Chapter One: The Shadow's Pact
(Part One)
The clang of steel echoed through the dim cave, sparks flaring like fireflies. For twelve years, the Branwen Tribe had been his cage. A place of blood, raids, and survival. A boy was not meant to dream there—only to sharpen steel, steal, and live long enough to die in someone else's raid.
But tonight, beneath the wavering torchlight, a boy not yet a man ran his calloused fingers along the weapon lying before him.
A weapon that was his.
The haft gleamed dull silver, reinforced plates hammered from scavenged Huntsman gear. A lever caught the light when he twisted it, gears shifting, hidden joints unlocking with a satisfying click. The weapon extended, curved, and in the space of seconds, the boy was holding a long, predatory katana.
Another pull. A grind of machinery. The weapon folded and thickened into a cleaver-like greatsword.
A twist, a snap, a spin—dual blades sang through the air. Then a rapier, its needle-like edge gleaming. Then a hybrid scythe-sword, a savage curve of blackened steel.
And with a final heavy crank, the weapon locked into the form of a Dust-fed heavy bow. A pull of the string released an invisible hum of energy.
His lips curved upward.
"…Finally."
Years of scraps. Years of blood. Years of piecing together what others saw as trash. He had seen possibilities—because in another life, in another world, he had wielded swords beyond imagination. In another life, he had walked seas of shadows. And now, in this one…
This one would be different.
He sheathed the weapon across his back, a heavy weight that settled against his shoulders like destiny.
He was done with the tribe.
The Branwens had given him nothing but harsh lessons and emptiness. There was no future here. No meaning. Only endless raiding until death came.
He would leave.
And this time, he wouldn't die in someone else's war.
Two Days Later – The Village in the Valley
The road wound through endless trees, autumn-colored leaves scattering across the dirt as the boy moved. His hair, dark and messy, hung just above his eyes. His weapon clinked faintly with every step.
He wasn't sure how far he had walked—only that his feet carried him farther from the tribe's howling voices.
That's when he smelled it.
Smoke.
Not the harsh smoke of raiders torching a caravan. Softer. Hearth fires. Cookfires.
The sound of laughter drifted on the wind.
The boy crested a hill and froze. Below him, a small village sat nestled in the valley, wooden houses built tight against the mountain walls. Children darted through the streets, shrieking playfully. Women carried baskets. A man chopped firewood while his young son imitated the swing with a stick, to his mother's amused scolding.
The boy tilted his head.
"…Peace."
It felt… wrong. Fragile. A world that shouldn't exist.
He slipped into the treeline and watched. For hours, he lingered, unseen. The Branwen in him told him to scout weaknesses, to count numbers, to measure what could be stolen.
But another voice whispered differently. A voice that had followed him through death after death.
What would it be like to live here? To laugh here?
His hand brushed the weapon strapped to his back.
He didn't know the answer.
Nightfall
The Grimm came with the storm.
A low rumble woke him in the trees, eyes snapping open as the world seemed to shake. From the darkness, bestial cries rose—a tide of nightmares rushing down the mountain paths.
Beowolves. Creeps. Griffons. And at their head, a towering Nuckelavee, its skeletal horse's hooves cracking stone beneath it.
The village bells tolled. Shouts rose.
The boy leapt to his feet. His aura flared, faint but sharp, a shimmer of silver against the night. His instincts screamed to run. The Branwen way: live for yourself, let others burn.
But his hand clenched the hilt of his weapon.
Something heavier anchored him. Something darker.
The shadows stirred.
From deep inside, he felt them—flickering souls bound to him from another life. Hungry. Waiting.
He ground his teeth. "…Not yet."
The villagers were already scrambling. Men grabbed spears, women shielded children. At the forefront stood one man—broad-shouldered, scarred, eyes blazing with stubborn fire.
Lie Ren.
The boy recognized him instantly. He remembered this man's story. The one who had tried to fight the impossible. The one who had fallen.
And the boy understood, in a flash, that fate was about to repeat.
Unless he changed it.
The Wounded Father
The battle was chaos. Villagers screamed as Beowolves tore through wooden fences. Dust arrows lit the night with streaks of fire. The Nuckelavee's scream shattered windows, its claws raking through the streets.
The boy fought like a storm, his weapon flashing from katana to greatsword to dual blades. Steel sang, slicing Grimm apart in sprays of shadowy ichor. He moved with precision, each strike a memory from a different world—parries from Aincrad, cuts from Alfheim, savage arcs from GGO.
But even he couldn't be everywhere.
A cry cut through the din.
The boy turned—and saw Lie Ren stagger, his chest pierced by a Grimm's jagged claw. Blood spilled down his tunic as he fell to his knees. His wife screamed, trying to reach him before another Beowolf lunged.
The boy was there first. One swing cleaved the Grimm in half. He dropped beside the fallen man, pressing a hand to the wound.
