The teacup shattered against the floor.
Nakato stared at his uncle—this stranger with his mother's eyes and Kuroto's bone structure—as the implications crashed over him. His hands trembled, not from exhaustion but from the terrible understanding blooming in his chest.
"You're saying..." Nakato's voice came out raw, scraped hollow from screaming. "Kuroto is my..."
Shiro's nod was grim. "Blood uncle. My half-brother. Though he stopped being family the day he ordered your mother's execution."
Across the makeshift command tent, Hinako sucked in a sharp breath. Daisuke's fingers froze over his holographic display, the color draining from his face. Nakato could only stare at the photograph in Shiro's hands—the woman who looked so much like him, standing beside this silver-haired warrior with a smile that didn't yet know tragedy.
The lantern light flickered as a cold wind snaked through the tent flaps. Outside, the Resistance camp buzzed with activity—fighters in patched-together armor checking weapons, medics brewing foul-smelling poultices, children too young for war sharpening knives with unsettling skill.
"Show him," Hinako said suddenly. Her fingers brushed Nakato's wrist, just above the scar where his regulator used to be. "He deserves to see."
Shiro exhaled through his nose, then reached into his vest again. What he produced wasn't another photo, but a small holodisk that hummed to life when he thumbed the activator.
The image resolved into a security feed dated eighteen years ago.
A sterile white room. A steel crib at its center. Inside, a dark-haired infant wailed as black embers flickered around tiny fists. Behind observation glass, a younger Kuroto stood beside a dark-haired woman—Nakato's mother—her face tight with barely restrained fury.
*"Subject Zero shows unprecedented energy output,"* Kuroto's recorded voice noted clinically. *"The Mazui bloodline's affinity for annihilation is even stronger than predicted."*
The woman—Hanako—spun on him. *"He's not a subject! He's my son!"*
Kuroto didn't flinch. *"He's the key to humanity's survival. The Hollow King comes, sister. Would you doom us all for sentiment?"*
The feed cut abruptly.
Nakato realized he was standing, his flames coiling around his fists without conscious thought. The holodisk's light reflected off Shiro's golden eyes as he pocketed it.
"That was the last recording before Hanako broke you out. Three days later, Kuroto torched the nursery wing with twelve infants inside—all failed clones." Shiro's jaw worked. "Made the news as an electrical fire."
Daisuke made a choked sound. "You're saying Nakato's the only successful—"
"Natural-born Shadowborn in existence," Shiro finished. He turned to Nakato. "Your flames don't just burn, kid. They *unmake.* That's why Kuroto needs you. The things coming? Normal fire won't touch them."
A commotion erupted outside. Shouts. The clang of metal. Then a voice Nakato never expected to hear again:
"Would you idiots lower your guns before I fry your brains out through your eyeballs?"
The tent flap burst open.
Ryujin stood in the entrance, his once-pristine coat now tattered and soaked in blood that wasn't all his. A jagged wound ran from his left temple down to his collarbone, the flesh around it blackened as if burned from within. But his golden eyes were as sharp as ever.
Hinako's dagger hit the floor. "You bastard."
Daisuke actually squeaked.
Nakato just stared, his flames flickering uncertainly. The Blood Memory showed him flashes—Ryujin taking Kuroto's sword through the gut, the rooftop explosion, the certainty of death.
Ryujin limped forward, tossing something onto the table between them. A charred Black Ops helmet with its visor shattered. "Miss me?"
Shiro sighed. "You're late."
"Got sidetracked murdering traitors." Ryujin collapsed into a chair, wincing as his injury pulled. "Kuroto's moving up the timetable. Eclipse Convergence starts at moonrise tomorrow."
The tent went dead silent.
Daisuke recovered first. "That's impossible! The celestial alignment isn't for another six weeks—"
"Which is why he's forcing it." Ryujin tapped the helmet. "Intercepted chatter confirms it. He's got three Titan-class Beasts positioned at ley line nexuses around the city. When they detonate—"
"The barrier between worlds tears," Shiro finished grimly.
Hinako retrieved her dagger, testing the edge with her thumb. "So we kill the Titans first."
Ryujin's smile was all teeth. "Now you're thinking." He turned to Nakato. "But here's the fun part. Those Titans? They're made from your DNA too. Which means—"
Nakato understood before the words left Ryujin's mouth. His flames roared in response, black fire licking up the tent poles. "I'm the only one who can stop them."
Shiro stood, unfolding a massive topographic map across the table. "We've got twenty hours until moonrise. Here's how this war ends."
As the others leaned in to strategize, Nakato stepped outside, needing air. The camp sprawled before him—a hidden city of rebels preparing to burn the world down to save it. Children practiced with wooden swords. Elders blessed makeshift armor. And everywhere, the symbol of the Resistance: a black sun with nine spears through it, just like the Eclipse mark... but inverted.
A hand clapped his shoulder. Ryujin stood beside him, his wound glistening in the torchlight. "You feel it, don't you? The pull."
Nakato didn't pretend to misunderstand. His flames had been restless since the transformation, whispering of something vast and hungry waiting just beyond the veil of reality. "Is it really coming? This... Hollow King?"
Ryujin's gaze turned distant. "Something is. Kuroto saw it during his first deep void dive. Came back with white hair and a god complex." He squeezed Nakato's shoulder. "But here's the truth they never told you—your fire doesn't just unmake. It *chooses.* Your mother made sure of that."
Before Nakato could ask what that meant, a horn sounded at the camp's edge. Scouts came running, their faces pale.
"Movement in the eastern tunnels! Beasts, dozens of them—but they're not attacking!"
Ryujin and Nakato exchanged glances before sprinting toward the commotion. What they found at the tunnel mouth stopped them cold.
Twenty Beasts knelt in perfect formation, their grotesque forms utterly still. At their forefront stood a single humanoid figure—tall, slender, its face hidden behind a smooth white mask. When it spoke, the voice was neither male nor female, but something infinitely older:
*"The Hollow King sends his regards. You have until moonrise to surrender the Prime. Otherwise..."*
The masked figure gestured. The Beasts parted, revealing three small forms huddled between them—children, no older than six, their eyes glowing faintly red.
*"...we return what remains of Subject Nine."*
Nakato's flames erupted in a roar that shook the tunnels. Because as the smallest child looked up with terrified eyes, he saw the truth.
The girl had his face.