Haruki and the dragon spirit had gained a profound understanding of the swords—enough to know exactly what had to be done. Daiki stood beside them, carefully assisting in engraving the necessary words onto the blade. He didn't fully grasp the meaning of their actions, but he sensed this sword was different. It had become unique, exceptional—and, by a strange twist of fate, it belonged to him. The words themselves didn't bestow knowledge, only potential. With this sword, he could face demons—but the battle itself was his alone to fight.
As the blade gradually cooled, the freshly inscribed words still pulsed faintly with power beneath the surface. Daiki watched silently, trying to comprehend the significance of it all. The dragon spirit's gaze fixed firmly on Haruki.
"He will be the one to wield it," it said softly.
"But he doesn't yet understand its full power," Haruki replied.
"And we won't always be there to protect him."
Haruki fell silent. She knew this was true. Daiki was brave, but still young. He couldn't possibly foresee the shadows lurking ahead in the world.
"Remember this," the dragon spirit continued. "The time will come when you must choose—between the world... and Daiki."
"I know," Haruki whispered. "But he must never learn that."The next morning, they packed their belongings and gathered what food they could carry. With heavy hearts, they buried those they had found lifeless. The village was no more—only ruins, dust, and grief burning deep within their souls. That grief slowly transformed into something else: anger, pain, and a thirst for revenge.
Once again, the dragon spirit spoke to Haruki:
"Do not let vengeance guide you. If you fight with hatred burning inside you, you will falter. And a single mistake could cost you your lives."
"How can I mourn without letting hate take root?" Haruki asked quietly.
"The demons you've faced so far are mere soldiers—tools in the hands of a far darker will. Never forget that."
Throughout the night, the stars shone silently above them. The birds did not sing. The trees, as if bowed in sorrow, swayed gently in the night breeze. The world was wrapped in a profound stillness—and they began their journey.
But just as they were about to leave the village behind for good, Haruki suddenly stopped.
"Wait! There's something else."
Daiki looked back at her impatiently, and the dragon spirit added:
"We cannot afford delay. What happened here will happen again—perhaps worse."
"We cannot bear any more pain," Daiki whispered.
"Just a moment," Haruki said, running back toward their ruined home.
Inside, a dusty drawing lay on the floor—a picture she had made as a child: herself, her father Ryoma, and her mother. The sight squeezed her heart tightly. Then she dashed into her father's old room and pulled a map from a dusty nook in the wall. The ancient parchment had yellowed and the edges frayed, but a marked spot was still clearly visible. Haruki had always known this map existed, but had never been allowed to touch it—her father said it was too important. Ryoma had received it from his grandfather, who in turn inherited it from his own grandfather.
The dragon spirit muttered in her mind:
"Don't be sentimental. That picture only brings pain."
"But no," Haruki replied. "Pain is also memory. And memory is not only a wound—it is strength. It holds the most precious moments of my childhood. And it reminds me why I must move forward."
She returned to the others without a word and joined them as they stepped into the unknown.The path ahead was dark and unfamiliar. Yet, they no longer feared the darkness. Something far deeper lived within them—the weight of loss, the burden of duty, and a promise never spoken aloud but felt by all three.
Their next steps no longer belonged to their village. They belonged to the world. And to the battles that awaited them.
As they moved forward, they noticed more fresh, tiny footprints in the dust—children's footprints. The tracks led in the same direction marked on the old, faded map. Haruki pulled the map from her father Ryoma's hands—an heirloom passed down through generations. Though she had never been allowed to touch it before, now she held it with a mix of worry and hope. According to the map, the footprints led to the village of Kurohana. So they followed the trail, seeking answers to their questions.
They did not know anyone in the village, so they began asking around. They explained how they had tracked the children's footprints that brought them this far. Finally, they found a woman in the village center who recognized their story and led them to the children. When the little ones saw Haruki and Daiki, joy and tears filled their faces—they were overwhelmed to see familiar faces at last. Haruki and Daiki ran to the children, tears of happiness streaming down their faces, relieved to find them alive. Not long after, the village healer quietly called Haruki and Daiki aside, her voice filled with concern.
