The night finally gave way to dawn, but the morning was nothing like the ones that had come before.
No laughter of villagers greeted the sun. No chatter of children chasing one another in the dirt paths.
Instead—smoke lingered over blackened ruins, the acrid stench of burned wood and flesh twisting in the air. Bodies lay scattered, silent and stiff. What once was a village was now a graveyard.
Renji sat among the ashes, unmoving. His eyes were wide, lifeless, staring at nothing. His lips parted, but no words came. He hadn't spoken since last night.
An old man, one of the few survivors, hobbled to his side and sat down slowly. His clothes were torn, his hands trembling, yet his eyes held a quiet resilience.
"Boy," the old man called softly.
Renji didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, as if the world itself had left him behind.
Time dragged on. The old man tried again, but his words slid past Renji like wind against stone. The boy remained frozen in that endless silence.
Hours passed. The sun climbed, then sank again. By evening, the old man returned, carrying the weight of loss in his own heart. He lowered himself beside the boy once more.
This time, Renji's lips finally moved. His voice cracked, hoarse from disuse:
"Why… why did this happen to us?"
The old man didn't answer at once. His tired eyes shifted toward the corpses lying in the dirt, the remnants of a village erased in one night. He drew a long, weary breath.
"That's the way of the world," the old man said quietly. "Orders fall from kings and rulers high above… but it is us, the ordinary folk, who suffer. Soldiers march, villages burn, and people like us are left to pick through the ashes. This isn't the first time, boy… and it won't be the last."
Renji's fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. His face twisted, rage breaking through his grief.
"Then I'll kill them! Every last one of them!"
For the first time, the old man's expression shifted. A shadow crossed his weathered face, and his voice grew firm.
"Be careful, boy. Hatred burns hotter than fire. If you let it consume you, you'll walk the same path as those who destroyed this village."
Renji turned to him, blank and bewildered, unable to understand.
The old man sighed, lowering himself so their eyes were level. Around them, only corpses and silence kept watch.
Renji's voice broke as tears spilled down his cheeks.
"Then what else should I do? Mio… Mother… Father… all of them are gone. I have no reason to live…"
"Don't ever say that." The old man's tone was sharp, cutting through the boy's despair. "If you're breathing, then you have a reason to live. Life itself is reason enough."
He placed a trembling hand on Renji's shoulder, his voice steady despite the weight in his eyes.
"Become stronger, kid. But not evil. Don't let hatred twist you. Use your strength to protect the weak, to shield other families… so they won't suffer what you have suffered."
Renji blinked through his tears, staring at the man beside him. The flames of anger flickered within him, but so too did something else—a fragile spark, faint yet alive.
The old man rose slowly, joints creaking, then extended a weathered hand toward Renji.
"Come," he said softly.
For a long moment, Renji didn't move. But at last, his trembling fingers reached out, and the old man pulled him to his feet. His legs were weak, his body heavy, but somehow the old man's grip steadied him.
They began to walk, leaving behind the smoldering ruins of the village. Ash clung to their clothes, the silence of the dead pressing against their backs.
Renji's voice broke the stillness.
"Where… where do we go now? There's no home. No village left."
The old man's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
"I'm from a neighboring village. I came here to visit my daughter…" His voice faltered. "…but by the time I arrived, everything was already gone."
Renji's steps halted for a heartbeat. His eyes widened in shock.
"I'm… I'm sorry to hear that."
The old man gave a bitter smile, more sorrow than comfort in it.
"War has never brought anything good. At least, not for people like us—the ordinary folk."
Renji lowered his gaze, his chest tight. His fists clenched again, but this time with pain rather than anger.
The old man glanced at him, his eyes softening.
"My daughter had a boy about your age," he said quietly.
Renji's breath caught. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead, he walked beside the old man in silence, their shadows stretching long in the setting sun.
Night fell by the time they reached the old man's village. It was small, humble, alive with faint lanterns glowing behind wooden shutters. Compared to the ruins they had left, it seemed like a different world.
As they entered the old man's hut, Renji's stomach gave a loud, painful growl. He flinched, embarrassed, but the old man only chuckled faintly.
"Wait here, boy."
He rummaged through a small basket and returned with a piece of bread and a cup of water.
"Eat. You need strength."
