The late morning sun bathed Nara Village in golden warmth, setting rooftops aglow and making dragon streamers shimmer in the breeze. The annual Dragon Festival had begun, and laughter spilled through the streets like a song.
"Wraaahh! Take this, evil beast!"
A young boy darted past food stalls, swinging a bamboo toy dragon through the air. His joy echoed through the marketplace.
"Zenith!" his mother's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Quit playing around—we have work to do!"
The boy skidded to a halt, his grin faltering. "Sorry, Mom!"
From behind a nearby stall, his father laughed. "Let him have some fun. He's just excited."
His mother gave a weary sigh, crossing her arms. "You're the one spoiling this kid, dear."
Zenith ran up with wide eyes. "Dad, why are these fried buns so important anyway?"
"Because," his father said with a proud grin, "your mom makes the best buns in all of Nara. People travel from far away just to get a taste!"
Zenith beamed. "Cool! That means we're going to make a ton of money!"
"Stop dreaming and get dressed, both of you!" his mother barked, already swatting them toward their stall.
Hours passed. The village square overflowed with cheerful crowds—drummers pounded out ancient rhythms, dancers twirled in embroidered robes, and painted dragons coiled through the air above the stage. The smell of roasted chestnuts, incense, and fried food mixed into a festival perfume.
As they made their way to the palace, Zenith tugged at his father's sleeve.
"Dad… why is the Dragon Festival so important?"
His father's expression grew thoughtful, almost distant. "Many years ago, a great spirit dragon fought alongside samurai to protect humanity. When demons rose from the underworld, it sacrificed its life force to seal them away. This festival honors that sacrifice."
Zenith stared at the flags flying above the palace gates—each emblazoned with the coiling golden serpent of the dragon. "So the dragon… saved everyone?"
His father nodded. "And we remember it with joy, music, and fried buns."
They laughed together, but Zenith's smile faltered when he spotted a group of pale-skinned children nearby. He shrank back, hiding behind his father.
"Zenith," his father said gently, kneeling to meet his eyes. "You must always be brave. Face every challenge head-on."
His mother stepped in, her voice soft for once. "You're special, Zenith. Promise me you'll never forget that."
He swallowed, nodded, and tried to believe it.
---
The festival was in full swing.
Crowds cheered as masked dancers leapt through clouds of colored smoke. Music thundered from giant drums. Vendors barked out prices while performers juggled torches.
Zenith's family set up their stall near the edge of the courtyard. Within minutes, their fried buns were swarmed by hungry customers.
"I've never tasted anything better!" a woman exclaimed, licking her fingers.
Zenith grinned, handing out change while his mother worked the skillet like a warrior. But amidst the joy, a sudden silence fell like a blanket.
The king stepped out onto the royal balcony.
"People of Nara!" he declared. "Isn't this the finest Dragon Festival in years?"
A thunderous cheer answered him. But not everyone joined in.
Zenith's father narrowed his eyes.
"Something's off…"
Narrator:
Within a compound filled with five thousand souls, one man felt a chill—a ripple in the air, wrong and heavy. His instincts, honed by war, screamed at him.
He reached for a blade that wasn't there.
Then it happened.
A boom echoed.
Screams tore through the air as bodies suddenly erupted—bursting apart as if struck from within. Blood sprayed like rain. Zenith's eyes locked with his father's as he was shoved behind a food cart.
Above them, beside the king, a hooded man appeared without warning—silent and unnatural.
"Things are going smoothly," the figure said in a voice like rusted steel. "All exits sealed?"
The king nodded, trembling. "Y-yes. Just… fulfill your part."
The man chuckled. "When the world is returned to the Age of Myth, you'll get your reward. The power of a god."
"The price… was five thousand souls, right?"
The hooded man didn't answer. He only smiled.
A streak of silver tore through the sky—a blade slash that split the air like lightning.
The hooded man and the king leapt aside just in time.
On the ground, Zenith's father stood with his eyes blazing, his aura surging with energy.
"…How. Dare. You."
He screamed, a roar that shook the stones beneath his feet.
The hood fell back.
Pale skin.
White hair.
Pointed ears.
Eyes that glowed like dying stars.
A demon.
"So this is Flow…" the demon whispered, intrigued. "Disruptive… raw… delicious."
"King Hasegawa…" the demon said with mocking reverence, "who would've thought."
Narrator:
Flow—an energy born from the soul. It responds to discipline, emotion, and will. The stronger a warriors intent, the greater their Flow becomes.
The king raised a talisman. "Flame Talisman: Concealing Blast!"
Chains of fire lashed out. Hasegawa weaved between them like smoke.
Hasegawa lunged, his blade humming with rage. The demon caught the strike with a black spear that stretched like shadow, hurling Hasegawa backwards.
"Be careful," the king warned. "He's using rage to fuel his Flow. That means he could be over 150 times stronger than normal."
The demon grinned. "Interesting… and you, king? I sense calm in you. Is that your Flow's secret?"
The king nodded. "It sharpens my precision."
With a sudden burst, Hasegawa vanished—reappearing in a blink before the demon.
Their blades met, lightning clashing with darkness.
"Thunder Talisman: Thunderbolt!" the king shouted.
Hasegawa dodged and kicked the king aside.
