A DOOR MADE OF SWORDS
A peak of blades, not stone—thousands of Kizugami swords jammed into the ground like grave markers. Some snapped. Some rusted. Some are still shining like they were buried yesterday. The sky above it is wrong—torn into strips of violet and black, like the world got cut and never healed.
Far below that blade-peak, Serenia burns in looping violet fire—streets repeating, people repeating, time folding back on itself. A city caught in a cycle that feels intentional. Punishment shaped like routine.
2000 Years From Now
The Gate of Genseijō
A man stands at the edge of the peak like he owns the wind.
Jet-black hair, streaked with dried crimson. A high-collared coat, polished and expensive, moving with the gale like a flag that refuses to fall. The arrogance is obvious, but it isn't loud—it's quiet and absolute, like he never had to prove it.
On his wrist is a single rubber band. Cheap. Out of place. The kind of thing you keep because someone gave it to you before you became what you are now.
He looks down at the burning city and smiles like he's watching something predictable.
MALLEUS:
"They called me heretic."
A pause, and the smile turns sharper.
MALLEUS:
"I made them asleep."
Tattered banners hang in midair—dead clan sigils, shredded cloth, no rope, no nails, as if reality itself is holding them up just to display failure.
The blade-peak whispers under Malleus's feet. Not in words. In memory.
Then—steel meets flesh.
A blade slides cleanly through his back. No warning. No speech. No dramatic announcement. Just the quiet finality of a sentence ending.
Blood spills like ink. The wind carries it and refuses to let it fall.
Malleus doesn't stumble. He exhales slowly, almost amused.
Behind him stands Pyreton.
One eye open. The other is sealed by a brutal scar that cuts down his left side like a decision that never healed. His hair is dark and slightly unruly, with strands falling over the scarred eye as if he doesn't care who sees his damage—only what it costs.
At his chest rests a pendant—small crystal on a silver chain, humming faintly as if something inside it is alive.
Pyreton's blade is white, so pale it looks like snow sharpened into steel. He holds it without flourishing. The grip isn't elegant. It's honest.
PYRETON:
"For A'nari."
His voice is flint. Not loud. Not shaky. Certain.
He tightens his hand on the hilt and presses deeper.
PYRETON:
"You don't get to say her name."
Malleus looks down at the blade in his body like he's judging the craftsmanship. Then he reaches back and wraps his hand around the blade's edge.
Blood hisses where his palm touches it, as if even his pain is unnatural.
MALLEUS:
"She learned to breathe poison…"
He turns his head just enough to look back at Pyreton.
His eyes are wine-dark. Calm. Warm for half a second—then cold again.
MALLEUS:
"…because you taught her to drink it."
Pyreton doesn't blink.
PYRETON:
"You did this."
Malleus smiles as if that accusation is a compliment.
MALLEUS:
"Mercy cuts deeper than steel."
The air trembles. The blade-peak vibrates like it's about to reject reality. Malleus lifts one hand, and from his sleeve golden threads unravel—sutured light, living seams, like someone tried to stitch destiny together and gave up halfway.
MALLEUS:
"Fate isn't a chain."
The sky fractures into floating shards. Each one shows a different truth like the world can't agree on what really happened.
A burning ocean where fish swim through flame.
Masked Hunters marching under cathedral-sized bells that ring with no sound.
And her—A'nari—cradling an infant wrapped in lilac silk at the edge of an orchard frozen mid-bloom. Her lips form a word that doesn't reach sound.
Promise.
Malleus watches those shards flicker, almost wistful.
MALLEUS:
"It's a market."
The golden threads twitch outward like a threat.
MALLEUS:
"The strong barter."
A beat.
MALLEUS:
"The weak pay full price."
Pyreton steps forward. His presence flares white—not magic, not showy, not ritual. Pure intent. Pressure strong enough to flatten blades like grass. The blade-peak bends as if it recognizes him as something that shouldn't exist.
He closes the distance chest-to-chest with Malleus, like two men meeting at the end of a road that started in childhood.
No more speeches.
No more philosophy.
Just the violent honesty of final decisions.
White force detonates. Steel screams. The sky convulses.
And then—
Nothing.
The next breath belongs to a boy who doesn't know his name has a price.
SERENIA — PRESENT DAY
Serenia is clean in a way that feels wrong. Bright glass. Pretty streets. Towers reflecting sunlight like they're proud of themselves. A city that looks safe enough to trust.
