The morning mist hung low over the ancient training grounds — pale, silent, and still, like time itself had momentarily paused.
Each of them stood at their trial stations, eyes slightly dulled by the weight of time, by the echo of failures.
But last night... it had left something behind in all of them.
"You might think what you're seeing is illusion," the Guardian Spirit had said, his voice almost fading in the cold wind, "but remember — the Spirit's illusions are far more dangerous than mine. I am weak... very weak. And the longer you take, the stronger he gets."
Those words haunted them, and yet... also awakened something that had been quietly drowning.
⚔️ Sumiyoshi – Stage 1: Speed and Agility
The terrain moved like a living creature — vines snapping out from tree trunks, boulders falling from nowhere, and narrow wooden beams suspended over chasms. Stage 1 wasn't about muscle; it was about speed, instincts, and grace under pressure.
Sumiyoshi's sword remained sheathed as he sprinted.
His breaths were sharp. Focus absolute.
"One slip... and I'm done. No one's going to pull me up."
A narrow bridge snapped behind him — he jumped. Slid under a collapsing wall. Caught a dangling branch and swung across a river of thorns
He landed on both feet as a gust of wind blew past.
Trial One. Passed.
He didn't smile.
He just exhaled and ran toward Stage 2.
🧠 Shintaro – Stage 3: Mental Trial (Illusion)
He was back in that black, endless corridor — the mirror field. The illusions whispered like old enemies, and this time, they were crueler.
One reflection showed his mother... calling him a mistake.
A second— Sumiyoshi and Akito walking away, leaving him alone.
"You're the weakest," a mirror hissed.
"A sidekick," another added.
"Just a backup," the final one whispered.
Shintaro dropped his chains, breathing ragged. He almost wanted to lie down and vanish.
But then — a flicker of memory.
A voice.
"Even if you forget who you are... I won't. I'll always believe in you. So please..."
"Don't disappear on me."
His fists clenched.
He screamed — not in pain, but in defiance — and picked up the iron chains, slinging them into the mirrors one by one. They shattered, not into glass, but into mist, evaporating into the air.
His eyes burned, but they were clear.
Trial Three. Complete.
🩵 Akito – Stage 4: Weapon Synergy
The Fangs hummed in his hands — glowing softly, resisting him.
The training ground transformed into a chaotic arena — blades flying, wind currents pushing back his every move. This stage was about perfect harmony with his divine weapon — the Sapphire Fangs, dual hooked blades carved with glowing runes.
He had to stop resisting the weapon's rhythm and start dancing with it.
He was exhausted. His muscles screamed. But in that moment, he remembered something...
"If I don't align with this weapon... I'll never stand a chance against what's coming. I need to become one with it."
He tried to force the Fangs to respond. They didn't.
The ground cracked beneath him, resetting the trial back to the beginning — the weapon glowing coldly.
Failed.
He dropped to his knees, his breath short and shallow, teeth clenched in silent fury.
"Not again..."
He wasn't broken.
But he was hurting.
Tomorrow, he'd try again.
🌌 Later That Night – Unspoken Fire
The three sat by the campfire — distant, quiet, but connected in spirit.
Shintaro had his back against a stone wall, arms crossed, eyes closed.
Sumiyoshi practiced slow breathing, palms resting on his sword.
Akito sat alone, grinding a pebble into the dirt, frustration oozing from his silence.
None of them spoke.
But they didn't have to.
The flames flickered softly.
Above them, a single star pushed through the grey sky — barely visible.
But it was there.
And that... was enough.