They said survivors often forget the worst parts.
Kaen remembered everything.
The heat blistering his skin. The way the demon's claws pierced his chest like paper. The weight of his sister's screams. The voice that didn't belong to him.
Even now, as the slayers led him through the ruined trails beyond Miboru, Kaen remembered.
The forest had turned to charcoal. Blackened trees leaned like broken bones. Ash coated the leaves like snow. The sky above was a dull gray bruise. No birds. No wind. Only silence.
"Don't fall behind," the lead slayer said. His voice was low, tired. His blade dragged across his back with a slight metallic rattle.
Kaen said nothing.
Yui walked behind him, her small hands still clutching his sleeve like it was her only lifeline. Her eyes hadn't blinked much since that night. She hadn't spoken a word. Her voice was still trapped in the burning.
Kaen glanced at her, tried to smile, but his mouth couldn't move that way anymore.
He turned back to the path. He felt it again — the burn just beneath his skin. A warmth that pulsed when he breathed too deeply. Not pain. Not fever.
The demon.
Still there.
Still silent.
But very much awake.
The slayers took them to a small outpost at the edge of the region — stone walls wrapped in talisman paper, symbols carved into the gates, guards in black armor. It was one of the smaller branches of the Ashen Blades — not a city, not a fortress. Just a holding place for those who didn't die.
The moment they stepped through the gate, Kaen felt it. A pressure in the air. As if the very stones knew what he was.
The lead slayer stopped at the door to a small chamber. "You'll stay here tonight. The girl too."
Kaen nodded. Yui didn't react.
Inside was a small cot, a water basin, a straw mat.
Kaen laid Yui down gently. She clung to his arm for a moment, then fell into shallow sleep. Her face twitched from dreams. Her hands didn't relax.
He knelt beside her.
His chest throbbed.
The wound was gone. Not scarred. Not healed. Just gone — like it had never happened.
He pulled the fabric back and looked at it again.
The mark was there — dark red, shaped like a curled flame, pulsing softly. It wasn't a wound. It was something else.
A seal.
A brand.
Or a door.
Kaen touched it.
The voice returned.
"You're wondering what I am."
Kaen froze.
"We are bound now. Soul to soul. Body to body. Do you remember what you felt when I entered you?"
Kaen gritted his teeth. "I didn't choose this."
"And yet, you live."
He clenched his fists. "Get out of me."
"I can't."
Kaen stood, trembling. He wanted to scream, to claw it out of him. But nothing happened. The voice went silent. The burn faded.
He turned to the wall, punched it hard. Pain flared in his knuckles, but it grounded him. Reminded him that some things were still real.
Outside, footsteps approached.
Kaen turned just as the door opened.
A woman stood there. Older. Wrapped in a black-and-gold uniform. Her eyes were sharp and cold, like polished obsidian.
"You're the boy who survived Miboru," she said.
Kaen nodded.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She looked at Yui, then back at him.
"My name is Yoru," she said. "Second rank of the Ashen Blades. I saw the remains of your village."
Kaen said nothing.
"I'm not here to console you," she continued. "I'm here because a demon that size should have killed you instantly. It didn't. You killed it."
Kaen looked at the floor.
"You want to tell me how?"
He didn't answer.
She stepped closer. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword.
Kaen looked up. Her eyes weren't threatening — they were watching, measuring.
He pulled his sleeve down to cover the mark. "I don't remember."
"Lie better."
"I really don't."
She stared at him a long time, then stepped back.
"You're hiding something," she said. "Maybe you don't even know what it is yet. But slayers don't survive things like that. Not without help."
Kaen stayed silent.
She turned toward the door.
"I'll be watching you."
Then she was gone.
That night, Kaen didn't sleep.
The wind howled outside, rattling the thin windows. Yui whimpered once in her dreams, then went still again.
Kaen stared at the ceiling, hand resting over the mark on his chest.
"Why me?" he whispered.
No answer.
Just the sound of ash tapping the window like rain.
The next morning, the decision was made.
Kaen was summoned to the central hall. A circle of slayers stood around him, their cloaks long and symbols glowing faintly across their shoulders. Yoru stood at the center.
"This boy," she said, "has survived a full-ranked demon attack. Alone. Without blade or training."
Murmurs spread.
"His presence is suspicious," one said.
"Or perhaps a sign," another said. "The Flameborn return in cycles."
Yoru raised her hand. Silence returned.
She turned to Kaen.
"You have two choices," she said. "You can walk away. Live whatever life remains for you in some forgotten place. Or—" she unsheathed her blade slowly "—you take up steel. You train. You fight. You burn every demon that dares rise again."
Kaen looked around the room.
He remembered the screams.
The smoke.
His sister's eyes.
And the voice in his chest that would not let him die.
"I'll fight," he said.
Yoru's mouth twitched. Maybe approval. Maybe amusement.
"So be it," she said. "From this moment, you are a slayer-in-training."
Kaen lowered his head. Not in thanks. In promise.
That evening, as he walked back through the halls, a chill ran down his spine.
The voice returned.
"Good," it whispered. "You chose blood. I was worried you'd become boring."
Kaen didn't respond.
He opened the door to the chamber. Yui was still asleep, her breathing calmer now.
He sat beside her.
His eyes drifted to his hand.
He closed it into a fist.
He didn't know what the demon was. Or why it picked him. But he knew one thing.
He was going to use it.
And if it ever tried to take control…
He'd kill it.
Even if it meant killing himself.
But far beneath the outpost, beneath the stone and roots and soil, something moved.
In the deepest dark, sealed behind runes older than memory, a thousand eyes blinked open.
A voice like rotting thunder rumbled through the void.
"The child has awakened."
Chains cracked.
"Find him."
The silence that followed was worse than the voice.
Because it wasn't empty.
It was listening.