Darkness.
No sound, no movement. Only a faint whisper of something unknown and distant.
Hinokami awoke with the feeling of falling — falling through endless emptiness. The next moment, light burst in his mind. It did not blind him. It did not burn. It simply... accepted him.
"Welcome, nameless wanderer."
The voice was soft, but within it echoed something inevitable — like the sound of destiny itself.
"Where am I?" Hinokami whispered, struggling to catch his breath.
"In a world that knows no peace. A world where light is not a blessing, but a trial."
"Who are you?"
"I am the First Flame. The one who remembers the beginning — and the one who shall witness the end."
Before Hinokami could ask another question, words appeared before his eyes — written in golden light, floating in the air:
Forgiveness of Light – the power of humility and judgment.
Master of Fire – the flame that none can extinguish.
"Your journey begins with a choice. Forgiveness is the weapon of the wise. But fire — of those who survive. You must become both."
And the world merged its will with Hinokami's.
THE AWAKENING
When he opened his eyes again, the sky was divided into three.
Three moons — crimson, blue, and blood-red — illuminated the land with a cold, blended glow.
He lay beside a spring whose waters shimmered with a faint silvery light.
The grass whispered in the wind, and the air smelled of dust and unfamiliar magic.
"I'm not dreaming…" Hinokami murmured, lifting his hand.
A small flame, no larger than a candle, bloomed from his fingers. It did not burn him. It only warmed.
"Master of fire…" he repeated to himself and smiled for the first time in years.
But the feeling of being watched never left him.
THE GIFT OF THE SMITH
Between dream and reality, where time had no meaning, Hinokami felt something new.
The flames around him did not burn — they shaped. They twisted like hands forging matter itself.
"Fire does not only destroy... it creates.
And you shall be its smith."
The fire thickened, and for a brief moment turned into sparks painting ancient symbols in the air — alive and pulsating.
Hinokami could not understand them, but he felt them — as if they were memories buried in his blood.
A small stone rested in his palm — rough, ordinary, covered in dust. Without knowing why, he clenched it.
The fire around him flickered in three colors — blue, violet, and white-gold, like three souls arguing yet singing in one voice.
The flames engulfed him. The earth trembled. The stone melted like a tear and stretched into a long, glowing thread.
From that thread, a sword was born — the blade gleamed like crystal forged from lightning and fire.
Its hilt was woven from black iron and golden dust, and across the blade burned ancient runes that pulsed in rhythm with his breath.
Hinokami did not understand what was happening — only that the weapon was alive.
"I am Kagehora, the Blade of Flame Memory."
Then — silence.
The sword cooled, and Hinokami collapsed beside the spring, unaware that he had just unlocked his third gift: the Gift of the Smith, the power to breathe life and soul into matter.
THE SHADOW IN THE FOREST
The trees here were unlike any from the old world.
Their leaves glowed faintly blue, and their trunks looked like veins of wood and metal intertwined.
Mana dust floated in the air — magical energy that made everything shimmer.
From the depths came a creak. Then — footsteps.
Out of the trees emerged a creature — tall, its skin like smoked glass. Eyes yellow, pupils vertical. It held a short bone-forged blade.
"First hunter of the dead zones."
Hinokami did not think — his body moved on instinct.
The creature roared and charged.
He reached out. The fire did not explode — it awoke.
It unfurled like a whirlwind of crimson and gold wings.
The monster froze, torn between fear and pain.
"I don't hate you... but I won't let you kill me."
The fire devoured the shadows, and the creature disintegrated.
Hinokami felt power flow into him — pure and hot as a star's heart.
THE FIRE OF TRIAL