Haruki and Daiki had been traveling for four days. Haruki kept asking the Dragon Spirit where they were headed, but it stubbornly remained silent. The map clearly showed they were heading toward Aokiri, yet neither of them knew why the journey was so urgent. The spirit's growing urgency unsettled Haruki more and more, causing frequent arguments with Daiki, who still sided with the spirit.
"Don't you get it, Daiki?" Haruki snapped as they walked through the forest. "We've been blindly following its orders for four days! We have no idea what awaits us in Aokiri, and we don't even know why we're going there!"
"I know it's frustrating," Daiki replied quietly. "But it gave the village two days. Without it, there might be nothing left at all."
"And what if there's nothing left of us now either?" Haruki burst out. "Are we just supposed to keep hoping it knows what it's doing?"
The Dragon Spirit remained silent, but its presence thrummed tensely in Haruki's soul, like a storm brewing.
By the end of the fourth day, Aokiri came into view. Everything seemed peaceful: trees swayed green and vibrant, birds chirped in the branches, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves. But Haruki sensed the spirit's anxiety. The calm was only an illusion.
As they reached the city gates, four armed warriors blocked their path. Their armor was dull and worn, and their eyes flickered warily at the newcomers.
"Stop right there!" one shouted. "Who are you? Why have you come to Aokiri?"
"Just travelers," Daiki answered calmly. "We have important matters to discuss with your leader."
"Important matters, huh?" another scoffed. "Every wanderer says that. Where are you from? What brings you here?"
Haruki took a deep breath.
"A danger is coming," she said. "One that most people have forgotten. An ancient evil has stirred again. Those who still believe in legends are needed."
The warriors exchanged glances — some with faint smiles, others with suspicion.
"So you believe in fairy tales?" the first one asked. "Demons and dragons?"
"We've seen them," Daiki said seriously.
A moment of silence fell. Then the oldest warrior waved them off.
"You're fools," he muttered, "but at least you're not armed mercenaries. Go on, but don't bring trouble. This city can't handle any more."
The gate opened for them. Inside, a lively voice greeted them.
"Hey! You must be the new ones, right?"
A young girl hurried over. She looked about fourteen or fifteen, her brown hair cascading softly over her shoulders. She clutched a sketchbook and tapped the edge of the page with her pencil.
"I'm Rei," she introduced herself. "And you… adventurers? Warriors? Mapmakers?"
"More like… refugees," Haruki said quietly.
"Even better!" Rei's eyes lit up. "Everyone who comes from somewhere else tells stories—about journeys, places, people. I draw everything I can imagine!"
"Aren't you afraid of strangers?" Daiki asked with a smile.
"No. I'm afraid of boredom," Rei shot back. "Aokiri's pretty, but… not much happens here. At least, not until now."
As they wandered through the city's narrow streets, Haruki and Daiki searched for the leader but found no one who knew anything. They looked for a temple but only found three shrines hidden among the alleys, tended by three elderly people. No bells, no priests, no protection.
Suddenly, the Dragon Spirit exploded within Haruki's soul.
"This city was once protected. By a bell! This is a crucial point! Where is the bell? Where is the protection? Where is the faith of the shrines?"
Haruki halted.
"What happened here?" she whispered, more to the spirit than to Daiki.
But there was still no answer.
Only a muffled, growing rage.
As they continued through the cramped streets, asking about the leader at every corner, most just shrugged. The city seemed disorganized—no guards in the main squares, no flags, no official buildings indicating where the authority sat.
Finally, an old man sitting on a bench outside a small shop addressed them:
"Looking for someone, children?"
"The city's leader," Haruki answered politely. "We have important business."
The old man nodded and pointed with his cane toward the city center.
"Head that way. A large, red-roofed house. That's where Lord Kaen usually is, if he's not inspecting the warehouses… If you're lucky, you'll find him."
"Thank you," Haruki bowed.
Rei, of course, kept tagging along, her chatter never ceasing.
"So you really saw a real spirit? What was it like? Did it float? Was it made of light? And were there really demons too? Like in the old stories?"
"More real," Daiki growled. "And more dangerous. This isn't child's play…"
"Daiki," Haruki interrupted with a faint smile, "let it be. She's just curious."