But if you stare at reflections too long, you swear the buildings blink. The birds glide a fraction too smoothly. Clouds lag behind themselves like someone forgot to render them on time.
Everyone agrees to look away.
A bedroom on the ninth floor of an apartment building too clean to belong to anyone struggling. Posters half-falling. A desk covered in physics notes—equations layered over other equations like he's trying to argue with reality until it gives up.
A brochure is stuck to a boy's face.
He sits up with a groan, hair a warm brown mess tied into a short ponytail that isn't neat—loose strands framing his face like he never bothers fixing it after anything.
His eyes are brown and sharp, but tired. The kind of tired you get from thinking too much and resting too little.
A small scar near his eyebrow—subtle, not dramatic. The kind of mark that says he's been close to something sharp and didn't flinch fast enough.
He peels the brochure off his face.
RYO:
"…Ow."
He looks at it. A name printed bright and clean:
LUMINON INSTITUTE — APPLIED STUDIES
A red circle is drawn around it like a target.
His phone lights up with a message he's already read too many times.
DAD: Dinner at 7. Don't be late this time.
Ryo types a reply.
Deletes it.
Types again.
Deletes again.
He drops the phone on the bed like it annoys him personally.
RYO:
"He says that like the universe listens."
He stretches. His spine pops.
He stares out the window.
Serenia's morning light pours across glass and concrete like gold paint, but it still feels cold.
For a split second, the skyline warps. Towers sharpen into something too straight. Too blade-like.
Ryo blinks, and it's normal again.
His jaw tightens.
RYO (thought):
…Not today.
The hallway outside is bright lemon-cleaner. Too sterile. The elevator doors shine like a fake smile.
Ryo pauses, staring at a hairline crack in the wall—thin, straight, clean like it wasn't made by settling concrete.
Like something cut it.
He touches it.
The wall feels warm.
Not "sun warmed."
Warm like a living thing.
RYO:
"…Yeah. Not today."
He turns away from the elevator and takes the stairs two at a time like he's running from a thought he refuses to name.
School pretends to be a sanctuary the way paper pretends to be a wall.
The courtyard is full of students laughing. Festival decorations half-hung. A drone filming for a school highlight reel that'll make them all look happier than they actually are.
Ryo walks through it with bored "same old day" energy like it's his armor. Not because he's cold. Because if he looks too alert, people start asking questions.
A group of students wave at him.
He nods once, polite, distant.
As he passes, a shadow in the crowd moves half a step wrong—like it lagged behind its owner.
Ryo's eyes snap to it.
It fixes itself instantly.
And he keeps walking like he didn't notice.
The rooftop door swings open. Wind hits like a slap.
Ryo steps out and grips the fence, staring at Serenia like he's trying to solve the city's hidden math.
A body slams into his shoulder.
SATOSHI:
"Kenzaki!"
Ryo catches himself against the chain-link, palm stinging.
Satoshi grins—pretty-boy confidence, toothpick in his mouth like it's part of his personality. He looks like the kind of guy life keeps forgiving.
SATOSHI:
"Brooding again? Or did a math problem hurt your feelings?"
Ryo exhales through his nose.
RYO:
"I don't lose to paper."
SATOSHI:
"Sure. You just lose sleep."
Ryo's eyes narrow.
RYO:
"I'm fine."
Satoshi leans closer like he's testing the lie for cracks.
SATOSHI:
"That's what people say right before they do something stupid."
Ryo deadpans.
RYO:
"So you're saying I'm about to become you?"
Satoshi laughs like that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to him.
SATOSHI:
"Careful. You might pull it off."
He pushes off the fence.
SATOSHI:
"Festival prep later. Don't disappear."
RYO:
"I won't."
Satoshi points at him like he doesn't believe him.
SATOSHI:
"You say that every time."
He leaves, whistling.
Ryo stays.
A new crack runs from the rooftop door hinge into the concrete—thin and straight like a blade line.
Ryo stares at it longer than he should.
RYO (thought):
I'm not imagining this.
After the last bell, the gym turns into a confetti factory. Streamers. Paper lanterns. Tape. People shouting directions nobody follows.
Mei stands on a chair, purple hair tied back, taping paper moons in a row so perfect it looks aggressive.