"What happened to you?" she asked. "The children were exhausted and worn when they arrived. They must have endured something terrible."
Haruki recounted the entire story to her. The healer admitted they had heard the loud noise as well, but found the rest hard to believe—these were just old tales, after all.
Then Haruki revealed the Dragon Sword.
Surprise flickered across the healer's face as she remembered seeing that very sword—alongside three others—etched on the old temple bell. At the time, she had dismissed it as mere legend.
"If you want to hear more stories, visit the old lady," the healer advised. "She cares for the temple and often tells tales like these."
Haruki and Daiki exchanged a fierce look.
"These are not stories," they said firmly. "What the children saw—and what we experienced—is very real."
"Then we'll go to the old lady," they decided.
Haruki thanked the healer for caring for the children, and they set off, driven by new questions and mysteries.
They found the old lady sweeping the temple grounds. Haruki introduced herself politely, then began asking about the bell's origin and the importance of the stories the old lady could share.
Suddenly, Haruki held up the Dragon Sword. The old lady's eyes widened in alarm—she finally understood that the deafening roar they heard signaled the demons' return.
Daiki and Haruki explained how the bell must be used, then together they called the villagers to prepare them for the coming danger.
As the villagers gathered before the temple, tension thickened the air. Though visibly shaken, the old lady tried to project calm.
"The bell isn't just a signal," she explained. "It's part of an ancient ritual that has protected this village from darkness for centuries."
"It must only be rung," she warned, "when demons reach the village borders and everyone is ready to defend themselves. Its sound carries a power that can banish darkness, at least for a time."
Haruki's gaze hardened with resolve.
"This is our only chance. We cannot let demons run wild and destroy our village."
Though still skeptical, the old lady took her duty seriously. She rang the bell with a deep, trembling toll that echoed through the village as if awakening after centuries of silence.
Whispers spread quickly. Many had never heard the bell's call, only knowing it as an ancient protector summoned only at the greatest peril. The air buzzed with nervous energy as everyone awaited what would come next.
Ayame, the old lady, though torn by doubts, bravely stepped before the crowd.
"What you are about to hear is no tale," she said in a voice trembling but strong. "It is an ancient story—and now it is becoming real."
The Dragon Sword pulsed softly in Haruki's hand, as if the spirit itself watched over the moment. Daiki scanned the crowd, noting how fear and doubt slowly gave way to shock—and then belief.
Haruki stepped forward.
"Demons destroyed my village. Ones like those you only know from children's nightmares and legends. But now they have returned, and they will not stop. What we lost can never be reclaimed. But what we can still protect, we must fight for."
The old lady nodded.
"The bell has been silent since the last dragon crumbled to dust. But if their power has truly returned, the bell can sound again—and call those who still remember."
"What does it call them to?" Daiki asked.
"To decide," the old lady answered. "Whether to flee in fear… or to remember and fight."
Silence fell over the temple grounds. The children huddled behind Haruki and Daiki, their eyes shining with a faint spark of hope.
The village adults glanced at one another, unsure at first. Then one stepped forward—and another, and another.
The old lady's eyes filled with tears as she watched them.
Haruki looked across the gathered crowd and understood in an instant: the darkness looming over their world could not be defeated with swords, magic, or ancient power alone—but by those who believe in it, and in each other.
As the sun slowly set, Haruki placed her hand on the bell's rope and took a deep breath.
She pulled it once more, and the temple bell's sound filled the land, ringing far and wide as if summoning memories of centuries past.
Just as sleep began to overtake her, the dragon's voice—until now only a faint, distant echo in her mind—spoke clearly and firmly:
"The first step has been taken. But you are not the only ones awake, Haruki. They have stirred as well. Now…"