"Fifth Flow: Blade Frenzy!"
A dozen strikes flashed like meteor trails, slashing through the demon's robe.
The demon leapt back, spears elongating, stabbing through empty space as Hasegawa vanished again and again.
The king raised a talisman—too late.
"Zantetsuken!"
A high-speed dash.
A single slash.
The king fell, blood blooming across his chest.
Dead.
The demon stared in disbelief. "So fast… I couldn't even read him."
He clenched his fist. "His Flow… it dropped. But it's… reigniting?"
His stance shifted.
"I only get one chance."
The wind howled through the blood-soaked courtyard, the scent of smoke and death thick in the air. What moments ago was a celebration now stood shattered, silenced by betrayal.
At the center stood Hasegawa—his blade stained red, his breath heavy, his rage now pulsing with eerie calm.
Across from him, the demon bled black ichor from a dozen shallow wounds. His cloak was in tatters, and the exposed skin beneath hissed where Hasegawa's Flow had carved its mark.
The demon sneered.
"You're stronger than I anticipated, Samurai. Perhaps too strong."
Hasegawa said nothing. His stance was lowered, one hand on the hilt of his blade, the other outstretched like a hunter ready to strike.
Narrator:
Flow was never just power. It was spirit, history, soul. For most, it flickered like candlelight.
But for warriors like Hasegawa—who had fought, bled, and endured—it blazed like the sun.
"Still calm," the demon muttered. "Still composed, even with your king dead at your feet."
He gritted his teeth. "You deserve punishment worse than death."
His voice deepened into a roar. "Soul Channeling: Annihilation Spear!"
The demon's weapon glowed—a sickly violet light pooling from the corpses around him. The air shimmered as souls—screaming, luminous fragments of the slain—were drawn into the spear's shaft.
Zenith, still hidden among the wreckage, felt a chill crawl into his bones. His eyes—wide and hollow—locked onto his father's silhouette. Somewhere deep inside, he began to tremble.
"Dad…"
The demon's eyes glowed bright. "This ritual was never meant to be completed," he snarled. "Because of one man… all of it falls apart!"
He raised the spear to the sky.
"Soul Erasure Beam!!"
A beam of raw, soul-forged destruction erupted toward Hasegawa—ripping up stone and air alike as it roared across the battlefield.
But Hasegawa did not run.
He took a deep breath.
His blade pointed upward, catching the light.
And then—
"Golden Flight!"
Flow surged through his body, wrapping him in golden ribbons of energy. He shot into the beam like a falling star rising backward—blinding, divine.
The explosion lit the sky.
A thunderous silence followed.
It began to rain.
Not the soft kind—but a heavy, cold downpour that soaked through clothes and memories alike.
Hasegawa lay motionless, his robe torn and steaming, smoke rising from the ground around him.
The demon staggered forward, one arm missing. His face twisted with disbelief.
"How…" he gasped. "How can one human be this strong?"
Then—he froze.
Someone… was coming.
Even through the storm, the presence was undeniable. It was like the forest itself had drawn breath.
The demon's eyes widened. He turned and fled.
"CURSE YOU HUMANS!" he screamed into the sky. "One day—I'll end all your miserable lives!"
A man emerged from the mist of the trees.
His robe was dark green, his hair tied back, his steps light like falling leaves.
Shinsei.
The Samurai of the Forest.
Hasegawa turned his head slightly, blood dripping from his mouth. "So… you finally showed up."
Shinsei crouched beside him, his eyes unreadable. "You could have won… if you hadn't made that vow. That life you wanted…"
Hasegawa gave a weak laugh. "Look at me now. Drawing my final breath. How normal a life do you think I lived?"
He winced, breathing ragged.
"When you become a Samurai… death becomes your closest companion."
Shinsei said nothing.
Then Hasegawa looked up, eyes burning with something more than pain.
"Zenith… my son… he's over there…"
His voice faltered.
"Please… train him. Raise him as your own."
Shinsei nodded slowly.
"I saw what his mother did," he whispered. "She used a forbidden technique—absorbing the pain of her child."
He looked toward the wreckage, where Zenith knelt alone in the rain.
Hasegawa's hand twitched… and fell still.
He was gone.
Shinsei rose.
"I swear," he said quietly.
"I swear to you, Hasegawa. Such tragedy… will never happen again."
He turned toward the boy.
The storm continued to weep for the fallen.
Ten Years Later…
Rain pattered softly on the roof of the tournament coliseum. The crowd buzzed with anticipation. Swords clanged in the distance as young warriors prepared for combat.
A boy stood at the edge of the gate—his black hair now tied back, his frame lean but powerful. His eyes were steel.
Zenith.
He looked to the sky.
"The lives of humans are so intricately connected," he thought. "To love. To legacy. To sacrifice."
"As a guardian…
As a son…
As a Samurai…"
He gripped the hilt of his blade.
"To prove myself worthy… I'll rise above any warrior who ever stood against evil. Upon hearing my name—let evil tremble. Upon seeing my blade—let darkness scatter."
"I will become a singularity of fate."
"A golden light to pierce the clouds of despair."
He stepped forward, voice clear.
"My name is Shiryu Zenith—
And I am a SAMURAI."