The night pressed down on the house like a suffocating blanket. Eiden moved quietly through the narrow kitchen, the dim flicker of the television casting elongated shadows along the walls. He had always loved the quiet hours before midnight, the moments when the world seemed paused, almost fragile. Tonight, though, the silence felt different—thick, expectant, like the air itself was holding its breath.
He reached for a glass of water, ears straining against the faint rustle of the wind outside. That's when he saw it—a figure in the doorway. Masked, still, and impossible to place in the ordinary logic of the world. Eiden froze. The presence of the man wasn't just a threat; it was a weight pressing into his chest, a warning he didn't understand yet.
A hand lifted, sleek and deliberate. The blade it held glinted faintly in the dim light.
"Stay back!" His mother's voice cracked the tension. Akiko appeared in the hallway, gun in hand, her eyes hard and unflinching. Usually warm and tender, they now carried the weight of steel. "Get away from him!"
The masked man didn't flinch. Every movement seemed premeditated, perfectly measured. He moved with a speed that defied comprehension, fluid and unnatural, as if gravity bent to his will.
"Run!" Akiko shouted, shoving Eiden toward the hallway. But he couldn't move. He could only watch as the figure advanced, each step confident, unstoppable.
Then another presence filled the room. Seiji arrived with the calm inevitability of someone who had faced chaos before and bent it to his hand. In a flash, he intercepted the figure. The room became a blur of movement: fists met masked steel, limbs collided with precise force, the air itself vibrating with the clash. The assassin was formidable, but Seiji was sharper, faster, stronger.
Eiden's sister, Mei, stirred in her crib, roused by the chaos. Seiji caught her gently, cradling her with a tenderness that belied the violence around him. "Take her," he said, voice calm yet insistent. "Go."
Eiden obeyed, legs pumping as he ran through the back door into the woods beyond the house. The cold night air bit at his skin, each breath sharp, each step frantic. Behind him, the sound of shouts and gunfire was swallowed by a sudden, deafening explosion. The house erupted in flames, a roaring furnace devouring everything he had known. Shadows danced across the treeline as firelight clawed skyward.
He didn't stop. He couldn't. His small hand gripped the blanket around Mei as his mind churned in a storm of terror and disbelief. He ran until the glow of the fire shrank behind the trees, until the echo of destruction faded into the night's oppressive silence.
Somewhere in the distance, a scream—a voice he recognized—cut through the dark, raw and fractured. And then, silence.
Pressing his back against the rough bark of an old oak, Eiden tried to draw in steady breaths. His knees shook, lungs burned, and tears mixed with sweat on his dirt-smeared face. He had survived, but the world he had known—the life he had taken for granted—had vanished in a single heartbeat.
And something stirred within him. Not fear, not grief, but something darker and older, a presence buried deep in his blood. It pulsed faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat, a whisper that promised power and whispered possibilities he did not yet understand.
The forest seemed alive now, every shadow watching, every sound heightened. A branch snapped somewhere nearby, and Eiden flinched. He wasn't sure which he feared more: the masked man who had taken his parents or the whispering, restless power awakening inside him.
Night stretched on, unbroken and unrelenting. Eiden stayed pressed against the tree, cradling Mei, listening to the faint echo of flames in the distance. He did not cry. He did not scream. He only felt. Felt the first flicker of something that would shape his life forever: the raw, restless hunger to grow stronger, to survive, to one day make those who had destroyed his family pay.
And in the shadow beyond the firelight, a figure watched, silent and patient, as if waiting for the boy to rise.
The forest gradually gave way to the edges of the city, the first faint glow of streetlights cutting through the darkness like fragile beacons. Eiden carried Mei carefully, her breathing steady in the quiet night. Somewhere in the distance, the smoke of the destroyed home still curled skyward, a reminder of everything lost. But he couldn't linger; he had learned early that danger did not wait, and neither could he.