"Curious, curious…" Daiki muttered, then sighed. "I already feel it draining my energy."
Rei laughed as if she'd taken a compliment.
Haruki watched the girl. There was something familiar in her: the same boundless enthusiasm and curiosity she'd had as a child, listening to legends at night. And now… now she was part of the story.
"And why are you looking for the leader?" Rei asked. "Is something wrong?"
"We hope not," Haruki said. "But it's better to prepare before it's too late."
Rei's face darkened but she stayed with them.
When they reached the red-roofed house, they found a simple but sturdy building that stood out slightly: newer than the others and seemingly built stronger.
An older, stocky man greeted them at the door. His broad shoulders, worn armor, and tired eyes showed he led the city not just with words.
"I'm Kaen," he said briefly. "I heard you were looking for me."
Haruki nodded.
"I'm Haruki, and this is Daiki. We need to talk about serious matters. Things others might call stories—but something dark, something old is stirring."
Kaen looked her in the eye, as if weighing how much of her words to believe.
"I'm listening."
Haruki sighed and began recounting what they knew: the arrival of the Dragon Spirit, the dying villages, the lost bells, the demons, the legend of the four swords. Everything they had experienced in recent weeks—or at least as much as an outsider might accept.
Kaen listened silently, only occasionally pressing his lips or rubbing his forehead.
When Haruki finished, a long silence followed. The Dragon Spirit had not uttered a word, but Haruki could feel its tension.
Finally, Kaen broke the silence.
"They say demons aren't real. Only shadows of the past. I… don't know. But I do know that Aokiri hasn't been the same city it once was for a long time. If you're right, it's time to start paying attention to the old stories again."
Haruki nodded.
"Where is your bell, Lord Kaen?"
The leader's face hardened.
"We don't have a bell. It was taken after the war. I don't know by whom… or why. But it was never returned."
The Dragon Spirit's fury now almost burned within Haruki.
"Taken? LOST? How can no one guard it, no one even ask? This city is the gateway… and the bell was the only seal!"
Haruki trembled.
Something dark and ancient truly had begun to stir.
And Aokiri was not prepared.
Kaen was silent for a long moment, then rose without a word. His gaze lingered on Haruki's back before he spoke quietly but firmly:
"Show me."
Haruki hesitated for a moment, then drew the sword and held it out with both hands. The yellow gem embedded in the hilt began to throb gently, as if it recognized the attention now fixed upon it.
The man's face tensed, and he took a step back.
"This can't be..."
"What is it?" Daiki asked, but Kaen was already turning away.
"Come with me. Now."
"Where are we going?" Haruki asked, confused by the sudden urgency.
"To the nearest shrine. There's no time to explain."
"But... which shrine?" Haruki asked as she slung the sword back onto her back.
"Just follow me! Hurry!"
The man strode off through a side alley, moving through the city as if following an invisible map. The others followed silently— even Rei, who had only trailed behind out of curiosity, now grew quiet, sensing the tension in the air.
The shrine stood on the hillside, a modest but commanding structure. Its wooden beams were darkened with age, and ancient markings lined the gate—marks Haruki didn't understand, or not yet.
Kaen burst through the door and pulled out a small, dusty box. From it, he retrieved a yellowed scroll.
"Look at this."
Haruki leaned over. There, drawn in ink, was the sword. Exactly as she wore it now—the hilt design, the shape of the blade, the yellow stone—all unmistakable.
Below it, written in ancient script, was a name:
"Reaper's Blade"
Beside it, another name: Kurotaka
And a third name, faded but still legible. Haruki's lips moved silently as her eyes traced the characters.
Then she said aloud:
"Kurotaka…"
In that instant, the gem flared with light.
"Yes. That is me."The voice spoke in her mind. Deep and gentle, like embers glowing beneath ash."At last, someone speaks my name as it once was."
Haruki trembled. The dragon wasn't just present—it was alive through the name.
Kaen and Daiki stared at her, eyes wide.
"You… you could read that?" Kaen asked. "Those letters are centuries old. Most people just see meaningless symbols."
"I… it just felt natural," Haruki replied, a little uncertain. "I never learned it. I just… know."
