Pop… pop…
The fire crackled inside a dim cave, its flames licking upward and casting restless shadows on the rough stone walls. The orange light danced across the darkness, giving the cavern a faint, fleeting warmth.
In one corner, a boy no older than twelve or thirteen huddled close to the flames. He was wrapped in a thick, black animal hide—crudely stitched, still greasy with unprocessed fat, and carrying a faint fishy stench. It looked more like a butcher's scrap than proper clothing.
His complexion was pale, almost porcelain-like, his features delicate yet striking. A cascade of long, red hair fell loosely across his shoulders, giving him an unusual air. But what drew the eye most was the mark on his face—a flame-shaped birthmark stretching from his left temple, curling down past the corner of his eye to his cheek. It lent his young features a strange, almost mystical aura.
Yet now, his handsome face was twisted with discomfort. Eyes shut tight, body trembling, he seemed to wrestle with a pain too heavy for his small frame.
At length, he stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes full of confusion. For an instant, twilight shimmered within them—then shock, disbelief, and alarm replaced it.
"…How… how is this possible?"
The words slipped out, barely more than a whisper, but they shattered the cave's silence like a stone dropped into still water.
As if unwilling to trust what he saw, the boy rubbed his eyes, shut them, opened them again. He repeated the action, more desperate each time, until finally—slap! His palm struck his own cheek. The sharp sting left no room for denial.
Reality had returned.
The disbelief in his gaze slowly gave way to curiosity. His lips moved again, his voice steadier, but tinged with something heavy.
"…I must have traveled through time again."
---
"My name is Taichi.
A blind fortune-teller in the village gave me that name, saying my life was precious and required a name of weight. As a child, I believed every word.
I thought I was chosen by fate. That one day, a Digimon from another world would come and seek my help.
But the older I grew, the more I realized… I was not chosen by fate. I was toyed with by it.
My first life ended at just twenty-four. I had just passed the civil service exam, only to meet death at the very threshold of a new future.
Sometimes, I think I was killed by my own name.
I thought my story was a tragedy.
Until… I was reborn into a second life.
That time, I was Yuichiro Tsugikuni.
In that world, humans and demons walked the same land. From the moment of my birth, I understood my mission.
For twenty years, I cut a bloody path from one shore to the other, fulfilling that destiny.
And when it was done, I retreated to the mountains and finally lived the peace I had once dreamed of.
In old age, I closed my eyes one last time… only to open them again in a new body.
Now, for the third time, I live.
Perhaps… perhaps I truly am chosen by fate. Even if no Digimon has appeared at my side."
In the flickering light of the fire, the boy—now Yuichiro Tsugikuni once more—rose to his feet. Draped in the coarse hide, he steadied himself and surveyed his surroundings. His heart, which had long since grown calm after lifetimes of struggle, accepted the absurdity of his situation with startling ease.
The cave was small, no more than seven square meters. Outside, winter's chill gnawed at the earth. Even here, with fire blazing and animal skin wrapped tight, icy drafts cut through his bones.
"Primitive times?" he muttered, noting the crude tools by the fire—a wooden fork and knife, a rough bowl half-filled with thick yellow paste.
"Food…? Curry?"
A faint frown crossed his lips. His gaze shifted, tracing the stacks of dry firewood and the air thick with a salty tang.
"…The sea?" he whispered.
But then something else caught his attention. At his feet lay a long, black sword.
His pulse quickened. "A… blade?"
He crouched and lifted it. Nearly two meters long, its straight scabbard gleamed with faint, wave-like carvings. The handle itself stretched forty centimeters, too large for his palm alone.
With a sharp pull, he drew the weapon free. Instead of cold silver light, the blade was black—utterly, completely black.
"A black blade? Even the steel…?"
The weapon exuded an oppressive solemnity. Its wide edge and thick spine should have made it heavy, yet it rested weightless in his hands.
At the base of the blade, a single word was etched: Destruction.
His breath caught. The style was familiar, reminiscent of the famed Swordsmith Village of his previous world.
Almost without thought, Yuichiro tightened his grip with both hands and gave the blade a gentle swing.
Ssshhh—crack!
The tip of the sword grazed the cave's ceiling, carving a deep, jagged scar into the stone. Pebbles rained down, clattering to the ground. Yuichiro shielded his eyes, waiting until silence returned before gazing up at the fresh wound in the rock.
"…Not bad," he murmured, lips curling faintly.
"Such craftsmanship… This world can forge weapons like this? Or… did I bring it here with me?"
His fingers brushed along the flat of the blade. Power pulsed faintly through the steel.
At last, he turned toward the cave's entrance, long sword in hand. He pushed aside the curtain of animal hide and peered out—only to be met with pitch darkness and a vicious, freezing wind that drove needles into his skin.
He quickly retreated. "Too cold. I'll rest for now. Tomorrow, I'll see what kind of world this is."
He fed more wood into the flames, curled close to the fire, and let the warmth swallow him. Drowsiness crept in, and before long, his eyes drifted shut.
---
That night, he dreamed.
Of the sea, the sun, and a quiet village on the shore. The townsfolk lived simply—poor in wealth, but rich in peace. Yuichiro dreamed of joining them, living quietly, contentedly.
A paradise.
When dawn came, light filtered into the cave. Yuichiro stirred, sitting up slowly. The fire had burned to ash, smoke curling faintly upward.
His expression was dazed, heavy with the weight of realization.
"…It's true," he whispered. "I've traveled through time again."
(End of Chapter)