MEI:
"If you hang it crooked, I'll hang you crooked."
Hiroshi tries balancing three lanterns on his head and fails instantly.
HIROSHI:
"I meant to do that."
Mei doesn't look at him.
MEI:
"You meant to fail faster."
Ryo hands Mei tape without being asked. She takes it like it was always her plan.
Then she snaps her fingers in front of his face.
MEI:
"Earth to Ryo."
Ryo blinks.
MEI:
"You're not here. You're somewhere else."
Ryo opens his mouth to lie, but Mei's stare is sharp enough to cut through polite excuses.
So he goes with the simple one.
RYO:
"Just tired."
Mei leans in.
MEI:
"You always say that like it explains anything."
Ryo glances past the scoreboard.
Behind it, in raw concrete, there's a fresh cut—thin fissure, clean line. Like something tested the world's surface with a blade.
His stomach tightens.
He looks away.
Because if he looks too long, he'll start believing it.
Hiroshi drags a ladder across the gym floor. It wobbles. He wobbles with it.
Ryo's hand shoots out, stabilizing it before it can fall.
RYO:
"Don't die."
Hiroshi blinks at him, surprised by how fast he moved.
HIROSHI:
"Wow. Supportive."
Ryo shrugs like it was nothing.
RYO:
"If you die, I have to do your part."
Hiroshi snorts.
HIROSHI:
"That's the real tragedy."
Mei watches that exchange for half a second, then looks away, but her eyes soften like she noticed something.
Ryo acts like he doesn't care.
But he always catches people.
Home smells like miso and old shoes. The TV murmurs a game show nobody watches. The apartment is small, but warm in a way Serenia outside never is.
Ryo's father sits at the square table—shirt sleeves rolled up, forearms rope-strong, hands worn from work. His face is made of kindness reinforced by stubborn responsibility.
Ryo sits down.
DAD:
"You're on time."
RYO:
"Miracles happen."
His father hums like he's pretending not to be relieved.
DAD:
"Don't rely on them."
They eat. Real food. Real warmth.
For a minute, the world is just a table and two people trying.
Then his father's gaze drifts to the bag by the door.
The corner of the Luminon brochure peeks out.
A red circle visible like an accusation.
His father sets down his chopsticks carefully, like they suddenly weigh more.
DAD:
"Luminon."
Ryo tries to be casual.
RYO:
"It's just a brochure."
His father's eyes don't move.
DAD:
"You don't circle brochures in red for fun."
Ryo stares at his bowl.
RYO:
"Maybe I do."
His father doesn't smile.
DAD:
"You don't."
Silence.
Then his father reaches across the table and gently grips Ryo's wrist—not controlling. Grounding. Like he's anchoring him to the present.
DAD:
"The nights… are they back?"
Ryo stiffens.
His smile comes too fast. Too practiced.
RYO:
"No."
His father watches him like he's listening for what he didn't say.
DAD:
"Ryo."
Ryo's voice tightens.
RYO:
"I said no."
Another silence.
His father nods, but the worry doesn't leave his face.
DAD:
"…Okay."
Ryo looks toward the window.
For a split second, violet flame flickers in the reflection—like Serenia has a second face.
Ryo looks away immediately.
Ryo goes to the park because it's where his childhood still lives. Streetlights. Quiet paths. Trees that have seen him grow up.
He sits on a bench near the big tree.
On the wood is an old carving—scratched in by a child with a key, shaky and angry and desperate to make something permanent.
MOM
The letters are uneven. Re-cut over and over like a kid tried to carve a memory into something the world couldn't erase.
Ryo leans back, staring up at Serenia's counterfeit moon.
RYO:
"…Hey."
His breath fogs in the cold.
RYO:
"If you're watching… you're really quiet."
A leaf falls.
It freezes in midair for half a heartbeat.
Then drops like nothing happened.
Ryo sits up slowly.
His heart starts to beat louder.
The air tastes like metal.
A sound like a bell choking on its own echo.
SFX: GNNNNG—
Above the trees, the sky splits.
A violet seam—sharp, clean, impossible.
Streetlights flicker. Car alarms scream awake. Dogs bark like they recognize the scent of something ancient.
Ryo stands fast.
His body moves before his mind catches up.
RYO:
…No way.
He runs.
Leaves crunch. Cold air burns his throat. His shoes slide on dirt.
