Long ago, before rivers sang or mountains stood proud, there was only Sky and Sea.Sky was lonely, so he sang a song.
From his song came two children: Hinari, the Light, and Yaroku, the Shadow,;born of sound and silence.
Light danced. Wherever her feet touched, flowers bloomed and stars burned bright.
Shadow watched, still and steady. Where his steps fell, deep earth rose and peaceful night spread.
Together, they shaped the world.
But one day, Light poured too much of herself into the world. She weakened.Shadow, in his worry, held her, giving part of himself to keep the world in balance. From that balance, something new was born a glowing spirit, "Vira" the life spark that lives in all things.
Light and Shadow whispered to humankind:
"Vira is the thread of your soul. Use it with care. Misuse it… and you will awaken the Echo."
"What is the Echo?" Riku ask egardly with a sparkel in his eyes
Old Hano answered softly:
"The part of you turned backward. The piece that hungers when it should heal."
Thus, Vira lived in every heart a spark from the First Children.
When hearts grew strong and kind, Vira sang.
But when hearts grew cruel or careless, the Echo whispered back.
Listen to your Vira.
Let it hum like the stars.
Never fear the dark, the First Children still watch above.
The fire crackled. Then it didn't.
The little shrine was swallowed by silence that heavy, hollow silence that only comes after death.
Renjiro sat still.
Old Hano's voice had faded near the end. Her usual stories of Vira and Echoes, of gods breathing into the earth, always helped the village children sleep.
It almost worked.
Renjiro shifted, trying to stay awake. The worn book in his lap slipped, pages turning with the cold wind.
The shrine, like most of the small village, was old and broken.
One side of the roof had caved in years ago.
Cracks ran along the wooden beams.
Moonlight cut thin blades through the gaps.
He looked to his left.
The boy Riku who had begged for the story no more than six years old wasn't breathing.His head slumped forward. A thin red line traced from his ear to his chin, precise and unnatural.
Beside him, the girl Mei.Hands folded.Face peaceful.
Dead.
And Old Hano his mouth hung open, eyes glassy and empty, his neck torn open like parchment.
There had been no screams.
No struggle.
No warning.
Renjiro hadn't heard anything. The air itself felt wrong.
He stood up slowly, as if movement might tear what little reality remained.His knees cracked softly, Fingers trembled as they reached for the sword nearby. It was still sheathed.
Useless.
Then, Something sharp tugged at his mind. Like a breath held too long. He remembered. Just as the fire died, just before the world fell silent, there had been a flicker in the corner of his vision.
A glimpse.
A shape not the Yoki.
Small.
Human.
Moving just beyond the broken doorframe.
He hadn't seen her face, only the brief glimmer of moonlight catching a strange spiral tattoo along her shoulder before she vanished. He wasn't even sure if she had truly been there.
But the Yoki was real.
The village, his village was gone.
The Yoki had come through something twisted from another place, a rupture.
It hadn't simply killed; it had torn.
It had feasted.
Renjiro say there shaking, but it never attacked him it never gave him a second glance. He survived, Not because he fought.
Not because he hid.But because the thing had simply passed him by.And that made the terror worse.
Then came the wandering samurai. He arrived silently no banners, no colors, no crest. A man alone, his face partially hidden beneath a simple scarf. His armor travel-worn but well-kept. His eyes were sharp, but calm.
He said nothing at first. Only studied the remains. When the Yoki returned from the edge of the woods, still blood-soaked and pulsing with unnatural life, the samurai moved.
Not with panic. Not with rage.
With precision. His sword slipped free in a single breath cutting arcs in the moonlight, smooth as falling rain.
The Yoki shrieked once. Then collapsed into a rotting heap of flesh and corrupted mist.
It was over within seconds.
Renjiro stood frozen, the fight over before he could even feel fear.
The samurai cleaned his blade. Then, at last, approached.
He looked down at the boy for a long time. Not with pity but as if he were examining something unseen. The samurai saw . A faint spark.
"Anticipation.?"
"This is dangerous without guidances."
The man stood, glancing once more at the lifeless village behind them and sighed.
Renjiro felt his heartbeat rise
"anything else ."
Renjiro hesitated.
"If you stay, you die. If you come, you may live."
And though Renjiro couldn't explain why, deep inside, his Vira whispered its first hum.
He nodded.