A month had passed since the forest trial.
A month since screams turned to silence — and silence, at last, into peace.
The Eastern Branch Mansion had learned to breathe again. Morning light slipped through the shōji doors like golden mist, spilling over polished floors and fluttering paper charms that swayed faintly in the summer wind. Crickets sang through the evenings; the air smelled of pine and fresh rain. For once, no one bled, and no one burned.
Inside Room Seven, three futons were neatly folded — well, two were.
The third, Raiden's, was a battlefield of tangled sheets.
"Up," Haruto said quietly, standing by the open window as sunlight poured across his face. He had tied his hair back loosely, dressed in the light training robes Lady Hoshimi had given them. "You promised we'd start early."
Raiden groaned and rolled over, his voice muffled by his pillow. "Early? It's barely morning. The sun's still stretching."
"The sun's already halfway up," Kaede replied from the corner, calmly folding his haori. "Unlike you."
Raiden cracked one eye open and squinted at him. "You sound like my grandfather."
Kaede smiled faintly. "Then you should listen. I doubt he'd approve of you snoring into your second life."
That earned a sleepy laugh.
Haruto didn't join in, but there was warmth in his silence. He tightened the white bandage around his wrist — more habit than need now — and stepped onto the porch.
The mountains were veiled in mist. The courtyard below shimmered faintly from the morning dew. For a long moment, Haruto simply stood there, breathing in the scent of pine and water. After months of blood and screams, peace felt almost foreign — fragile, like something that might shatter if held too tightly.
"Still meditating before breakfast?" Raiden's voice called out behind him.
Haruto glanced over his shoulder. Raiden was now awake — barely — his hair messy, a rice cracker already between his teeth.
"Discipline builds strength," Haruto replied.
Raiden smirked. "Food builds strength too. I'm focusing on the practical side."
Kaede sighed, stepping past them. "You mean the lazy side."
Raiden gasped dramatically. "You wound me, Kaede. Deeply."
Despite himself, Haruto chuckled. The sound was small but real. It had been a long time since laughter had come easily.
The days settled into rhythm.
Peace, it turned out, was its own kind of training.
Each morning, Haruto woke with the sun and practiced slow movements with his old, rusted katana — a dance between flame and breath.
Kaede meditated by the river's edge, the rippling water mirroring his stillness.
Raiden often joined later — more to nap under the tree than to train — but somehow he always ended up sparring anyway, dragging Kaede into mock duels that ended with Raiden laughing and Kaede sighing.
Across the courtyard, Yuki could usually be found near the garden.
She had taken it upon herself to care for the small patch of flowers that grew by the eastern wall — blue irises and pale lotuses.
Airi helped her, kneeling beside the soil, hands smudged with earth, humming softly. The two didn't speak much, but their silences fit together like matching pieces.
Sometimes, in the quiet afternoons, they all gathered on the veranda to share tea.
Lady Hoshimi had a rule — "No talk of demons after noon."
So they didn't.
Instead, they talked about the taste of steamed buns, about the sky that changed from silver to crimson each evening, about the way the wind made the chimes dance.
And in those talks, something fragile but powerful grew between them — not the bond of warriors, but of people.
Of family.
One warm afternoon, Haruto sat beneath a tree overlooking the river.
The sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering golden spots across his face. He had closed his eyes, listening to the slow rhythm of water and wind. It was peaceful — until Raiden's voice tore through it.
"Oi, Flamehead!"
Haruto opened one eye.
Raiden stood on the other bank, balancing a wooden sword on his shoulder, grinning like a fox. "You've been sitting there for hours! Are you meditating or photosynthesizing?"
Haruto sighed. "Training focus."
"Training boredom, more like."
Raiden leapt across the stones and landed beside him, splashing water everywhere. "Come on! We've got nothing to do until dinner. Let's spar."
"Lady Hoshimi said no sparring until we're fully healed."
"I am healed." Raiden stretched his arm and winced immediately. "...Mostly."
Haruto shook his head but smiled. "You never stop, do you?"
"Wouldn't be fun if I did."
Kaede's voice drifted from the path behind them. "You'll stop when she catches you again."
Raiden froze mid-grin. "She's not here, is she?"
Kaede pointed upward.
Lady Hoshimi was standing on the veranda with a calm smile. "I see you've recovered enough to run your mouth again, Raiden."
Raiden scratched his neck sheepishly. "Ah, well, just keeping morale up, ma'am."
"Then keep it quieter," she replied, turning away — but Haruto could've sworn he saw the corner of her lips twitch with amusement.
