In the morning, on the sandy ground, Amai stood out, wearing clothes unusual for her naturally vain nature. Her kimono, adorned with soft pink tones, mirrored the delicacy of the sakura trees surrounding her, while a red sash highlighted her waist.
Under the gentle grace of the dawn light, her supernatural blade glowed as she blocked the swings of her father's katana during their daily training.
One of the many drills that had sharpened the skills of the greatest exorcist her clan had ever known…
Dragging their sandals, stirring up a curtain of dust around them, the two faced off. The songs of birds filled the calm morning air, as if conducting the beautiful symphony echoing that day.
"Good…" she murmured, after parrying his vertical strike, bearing the full force behind it.
The metallic clang of blades rang out, and one seemed about to yield to the other's pressure.
Blue sparks danced from her sword as their spar was watched by a young boy with light brown hair, whose eyes shone with admiration for her. Sitting on the veranda of the Shirasaki family dojo, the place where they trained, he wore a black jacket and jeans, losing his focus on his book, completely enthralled by the duel.
"Good? That's bold, Amai…" her father teased, stepping back and raising his own blade to chest height. Dressed in a brown-toned kimono that evoked the bark of ancient trees, he looked at her with immense pride.
"Tired already, old man?" she shot back, bracing her feet in the dust, a sly grin tugging at her lips as she let her blade drop, purposefully ending the session right there.
"Yeah… Actually, this old-timer's got an important meeting with your uncle. Naoto, you understand, right?"
He turned to the boy as he spoke his last words, hoping for sympathy, but the boy just let out a sulky sigh.
"Seriously? I thought you'd come with me and Mom… but whatever, Uncle always hogs your time, huh, old man?" he pouted, hopping up so his sneakers kicked up a puff of dust. Then he turned to Amai with bright excitement: "Well, sis, now that you're all tough, how about an arm-wrestling match? But no using your power, okay! That's cheating!"
As their father chuckled and wandered toward the stream running through the temple grounds, squatting to scoop up water and splash his face, the siblings squared up for their match. The girl looked mildly annoyed but tried to keep her humor, while her brother cracked his neck theatrically, trying to look impressive.
"Think you're gonna scare me?" she said, dropping her blade into the dirt, where it slowly dissolved before their eyes. She tugged her right sleeve up, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Come on! Let's see what you've got, tough guy!"
"Oh yeah? Think you scare me?" he shot back, stepping closer.
Though younger, the boy still towered over his sister. Pulling up his left sleeve, he stared at her with mock determination.
"Ready to be beaten? Without your spiritual energy you're just a skinny, short weakling!"
They moved to the veranda, pressing their arms onto the wooden boards. His hand was nearly twice the size of hers, but he gripped her firmly.
"Let's go, Naoto 'Weakosaki'!"
As sharp as ever.
"Easy, kids… You never grow up, do you?" their father muttered, rising and rolling his eyes at their childish squabble. One pushed, the other held firm — but Amai seemed to have the upper hand.
Yet his attention drifted away from the match.
When he looked up at the sky, a brilliant light broke through the clouds, bringing a calm he'd never imagined.
It was the rainy season — the Crea.
So why did this peace persist?
No answer could be given or shown to any human.
Meanwhile, far from there, in the opposition's hideout, Rasen opened the door to find Romero slumped on his thin mattress, exhausted and drenched in sweat, a shadow of himself.
"So they got you good, huh…" murmured the messiah, dragging a chair to sit beside his friend. "By the way… I saw Milk and the brute heading out early… that your doing?" He nudged aside a metal bowl of soup with his foot.
Straight to the point.
"Yes, I sent them…" Romero's fingers twitched, revealing scars that had practically crippled his hand — wounds that would never truly heal. The battle had left marks too deep for any human to shed. "The Order sent an assassin — that Hideki Tamashiro. He nearly ended me… if it hadn't been for a demon!" he confessed, because this was the only man he could trust with such a truth.
Deep down, he knew no one's resolve was stronger than his messiah's. No matter what he said, Rasen would know what to do — and how to move forward.
Even though he'd once been his guide when Romero was just a victim, he still held the final answer. That's what Romero chose to believe.
Like a hyena in its prime and a lion already weary from his burdens.
"A demon?" Rasen said, genuinely surprised. "Judging by those wounds, I thought it was that kid who could wield negative energy… Well, if they had to call in a possessed one, then things must really be falling apart! But…" he paused dramatically, as if the obvious was dawning on him. "How'd the demon save you? Did it help you beat him? Or was it something subtler? Like… the assassin was the real target?"
"He just appeared out of nowhere and vanished with Tamashiro. Said a few words to him, but by the shape and the cursed chant — it was an original entity, a demon born from the abyss!" Romero buried his face in his hands.
Or… was it not?
Conclusions, certainties. He couldn't hold onto either.
If it weren't for the scars left behind…
He'd swear it was all a hallucination.
"I see…" Rasen almost pondered it but let the thought drift away — it was nothing next to what he needed now. "Maybe it was lurking, waiting for the right moment, or hell, maybe it's just a trap my mind set for me… Who knows? We can't draw any conclusions — all we have left is doubt, don't you think?"
"Doubt? Damn it… it's what's eating me alive. But… you're right, maybe Hideki was the target all along. Still… what if our every move is being watched?" Romero asked, a chill running down his spine.
That was what had paralyzed him up until now.
"Watched? Romero, don't be so paranoid. The future belongs to Elum alone — and no one else! Only our past steps can be seen, understand? There's no stopping this train we call revolution; we'll ride it to the end of the rails!" Rasen declared.
In that moment, Romero saw the leader in him. Until now, he'd only been the boy destined to be a messiah — but now there was an unshakeable conviction radiating from him, made real with every word.
Maybe it was just clinging to the idea, a victim of the abyss clinging to something — it didn't matter.
If he'd ever doubted, now there was none left: this was his messiah!
"Indeed… the future belongs to Elum alone, and even if we could see ahead, we'd see only what he wants! Stopping now is out of the question…" Romero agreed, his voice rising with a new spark of resolve.
His eyes, which had been locked on Rasen, drifted back to his books — and then to the map on the table beyond. He wasn't fully ready to revisit his ambitions yet, but that fire hadn't gone out; it burned with a renewed light.
This was the second time he'd died… and been reborn… so he would live on, until he finally became enlightened! Just as he always sought the truth — or at least what he believed to be his truth…
His prophet rose from the chair and walked to the window by the map of the district.
Staring at the towering skyscrapers ahead, he felt a thrill run through him. Soon, this first act would come to an end…
"The train won't stop… doubts? Uncertainty? We'll crush them! Just like they crushed our hearts!"
It was his first decree — carved into their sacred commandments.