It must have been midnight. The onyx sky brushed against the ancient forest, enforcing its gaze. The crimson moon wailed—its red hue lavishing the land, as if searching for something.
Far to the west, within the heart of this sanctic forest, lay a pious river. Beside it stood a youthful, solemn man. His skin was pale—almost ghostly—stark against the feverish black of his hair. His eyes, black and depthless, seemed like small pupillary voids.
He wore a white haori—smooth, silken, and simple. In his pale hand rested a beautiful sword. Its inky hilt nearly vanished into the night, while its habaki bore a fitting green ornament of pure jade. The blade, lustrous steel, curved upward—itching for blood.
"I have always been a sort of weapon... Just like this tachi. I am bent. I serve others before myself—selfless, always killing, always forgotten. It's all I've ever known. Our clan, the Jade Clan—once the most powerful—was bound by deterism to serve. And now... I am the last."
" In another life.. i would-
A low hum orchestrated around the land. it felt like a familiar whisper. somewhat ancient.
The young mans grip blossomed around his tachi, awaiting the new arrival. his void-like eyes, flickering towards the east. From the darkness, entranced a figure cloaked in robes of deep violet. silver sigils seamed at her sides, shivering under the red moonlight. Her presence was disturbingly quiet, as if sound seemed to dissipate around her. And so when she spoke it almost felt forbidden.
"So, the last of the Jade Clan still breathes, after years of violence, debauchery, and chaos; You, are what remains.
The man didnt utter a word, his blade etched slightly, as if recognising that voice.
"You were forged to serve, yet i was forged to end, and so, you will be forgotten."
A sudden gust tore through the trees, the red moon seemed to pulse.
An elongated scythe writhed towards the young mans neck,
His tachi, barely blocking the strike; instantly shattered against her weapon.
The young man seemed to still have life. The Lady of Death striked once again upon the young man.
Swifty, pathetically even, his- head flew.
The young man's head lay solemnly in the grass—pathetic, but not desperate. His expression was calm, almost expectant.
"You will not be... the last of the Jade Clan," the Lady of Death whispered.
"You shall be... its return."
Suddenly, a pure radiance coalesced around the fallen body. It was not light—it was memory, vengeance, and legacy reborn. The shattered jade ornament pulsed once more, and from the severed neck, green flame erupted—not burning, but restoring.
The forest held its breath.
The crimson moon dimmed.
And a broken soul wandered.