The cleanup mission began at dawn, under the pallid glow of the undecaying star. Tatsu's mother, Sayuri Kuroda, stood at the Blackwood's edge, her heterochromatic eyes avoiding his. She handed him a star-forged scythe, its blade etched with runes older than the Splinter Wars.
"Stay close," she warned. "The forest remembers."
The Blackwood had grown worse. Diamond-shelled victims now clustered like grotesque bouquets, their frozen faces turned toward the sky. Among them, new horrors lurked: star-born corpses fused with trees, their bark skin splitting to reveal glowing entrails.
Kio knelt beside a victim, her scanner buzzing. "These aren't from the recent quakes. This one's decades old. Pre-Splinter Wars."
Tatsu's scythe trembled as he recognized the insignia on the victim's tattered uniform, a black crown encircling a hollow star. The Cabal's mark.
Lira (flickering in and out): "They're trophies. The King's collection."
Tatsu: "What king?"
Lira: "The one who rules without a name. Speak it, and you join his gallery."
A frozen victim's head creaked toward them, its diamond jaw unhinging. A rasp echoed: "He… watches."
That night, Tatsu collapsed in the greenhouse, his veins blackening to tar. The world spun, and when he opened his eyes, he faced a mirror, not of glass, but of liquid shadow.
His reflection stepped out, smirking. This other Tatsu wore the throne's jagged crown, his eyes twin voids.
Reflection: "Pathetic. You're still flailing in the shallows while the King feasts in the deep."
Tatsu: "What King? What does he want?"
Reflection: "The same as the throne. The same as you. To own, to consume, to outlast."
The mirror's surface rippled, showing a faceless figure seated on a throne of fused bones. Around him, advisors whispered titles, The Hollow Sovereign, The Unwritten, He Who Eclipses , but never a name.
Reflection: "Names have power. His was devoured by the throne long ago. Now, he devours others'. Yours is next."
Tatsu lunged, but his hands passed through the mirror. The reflection laughed. "Run back to your little school. The King's knights are already hunting."
The cleanup crew worked in silence, the forest's air thick with the stench of decaying starlight. Tatsu's group, Sayuri, Kio, and two star-born guards paused at a clearing.
Sayuri: "This area's unstable. Collect the fragments and leave."
But the fragments moved. Star shards skittered like insects, forming a spiral around a diamond-shelled figure at the center.
Kio: "That's… impossible."
The figure was Sayuri.
Younger, terrified, her star-marked hand outstretched. A frozen echo from the Splinter Wars.
Sayuri (present): "Don't touch it!"
Too late. Tatsu's branded palm grazed the shell.
The forest screamed.
Diamond victims erupted from the earth, their jaws unhinged, repeating in unison: "THE KING SEES. THE KING KNOWS. THE KING COMES."
The star-born guards shattered, their bodies dissolving into ash. Sayuri shoved Tatsu and Kio behind a tree as the ground split, The air thickened, heavy with the static of dying stars. Tatsu froze as the shadow emerged from the forest's bleeding gloom, a Cabal knight, its form a blasphemy of void and ash.
Its armor drank the light, forged from compressed star-ash so dense it seemed to gnaw at the edges of reality. No joints, no seams, just a seamless carapace that hissed like a thousand serpents as it moved. The helm was a crown twisted into a cage, jagged prongs curving inward as if to impale the nothingness where a face should be. From it spilled a low, resonant hum, a frequency that vibrated in Tatsu's molars and clawed at the base of his skull.
But the weapon–
The knight's chainsword glinted, its serrated teeth not metal, but ice. Not ordinary ice, though. This was hoarfrost distilled from screams. The blade's core pulsed with trapped voices—souls flash-frozen mid-agony, their final moments preserved in jagged crystalline threads. As the knight raised it, the sword keened, a sound like glaciers splitting, and the voices crescendoed: a chorus of terror, rage, and despair that scraped raw against Tatsu's mind.
Knight's Voice: "The King claims his tribute."
It lunged. Tatsu's scythe clashed against the chainsword, sparks igniting the diamond shells around them. The knight's helm cracked, revealing not a face, but a swirling void.
Knight: "You are already named. The throne's morsel."
Tatsu's veins erupted in black fire. The knight recoiled, its armor corroding.
Lira (flickering desperately): "Stop! You'll destabilize the—"
The forest exploded.
