The shattered doors of the Shrine of Echoes lay strewn behind them, smoke curling from their charred remains. The fight had ended, but the air still pulsed with the residue of violent technique. Naku Hizusuki stood panting in the center of the hall, sword shaking slightly in his grip. Across from him, the shadow of Simo Roy had vanished into the drifting mist—but not before leaving behind a parting wound and a memory.
Roshi knelt beside the altar, hands glowing as she worked to close the gash along Naku's ribs.
"You hesitated," she whispered, voice both accusatory and concerned. "You could have struck his heart."
"I know," Naku replied. "But I needed to hear him. I needed to know why."
The crimson scroll, now fully unraveled, lay before them like a ghost screaming to be heard. Every brushstroke of its ink carried pain—visions of war, broken oaths, and the slow unraveling of a family once destined for greatness.
The revelation haunted him: Simo Roy was his uncle. Not merely a tyrant or murderer, but a man twisted by a sense of destiny too rigid to be questioned. His father, Toren Hizusuki, had tried to change the course of their bloodline—to protect it. And for that, Simo had spilled his blood.
"Why did he leave?" Roshi asked, finishing the healing spell and collapsing against the cold stone.
"He wanted me to feel it," Naku said slowly, "the weight of legacy. He could've killed me… but he didn't. He wants me to walk his path—choose it myself. He thinks I'll break just like my father."
Roshi shook her head. "He's wrong."
They left the shrine behind, the snow falling heavier now as if the sky mourned with them. Their next destination was written in the lower corners of the scroll—Raiken Hold, a fortress buried beneath the Wind-Fanged Mountains, said to be where Toren first broke away from the Hizusuki Clan's shadowed history.
As they traveled, Roshi observed Naku in silence. His steps were heavier now, not from exhaustion, but from bearing too many truths at once. She remembered the boy she had met near the burnt ruins of his home—broken, furious, hungry for vengeance. The young man walking beside her now carried the same fire, but it had cooled, hardened into something sharper: purpose.
They crossed frozen rivers and narrow ridges, arriving at the base of the mountains after two days. The entrance to Raiken Hold was hidden behind an ancient waterfall, its spray frozen in place like glass spears. Naku pressed his palm to the glyph marked on the rock face, just as the scroll had instructed. The stone shuddered. Groaned. Then opened.
The fortress was a tomb of its own kind. Long-abandoned, the hallways echoed only with the sound of dripping water and old whispers. Roshi lit a lantern with spiritual flame, casting long shadows across walls etched with kanji of warning and remembrance.
Here, they found remnants of the original Hizusuki Sect—armor pieces, weapons, scrolls of forbidden technique. But deeper inside, they found what Naku had never expected:
A garden, untouched by decay.
A central chamber opened to a ceiling of glass that let the moonlight in. There, wild sakura trees still bloomed, their petals falling in soft silence onto the surface of a tranquil pond. At its center was a single gravestone, overgrown with ivy, marked only with a simple phrase:
> "Let the fire protect the seed."
Naku knelt before it. "This is where he died… or where he came to bury his name."
Roshi stood behind him, letting the silence settle.
Suddenly, from behind the trees, an old figure emerged—a monk draped in the tattered remains of robes once rich with crimson and gold. His face was wrinkled like folded parchment, but his eyes gleamed with clear perception.
"I had wondered when the blood would return," the old man said. "You walk like Toren. But your aura burns even brighter."
Naku rose. "Who are you?"
"I am the Keeper. I was sworn to guard the memory of the Hizusuki flame until it found its way back to truth." He gestured to the gravestone. "Toren died not by blade—but by choice. He sealed his spirit to stop the devouring flame from returning."
Naku's voice was strained. "What do you mean, 'devouring flame'?"
The Keeper moved to the edge of the pond, stirring the water with his finger. Images rose like ripples—of a time long ago when the Hizusuki Clan was feared not just as warriors, but as flame bearers, those who could turn spirit into fire and wield the wrath of the heavens. But over time, their flames grew greedy—turning on their own, consuming souls for power.
"Toren saw the truth. That our clan's legacy had turned into a curse. He created the Ember Seal—what you now carry. It suppresses the hunger."
Naku felt the ember mark on his chest throb.
"But Simo…" the Keeper continued, "broke free of that seal. He believed our bloodline was destined to rule—to burn the world clean."
Roshi whispered, "Then the path Naku walks… it could bring that hunger back?"
The Keeper turned solemnly. "Unless he chooses not to repeat it. You carry more than power, child—you carry choice."
Naku looked up at the sakura petals drifting in moonlight. He clenched his fist. "Then I'll learn everything. Every technique, every truth. I won't run from this legacy… I'll redefine it."
The Keeper nodded. "Then take this."
From the stone beside the grave, he drew a blade wrapped in crimson cloth. Its hilt bore the Hizusuki sigil—twisted into a new form, shaped like a phoenix rising from a spiral of fire.
"This was your father's final sword. The Ashborne Flame. Forged not to destroy—but to protect."
Naku accepted it with both hands. The moment he touched the blade, a whisper echoed in his mind—a voice he hadn't heard in years.
> "Protect what the flames forgot."
He breathed deep. Something within him had changed—not just strength or resolve, but direction.
Roshi placed her hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to do this alone."
He turned, offering her a rare, genuine smile. "I know. That's why I won't lose."
Outside, the wind howled again—but this time, it carried no fear. Only fire.
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