The void stretched endlessly around him—silent, colorless, yet heavy with the scent of falling snow.
Shinsei walked through it, his boots echoing on nothingness. Floating shards of memory drifted past like fragments of broken mirrors, each one pulling him into the past.
A flash.
An arena. The cold clang of steel in his hands.
Young Shinsei stood opposite an opponent whose arms trembled as he held his blade. One strike. That was all it took. The boy crumpled, defeated before the fight had truly begun.
Gasps rippled through the audience.
"Isn't that the demon child who lived in isolation?"
"I heard his parents died the day he was born… no teacher, no family."
Shinsei walked past their jeers, the sting of thrown stones bursting warm blood across his scalp.
The scene melted.
He sat alone in a classroom, the quiet ringing in his ears. Hasegawa took a step toward him—only to be pulled back by another student's hand.
Then the forest. His training ground. Sweat dripped from his chin as he swung his blade again and again into the crisp air.
"Yo! What's your name again?"
Shinsei's eyes flicked over. "Get out."
Hasegawa blinked in surprise.
"I said… get out." Shinsei raised his blade toward him, voice flat.
"That's a real blade you've got," Hasegawa muttered.
"And what's the point of training if steel never tears flesh?" Shinsei's voice carried no hesitation. "I warned you to stop pestering me… so I'm going to kill you."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then—laughter.
"What's so funny?" Shinsei snarled.
Hasegawa grinned, brushing a tear from his eye. "Finally. Someone who gets it."
His presence shifted—calm, yet sharp enough to cut air. "Every Samurai walks one path. The path to Enlightenment… the pinnacle of blade mastery. They say the one who reaches it can cut through the very foundations of the universe. Only Arashi ever stood there."
"And to reach it…" His grip tightened on his hilt. "…I'm ready to wager my life."
Shinsei's lips twitched—half a smile—before it vanished.
They moved as one. Steel flashed like lightning in a storm, sparks scattering into the air. Every strike answered by another. Animals fled from the weight of their killing intent.
When they finally collapsed into the grass, lungs heaving, they were bloodied and grinning.
"You're strong," Hasegawa panted. "I thought I was untouchable… you humbled me."
Shinsei sat up—and tears spilled before he could stop them.
"Thank you… Finally, I know I'm not a demon. All my life I've carried this inhuman strength, thinking it made me a monster. And with the tragedies that followed… I believed it."
Hasegawa poked his forehead lightly. "You let weak people decide who you are?"
Shinsei chuckled through his tears. "Damn you."
The scene warped again.
A grand chamber. Both of them kneeling before a robed figure.
"Shinsei. Do you accept the role of sacred guardian of the Mythic Artifacts?"
"I do."
"Hasegawa?"
"I don't."
"Then you surrender the Mythic blade and your spiritual enhancements?"
"I do."
The next memory burned.
"You swore to live by the blade!" Shinsei shouted.
"I've found love," Hasegawa said quietly. "And she carries my child."
Shinsei froze—then turned away, leaving in silence.
Another memory. Blood. A lifeless hand. Hasegawa's last request whispered into the wind.
Shinsei walked away from the Citadel, away from duty—choosing instead to raise Zenith in isolation.
The void began to crumble. His footsteps quickened.
"A complicated life… all in service of the blade," he murmured. "But I don't regret a second."
Snow swirled in through the cracks in the void, bringing him back to now.
Shinsei's lips curved in a dangerous smile. "Funny I remember all this now."
Gorozai's roar shook the battlefield.
Shinsei raised his sword. "No need to rush… after all…"
The wind stilled. His killing intent bled into the air.
"…you'll die by my blade."
The world shifted the moment Shogun Akihiro stepped past the veil of frost.
It was no longer the battlefield. No clashing steel. No screams.
Only a vast white expanse under an endless pale sky.
Snow fell in absolute silence.
In the distance, a lone figure walked barefoot through the cold—each step staining the ground with a faint crimson trail. Her hair swayed like threads of silver ice, her back straight, her pace unbroken.
"Yuki…"
She didn't turn.
His armor was gone, his body battered and bleeding, every breath scraping his throat raw. Yet he forced his feet forward, the cold stabbing through him like shards of glass.
"Yuki… listen to me."
Still, she walked. Step. Step. Step.
"I am not here as Shogun of Shizuhara. Not as your enemy." His voice wavered. "I am here as the man who once… held your hand under the plum blossoms."
For a heartbeat, her steps slowed. The snow's silence grew heavier.
"That man is gone," she said softly. Her voice carried no warmth—only the clear ring of frost. "You buried him the day you chose the throne over me."
Akihiro's breath steamed in the air, ragged. "I did what I thought was right for my people."
"And I am doing what is right for mine," she replied, her pace resuming. "Ten thousand steps, Akihiro. That is all that stands between your kingdom and oblivion."
He stumbled forward, forcing his way closer. "You don't have to do this. You think I don't know the chains you wear? You think I haven't seen the way the world treated you because of what you are?"
A whisper of wind curled around her, carrying snowflakes that bit his skin like tiny blades.
"You speak of understanding, yet you never walked beside me when I was cast out." Her tone sharpened. "You turned away."
Akihiro's hand reached out, trembling—not from the cold, but from something deeper. "Then let me walk beside you now."
Her steps slowed again, just slightly. A crack ran through the unyielding wall of her presence. But it did not break.
"I cannot stop now," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "If I falter… the oath I swore to my people will shatter."
Akihiro staggered another step, his shadow almost touching hers. "And what of the oath we swore to each other?"
The snowstorm around them swelled, wind howling like the wail of spirits. For the first time, she looked back over her shoulder—her eyes glistening like frozen rivers.
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
And then—she turned forward again, her pace steady.
Step… step… step…