Renji snatched them with trembling hands, biting into the bread as if it were the most precious thing in the world. The dryness of it didn't matter. The water felt like life itself.
The old man watched quietly, his lined face unreadable, as Renji devoured the meal. The hut was small, little more than wooden walls and a straw roof, but for the first time since the night of fire… Renji felt something close to safety.
"What's your name, kid?" the old man finally asked.
Renji hesitated, his throat tight. "My name's Renji."
The old man nodded. "Renji, huh… A strong name."
That night, both of them lay down on the straw mats in the hut. The silence was heavy, yet different from the silence of the ruins. Here it was not filled with ash, but with restless thoughts.
Renji closed his eyes, but sleep would not come. Every time he drifted, he saw flames licking the huts, his mother's voice fading, Mio's laughter cut short. His chest tightened until he could barely breathe.
Beside him, the old man shifted. His eyes glistened in the dim lantern light. He turned away, but silent tears slipped across the wrinkles of his face. Neither spoke. The grief needed no words.
The next morning, the smell of smoke from a small fire stirred Renji awake. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, finding the old man fumbling with a pot and some herbs.
"You're awake," the old man said without looking back.
Renji nodded. "Do you… need help?"
The old man finally turned, a faint smile tugging at his tired face.
"Hmm. Yes. Go fetch some wood for the fire."
Renji hurried out, only to return minutes later with twigs so small they snapped in his hands.
The old man burst out laughing. "Boy, are you planning to feed the fire or tickle it?"
Renji's face turned red. "Shut up, old man!"
It became their rhythm. By day, Renji followed the old man—hauling water, chopping wood, foraging berries. By night, they ate simple meals, shared silences, and sometimes… stories.
At first, the stories were playful ones. Mischievous foxes, clever hunters, foolish kings. Renji would listen, smile faintly, or drift off before the tale ended.
But one night, as the fire burned low, the old man's tone changed. His voice sank into something heavier, older.
"Years ago, before even I was born, there lived a mighty warrior, his heart burned with one dream — that everyone, no matter how weak, could live in peace."
Renji's breath caught. The story felt heavier than the others. He leaned forward slightly, his young eyes searching the old man's wrinkled face.
"What happened to that warrior, old man?"
The old man's gaze drifted toward the fire. The flames danced in his tired eyes as though he were seeing something far away, something lost in time.
"It's said… that he vanished one day.
Renji frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "Vanished? Just like that?"
"But on that day," the old man continued, his eyes reflecting the fire, "a prophecy rose. When the world is drowned in shadow, a certain man shall rise. His blade will tear through evil, and through his hands, peace will return. They call him… Shūen."
" Renji's eyes widened. His lips moved before he realized the words had slipped out. "Shūen…?" he repeated, almost in disbelief.
The old man gave a faint nod, his gaze fixed on the crackling fire. "Yes. That is the name passed down through the generations. To some, he is just a story. To others… hope itself."
Renji whispered: "Old man… will Shūen really come?"
Old man smiled, his wrinkled face soft in the firelight. "One day, my boy. When the world is darkest, he will appear. Remember this — even in the ashes of war, hope does not die."
The words settled like coals into Renji's chest. Renji's voice stumbled out before he fully knew it. "Is there any chance… that I could be Shūen? Or—Could I… become him?"
The old man's eyes, alight with the dying fire, softened. He studied the boy as if weighing years in a single look, then nodded once, slow and certain. "Of course," he said. "It can be anybody. The words were not tied to a name or a face. They were tied to a will—someone who rises when the world is at its lowest."
"This message," he continued, voice low and raw with memory, "was passed down in my family for generations. My father told me, and his father told him. I have no one left to pass it to." He folded his hands over Renji's as if closing a circle. "You are the only one I can pass it to now."
Renji blinked, the breath catching in his throat. The words landed on him like a small, dangerous gift—hope wrapped in responsibility. The old man's grip was warm, trembling, and somehow unmistakably real.
That night, Renji dreamt not of flames but of a warrior bathed in moonlight, his sword cutting through shadows.
At dawn, Renji burst outside with a stick clutched in his hands. He swung clumsily, grunting with every strike, imagining the faceless enemies of his dreams.
From the doorway, the old man watched quietly, lips tugging into a rare smile.
Morning after morning, Renji trained. His strikes grew sharper, his stance steadier. The old man guided him with quiet words:
"Patience. Balance. Don't just swing—breathe with the strike."
