As the sun rose, Daiki told Hariku they needed to head back — the danger ravaging the province was closing in on their village, Tsuyukusa. He hoped it wasn't too late, especially since the fog was already creeping along the path. Hariku insisted Daiki needed to rest a little longer; he wasn't fully healed yet. But Daiki refused to give up. He said that, slow as he was, they had to move forward — he didn't want the village to be lost because of him. The dragon had also urged Hariku to set out; Daiki was right. Still, Hariku was stubborn and wanted to keep Daiki resting — she insisted they wouldn't leave for at least half a day. The dragon grew angry, and Daiki was uneasy, knowing hesitation was dangerous — but Hariku would not be swayed.
While waiting, Hariku gathered as many healing herbs as she could find — the same ones that had helped Daiki — and enough food to last them four days. Then, they set out. Since they left late, after a few hours they made camp in the forest to rest and sleep. Hariku tended to Daiki.
"Maybe you'll be better by tomorrow, and we can travel faster," she said.
By morning, Daiki was improving, but he still couldn't run, so they couldn't rush. As they neared the village, the familiar stench returned — the same smell they'd encountered in Isanori. From the distance, smoke rose.
Daiki suddenly shouted, "We're too late!"
Hariku's heart pounded, and the dragon inside her blamed her too, but she stood firm.
"Maybe we are late… but Daiki had to rest!" she said, her voice strong and determined.
The dragon spoke again, its voice heavy: "Don't blame us… whatever awaits there…"
The closer they got, the clearer the destruction became — the bodies of loved ones lay scattered on the ground, some injured and twisted, remnants allowing more demons to arise. A broken child's toy reminded Hariku how she once comforted its owner when it was damaged. Tears filled her eyes as they rushed toward their homes, overwhelmed by a helpless feeling that this could not have happened.
Then Hariku found her father, Ryoma, barely alive but beyond saving. She heard the growl of fur sprouting on his arms and legs, though his humanity still lingered. She knelt beside him and laid down her sword. The dragon's voice warned,
"Don't put it away… keep it close, whatever happens."
Ryoma turned his head with difficulty, his eyes shining with pain, pride, and a deep knowing.
"Hariku... you saw it, right?" he whispered hoarsely, his hand slowly reaching for the sword.
Hariku nodded silently, her throat tight with emotion. As Ryoma's fingers touched the hilt, his vision clouded — he saw the same fire, the same past Hariku had witnessed. The vision ended, and when his eyes cleared, his voice trembled.
"It's true… you are the one they've waited for. The flame of our legacy burns within you. But… it's already too late…"
Hariku gripped her father's hand, tears streaming down her face.
"No! Not yet… I can still save you!"
Ryoma only shook his head weakly. The fur on his limbs began shifting into claws, his face twisting.
"Listen to me…" he gasped. "On the other side… the other sword lies there. Our family's sword… it's been passed down for five hundred years. Take it with you… it's part of the story too."
Hariku looked over and saw the sword — a plain, worn blade whose dark metal radiated quiet dignity.
"It was forged from the same ore… as your sword… but it never bore the ancient runes. We carried it… generation after generation… unaware of its true purpose."
Hariku listened in stunned silence. The dragon stirred inside her, its voice heavy with awe:
"I never knew the Kurozawa bloodline was part of forging the four swords."
As Ryoma rested his hand longer on the dragon sword's hilt, something flowed into him — memories, secrets, ancient words. The dragon trembled, as if receiving a new vision.
"Ryoma's knowledge… has reached me too," it said. "History even I had not known."
Ryoma nodded faintly.
"Hariku… when you hold the sword again… you'll know what to do. Take our sword too… together they complete our legacy."
Swallowing her tears, Hariku took the family sword in her hand. The familiar weight settled in her grasp — as if it had always belonged to her.
Ryoma's gaze grew distant, his body tensing. The final wave of demonic transformation began.
"I was… always proud of you… Stay strong… Hariku…"
One last, trembling breath…
The sword was in Hariku's hand again. The fire of the dragon's spirit blazed within her. A swift, clear, merciless strike.
Silence.
Hariku sank to her knees, clutching the hilts of both swords, holding her father's body. The past, the bloodline, and fate intertwined within her.
They set out so Hariku could see for herself what remained of their village. Along the path lay scattered bodies, smoldering ruins, and the quiet of destruction. In the thick smoke, something stirred — demons searching for survivors.
Hariku reached for her sword, but the dragon spoke inside her and showed faces — former neighbors, friends, the baker she often helped, the old woman who brought fruit every year. Now, all twisted into demons.
Her hand trembled, but she knew what she had to do. The sword struck again and again, each blow sending the shadow of a lost life into oblivion. With every strike, her sobs grew louder.
"Why… why do you show me their faces?" she cried out to the dragon.
"I show you," the dragon's voice replied, heavy and echoing. "You must see what you've lost. What we've lost… because of your hesitation. Because you didn't listen to me or Daiki."
"Wasn't it enough that I killed my own father?" Hariku shouted, torn by pain and anger.
"No!" the dragon thundered back. "You need to know, to feel the cost of hesitation. Only then can you make better choices next time."
The dawn's light slowly chased away the darkness, but Hariku did not sleep. The sword rested on her lap, the yellow gem faintly pulsing, as if sensing that something was about to change.
Daiki sat beside her, his wounds freshly bandaged. He glanced at the blade, then at her.
"This can't stay like this," he said quietly. "If we face those monsters again, we'll need stronger weapons."
"Ryoma can help," Hariku nodded. "The legacy of the smiths is more than just iron and fire. My grandfather told me about runes… old words made to repel demon blood."
Hariku's fingers traced the ancient markings on the hilt. She felt the sword respond — as if it remembered those words.
"We'll carve the words into the blade," she whispered. "Words born to fight demon blood."
Daiki gave a faint smile. "Hariku… you're more than just a warrior now."
Her gaze hardened as she stared into the distance, toward the mountains wrapped in mist.
"Then let's forge our fate anew."