"This isn't a coincidence," Kaen muttered. But before he could say more, the door creaked open.
An old man stepped inside, leaning on a staff. His face held both reverence and weariness.
"What is all this noise? What's happening here?"
He caught sight of the sword on Haruki's back and froze. His eyes widened, then, as if a veil had lifted, his gaze cleared.
"The… Reaper's Blade..." he whispered. "So the time has come. Kurotaka… you're here too?"
The gem in the hilt answered with a warm golden glow.
"Yes, old friend. The time has come."
As they stepped outside the shrine, Kaen, Haruki, and Daiki stared at the old man in shock.
"Who are you?" Kaen asked cautiously. "How do you know the sword's name—and the dragon's?"
The old man gave a faint smile. His voice was low and steady.
"I am more than I appear. I have heard the dragon's voice. My family has passed down this knowledge for generations. So that one day, someone would remain who could still read the ancient script."
He turned to Haruki and added quietly, "And this knowledge is more than letters. I can hear the dragon's voice because our pasts are bound together by something deeper."
Haruki stepped closer, unable to hide her curiosity. "How… how can you speak with the dragon? How do you hear its voice? It's all… so hard to grasp."
The old man's gaze filled with something timeless.
"My family is old. Among us were those close to the dragons. That bond isn't just a legend—the dragon felt it, and that's why it called me 'old friend.' It goes beyond words."
Daiki stepped forward and spoke softly. "So… we're not the first? Others have made contact before us?"
"Yes," the old man nodded. "And now it's your turn. The sword and the dragon are not just relics—they are a legacy. And in your hands, they can live again."
Haruki's heart pounded as she ran her fingers over the sword's hilt."Then there's still hope. And maybe… maybe I can understand all of this."
The old man watched her with a kind smile."This is where your path truly begins."
That night, the old man didn't let Haruki and Daiki return to the city.
"Night belongs to the spirits," he said softly, handing Haruki a cup of hot tea."It's when their voices are easiest to hear."
His house was small, but warm and peaceful. The walls were lined with ancient scrolls, faded with age, and paintings of dragons in flight. Haruki's eyes kept returning to the sword, comparing its patterns with the markings on the scrolls.
"The dragons… they really lived among us, didn't they?" she asked quietly, watching the firelight flicker.
The old man nodded."Not only lived. They taught us. And now, as we begin to hear them again… the time draws near."
They awoke the next morning full of questions. The old man answered them all patiently, then sent them on their way. As Haruki stepped through his door, she felt as if she were leaving behind more than a home—she was stepping out of one world and into another.
Not long after, they returned to Kaen and told him everything. He listened in silence, then let out a long breath.
"Maybe we have a few days," he said. "But it won't be enough. We don't know what's coming—only that it's big. Very big."
"Then we have to prepare," Haruki said firmly. "We have to train the warriors, or at least help people understand the danger."
"Running isn't an option," Kaen replied immediately. "This is our home."
They tried to rally the warriors, but most reacted with skepticism.
"Spirits? Dragons? Just stories for children," one of them scoffed.
But one man did not laugh. He was in his forties, a hardened warrior with weary, serious eyes. His name was Jinzou.
Haruki's gaze caught on his sword. The shape of the hilt, the glint of the blade… it felt familiar.Just like my father's sword… the thought passed through her mind.
And when Jinzou spoke, even his voice reminded her of him.
"You truly heard the dragon?" the man asked quietly.
"Yes," Haruki answered. "And your sword… its alloy… it's the same as the one I know."
Jinzou nodded, then drew the sword from its sheath."This blade is five hundred years old. It's been in my family for generations. It belonged to my father, and before him, to his. Now it's mine."
"Would you show me your father's sword too?" Haruki asked, barely able to contain her excitement.
Jinzou nodded again and retrieved another sword, carefully wrapped in cloth. Haruki bowed respectfully before it, then spoke in a hushed voice.
"May I… could we carve the same symbols into this one too? The ones the dragon taught me? So they'll be preserved… forever?"
The man studied her for a long moment, then slowly nodded."If it helps protect the city… and honors those we've lost… then yes. Go ahead. Carve them."