Chapter 1: The First Page
The wind carried the faint scent of old parchment through the streets of Kihona City. Neon lights blinked against the darkening sky, but Bokuro barely noticed. His hand gripped the small leather-bound book tucked into his jacket — his Script, still empty, still waiting.
Tonight would change everything.
"Bokuro!"
He turned to see his father, Raiko, standing at the doorway of the family's small bookstore, The Weaving Quill. Raiko's presence always felt bigger than the shop itself — calm, but undeniably powerful. His coat fluttered around him, the markings of a seasoned Scriptor stitched into the fabric with invisible thread only those trained could see.
"You're late," Raiko said, voice firm but not unkind.
Bokuro lowered his head. "I know. I was... thinking."
Raiko stepped aside to let him in. Inside, the store smelled like ink and time itself. Shelves full of ancient books towered over Bokuro, and behind the counter, a glass case displayed the greatest treasure: Enlightenment — the legendary Emotion Book said to hold the purest truths of the human heart. No one had touched it in decades. Not even Raiko.
Raiko locked the door behind them.
"You're old enough now," he said. "Tonight, you write your first page."
Bokuro's heart pounded. All his life, he had waited for this moment — the beginning of becoming a true Scriptor. Those who could capture raw emotions onto paper and turn them into power.
"But before you begin," Raiko said, guiding him toward the back room, "you must understand the cost."
They entered a small chamber lit only by a single candle. The walls were lined with Books — some ordinary, some crackling faintly with energy. In the center stood a pedestal with a blank sheet and an old, black quill.
Raiko faced him.
"Every word you write," he said slowly, "comes from your soul. If you lie to the page, the page will lie to you. If you write in anger, anger will shape you. If you write in sorrow, sorrow will follow you."
Bokuro clutched his empty Script tighter.
"What if I'm afraid?" he whispered.
Raiko's eyes softened.
"Then your fear will become your sword. Your shield. Your burden."
He placed a heavy hand on Bokuro's shoulder.
"We are not gods, Bokuro. We are mirrors. The ink shows us who we are — whether we like it or not."
Bokuro nodded, stepping toward the pedestal. His hands trembled as he dipped the quill into a small pot of ink. For a moment, he hesitated.
What should he write?
A dream? A fear? A memory?
He closed his eyes. He thought of his mother's lullabies, long ago. Of the lonely nights staring at the stars, wondering if he was meant for something greater. He thought of the stories Raiko had told him — of the Heartweavers, protectors of the true Scriptors, and of Kazan Kaga, the dark force rising in secret, corrupting hearts through forbidden pages.
Bokuro opened his eyes and moved the quill across the paper.
"I will not be broken."
The words shone briefly before sinking into the page like seeds into soil. The empty book in his hand pulsed — once, then twice — before accepting its first entry.
The room trembled.
A faint light blossomed around him, wrapping Bokuro in warmth and sorrow and hope, all at once. He gasped as the first threads of power tied themselves to his soul.
Raiko smiled — a rare, proud smile.
"You've taken the first step, Bokuro."
But outside, across the city, another man stood on a rooftop, his own Book open in the moonlight. His ink was thick and black as oil, and his words were poison.
Kazan Kaga read the message aloud, his voice carried by the wind:
"The Heart will bleed, and from its ink, a new world will be written."
And so, the first page of destiny was
turned
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