The closer he gets, the stronger the smell becomes—hot metal and winter rain.
Like a storm hit a sword factory.
He breaks through the last line of trees and stops.
A "crater" sits in the clearing.
But it isn't broken earth.
It's a circle where reality is thin, like the world forgot to finish forming.
And in the center—
A girl kneels in a torn white kimono, soaked in blood.
A sword is stabbed into the ground like it's pinning the moment down.
One eye amethyst. One eye dark blue.
She doesn't look up.
YUA:
"Stop."
Ryo freezes.
Her voice isn't loud.
It's the kind of tone you obey before you even understand why.
YUA:
"Another step and it smells you."
Ryo swallows.
RYO:
"Smells me?"
She grips the sword and pushes up. Shaky for half a second—then controlled. Like pain is just another condition she works around.
YUA:
"Stay behind me."
Ryo's voice comes out half honest, half disbelief.
RYO:
"Who are you?"
She finally looks at him.
Dark blue eye sharp.
Amethyst eye cold.
YUA:
"Yua Aihara."
A beat.
YUA:
"And you're loud."
Ryo blinks.
RYO:
"I ran here. I didn't scream."
Her gaze doesn't soften.
YUA:
"Your Seishu did."
Ryo frowns.
RYO:
"My what?"
She shifts her stance—injured, bleeding, and still balanced like she was born ready.
YUA:
"Your imbalance."
The trees bend.
Shadows slide away from the seam like animals fleeing a predator.
Something pushes through.
Wrong geometry. Too many joints. A mouth that looks like direction rather than shape. It moves without disturbing the air, like it doesn't respect the world's rules enough to obey them.
Ryo's eyes widened.
His knees want to fold.
But he doesn't run.
His hands shake once.
Then steady.
RYO:
…That's real.
Yua's voice is flat.
YUA:
"Kaimon."
Ryo's throat feels dry.
RYO:
"What is that?"
YUA:
"Gateborn."
She raises her sword slightly, not pointing it yet—just reminding the world she can.
YUA:
"It eats up imbalance until the world stops wobbling."
Ryo forces out a breath that sounds like a laugh because his brain needs something to hold onto.
RYO:
"So… it's an auditor."
For the briefest moment, Yua's lips twitch like she almost hates that she found that funny.
YUA:
"Don't talk."
Ryo can't help himself.
RYO:
That's my coping skill.
The Kaimon tilts its head—if you can call it that. Its attention locks onto Ryo like hunger has found a name.
Yua snaps her gaze to him.
YUA:
"Do you consent?"
Ryo's eyebrows shoot up.
RYO:
"…To what? We just met."
Yua's voice sharpens.
YUA:
"Your word binds the path."
She presses her bleeding hand to her sleeve, steadying herself.
YUA:
"If I drag you, the Gate won't hold you. You'll split."
Ryo's stomach drops.
RYO:
"Split?"
YUA:
"Like paper."
The Kaimon leans forward.
The seam widens like it's breathing.
Yua's eyes narrow.
YUA:
"Decide."
Ryo stares at it—then at her.
She's bleeding. She's alone. She still stepped in front of him anyway.
Ryo's fear is real.
But something else is stronger: the refusal to leave someone standing alone.
RYO:
"Yes."
Yua slams her palm into Ryo's chest.
Heat drops into him, deep, like his ribs opened and let it in.
The clearing flashes violet—trees glowing for a heartbeat like a cathedral discovering electricity.
YUA:
"Close your eyes."
Ryo tries to speak.
RYO:
"Why—"
YUA:
"Now."
He closes them.
The world turns inside out.
Cold stone under his hands.
Darkness shaped into a tunnel.
Walls pulsing with blue veins—Seishu flowing like slow lightning through the earth.
Ryo opens his eyes, breathing hard.
RYO:
"…Where are we?"
Yua's answer is immediate.
YUA:
"Substrata."
Ryo looks around, stunned.
RYO:
"Under my city?"
Yua doesn't even glance at him.
YUA:
"Under your world."
Far ahead stands an arch carved with glyphs.
Ryo's stomach drops again.
He knows those symbols.
Not from books.
From dreams.
From doodles he's drawn without knowing why.
His hand rises to his hairline—toward the faint baby-scar.
Yua's voice snaps like a blade.
YUA:
"Don't touch that."
Ryo freezes.
RYO:
"What is it?"
