The soft light of a Saturday morning poured through my window, golden and warm. For once, there was no rush, no school, no alarms blaring. Just the stillness of home.
I sat curled on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me, flipping lazily through a manga I'd read a dozen times. The smell of something warm drifted from the kitchen—Haruka was cooking again.
"Sakura," his voice called out from the hallway, "Kenji's at the door."
That got my attention.
I sat up as Haruka stepped into the living room. "Should I let him in?" he asked.
I blinked. "Uh—yeah. Of course."
Haruka gave a small smile and walked off, soon returning with Kenji in tow. He looked like he had run all the way here—messy hair, a satchel over his shoulder, and that usual concerned look in his eyes.
"Morning," I said, scooting over so he could sit.
"Hey," he replied, a bit breathless. "Sorry for dropping by so early, but I found something yesterday. At the library."
He unzipped his bag and pulled out a thick, worn book. The cover was scorched and cracked at the edges; the leather faded into a deep charcoal.
My brow furrowed. "What is it?"
Kenji handed it to me gently, like it might fall apart in my hands. "I was digging through the restricted archives. This was wedged between two volumes on regional history. I don't think the librarians even know it's there."
I flipped it open carefully.
The pages were uneven, some brittle, others oddly warm to the touch. Most of it was handwritten, filled with sketches, notes, and ink blots. The first page had a name—long faded, but still barely legible.
"Kaien Sol."
"This... was written by the first known wielder," Kenji said, lowering his voice. "I don't know everything, but I saw something about flames, eyes, and... look."
He flipped a few pages ahead and pointed to a drawing.
It was crude, but unmistakable. A girl—no older than me—with her right eye burning a brilliant purple, her body surrounded by fire streaked with red and blue.
My breath caught. "That's... just like me."
Kenji nodded. "I figured it might be important."
We sat in silence for a moment as I turned the pages slowly, trying to digest the strange symbols and barely comprehensible language. One passage stood out more than the others—it was underlined, the ink smeared like it had been marked in a hurry.
"The Amouranth Flame burns with the soul, not the body. It is alive, and it remembers."
I whispered the words out loud.
Kenji leaned closer. "There's more about it here. It talks about how the flame reacts to emotions—especially fear, anger, and grief. That the more you resist it, the more violently it fights back."
"Well, that explains the nightmare... and the hallway," I muttered, thinking back to the glowing eye and the almost-loss of control.
Another paragraph was circled multiple times:
"Only when heart and flame are one, can it be shaped. To wield Amouranth is to be consumed—and to survive it."
I shivered.
Kenji's eyes softened. "It's like it's... testing you."
I nodded. "It's not just power. It's something older."
Kenji flipped another few pages, some filled with cryptic shorthand, others nearly illegible. He stopped at a page that had been pressed harder than the others—the ink darker, the handwriting frantic.
At the top, written in a slashing script, was a single phrase:
"Two shadows stalk the flame."
We looked at each other.
Below that heading, a crude drawing stretched across the page. It depicted a coiling serpentine figure rising from a black ocean, eyes glowing with hunger. And beside it, a towering, armored silhouette with wings made of bone and smoke—its head wreathed in a shroud of darkness.
"This… doesn't look like a metaphor," Kenji said slowly.
I could barely breathe.
Under the illustration, the writer had scrawled:
"Leviathan, the Endless Maw—she who devours the past."
"Thanatiel, the Mourning Blade—he who cuts away the future."
"They come for the flame. They always come."
A chill danced down my spine.
I didn't know who these beings were, or why they wanted the flame—but I knew in my bones that I wasn't ready to face them. Not yet.
"I think they're real," I whispered. "Not just legends or symbols. I think they're... out there."
Kenji's hand tightened around the book. "If they've come before, they'll come again."
"They're looking for the power I carry."
A silence passed between us, heavy with realization.
I stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the quiet neighborhood. Everything looked so normal. So peaceful. But the flame behind my eye pulsed again—stronger this time, as if it could feel them stirring in the shadows.
Leviathan.
Thanatiel.
I didn't know which one would come first.
But I knew this wasn't just about me anymore.
Kenji joined me at the window. "We'll figure this out," he said. "Together."
I looked at him and nodded, even as dread settled in my chest. "Then I need to get stronger. I need to control this flame."
"And when the time comes," Kenji added, "you won't face them alone."
I smiled faintly, grateful. But deep down, something else was growing in me—a sense of urgency, of inevitability. The flame was awake now. So were its enemies.
And I didn't have forever to prepare.