Kenji
As I grasped the old iron handle, the thick wooden doors groaned open, their rusted hinges squealing in protest. Faded engravings lined the weather-worn surface of the doors, barely visible in the golden light spilling out from within. I couldn't make sense of the carvings, but they looked old. Old and important. Maybe a crest? Or a warning? Either way, it wasn't welcoming.
The warm glow bathed us as we stepped inside, and the outside chill faded behind us. The space before us felt... odd. It looked like a tavern—but grander, deeper. The stone floor was worn smooth from decades of footsteps. Sturdy oak benches lined the room, their surfaces scarred with knife marks and age. Tables, mismatched in shape and size, were scattered about, and the scent of woodsmoke, polished pine, and faint ale hung heavy in the air.
"This place looks like a tavern, but... a fancy tavern," I muttered, taking it all in.
"It is a tavern," Yushiro answered simply, already strolling past me, his voice like a whisper in the echoing room.
The decor felt like it belonged to two different worlds—the front a lived-in common hall, and the back an aged sanctuary. Candle sconces flickered with amber flame, casting shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls. Lanterns dangled from timber beams above, painting the room in a honeyed hue. At the far end stood a bar of dark polished wood, smooth and gleaming. Behind it, endless rows of kegs and shiny glass bottles stretched into the back.
"Hello! It's Kenji Kimura and my brothers! Sorry we're late!" I called out.
Silence.
No footsteps. No voices. Just the low hum of the lantern flames.
"Are they out...?" I asked aloud, my voice bouncing off the stone.
"The place is pretty clean," Taka said beside me, looking around with a curious tilt of his head.
I turned to my brother—his golden-blond hair catching the candlelight, the emerald green of his eyes flickering with uncertain awe. "Taka, are we in the right place?"
He nodded slowly, scanning the room again. "The driver said so. This should be Division Four."
Yushiro, our youngest, moved with unhurried steps. His androgynous features were calm, almost otherworldly. Short silver hair framed a face too delicate to belong to any one label. His violet-purple eyes drifted across the room, curious missing nothing.
The doors groaned again—this time closing. Loudly. Forcefully.
Darkness.
The lights vanished in a breath. Candles gone. Lanterns snuffed. I inhaled sharply—woodsmoke lingered, curling in the air like dying whispers. My skin tingled.
Then—
A crash.
Taka and I stumbled, shoved aside by something unseen. Our boots scraped across stone as we barely kept our balance. Another crash followed, loud and close. My heart spiked.
Reflex took over.
I tossed my luggage to the wall, yanked open the flap, and wrapped my fingers around the bone-white hilt of my sword. I drew it free, the metallic ring slicing through the silence.
The familiar weight of the blade settled into my palm.
Hashi. I called it forth mentally.
A surge of internal energy spread through me, sharpening every sense. My hearing intensified, each creak of wood and breath of movement clear. My vision adjusted. The cold sweat on my neck froze as my senses bloomed.
Behind me, the sound of blades being drawn echoed—Taka and Yushiro were armed.
"Was that an attack!? Isn't this a Division base!?" I barked into the darkness.
"I don't know!" Taka's voice rang beside me.
"Yushiro! You okay!?"
No answer.
I turned, searching. My eyes scanned for his outline.
Silence.
Then—movement. Fast. I dodged instinctively. A rush of air, then steel against steel. I swung blindly where I'd just stood, my blade clashing against something solid.
Taka rushed forward, his katana slashing through the dark. Another loud clang. He grunted—hit.
Pain burst across my cheek—a punch. I staggered.
A figure emerged, leaping through the air, landing on a table bathed in moonlight. Cloaked in black. A spear in hand.
"Bastard..."
Taka lunged. The figure thrust their spear, quick and precise. Taka twisted, barely dodging. I followed with a downward slash. The figure blocked it, graceful. My feet scraped back across stone.
We attacked together. Two against one. Blades catching light, moonlight gleaming with every movement. Sparks flew.
I adjusted. Taka distracted. I struck. A powerful thrust. The figure parried, then snapped a kick into my stomach. I hit the floor hard.
Taka pressed forward, recovering with ease. He switched stance, hands tight around his katana.
"Way of Nature:Mountain-Splitting Wave!"
The overhead slash came down like judgment. The figure met it, spear glowing with raw energy. The two clashed, shockwaves rippling through the air.
They broke apart. Taka prepared to strike again.
But Yushiro was already there.
He stepped from the shadows, quiet as a ghost, his foot pinning the spear to the ground. His blade, slim and silver, pressed gently to the figure's neck. His violet eyes gleamed with playful menace.
The figure froze, startled.
Taka didn't hesitate—he swung again. The figure raised a glowing fist and blocked with inhuman strength.
"Damn bastard!" I roared.
I stepped forward, gripped my sword with both hands. Hashi flared. Energy crackled down the blade, adding weight, power. I swung.
In that instant—the figure smiled. A small grin.
Then—they surrendered. Hands raised. The spear clattered to the floor.
I halted the blade inches from their face, every muscle tensed. The enhanced weight of the blade took all my control to stop.
Light bloomed.
The lanterns flared to life again, candles relit. The room returned to its warmth.
Near the bar—onlookers. A small group. Applauding.
Taka lowered his katana, eyes wide.
"What... just happened?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
I looked at Yushiro.
He smiled.
That smile again.
What the hell does he know that we don't?