgotten Prophecy
Deep within the Moonlit Archive of the Mitsuki Clan, Kimikage stood before a sealed scroll, hidden for generations. Only the true blood of Amaterasu could unbind its sacred threads.
As Kimikage's fingertips grazed the scroll's surface, the parchment unraveled like smoke. Golden ink glowed, alive with ancient power. And the prophecy spilled forth:
"Born beneath the broken eclipse,
One child of shadow, one child of light.
From the same well, but twisted fate—
One shall rise with cursed sight.
Blood of brothers split by fear,
One to guide, one to sever.
When both eyes awaken,
The world shall burn forever."
Kimikage stared, breath shallow. He gripped the scroll, hands trembling.
"Blood of brothers... one to guide, one to sever..."
He knew what it meant.
Katakuichi.
Kimikage's Shock
He had believed in him.
They trained together. Bled together. Shared dreams of escaping Yami's decay. They were supposed to fight corruption side by side, not become the final weapons of its prophecy.
But when Kimikage left for the Mitsuki sanctuary, Katakuichi never followed.
And now... he had fallen.
Reports had come in.
Katakuichi had been chosen by Chernobog.
He had awakened a terrifying new eye—the Chernoshugan. A blood-soaked evolution twisted by Chernobog's will, born through betrayal, hatred, and the grief of abandonment.
A cursed power equal to, or even beyond, the Shintsugan.
"He left me," Katakuichi had whispered as he knelt before Chernobog's altar, his voice flat and hollow.
In that moment of pain—feeling forsaken by his brother, by his purpose—the altar cracked open, pouring forth a black fire.
His right eye ignited in agony. A spiraled iris formed, pitch-black with a glowing crimson core. It burned his vision—and his heart.
And he did not scream.
Chernobog spoke.
"Now you see clearly, my son."
Thus, the Chernoshugan was born.
Revenant Grasp – Pulls souls into the realm of despair, trapping enemies in an illusion of their worst regrets, feeding on their torment.
Umbracurse Sight – Allows Katakuichi to see a person's deepest weakness—emotional, spiritual, or physical—and shatter it with a glance.
Veil Reversal – Rewrites cause and effect briefly, making him appear to undo death or swap reality—once per battle, at a high cost.
This was no longer Katakuichi the loyal.
This was Chernobog's vessel.
Kimikage's Silence
Kimikage stood in the moonlit archive, tears in his eyes.
His Shintsugan pulsed softly—but dim.
"You were supposed to stand beside me…"
He gritted his teeth.
"Not against me."
The scroll crumbled in his hands.
And somewhere, far away in the ruins of old Yami, Katakuichi looked toward the sky, his cursed eye gleaming with prophecy.
"If the world fears me... then let it break."
"Two eyes opened.
Two hearts broken.
When next they meet,
The gods shall tremble."