Somewhere on Earth, in a city pulsing with life, skyscrapers stretched toward a gray sky, and the streets trembled beneath the endless rush of tires and feet. Horns blared. Music thumped from passing cars. Snippets of hurried conversations floated through the air. It was chaos—but familiar chaos.
Among it all, a rhythmic tapping echoed on the sidewalk. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound didn't try to compete with the noise. It simply existed. Purposeful. Steady.
The source was a young man with black hair and dark sunglasses, gliding through the crowd like a stone parting a stream. His name was Riven Cross. He wore confidence in his steps and solitude like a second skin. Once a kendo prodigy—a rising star in martial arts with a heart as strong as his blade—he now walked a world he could no longer see.
At just nineteen, Riven had soared through the martial world, undefeated and admired. But during a national tournament, after claiming victory, a jealous rival changed his fate. The strike wasn't part of the match. It was fueled by envy. Riven had won the battle—but lost his sight forever.
That memory burned behind his calm demeanor, surfacing now and then like a scar aching in the cold.
Still, Riven never gave up. Though the world turned dark, he trained his other senses, pushing forward with quiet strength. The blade still sang in his mind, though his hands hadn't gripped one in years. He moved through the city as though sight never mattered—each footstep guided by echoes, each breath filled with the story of the street.
He could hear a couple arguing across the road. Someone selling roasted chestnuts on the corner. A street performer juggling to a rhythm. He smelled gasoline, cinnamon, sweat, perfume—like a living canvas painted by sound and scent.
"Being blind isn't silence," Riven muttered to himself, smirking. "It's just... a different frequency. The world speaks louder now—if you know how to listen."
He longed for the fight—not violence, but challenge. Joy. Focus. Purpose. His body remembered every strike, every parry. Yet he'd traded the dojo for city streets, and the roar of applause for murmurs in passing.
Then—everything changed.
The city sounds faded. The ground beneath his feet cooled. The scent of gas and food stalls vanished, replaced by pine, moss, and something older.
Riven stopped walking. A breeze brushed his face—clean, sharp, and impossibly quiet. There were no footsteps. No engines. No voices. Just wind.
"What... what is this?" he asked, tilting his head.
He extended a hand. The air felt different—thicker, timeless. He turned in place, his senses reaching. Nothing but silence and forest air.
"Is anyone there?!" he shouted.
Only wind replied.
He stepped forward—one foot, then another. And then, everything froze. Not just sound. Not just motion. Time itself.
A voice—calm, resonant—filled his head.
"Hello, Riven Cross."
His breath caught. "Who's there?! Show yourself!"
But the world was gone. Replaced by black—total, endless black. He stood in a void. Then, a flash of light.
It shimmered, folded, and formed. A woman stepped from the brilliance like a dream sculpted from moonlight.
Her hair flowed silver, streaked with blue like starlight on water. Her eyes were unlike anything he'd imagined: one gold, radiant with justice, the other deep violet, swirling with chaos. Her robe shimmered with silk and steel, adorned in glyphs of balance, swords, and stars. A cape drifted behind her, moving as if underwater. Her very presence made time hesitate.
Riven's voice broke as he whispered, "Who... who are you?"
She smiled gently. "I am Lady Elunaria—The Forgotten Goddess of Balance and Blades. Nice to meet you, my chosen sword, Riven Cross."
He froze, heart thudding in his chest. This couldn't be real. A goddess? Chosen sword? What was happening?
He deadpanned, expression flat despite the surreal moment. "Excuse me... why am I here, and where exactly is here?"
Lady Elunaria giggled—light, almost musical. "Because I see what you can become. Your years of hard work and unwavering spirit can reshape a world. You are a master of the blade even without your sight."
Riven blinked, then blushed faintly. "Compliments from a goddess... okay, weird day."
"You now stand on the threshold of a new world," she continued, her tone now more serious. "A world of swords and magic—this place is called Elarion."
Riven's mind reeled. "Wait—what? A new world?"
Then something clicked. His brow furrowed, his tone turning skeptical. "Okay, sure. But how can I see you? I'm blind. This doesn't make sense."
Elunaria's smile widened with a playful twinkle. "Because you aren't seeing me with your eyes, Riven. I am speaking to the soul inside you. Your inner world and mine are now connected."