Evenings were gentler.
The sky often painted itself in streaks of amber and rose as the five gathered in the courtyard. Sometimes they cooked together — if one could call it that.
Raiden burned half the food, Kaede salvaged the rest, Yuki quietly perfected the seasoning, and Airi made sure they didn't destroy the kitchen. Haruto simply watched, smiling at the chaos.
Afterward, they sat beneath the stars, sharing what little they had cooked.
Raiden leaned back, chewing noisily. "So, tell me — when we start going on missions, who do you think gets the first demon?"
"You," Yuki said without hesitation.
He blinked. "Really?"
"Yes," she said calmly. "You're loud. You'll attract it."
Kaede stifled a laugh. Airi giggled openly.
Raiden groaned. "You're all bullies."
Haruto smiled faintly. "Better to attract a demon than miss one."
Raiden pointed at him. "See? Haruto gets it."
"No," Kaede replied, "he's mocking you."
Their laughter echoed under the night sky — a soft, honest sound that reminded them they were still young. Still alive.
Days rolled into weeks.
Their wounds faded to faint scars.
Their movements grew fluid again — the strength returning to their limbs, the fear replaced by calm.
Sometimes Lady Hoshimi would watch them from afar, standing by the training hall's entrance, her eyes soft. She never interrupted. She didn't need to. The mansion itself seemed to hum with quiet approval — as if the walls remembered every fallen hunter who had once trained here, and were glad to host hope again.
Haruto often caught himself smiling without realizing it.
When he looked at Raiden and Kaede bickering, at Yuki carefully pouring tea for Airi, or at the way sunlight scattered across the tatami mats, something inside him warmed — something long forgotten.
He thought of his family, long gone.
He thought of Renga's words: "You'll find your strength when you remember why you draw your blade."
For the first time, Haruto felt he understood.
It wasn't vengeance.
It wasn't duty.
It was them — this mismatched, loud, beautiful group who made the silence less heavy.
By the end of that month, the scars were gone, and the five of them stood renewed — bodies healed, hearts steady.
Their laughter filled the mansion halls; their presence lit the Eastern Branch like a heartbeat returned to life.
The morning of the thirtieth day dawned clear and bright, the air crisp with promise.
From the veranda, they could see the mist lifting from the valley, the rising sun reflecting off the tiled roofs.
Raiden stretched, grinning wide. "One month, huh? Can't believe we've gone this long without fighting something."
Kaede adjusted his collar calmly. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is!" Raiden complained. "I'm getting rusty."
Yuki poured herself tea. "You were rusty before."
Airi giggled, hiding her smile behind her sleeve. "Don't worry, Raiden. You'll get your chaos soon enough."
Haruto stood at the edge of the porch, watching the sunrise burn across the mountains. His reflection shimmered faintly in the river below.
"Soon," he said softly. "Everything begins again."
Lady Hoshimi's voice drifted across the courtyard.
"Haruto, Raiden, Yuki, Airi, Kaede — the Captain wishes to see you in the main hall."
They exchanged looks — curiosity sparking instantly.
"Captain?" Raiden blinked. "We have a captain?"
Kaede smiled faintly. "Apparently."
Haruto's eyes narrowed slightly, focused but calm. "Let's not keep him waiting."
And as the five of them walked toward the main hall — footsteps echoing lightly against the wood, the morning sun painting their backs in gold — the peace that had wrapped them for a month began to shift.
Not breaking — just changing.
The wind carried the faint scent of steel.
The warmth was ending.
Something new was about to begin.
The main hall smelled faintly of oil and hot metal. Morning light slid across lacquered beams and struck the row of blades resting on a low table, making the steel glint like a field of tiny suns. Men in the escort team stood at attention, armor whispering, while Lady Hoshimi's expression was the careful balance of pride and discipline she wore like a well-fitted haori.
A heavy set of boots sounded on the polished floor and everyone turned. Captain Hayato filled the doorway like a calm storm: broad-shouldered, hair cropped close at the neck, and a sternness that softened only around the eyes. He wore the Order's uniform with the easy authority of someone who had spent years living within its folds. When he smiled, it was a small thing — rare, honest, and instantly warming.
"You five," he said, voice steady and low. "Step forward."
Haruto, Raiden, Yuki, Airi, and Kaede exchanged a quick, steady glance and moved as one. Even when they walked their steps carried the slow certainty of people who had been broken and reassembled. The escort team stepped aside; the Captain's gaze landed on each of them for a breath — measuring, then settling.