It was useless. Too deep. Too final.
The man's breaths were ragged, his eyes fluttering. Still, he tried to rise, to lift his broken weapon, to keep fighting for his family.
The boy's expression darkened.
He had seen this before. Again and again. Brave fools dying for nothing.
But this time…
"Listen," the boy said quietly, his voice edged like steel. His eyes burned faintly with an unnatural glow, shadows coiling at their edges. "You're finished. You know it. But I can give you one last chance. A chance to save them."
Lie Ren's gaze locked onto him, confusion and desperation mingling.
"What…?" he croaked.
The boy leaned closer.
"In exchange for your eternal servitude, I will give you the power to rise again. You'll still die tonight, make no mistake. But you won't go out weak. You'll go out protecting your wife. Your son. Your village."
The man's breath rattled. His wife screamed his name, struggling against the chaos. His eyes flicked to her—her tears, her terror. Then back to the boy.
"…Do it."
The boy's lips curved into a cold smile.
"Wise choice."
The Shadow of Roger
The world dimmed. The boy's hand pressed against Lie Ren's chest, shadows spilling from his palm like smoke. They coiled, sank into the dying man's body, and for a moment, silence reigned.
Then—
BOOM.
Aura exploded outward, golden and fierce. The villagers staggered back as Lie Ren stood once more, his eyes glowing with borrowed power. His broken weapon seemed to hum, sharpened by unseen force.
And when he moved, it was with the steady, flowing grace of a swordsman long dead.
Gol D. Roger.
The Pirate King's shadow had taken the man's body. Observation sharpened his gaze, predicting Grimm movements before they struck. His blade cut through monsters like paper, each strike carrying an aura that felt older, greater than anything the villagers could comprehend.
For a heartbeat, the tide turned.
The boy rose, shadows still flickering at his fingertips, and watched.
"…Go on then. Show me if you're worthy of my power."
The battle was far from over. The Nuckelavee screamed again, charging into the fray.
And the Shadow's Pact was sealed.
[End of Part One]
👉 Do you want me to immediately continue with Part Two (2.5k words)—the climax (Nuckelavee battle, Ren's father's final death, OC's parting words to Ren, aftermath with Ren's mother, Nora following him, and the birth of his first "family")?
You said:oc 's name is Dōyami BranwenChatGPT said:
Perfect name choice 👌 — Dōyami Branwen feels dark, heavy, and fits the shadowed legacy you're building.
Let's carry that into Part Two of the cinematic chapter (~2.5k words). This will cover:
Dōyami + Shadow-Ren's father vs. the Grimtide & Nuckelavee.
The tragedy of the pact closing.
Dōyami's parting words to Ren & Nora.
Ren's mother accepting Dōyami as her son.
The first flicker of family for him.
Chapter One: The Shadow's Pact
(Part Two)
The Nuckelavee's Roar
The air split like glass. The Nuckelavee reared, its skeletal horse-legs cracking the earth. Its rider's upper body twisted unnaturally, claws dripping black ichor. Every villager froze as the nightmare Grimm loomed over the broken street.
But one man stood tall.
Lie Ren—no, not Lie Ren anymore. His wounds should have killed him. His body should have been cold. Yet his eyes gleamed with golden fire, and the shadow of another walked with him.
The Pirate King.
Dōyami Branwen watched from the street's edge, his weapon shifting into rapier form, the blade humming with Dust charge. He could feel Roger's shadow flowing through Ren's father like a storm contained in fragile glass.
It wouldn't last.
But it would burn bright.
"Come then," Dōyami murmured, his voice carrying an edge of challenge. "Show me if you can defy death."
The Nuckelavee screamed.
And the village became a battlefield.
Borrowed Glory
Lie Ren moved with a speed no dying man should have possessed. The shadow within him guided his strikes, blade arcing with uncanny precision. Every Grimm that lunged fell before him—Beowolves cleaved, Creeps impaled, Griffons cut from the sky.
The villagers stared, disbelief and awe warring in their eyes.
Dōyami joined him, their blades weaving in strange harmony. His rapier darted through Grimm skulls while Ren's father's strikes thundered with borrowed might. Together, they carved a path through the chaos.
But the Nuckelavee was not so easily cowed. It charged, skeletal hooves smashing houses to splinters. Its clawed arm swung, aiming to crush both man and boy.
Dōyami's weapon snapped into greatsword form, catching the blow with a scream of steel. The force drove him to one knee, aura sparking painfully.
"Move!" he barked.
Lie Ren didn't hesitate. His blade—Roger's blade—flashed upward, slicing through the Grimm's arm. Black ichor sprayed as the limb fell, writhing. The monster shrieked, staggering back.
For a heartbeat, the villagers believed.
They saw a miracle.
