Before Kai Hitari became the calm, formidable warrior he is now, he was just a boy watching shadows fall over his home.
Back then, Kai's father, Rekan Hitari, was known across the land as a fierce martial artist and protector of the eastern provinces. But his power alone wasn't what made armies tremble—it was the sword he carried.
That blade, known as Tenrai, was a weapon passed down through generations. It had once belonged to Rekan's father—Kai's grandfather—a legendary swordmaster who had single-handedly ended a war with a single, blinding sweep of steel. The stories claimed the sword was alive with spirit energy, and only those with pure intent could wield it.
One day, an army descended upon the city gates. Not a band of raiders—but a trained, relentless force led by a tyrant known only as The Black King, a master swordsman obsessed with destroying all who stood against his rule.
Rekan stood alone at the front lines, Tenrai in hand. The enemy recognized the blade immediately, their ranks hesitating. Fear shimmered in their eyes like heat on desert sand.
With a cry, Rekan charged.
He moved like lightning—one man against hundreds, his blade cutting through steel and armor with the power of legend. For a time, it seemed he was unstoppable, like his father before him. But from the heart of the enemy emerged a figure cloaked in black—a swordmaster nearly as old as war itself.
The two clashed in a storm of speed and fury, steel ringing louder than thunder. The Black King wasn't just a tyrant—he was a warrior born from blood and flame. With every blow, he pushed Rekan back, matching his strength, twisting around Tenrai's power.
Watching from the mountainside, hidden behind broken ruins, was Kai.
He was just a boy then, maybe ten or eleven. But something inside him stirred—an instinct, a calling. He could feel the sword's energy even from afar. He knew what it wanted. What it needed.
Rekan was faltering. Blood poured from a gash along his ribs, his arms trembling. The Black King raised his blade for the final strike.
And then Kai moved.
The boy leapt into the battlefield with a reckless roar, his hands glowing with raw, untamed energy. He summoned a burst of wind to push the enemy soldiers back and threw himself between his father and death itself. The Black King sneered—but his eyes narrowed at the sight of the boy.
Kai's body couldn't match the King's strength, but his presence shifted the battle. Rekan, seeing his son, found his resolve once more. Father and son fought side by side for the first—and last—time.
But fate was cruel.
In the end, Rekan was struck down. Mortally wounded, he gave Kai one final command:
"Protect the sword. It is our legacy… and their greatest fear."
Kai couldn't save his father. But he saved the blade.
He escaped with Tenrai, carrying it through fire and sorrow, through nights of running and days of hiding. And as he grew, he trained. Not to avenge—but to honor. He knew the Black King's forces would return. Again and again. And when they did, Kai would be ready.
Back in the dojo, present-day Kai opened his eyes from meditation, the memory fading but the fire in his chest still burning.
Herin stood near him, quiet, sensing the weight of what he carried.
"That's the sword you use now?" she asked softly.
Kai nodded. "It's more than a weapon. It's my promise. To my father. To the people he died protecting."
Herin stepped closer. "Then let me help you keep that promise."
Kai didn't answer right away. But for the first time in a long while, he felt like he wasn't carrying the sword's weight alone.