Ryu walked in silence, his borrowed shortsword sheathed at his side. His right eye itched—the Dragon's Eye still hidden, still watching. The Lion-Hybrid was dead. Its den, rubble. But the cost hung heavy—Mira gone. Soma crippled. Three spearmen dead.
Kaze led the way, blood drying on his armor, his katana steady on his back. Goro carried Mira's body, wrapped in a weathered cloak. His nodachi swayed with each step. Soma limped behind, stump bandaged, leaning hard on a spearman. The two remaining spearmen bore the fallen, their faces set, their eyes down.
The path curved up a hill. The breeze caught ash and old leaves. No one spoke.
At the top, the cliff opened to the valley, sharp against the sky. The pyre was built in silence—wood gathered, arranged, then stillness again. Goro lit it, the flame slow to catch. His missing ear was stark in the sun.
"Mira fought like a demon," he said. His voice rasped with smoke and something deeper. "They all did. Rest now."
The flames rose, orange and steady. Smoke curled skyward
Ryu stood back, chest tight. Mira's braid, the flash of her grin, the bite in her voice—it all flickered in the firelight, then vanished. He didn't cry. He watched. His rage—quiet, hot—turned toward the Ox.
They camped near the village ruins that night. The wounded were tended. Soma's stump was cleaned again, Kaze stitching his own arm without a flinch. Ryu's chest wound, healed by Zorath's mark, was a faint scar. He barely noticed it
The fire crackled. Talk circled slowly to Ryu.
Goro leaned forward, nodachi across his knees. "That red-and-black thing you did. Never seen that. Time froze. You cut that yokai like it was paper. Spill it—what are you?"
Soma's voice came quiet, steady. "I thought you were just stubborn. Just fire. But that power…" He shook his head. "That wasn't normal."
A spearman muttered, "Like a damn legend."
Ryu's pulse picked up. The Dragon's Eye, the Sun-Harness—truths he couldn't share. Zorath's voice echoed still. Master it. Enter the Spirit Realm. He swallowed.
"I trained," Ryu said. "Wanted that thing dead. I pushed harder than I should've."
Goro gave a half-laugh. "Trained? Kid, red-and-black like that? That's not just sweat. That's steel. You're trouble. Good trouble, maybe."
Soma nodded once. "You saved us. That's enough for now."
Kaze said nothing, but his eyes stayed on Ryu, unreadable and sharp.
The fire dimmed. The night folded around them.
Later, Kaze pulled Ryu away from camp. They walked to a clearing by the cliff's edge, the valley stretching below.
"That mountain," Kaze said, voice low. "My Storm Destruction—it wasn't just a fight. It was a signal. The Shogun's eyes'll turn this way. Scouts. Maybe worse."
Ryu frowned. "They're after you?"
Kaze's smirk was humorless. "Old debts. Doesn't matter now. But your aura—that flash—it's another flare. We can't stay here."
Ryu felt it—he wasn't ready, not fully. But the Ox was still out there. The blood hadn't dried yet. "Then what?"
"We recover. Two weeks, max. You've got power, but it's raw. We train. We sharpen it. That aura needs to obey you."
Ryu nodded. "Agreed." His right eye pulsed, the Dragon's Eye stirring beneath the surface.
Before they could return, Goro appeared, his nodachi slung, face less guarded. "Heard you talking. You're leaving."
He hesitated, then: "I've got a proposition. My crew's heading south. Hunting yokai, bandits—whatever pays. You two fight like hell. Join us. Could use that aura. That storm."
Ryu looked to Kaze. A slight shake of the head.
Ryu answered, voice steady. "Thanks. But we've got our own road."
Kaze added, blunt, "Not mercenaries."
Goro laughed, low and rough. "Didn't think so. You're too wild anyway. We'll stay, help rebuild. Bury the dead right."
He clapped Ryu's shoulder. "Take care, kid. Don't let that fire eat you."
Ryu gave a small nod. Goro turned back, nodachi swinging, vanishing into the trees.
Kaze looked at Ryu. "Two weeks. We train. We leave. You ready?"
Ryu's eyes lit with quiet fire. "Ready."
⸻
The next dawn, Ryu stood in a dewy meadow beyond the village. The air was sharp, cold in his lungs.
Kaze faced him, katana sheathed, armor patched. "Your aura's strong," he said. "But wild. Red-and-black means a will most never touch. Show me control."
Ryu gripped the shortsword, its balance still strange. His right eye stayed closed. No Dragon's Eye yet—not here.
He exhaled. Reached inward. The Sun-Harness lit inside him—golden warmth flaring hotter than before. His aura surged. Red and black. Blood and shadow.
The air bent. The grass rippled. Kaze's gaze sharpened.
"Good," Kaze said, drawing his blade. "Focus it. Strike me."
Ryu moved—fast. His blade flashed, aura crackling. Kaze parried. Sparks flew. The jolt ran up Ryu's arms, but he kept going. He saw Kaze's movements—small tells, angles, shifts. The Dragon's Eye lingered, even dormant.
He rolled. Came up swinging. Kaze countered, fast and exact.
"Faster!" Kaze barked. "It's not just light. It's you. Use it!"
Ryu gritted his teeth. He thought of Mira. Her laugh. Her fall. He thought of the Lion-Hybrid's death—the red-and-black arc.
His will surged. The aura tightened, no longer swirling. It sharpened.
He swung. The blade cut air—and from it, a red-and-black wave leapt forward. It grazed Kaze's side. Singed the grass.
Kaze's smirk broke through. "That's it. Again."
They clashed for hours. Aura against aura. Steel against steel.
Kaze pushed. Taught. Made Ryu feel the Sun-Harness beat with his breath. To not just use it, but become it.
By noon, they rested on a rock, the valley wide below.
Kaze's voice came quiet. "You're not the kid I pulled from the slums. That aura, that will—you're dangerous." He looked at Ryu, not with fear, but trust. "But you're mine to shape. We'll face the Ox. Whatever comes."
Ryu's chest swelled. Kaze's words settled deep.
"I'm with you."
The Dragon's Eye stirred beneath his skin. The Spirit Realm waited, distant. But the Ox was near. And now, he had an edge.
Kaze stood. "Back to it. You're not done."
Ryu rose beside him. Shortsword ready. Aura flickering.
The blades met again, the meadow ringing with sound. Villagers watched from afar—Goro, Soma, the spearmen. Whispering of the boy with red-and-black fire.
The petals fell, soft on the wind. And Ryu trained—each swing a step toward vengeance, each breath another brick in the path to the Spirit Realm.