Riven's mouth opened slightly, then closed. He exhaled sharply. "Inner soul conversations. Powers. Magic. Right. Totally sane."
"You will need more than skill to survive in Elarion," she said. "So I will grant you gifts—powers to sharpen your instincts, strengthen your body, and guide your path."
His jaw tensed. "You're giving me... powers? Just like that?"
"Just like that," she said, tilting her head. "Are you ready, Riven Cross?"
He hesitated. His pulse pounded. But then he inhaled slowly, deeply, grounding himself.
"Yes," he said. "I'm ready."
Elunaria's eyes glowed softly. "Good. Now let us begin."
Riven closed his eyes.
Lady Elunaria slowly raised her hand. In an instant, a powerful aura radiated from her body—waves of pressure rolling outward like a storm held at bay.
Riven felt it crash over him.
"What... what is this pressure? It's like the air around her has weight. So heavy... so intense. I can barely breathe. Is this what divinity feels like?"
It wasn't painful. But it was overwhelming. A force that demanded reverence, awe, and instinctive submission. Yet it was also beautiful.
Riven opened his eyes—and for the first time since he went blind, he saw something.
Her aura shone in breathtaking hues—shimmering silver and soft blues, curling around her like liquid starlight. It danced through the air with grace and power. It was dazzling.
"This... this is the first beautiful thing I've seen in years. It's like her soul is singing in color."
The aura coiled and surged forward, moving toward Riven. A wave of warmth and divine power swept through him, wrapping around his body. He gasped.
"It's entering me... filling me. My veins feel like they're on fire—but in the best way. What is this? My body... it's changing. I can feel it. My strength, my balance—everything's different. Enhanced."
Elunaria smiled softly. "How are you feeling, my blade?"
Riven steadied himself, feeling a new energy swirling just beneath his skin.
"I feel... stronger. Sharper. Like my senses are expanding beyond my body. I can feel every shift of the wind, every vibration in the ground. This is... incredible."
Elunaria's laughter was soft, almost musical. "That is only the beginning."
He grinned, nodding with genuine excitement. Then her expression turned solemn again.
"Are you ready... for your gift?"
Riven's breath hitched. He swallowed hard.
"A gift? What more could she possibly give me? I already feel reborn. But if this is only a part of what she's offering... then I have to be ready. I have to earn this."
He inhaled. Exhaled.
Then nodded. "I'm ready."
Elunaria snapped her fingers.
A light began to form in front of them—glowing threads of silver pulling together, folding, condensing. Riven felt the energy before he saw the shape. Something elegant, something old.
A katana.
It hovered in the air, slowly taking form.
—Long, slightly curved, made of silvery steel with a faint blue shimmer.—Its edge clean and razor-sharp.—Subtle glowing runes etched along the blade and guard.—The guard shaped like a crescent moon, black with silver trim—minimalist, elegant.—The hilt wrapped in smooth indigo silk, no ornaments.—A small silver flower charm hung from the end, catching the light as if it breathed.
Riven's breath caught in his throat.
"A katana... it's beautiful. But more than that... it's calling to me. Like it knows me. Like it's always been mine. The power coming off it is... mesmerizing."
Elunaria tilted her head and smiled. "Her name is Tsukihana—the Moonflower."
Riven repeated it softly, "Tsukihana…"
"Moonflower... such a gentle name for something that radiates strength. It's poetic. I can feel the meaning. Moonlight in bloom… a quiet, deadly beauty."
"There's another name she answers to," Elunaria said, her tone tender. "Hana. But she is no ordinary sword. She is a sentient soul, forged from a fragment of my own divine essence. She waited... sealed away until you came."
Riven's eyes widened.
"This sword… is made from her? Her essence? This isn't just a blade—it's a living part of a goddess... and she's giving it to me?"
"She will be your partner," Elunaria continued. "A spirit bound to your soul. She will evolve with you, speak to you, grow beside you. You will not fight alone ever again."
Riven trembled slightly.
"A sword that can talk… grow… and share a bond with me? I've been alone for so long. But this... this isn't just a weapon. It's fate."
"Take her," Elunaria whispered. "And connect your soul to hers."
Riven stepped forward. His heart thundered.
He inhaled. Then exhaled.
He reached out with trembling fingers—and grasped the hilt.
The world shifted.
Light exploded around him.
To be continued...