Two years passed in this rhythm.
The Present Evening
The boy who once stumbled beneath firewood now stood taller, lean muscle shaping his frame. His stick had been worn smooth by countless hours of practice.
That evening, the sun bleeding into the horizon, Renji stood outside, sweat dripping, eyes sharp with focus.
The old man stepped out, leaning on his cane.
Renji lowered the stick, breathing hard.
"Old man… I need a real sword."
The old man studied him for a long moment. Then he exhaled.
"A sword is not a toy, Renji. Steel carries the weight of life and death. If I get you one, you must swear—use it only to protect someone dear to you. Never for cruelty."
Renji met his gaze, unwavering. "I swear it."
The old man nodded.
"Next week, when I go to the next village, I'll see about a sword. Until then—eat your food."
Renji smirked faintly. "Always making me wait."
The old man chuckled. "Patience, boy. A swordsman without patience is already dead."
That night, the small hut glowed with the warmth of stew and bread. The two sat across from each other, the air light with quiet comfort.
But then—
BOOM.
The ground shook. A distant crash tore through the stillness, rattling the hut's wooden walls. The bowls trembled, stew spilling.
The old man froze, his face turning grave. He pressed Renji close, his voice low.
"They're here. Enemies. We must escape."
Through the crack of the door, he saw shadows moving, torches blazing.
At the village's edge, Gara stood, eyes cold.
"…Let's burn this place," he hissed.
Kaku's laughter split the night.
"As you command, Master!"
Flames erupted as huts were set ablaze. Screams pierced the night.
But just then, a sharp, dismissive voice cut through the madness.
Haido.
His cloak swayed as he turned his back on the carnage. "I've no time to waste playing with villages," he said flatly. His gaze shifted to the quiet figure at his side. "Let's go, Midari."
Without another word, the two moved on, vanishing into the night's shadows.
The old man gripped Renji's hand. Together they fled through the chaos, the fire clawing closer with every step.
But his legs faltered. Too old. Too weak. Ahead, Black Fang soldiers fought desperately.
"Please!" the old man called. "Save this boy! Take him away—I cannot!"
Renji's eyes filled with panic.
"No! I won't leave you! We'll go together!"
The old man's smile broke through his sorrow.
"Live on, Renji. Grow strong."
He shoved Renji into the soldiers' arms. They carried him, the boy kicking and screaming.
"Grandpaaa!"
And then—steel pierced flesh.
Kaku's blade drove through the old man's back.
The old man staggered, coughing blood, yet even as his knees buckled he managed a faint, trembling smile.
"Don't… stop walking… Renji…" His voice was fading, but his eyes burned with one last ember of hope.
Memories slammed into Renji all at once—
the first night in the hut, eating dry bread as if it were a feast,
the old man's laugh at the twigs he had brought,
the gentle words whispered by firelight: "Become stronger… but not evil."
"Hah!" Kaku cackled. "That face—so disgusting. So funny!"
Renji bit the soldier's arm, broke free, and ran to his grandfather's side. Blood pooled beneath him.
"Run… Renji…" the old man whispered, before Kaku's boot slammed into his chest. His body fell limp.
The world froze.
"Grandpa…" Renji whispered. Then rage surged. He punched Kaku with all his strength.
Kaku sneered. The blow barely made him flinch. With a shove, Renji was thrown to the dirt. The blade rose above him.
"You'll die just like him, little rat."
Renji trembled, frozen by terror. Smoke, blood, screams blurred together.
The blade fell—
CLANG.
Kaku screamed, staring at the stump where his hand had been. His severed hand hit the dirt with a sickening thud.
Renji blinked through his tears.
A figure stood before him, framed by the pale moon. Blade dripping red. A presence so fierce it seemed born of shadow.
Kurayami.
Renji's heart stopped. The name from his dreams. The warrior of legend.
Another strike came—Takomi lunged, sword flashing. Sparks exploded as it was blocked.
Haruto stood firm, blade steady.
"The Special Guard Captains… Kurayami and Haruto!" a wounded soldier cried out in relief.
Others raised their weapons weakly, hope bursting through their despair.
"Yes! We are saved!"
From the fire's glow, Gara's eyes fixed on Kurayami. His lips twisted into a cruel smile.
"…I smell a hungry beast."