Tatsu woke in the school infirmary, his mother gone. Principal Halara loomed over him, her galaxy eyes blazing.
Halara: "Fool. You've drawn the King's gaze. Now, he'll feast on us all."
She tossed him a star-ash locket. Inside: a hologram of a young star-born soldier, Sayuri, kneeling before the faceless King.
Halara: "Your mother swore allegiance to him during the wars. She gave the throne his name. And he took it… along with her humanity."
The locket disintegrated.
Halara: "Now, he wants yours."
That night, the reflection returned.
Reflection: "The King's knights will keep coming. But I can protect you."
Tatsu: "How?"
The reflection pressed a shadowy dagger to the mirror. "Let me in. Let us merge."
Tatsu hesitated. The dagger pierced the glass, black tendrils snaking toward his heart.
Reflection: "You'll be unstoppable. The throne, the King, they'll fear you."
Lira materialized, her form barely solid. "Don't! He's not you !! He's the throne's first Anchor."
The reflection snarled, shattering the mirror. Glass shards embedded in Tatsu's chest as the vision faded.
Kio burst into the infirmary, her tablet displaying a blurred hologram from the archives: the King, his faceless visage looming over a young Sayuri.
Kio: "I found it. His name. It's—"
Tatsu tackled her as a Cabal knight's chainsword shattered the wall.
Knight: "Silence."
Kio's tablet exploded. The knight seized her throat.
Tatsu: "Let her go!"
Knight: "The King's name is forbidden. But you… you have no name left to protect."