The city streets were eerily empty, abandoned by anyone who valued safety. The wind carried whispers of movement, of unseen eyes tracking him, but he refused to look. His focus was singular: survive. The buildings stretched like jagged teeth against the dark sky, and Eiden pressed himself against walls whenever he could, melting into the shadows.
Eventually, the city gave way to something more familiar: the outskirts where Noboru, his uncle, had promised him refuge. The apartment building that doubled as a dojo and bar loomed ahead, worn but standing like a bastion in a world that had collapsed around him. The sign above the entrance flickered, casting pale light across the cracked pavement.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of alcohol, incense, and the faint tang of something more—old blood, old power. Noboru sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of the dojo, eyes closed, as if he had been expecting them. Mei stirred in Eiden's arms and began to fuss; Noboru's eyes opened slowly, the depth of his gaze cutting through the dimness like a blade.
"Put her down," he said softly. Eiden obeyed, placing Mei gently on a futon rolled in the corner. Noboru's hands hovered over her for a moment, not touching, but sensing. Then he nodded, satisfied. "You've seen the world as it truly is. Now you'll learn to survive in it."
Eiden felt a chill run down his spine. "I want… I want to get stronger," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I want to make sure it never happens again."
Noboru's gaze shifted to him, sharp and penetrating. "Strength is not given. It is taken, shaped, and earned. The world is not fair, Eiden. It never will be. Remember that."
The following days blurred together, each moment a mixture of training, small lessons in control, and the careful rebuilding of life. Noboru taught him the fundamentals first: body positioning, hand-to-hand combat, reading opponents' movements. Then, gradually, he introduced the strange, almost mystical concept of soul energy.
"You feel it?" Noboru asked one evening, as they sparred in the dim light of the dojo. "The pulse in your chest? The way the air thickens when danger is near?"
Eiden concentrated. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a humming in his chest that responded to fear, anger, and instinct. He had never known it, never felt it, and yet it was undeniably a part of him.
"Good," Noboru said, a rare smile breaking the usual austerity of his expression. "That is the beginning. Without feeling, without control, strength is meaningless."
By the time the morning sun crept through the dusty windows, Eiden was exhausted but exhilarated. It was a rhythm he quickly adapted to: training, learning, mastering small increments of his potential. Yet, even as he honed his body and mind, the memory of that night—the flames, his parents' faces, the masked man—remained a gnawing presence in his chest.
It was during a brief reprieve, walking to the city for supplies, that Eiden first met Kento and Renji. The two half-brothers were practicing a coordinated fire quirk display in an abandoned lot, their attacks clashing and flowing in perfect unison. Sparks leapt from their fists, lighting up the early morning haze.
"Impressive," Eiden said, stepping from the shadows. The brothers glanced at him, fire crackling around their hands.
"You're new," Renji said, brow furrowed. "Do you know how to fight?"
"I… I can handle myself," Eiden replied cautiously, aware of how fragile he still was. He sensed the latent power in the brothers, recognized the same spark that had begun to awaken in him—a kind of potential that could either forge allies or destroy everything in its path.
From that moment, the three became inseparable. Together, they trained, sparred, and pushed each other to limits they didn't yet understand. By evening, Eiden returned to the apartment, limbs aching, body bruised but spirit alive. Noboru awaited him, silent as ever.
"You met others," he observed, voice calm. "Good. Strength is not just about power. It is about trust, loyalty, and knowing who stands with you when the world collapses."
Eiden nodded. His mind was heavy with new knowledge, with memories that refused to fade, and with the faint, persistent pulse in his chest. Somewhere deep inside, the seed of something ancient had taken root—a fragment of The Absolute, whispering possibilities that stretched beyond pain, beyond fear.
As the night settled over the city once more, Eiden stood at the dojo window, looking at the streets below. Somewhere, hidden in the shadows, the world was still dangerous, still unforgiving. But he would be ready.
And somewhere beyond the walls of the city, the masked man who had taken everything from him waited patiently, knowing that one day, their paths would cross again.