"You have served well in the Trial," Captain Hayato said. "A month of recovery, and the Order expects you to become heroes, not just hunters. You'll learn to keep your hearts steady and your blades faster." He inclined his head almost imperceptibly. "These are gifts — and responsibilities."
He turned and motioned to the table. Each blade lay in its own cloth — simple, dark wraps that smelled of iron and coal. Haruto's heart thudded once like a drum. He had trained with his old sword for so long its edge and he had grown into the same set of imperfections; now the metal in front of him looked like a promise.
Hayato's hand hovered over Haruto's sword and then lifted the cloth.
Haruto's eyes narrowed. The katana was lean and simple, the curve familiar as a heartbeat. The hamon — the temper line — glowed faintly like a wave caught in moonlight. The handle was bound in deep red silk; the tsuba was plain but balanced, brass worn to a soft polish. It was not showy. It didn't need to be.
"Made by Master Kurogane," Captain Hayato said, watching Haruto's face. "My grandfather. He forged these for the Order his whole life. I trust his work more than any other blade in the order."
The five looked at one another. Kaede's hand went to the sword he had lost in the Hundred-Handed Demon fight — part memory, part guilt. Now, standing before this blade, something like a relief settled behind his ribs.
"Your grandfather?" Kaede repeated, voice small with a warmth that didn't try to hide itself.
Hayato's mouth tilted. "His metal remembers the strike of righteous hands. Treat it accordingly."
The Captain moved down the line with a practised gaze. Yuki's blade, when she drew it, held a razor-cool edge — its steel bright as frost. Airi's was slim and elegant, ribboned with a faint motif of petals along the hilt. Raiden's was short and compact, perfectly fitted for someone who moved like lightning; the tang thrummed faintly with potential. Kaede's replacement had a tempered pattern across the blade, like water flowing mid-stroke.
They hefted the weapons, feeling balance and weight and promise in the small movements of their wrists.
Haruto lifted his katana once, then turned to Raiden with a grin that could have been a challenge and a smile both. "Think you can handle yours?"
Raiden flipped his sword in one hand and laughed. "Please. I could spark the sun with this."
A murmur of amusement went through the small assembly.
Captain Hayato's eyes went from one to the other, and he sighed — equal parts exasperation and affection. "Testing is important. But no full spar. And no reckless showmanship. You are rookies in the Order; you will not make enemies of curiosity and pride. Lady Hoshimi has vouched that you're healed enough for controlled drills."
Lady Hoshimi stepped forward, hand resting on the inner rim of the doorway. "Three moves only," she confirmed. "Then return the blades to the table. Anything beyond that, and I will personally have you clean the smithy for a month."
Raiden's grin widened; Haruto's smirk sharpened into something warmer. "Agreed," Haruto said. "Three moves."
"Three," Raiden echoed, already bouncing on the balls of his feet.
The Captain signaled and a mat was unrolled in the center of the hall. The younger hunters gathered around the edges, eager for the show, while the escort team assumed their positions with the quiet watchfulness of soldiers who'd seen too many blades.
Haruto and Raiden faced each other. The air hummed.
"Only three techniques," Captain Hayato reminded them. "Control. Discipline."
Haruto drew a slow breath, feeling the blade settle as if it had always belonged in his hands. Flames flickered at the edge of his awareness — not summoned, only the echo of his art that had become part of his breath.
He moved first, deliberate and clean.
"Flame Arts: First Technique — Scarlet Slash."
The katana sang; a ribbon of heat wove through the air. Haruto's footwork was minimal — a straight, crisp step, a single, precise cut that landed across the space between them. The blade's trail scorched the air; at the point of contact a gust of heat rolled out and Raiden felt it at his calves. It was a test — not meant to harm, meant to open the rhythm.
Raiden laughed softly and deflected, letting the heat kiss his shoulders. He answered with a quick motion — less show than calculation.
"Thunder Arts: First Technique — Thunder Lighting."
The strike punched forward like a compressed echo, a crack of energy that met Haruto's Scarlet Slash and made the hall hum. The sparks that leapt where steel met air painted their faces with sudden light.
Haruto had expected speed, but not the way Raiden threaded the strike, a slash that left afterimages trailing the air. He closed his eyes for half a breath, tasting ozone and ash.
For the second round, Haruto cast himself into motion like a dancer stepping into a storm.
"Flame Arts: Fifth Technique — Ember Dance."
It was a more complex pattern — a storm of burning slashes that cut the space into ribbons and arcs. Haruto's body blurred as he moved; each step was a small explosion of heat, the mat smoldering faintly where his feet skidded. The embers scattered, but were careful, almost gentle; the technique was about shaping space, leaving openings and closing them again.
