The Hollow Sanctum was gone.
Not destroyed — emptied. The shadows had retreated, the whispers silenced, the walls no longer bled memory. But the silence that followed was not peace. It was mourning.
Ayane stood at the edge of the crater where Kurozume had once pulsed like a living wound. Her blades were sheathed, her body bruised, her soul frayed. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She simply stared into the void, waiting for something — anything — to return.
Momiji knelt beside her, her robes torn, her flame dim. She pressed her hand to the earth, searching for warmth, for life, for Ryu.
There was none.
The curse hadn't lifted.
It had shifted.
The Grip of Murder no longer pulsed in Ryu's veins — it pulsed in the air, in the soil, in the silence. It had become part of the world, a lingering echo of everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed.
Ayane felt it in her chest — a pressure, a weight. Not hers, but his. She remembered the way he had looked at her before the final strike. Not with love. Not with regret.
With acceptance.
Momiji whispered, "He gave everything."
Ayane nodded. "And it still wasn't enough."
Days passed.
The world didn't change. The demons didn't vanish. The blood didn't dry.
But the mother returned.
She came alone, carrying her child — the one Ryu had saved. Her eyes were tired, her hands trembling, but her voice was steady.
"He was more than a killer," she said. "He was hope."
Ayane didn't respond. She couldn't. The words felt like knives.
Momiji stepped forward. "He was human."
The mother smiled. "Then he's still alive. Somewhere."
She left without another word.
Far away, in a city rebuilt from ash, a figure stood atop a tower.
He wore no mask. No armor. Just silence.
His eyes glowed faintly — not with power, but with memory.
He watched the horizon, where the Sanctum had once stood.
And he waited.
The curse had not ended.
It had evolved.
A new threat stirred in the east — not a demon, but a man. A warrior born of blood and vengeance. A child of war. A shadow of Ryu.
Ayane and Momiji would return to the battlefield, not as rivals, but as guardians of a legacy.
And somewhere, in the silence between worlds, Ryu Hayabusa walked alone.
Not dead.
Not free.
Just waiting.