The Cost of Power
But Dōyami knew better.
Every strike from Lie Ren grew slower. Every swing was heavier, as if the man's body fought against the shadow possessing it. His aura flickered, strained beyond mortal limits.
The pact was burning him alive.
"Not long," Dōyami muttered, parrying another Beowolf. His gaze flicked to the family huddled by the ruins—Ren's mother clutching her son, Nora trembling at her side. Their wide eyes locked on the battle. On their father.
Dōyami clenched his teeth. He had promised power. He had not promised salvation.
The Nuckelavee screamed again, lunging forward. Its maw gaped wide, ready to devour.
Lie Ren roared back, his blade igniting with the last of his stolen strength. He surged forward, stabbing deep into the monster's chest. The blade buried to the hilt, shadows flaring outward in golden light.
For one glorious moment, the Pirate King's shadow shone through him.
The Nuckelavee staggered, shrieking, before collapsing in a heap of writhing ichor.
The Grimm tide broke. The lesser creatures howled, retreating into the forest as their leader fell.
Silence fell.
The villagers wept. Cheers broke out.
But Lie Ren collapsed.
A Father's Last Moments
The shadow withdrew like smoke from a snuffed flame, flowing back into Dōyami's hand. The glow in Lie Ren's eyes faded, leaving only a man's final breaths.
He lay crumpled on the ground, his wife rushing to his side. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched his hand.
"Please… stay with me… please…"
The man smiled faintly, his voice little more than a whisper.
"I… protected you… didn't I?"
His gaze turned to his son—young Ren, frozen in shock.
"Be strong… for her."
And then, his eyes closed. His chest stilled.
The villagers bowed their heads.
Ren's mother sobbed into his chest.
Dōyami watched quietly, shadows coiling around his hand before sinking back into his body. He felt nothing. He had seen death too many times to weep.
But the boy in front of him… Ren's wide, wet eyes, staring at his fallen father…
That struck something deeper.
The Shadow's Words
Dōyami stepped forward. His presence loomed over the broken family, not cruel, not kind—simply undeniable.
Ren looked up at him, trembling.
"Y-you… you gave him that power… didn't you?"
Dōyami's eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
"Yes."
"Then why… why did he still die?!"
The boy's voice cracked with grief and rage.
Dōyami crouched, his gaze level with Ren's.
"Because nothing is free. Power always has a cost. Your father paid his willingly. He chose to die fighting, not rotting. That is the strength you saw."
Ren bit his lip, tears streaming.
"Remember this, boy. Strength comes at a price. If you want to protect her—" he nodded toward Ren's mother, still sobbing, "—you'll learn that. One day."
Ren's fists clenched. His young eyes, though drowned in tears, held a spark of something else. Determination.
Dōyami rose. His gaze shifted to Nora, who peeked out from behind Ren's mother. Her tiny fists were balled, her eyes fierce despite her fear.
Dōyami smirked faintly. "And you… don't ever lose that fire."
The Choice to Follow
In the days that followed, the village mourned. They buried their dead, rebuilt what they could.
But the damage was deep. Many whispered of leaving, scattering to safer lands. Others cursed their weakness, blaming the Branwens, the gods, anyone they could.
Ren and Nora followed Dōyami everywhere. Shadowing him like stray pups, they asked questions he rarely answered.
Why did he help? Why did he fight? Why did the shadows follow him?
He ignored most of them. But he didn't push them away.
Ren's mother surprised him most. She approached him one night, eyes red from tears, and spoke words he hadn't expected.
"You saved us. You saved my children. And you… gave him a chance to be a hero."
Her voice cracked, but she steadied herself.
"You have no family here, do you? No one to care for you."
Dōyami stiffened. Memories flashed—cold Branwen nights, a father he never knew, mothers of past lives who never lived long enough to love him.
She placed a hand on his shoulder, gentle.
"Then let me. Stay with us. Let me be your mother."
For the first time in three lives, Dōyami Branwen felt something stir.
Something he didn't have a word for.
He only nodded.
And that night, for the first time since he was reborn in this cursed world, he slept without the weight of shadows pressing on his chest.
Epilogue of the Pact
Dōyami Branwen left the village weeks later, Ren and Nora trailing behind him as though it were inevitable. The villagers didn't stop them. Ren's mother kissed them goodbye, her eyes lingering on Dōyami with both sorrow and pride.
"Take care of them. And yourself."
He didn't promise. He never promised. But when she smiled at him—soft, warm, unyielding—he felt something tighten in his chest.
The road stretched long into the horizon.
A boy not yet a man, a pair of children, and a weapon of shifting steel.
Behind him, the shadow of Roger stirred, silent but present.
Ahead of him, the world of Remnant waited.
And for the first time… Dōyami Branwen did not walk alone.
[End of Chapter One: The Shadow's Pact]
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