Raiden met him mid-dance, lightning folding into his movement with a grin.
"Thunder Arts: Second Technique — Lightning Strike Tempest."
He darted, then struck, then vanished, the Tempest a flurry of staccato slashes that sought to unpick the Ember Dance's flow. The sound of metal tore briefly into the hall like a chorus, and then silence like the space after a struck bell. Both boys drew back, breath loud in the stillness.
They were both flushed, hair clinging to foreheads by sweat and excitement. No devastating strikes, no reckless gambits — but power and intent enough to make the crowd lean forward.
One final exchange remained.
Haruto stepped in, senses narrowing. He had promised himself he would not be showy; he had also promised to test the edge of his blade. He breathed with the technique, a slow wind before the storm.
"Flame Arts: Third Technique — Flame Cyclone."
His blade turned, a helix of molten light revolving around him like a mini-sun. The cyclone swallowed sound and space, taking away distance and time. For a moment Haruto became a fixed point in the world while everything else spun.
Raiden responded as if the world was a drum for his own rhythm.
"Thunder Arts: Third Technique — Flash Strike."
He was everywhere at once. A spear of white-blue lightning threaded through Haruto's cyclone, a flash of precise motion meant to find the seam and threaten the heart. Their blades converged — flame and lightning kissing steel — and the mat flared with the bright smell of struck metal.
When they stepped back, both were breathing hard, faces flushed and bright with the same fierce joy. In that small, charged silence, Captain Hayato exhaled and then smiled — a rare, broad thing that softened his features.
"You controlled your power," he said. "You held your form. That was more than I expected."
Lady Hoshimi nodded, her sternness thawed into proud mirth. "Clean and limited. Just as I asked."
Raiden flopped onto his back and laughed, the sound full and loud. "Ha! Told you my thunder was show-stopping."
Haruto leaned on his blade and gave a small chuckle. "You were flashy."
"You loved it," Raiden countered, elbowing him gently.
Kaede stepped forward and inspected the base of Haruto's blade. "The temper is...balanced," he said. "It carries heat without burning too fast."
Captain Hayato looked at them with something like kinship. "Every blade has a life," he said quietly. "Remember that. You must not let it be used merely for rage or spectacle. A blade grounded on purpose does better work." He looked down at his own hands — scarred and sure. "My grandfather's smithy made them. I was there when each was quenched. These are not just tools — they are oaths."
The five looked at their swords, and each other. Where there had once been a hunger for revenge or a raw need to survive, something steadier had begun to grow — the beginning of a vow.
Captain Hayato's tone shifted, and the room felt the change like a gust of wind. "You will not remain here forever," he said. "The Order has work. Missions will come. The forest grows teeth; cities scream. Prepare yourselves."
Raiden shot to his feet, grin wolfish. "About time. I've been waiting to go hammering demons all month."
Haruto's smile was softer. "We'll be ready."
Lady Hoshimi's hand came to the doorway again. "You'll rest tonight. Train tomorrow. Your first assignment comes in a week. Until then—live like hunters. Eat, sleep, practice. Learn your blades."
They left the hall with their swords wrapped at their sides, voices bright with quiet celebration. Laughter trailed them — not the boisterous laughter of victory, but the steady warmth of people who had been given a fragile new beginning and chose to fill it with light.
Outside the mansion grounds, the village stirred. The air carried the scent of spring and oil and something older — the quiet hum of the Order's life. As they walked, Raiden bumped shoulders with Haruto, already teasing about a rematch.
Haruto just smiled and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his new sword. The metal felt like an answer to a question he'd asked his whole life and had only now begun to understand.
Far away, beyond ridges and river bends, the wind carried voices to the main mansion — a murmur of leaves, the creak of wood, the echo of footsteps on a veranda.
On that veranda, the silver-haired instructor of the training estate knelt before the gate as if paying homage. His posture was unusually still. A shadow detached itself from the doorway behind him, a slim figure wrapped in darker robes, eyes glinting like sapphires in a shaded face.
"Oh?" the voice said, layered and amused. "Fifteen survivors this year. A number higher than usual."
The silver-haired instructor rose and bowed his head slightly as if in respect and fear both. The shadow watched the morning light. "Revolution, perhaps?" the figure mused, voice cold and smooth.
The view cut away from the veranda as the five walked down the path toward new training — laughter and chatter trailing behind them. The mansion watched them go, and in that silence, something ancient stirred.
To Be Continued.....