Two years passed in Hollowdene Forest.
Not quietly.
Not gently.
But with the steady rhythm of steel striking air, of breath drawn and released in harmony with the land itself.
Aldrich Yagurah moved like a shadow between trees.
His body—once battered and barely holding together—had been reforged by pain, repetition, and dragon blood. His muscles no longer bulged with raw exertion; they were dense, coiled, efficient. Every step was silent. Every turn deliberate.
Across from him, perched atop a broken stone ridge half-buried in roots, the dragon watched.
Not as a sentinel.
As a companion.
They no longer fought.
They trained.
Aldrich inhaled slowly, chi flowing through his cleared meridians like a river unblocked by stone. Shadow pooled at his feet—not darkness, but absence. The refined legacy of the Yagurah clan.
Shadow-Forged Swordsmanship.
Once, it had been crude—brutal, fueled by hatred and survival.
Now?
Now it was complete.
Aldrich drew his katana.
The blade did not gleam.
It swallowed light.
He stepped forward.
The world seemed to slow—not because it obeyed him, but because he had learned how to move between moments. His first strike carved through the air, leaving a black crescent behind that lingered for a heartbeat before dissolving.
Second strike.
Third.
His form flowed seamlessly—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Shadow clung to the blade like ink to parchment, reacting to his intent rather than his grip.
He pivoted, reversed his stance, and executed the final form.
Yagurah Art — Black Return.
The ridge behind him split cleanly in two.
Stone slid apart soundlessly before collapsing into rubble.
Aldrich exhaled.
Behind him, the dragon let out a low, approving rumble.
He turned and smiled faintly.
"Still watching?" Aldrich said.
The dragon shifted its massive head, nostrils flaring. Its wounds from years ago were long healed, scales darker now, thicker. It had grown stronger too.
"So have I," Aldrich murmured.
Two years.
Two years of isolation, of mastery, of confronting himself without distraction.
He was eighteen now.
And Hollowdene had nothing left to teach him.
That realization settled heavily in his chest.
That evening, Aldrich stood before the dragon one last time.
"I'm leaving," he said simply.
The dragon's eye opened fully.
"I won't disappear," Aldrich continued. "But the world beyond this forest won't change unless I step into it."
Silence stretched.
Then the dragon lowered its head.
Aldrich rested his palm against its scaled brow.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For not killing me."
The dragon snorted softly.
Aldrich laughed.
He turned away before the forest could convince him to stay.
The familiar clearing emerged through the trees.
The house stood as it always had—simple, weathered, alive with memories.
Eldran Yagurah sat outside, one arm resting on the table, the other sleeve empty. A cup of tea steamed gently before him.
He did not turn.
"I was wondering when you'd stop hiding in the forest like a beast," Eldran said calmly.
Aldrich froze.
Then smiled.
"You always know," Aldrich said.
Eldran chuckled. "You walk heavier now. Not in body. In presence."
Aldrich approached and knelt briefly—respect, not submission.
"I'm leaving," Aldrich said.
"I know."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"You've changed," Eldran said. "But you didn't lose yourself."
"That was the hardest part," Aldrich replied.
Eldran sipped his tea. "You mastered the Shadow-Forged arts?"
Aldrich nodded. "Completely."
Eldran smiled—not proudly, but knowingly.
"That's the blood of Taro," he said. "And Asaeir Iris."
Aldrich clenched his fist slightly.
"I'll rebuild the clan," Aldrich said. "And when I do… I'll come back for you."
Eldran's gaze softened.
"That is my one wish," he said. "To see Yagurah rise again. Stronger than before."
Aldrich stood.
"I won't fail."
"I know," Eldran replied. "Now go. The world has already started looking for you."
Aldrich bowed deeply.
Then turned—and left the forest behind.
The edge of Hollowdene felt wrong.
Too open.
Too loud.
Wind carried unfamiliar scents—metal, smoke, people.
Aldrich stepped forward.
And stopped.
A figure stood ahead on the path.
Black hair tied loosely behind her back. Crimson-lined traveling clothes. A sword resting casually at her side.
Ellistra Scarlet.
She turned.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Then curved into a smile.
"So," she said. "You survived."
Aldrich blinked.
"…Ellistra?"
"You look taller," she said, eyes flicking over him. "And sharper."
Aldrich exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"I could say the same."
She stepped closer, gaze lingering on his posture, the way the forest itself seemed to lean toward him.
"You left Hollowdene," she said. "That means you're ready."
"For what?" Aldrich asked.
Ellistra tapped the token he still carried beneath his clothes.
"For the world to notice you," she said softly.
Their paths had crossed again.
And neither of them believed in coincidence anymore.