A whisper stirred in the void, laced with an ancient weight. A crown rested atop a crumbling throne, untouched for centuries. Shadows slithered like living things around it, whispering words in a language lost to time.
"The one worthy shall rise…"
Kaizetsu stepped forward, drawn by an unseen force. The weight of a thousand voices pressed upon him, yet his body moved as if guided by something beyond his will. The throne loomed closer. The crown—gleaming, forbidden—seemed to pulse, calling to him. His fingers reached out.
A sudden force struck him. He gasped as agony tore through his body. Knees buckling, he collapsed onto the stone floor, his breath ragged. The whispers grew deafening.
"You are not yet ready."
Kaizetsu's eyes shot open. His chest heaved as he scanned his surroundings. The familiar ceiling of his small apartment greeted him. Sweat clung to his skin, the remnants of the dream still clawing at his mind. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the ruins, the throne, or the crown. But the pain—that was new.
Pushing himself upright, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Outside, the city pulsed with life, indifferent to the turmoil within him.
He exhaled sharply. "Just a dream."
But he knew better.
---
Five years earlier
The scent of rain-soaked earth filled the air as Kaizetsu knelt before a lone gravestone at the edge of his village. His fingers traced the name etched into the stone—his mother's name. A sharp gust of wind blew through the trees, rustling the prayer papers tied to the wooden stakes surrounding the grave.
"I'll find him," he whispered, voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. "I'll make him pay."
A heavy hand rested on his shoulder. His grandfather stood beside him, silent for a long moment before finally speaking.
"Revenge is a blade that cuts both ways, Kaizetsu," the old man murmured. "If you walk this path, you must be strong enough to endure the price."
Kaizetsu didn't waver. "I don't care about the price."
His grandfather sighed, then nodded. "Then we begin tomorrow."
---
The city was nothing like the village.
Neon lights flickered against the glass buildings, the hum of cars and distant sirens filling the air. People moved quickly, heads down, lost in their own worlds. Kaizetsu had spent five years away, training in seclusion, but now he was back—stronger, sharper and with only one goal in mind.
To find the man who killed his mother.
His gaze flickered to his reflection in a passing window. The face staring back was familiar yet foreign—dark eyes lacking the vibrance they once held, a shadow of the person he used to be. He had left the city as a boy. He had returned as something else entirely.
A sudden chill prickled his skin. He turned sharply. For a moment, he swore he saw something—a flicker of darkness shifting unnaturally in the alleyway across the street. But when he blinked, it was gone.
He sighed. "I need more sleep."
But deep down, he knew this wasn't exhaustion.
---
That night, the whispers returned.
Kaizetsu found himself standing in an empty field under a moonlit sky. The wind howled through the trees, carrying a familiar voice—his mother's.
"You must be strong, Kaizetsu."
He turned sharply, his heart pounding. "Mom?"
No one was there. Just the endless night.
Then, the ground trembled.
Before him, the ruins from his dreams materialized, ancient and foreboding. The throne, the crown—it was all there. But this time, something else stirred.
A figure cloaked in shadow stood at the throne's side. Though its face was obscured, Kaizetsu could feel its gaze pierce through him.
"Your fate is already written."
The whispers grew louder, clawing at his mind. But now, amidst the chaos, another voice emerged—his own.
No. I decide my own fate.
For the first time, he resisted the pull of the vision. The crown flickered, the shadows wavered—as if startled by his defiance.
And then—
Darkness.
---
Kaizetsu woke with a start, his pulse hammering. His room was silent, yet the echoes of the whispers still rang in his ears.
This wasn't just a dream.
Something was coming.
A sharp noise snapped him out of his thoughts.
A footstep.
It was faint, but his trained ears caught it instantly. His muscles tensed. Slowly, he reached for the small blade hidden under his pillow, his grip steady. The room was silent. He listened, breath shallow.
Then—another step. Closer this time.
His body moved on instinct. In a flash, he was on his feet, blade drawn as he turned towards the door.
Silence.
Kaizetsu narrowed his eyes. He wasn't alone.
And whoever was out there had made a grave mistake.
---
The handle turned. The door creaked open an inch, and in that instant, Kaizetsu struck. He lunged forward, grabbing the wrist of the intruder and twisting sharply. A muffled grunt followed as the figure stumbled into the dimly lit room.
With a swift motion, Kaizetsu pinned them against the wall, blade against their throat.
The hooded figure coughed, their voice strained but eerily calm. "You're quick."
Kaizetsu's eyes remained cold. "Who sent you?"
The figure smirked. "You already know the answer."
His grip tightened. "Try me."
The smirk didn't fade. Instead, the figure lifted their free hand and pointed toward the window. "We're just the beginning."
Kaizetsu's gaze flickered for only a second, but it was enough. The intruder twisted, breaking free with an agility that betrayed experience. They leapt back, knocking over the small table between them. In one fluid motion, they bolted for the window and shattered through it, disappearing into the night.
Kaizetsu didn't chase. Instead, he exhaled slowly, lowering his blade.
His father had made his move.
The war had already begun.