Lira flickered into existence behind the knight, her voice a broken scream: "TATSU, LOOK AWAY—"
The knight's helm split, the void inside whispering:
"̵̡̢̡̨̛̦̣͚̣̟̻̲̭̯͔̬̪̮͔̠̬͔̞̦̘̺̝̰̟͖̰̫̯̫̝̺͈̙̞̟̩͕͙̳͉̰͑̎̔́̇̇͛͌̊̐̽̀́͆̏̌̀́̇̀͗̽̈̍͋͊̉̔̆̎̇͋͆̆̈́́̆̎̓̓͂̆̌̕͜͠I̸̡̨̢̛̮͇̠̖̳̭̺̦͔̼̜̝̞̩̝͓̤̲̩̣̼͐͛͐̋̔̇̇̍̏́͊͊̈́́̊̅̀̎̑̾̉̉̈̕̕̕͜͠͝͝ͅ ̴̧̠͔̠̭̟͇̳̺̆͐̿̅̾͑͂̀̈́͂̓͆̈́͗̌̑͂̄̉̅̈́̉̎́͘ ̸̨̨͔͖͇̦̯͓̫̜̭̟̼̦͕͚̰͇̘̺͉̝̫̥̻͕̣̮̘͉̣̰̗̼͚͖͇̭̝̬̪͌̑̏͌͆̀̀͒̋̄̇͒̋͑̔͋̋͒͒̇̈́̂͆͊̋̃̔̈́̄̔̽̉͑̍͑̕̕͜͜͠ͅͅą̸̨̨̨̨̢̨̛̛̖̝̞̥̳̙̘̞̳͈̭͇̻̪̭̞̳̘̘̻̗͓̞̞̟͇̳̤̼̅́̓͑̄͂̑͌͒̒̄̃͋́̿͑̐͐͆̉͛͗̒̿̈̈̔̏̎́̑̃̍̅̕͘̚͝ͅͅͅ ̶̡̧̛̛̛̛̛͎̣̥͎̲̘̭̬̞̰̰̘̤͓̝̦͚̦̔̐̅͐̿̏̑̎̌̌̈́̔͐̓̄́̿̀̋̍̿́̓̓͒̓͗̊͋̃̑̈́̽̃̋̕̚͘͝͝ͅm̷̧̢̦͎͕̙̟̤̘̩͚̭͍͔̥̬̞͈͚̩͕̙͍̺͈͖̣̲͔͎͚̼̘͔̩̤̠̞̥̝̠̝̜̰̭̖͂̔́̓̉̊̀͗̉͛̽́̃̒͊͌̓́̌̈́͆́̂̆̂̓̉̋̄̈́̀͛̒̕͘͘̕͝͠ͅͅͅ ̴̧̡̧̡̧̧͓̝̠̟͕͕̣͕͉̣̤͚̖̻̮̤͕͚̼̮̙̺͇͚͕͈̞̼͎͈̠̝̈́͂̑̀̃̽̋̓̔̅̊̉̄͑̀̌͐̓̆͒̌̉̊́̀͗͒̎͂̆͜͝͝y̸̛̛̖̹͚̩̩̻̳̙͕̲͚̖̪͎̥͚͙̘̘͈͕̙͙̼͍̬͖̯̮̝͖̦̅̿̇̆́͐͊̊͌̊̾̐̎͒̄͐͌̅͐͒̓̂͂̄͌̏͐̓͛͋̀̾̾̅̄͑͌́̓̈́͗̿̅͘͜͝͠ͅo̵̧̧̢̢̞͇̞͈̟͔̻̻̜̤̼̭͉̦̩̖̠̤̘͍̝̲̤̺͖̫̲͓̜̭̟͕̝̩͔̝̺̱͖͍͙̪͈̊̉̄̾͑͜͠ͅư̴̛̛̛̦͓̭̺̱̞͉̩̬͓̓͑̏̿͛̆̌͑̈́̇̈́̈͆͒͋̌͗̅̐́͗͂̈̍̎͗̊̆̔̀̀̅̇͗͌̓̋̈̿͘̕̕ŗ̵̧̢̛̺͎͈͙͚̲̩̭̦͈̣̎̔̒͝ͅ ̷̡̢͙̣͈͙̞͙͙̞̙͕̳̞͎̩̥̮̘͎̤̞̙̱̙̥̣̻̝͙͇͔͓͖̤͛͌͆̚͜͝ͅͅͅͅf̷̧̨̛̛̛͚͍͓͕̼͇̜̥̭̯̯͔̙͍̖̼̃̍̀̓̍͊̅̈́̃͛̅̌̈́̊̆́̍̐͊̐̓͆̑̈̀̅̏̿̇̾̅̒̊͋̂͂̚̕͘̚̚͜͝ͅ ̴̡̢̢̫͔̦̺̬̤̰̰̦̖̬͖͚̗͓̹͕̹̦͕̫̥̱̠̫̟͓̠͔̥͈͇͐̈́ţ̵̧̲͔͖̭̞̳̙̼̰͚̞͕͇̯͓͋̎̈̀͋͋̀͠h̴̡̨̧̧̡̯̟̼̦͎͈̣̱͎͕̤͍̙̰̞̜͍̭̮̫̭̠̗̘͉̙̱̟̰̼̞̝̬̯̪̳͍̭̹͖̓̇͆́͂́͊̈́̍͌̓͛͛̒͂̈̏́̒͛̂̈̒͗̅͛͒̿͒̓̀̾̇͜͠ͅͅͅ ̵̡̛͔͎̩̱̥͖̰̜͍̖̩̲̦͇͖̹̘͓̳̤̺̀̀̃͐́̒̓͆͐̆̀̽̋͊̒̀̈́͂͐̐̇͒̈́͊̈́́͒̕͘͜͠ͅř̷̡̧̢̧̢̫͈̰͖̩̠̼̫̭̞̘̫̥͇͕͖̳̫͈̘̱̪͇̩̤̪͉͙̩͐̈̍̀̊̾͒̊̐̃ͅͅͅ.̷̨̨̧̡̢̩̲͈̜̠̜̼͙̗͔̫̲̰̜̖͇̲̩̣̞̻̣̦̯̰̟͔̣̱͚̹̠̥̠̖̟͇̭̥͇͓̗̿̅͐̀̉̒͋͒̓̈́̿̽̉̔͘̕̕͜͜"̶̨̛̛̛̟̮̯͉̰̪̠̖̖͍̳̪̞̲͎̲͚̥̱̖̗͍̮͍͕͓̜̰̩͗̇̀̽͂̋̒̅͆̈́̑̏͊̌̀͌̈͗̔̆͐̓̽̀̈́͒̇͋̓̾̒͐͌̚͜͝͠͠͝͠
̸̧̛͚̥͉͈̻̹͚̦͉̯̥̼͖̗͇͕͔͍̰̙̺̱̲̭̻̻̹̹̲̤̠̩͕̥̬̠̱̦́́̏̃̆̿͋͗̀͐̃̽̓̽̀̓̒̎̃̎̃͒̓͂́̄͆̔̐̕̕͝͝͝͝ͅ