Yua's eyes harden like she's looking at something she hates remembering.
YUA:
"An old promise someone pinned to you."
Ryo's voice goes quieter.
RYO:
"Who?"
Yua turns slightly, keeping her sword angled behind them.
YUA:
"We're not doing your backstory right now."
A pressure builds at the tunnel's edge.
A hairline crack climbs the cavern wall—straight and clean, the same kind of cut Ryo has been seeing everywhere.
Ryo's chest tightens.
RYO (thought):
So I wasn't crazy.
Yua's jaw sets.
YUA:
"It followed."
Yua points with her chin.
YUA:
"Go to the arch."
Ryo hesitates.
RYO:
Why me?
YUA:
"The Gate likes residents."
Another crack forms.
The pressure behind them thickens like something is learning the door.
Yua's voice lowers.
YUA:
"And you smell like its key."
Ryo steps forward.
The glyphs feel like they're staring.
He presses his palm to cold stone.
It's freezing.
Then sharp.
Then steady, like the world is recognizing him.
The arch doesn't speak in words. It asks through feeling.
Ryo breathes in.
RYO:
"It wants… breath."
Yua's voice behind him is firm.
YUA:
"Name."
RYO:
"…Name."
YUA:
"Promise."
Ryo swallows. His voice shakes once.
Then he forces it steady.
RYO:
"My name is Ryo Kenzaki."
The stone warms.
Ryo's thoughts race. He wants time. He wants explanation. He wants his mother to step out from behind the darkness and tell him the rules.
But he doesn't get any of that.
He gets a choice.
He thinks of his father's hands—warm and tired, holding him steady.
He thinks of Satoshi's stupid grin.
Mei's sharp eyes.
Hiroshi nearly dying by existing wrong.
He thinks of Serenia pretending it's fine.
He thinks of Yua bleeding and still standing.
So he speaks like he means it.
RYO:
"I don't know what this is."
The glyphs brighten.
RYO:
"But I'm not running."
He breathes.
RYO:
"If someone needs me to stand… I'll stand."
The arch glows stronger.
RYO:
"If the world cheats… I'll look at it anyway."
Ryo exhales slowly.
His eyes sharpen.
RYO:
"And if I break…"
A beat.
RYO:
"…I'll break forward."
The arch's center turns soft—like air remembering how to be a door.
Three rings flare, biting into each other.
A doorway opens.
On the other side: a forest with falling snow and no wind. Bells ringing somewhere deep, quiet but real.
The crack behind them explodes wider.
A tendril slides through.
Yua cuts it clean.
SFX: KNNNG—
Another tendril follows immediately.
Yua's voice doesn't shake.
YUA:
"Go."
Ryo turns back instinctively.
Yua stands in the blue-veined light like a ruined flag that refuses to drop.
Blood runs down her hand.
Her dark blue eye pins him.
Her amethyst eye softens—just a fraction.
She says his name like it's a place to stand.
YUA:
"Ryo."
Ryo nods once.
RYO:
…I am.
YUA:
"Breathe."
Ryo steps through.
Cold kisses his cheeks.
Snow lands on his lashes.
Behind him, Yua swings again—steel singing in the tunnel.
SFX: SHRAK—
Ryo stands in the snow-forest, stunned.
Trees are taller. Shadows feel deeper. The air is sharp and clean, like it's never been polluted by pretending.
The bells ring again—closer.
Ryo realizes something slowly, like his mind doesn't want to accept it.
The symbols carried by the sound… match his doodles.
His mouth opens.
No sound comes out.
Then a voice—slow and careful, like a blade being drawn.
VOICE (from the forest):
"Name."
Ryo answers without thinking.
RYO:
"Ryo Kenzaki."
The bells listen.
Behind him, the arch begins to close.
Ryo spins.
RYO:
"Wait—Yua!"
For the smallest moment, he sees her through the narrowing door.
Her blue eye sharp.
Her amethyst eye softened, just a fraction.
YUA:
"Don't stop once you start."
The Gate shuts like a jaw.
SFX: THUNK.
Silence.
Ryo stands alone in the snow, breath steaming, heart pounding.
The forest ahead stretches into darkness.
The bells keep ringing.
A path waits like it's been waiting a long time.
And the world exhaled… a new Hunter had dawned this new age.
🌀 END OF CHAPTER ONE