The sky above the Ember Wastes was not blue; it was a bruised, permanent twilight, choked by the eternal dust of the Sundered Stars. For sixteen years, that was the only color Kaito had known. He was a Blade-Acolyte of the dwindling Kageyama Clan, though his uniform—a faded grey gi over light leather armor—felt more like a costume for a role he hadn't yet learned to play. His katana, the Moon-Drifter, was sharp, but his purpose felt dull
He sat cross-legged on a ridge overlooking a cracked, obsidian plain—a land where forgotten spirits were said to still scream in the shifting sands. His Master, the gruff, one-eyed Juro, had told him to meditate on the "Principle of the Uncarved Block," a philosophical concept Kaito currently equated with the Principle of a Bored Teenager.
Purpose. Everyone in the scattered villages of the Wastes had one. The Farmers sowed Sun-Grass—a pale, resilient crop—to survive the starvation. The Merchants trafficked in Star-Metal scraps to stay wealthy. The Warriors hunted Ash-Beasts to stay alive. Kaito just… practiced. He practiced the eight forms of the Shadow-Strike, the clan's ancestral sword style, until his arms ached, not for glory, but because the alternative was stillness, and stillness invited thought.
"A purpose is a cage with a pretty view," he muttered, his breath misting in the cool, star-dust air. He believed in strength. Not for honor, not for justice, but for utility. If the world demanded a monster to survive, then he would be the most effective monster possible. That was his unwritten, unspoken philosophy.
A faint, sickly green glow caught his eye in the distance—a sign of a Fragment Burst. These were the scattered remnants of energy from the ancient Shattering, the catastrophic event that ripped the moon apart and birthed the Wastes. It was the currency of power.
The Wastes operated on the Marrow-Weaving system, a complex, almost arcane method of spiritual cultivation. Every living being possessed a Marrow-Core, a center of spiritual energy. By absorbing the residual energy from these Fragments or the Marrow-Cores of defeated enemies, a warrior could 'weave' new abilities—known as Aspects—into their being. Weaving too fast, however, led to Soul-Sickness, a terrifying madness.
Kaito had only one Aspect, a simple one inherited from his bloodline: 'Swift Echo,' a brief, almost supernatural boost of speed. He was a beginner
He watched the green light intensify. A Fragment Burst this large meant an Alpha Shard, powerful enough to tempt the greed of every desperate Marrow-Weaver within a day's travel. He wasn't supposed to chase them; Juro had forbidden it. Too dangerous.
But the light was calling to the utilitarian deep in Kaito's heart. An Alpha Shard was a direct path to a new, stronger Aspect—a way to step out of the teenage boredom and into the necessary strength he craved. A 'purpose' that wasn't a cage, but a key
He felt the familiar cold sensation of the Swift Echo Aspect activating, and a breath later, the ridge behind him was empty. The Shadow-Strike sword style had been about hiding in the physical shadows; Kaito's personal philosophy was about hiding his true self behind a blade. And he was racing toward a light that promised both power and, perhaps, the first true complication to his simple, self-serving ideals. The path to his unwritten purpose had just begun.