Chapter 6: Return of the Flame
The light in the Sarutobi Recovery Chamber was dim and steady, a soft gold that made every breath feel like a prayer. The chamber pulsed with healing runes carved into the stone walls—ancient enchantments left behind from Titanus's age, built to mend warriors who had brushed against death.
Aizashi lay in silence on a stone bed wrapped in cooling linens and ancient herbs, his body still bruised, but no longer broken. Days turned to weeks.
He rarely spoke.
He rarely moved.
The only sounds were his shallow breathing and the distant hum of young cadets training beyond the reinforced walls.
But every night, when the flames of the torches dimmed and the whispers of students faded to dreams, Aizashi would stare at the ceiling and whisper names that no longer answered:
> "Katherine... Levine... Xzavier…"
Pain no longer burned—it lingered, dull and eternal, like an ember waiting for purpose.
---
Three weeks later, a thin beam of sunlight streamed into the recovery chamber. The healers gave him a silent nod.
He was clear to leave.
Dressed in a simple black tunic and boots, Aizashi stepped into the outer corridor of Sarutobi Academy for the first time in ten years as a free man. His long black hair had grown wild, streaked with strands of white near the ends. His beard was unkempt. Yet his eyes—sharp, blazing with quiet fire—made the younger cadets stop mid-swing during practice.
He walked in silence, observing the changes.
New banners. Expanded training grounds. Fresher faces.
And then—
> "OI, SCARFACE!"
A voice cracked through the courtyard.
Aizashi paused.
From the second-story balcony of the Inner Tower, a tall man leapt down—graceful yet unnecessarily dramatic, flipping twice in the air before landing with a solid stomp.
He was dressed in a dark-purple robe etched with galaxies, a star-patterned scarf around his neck, and twin boots that shimmered slightly with temporal dust. His energy was loud but oddly wise.
Sensei Gara.
> "Still brooding, I see," Gara said, grinning.
Aizashi smirked faintly. "You haven't changed."
> "I've evolved. Like a wine. Or a lunatic."
They clasped forearms.
A moment of silence passed between them.
No words were needed. Old warriors didn't need small talk.
But Gara's smile slowly faded into something more thoughtful.
> "Listen… I know what happened. Katherine. Levine. Xzavier. I felt it. I wanted to find you, but—"
> "You don't need to explain," Aizashi said. "If you had come… you'd be dead too."
Gara exhaled.
> "So what now? You planning to burn out quietly in a garden somewhere?"
Aizashi didn't answer.
> "No," Gara said quickly. "No, no, no. I know that look. That's the 'I'm gonna do something reckless and solo' face."
Aizashi narrowed his eyes. "I've earned that right."
> "You have. But that's not what Eidolon needs." Gara folded his arms. "Look, I've got an idea."
> "I'm listening."
> "Become a Sensei with me."
Aizashi blinked.
> "You want me… to teach?"
> "And take on the highest-level Death Rank missions. The kids are getting softer. The threats are getting bolder. We need real leaders again. The new generation knows nothing about pain, sacrifice, or legacy."
Aizashi scoffed. "I'm not a symbol anymore."
Gara raised a brow. "Tell that to the students who watched you walk in today. Tell that to the ones who stare at your statue every morning in the Hall of Fire."
Aizashi turned away, fists clenched.
> "You're not done, brother. You just don't know what your new path looks like yet. But I do. Come teach these brats what it means to be a Warden of Flame."
Silence stretched.
Then, finally…
> "Fine," Aizashi muttered. "I'll try."
Gara grinned like a child given sweets.
> "YES. Oh yes. Wait until you see your new uniform. I had it made months ago. Just in case."
Aizashi raised an eyebrow. "You planned this?"
> "I hoped. Now shut up and come try it on."
---
They walked into the Warden Hall, where elite sensei gear was sealed behind crystal vaults. The armor smiths and magical weavers were already waiting, as if prepared for this very moment.
Aizashi stood still as the magical fabrics began to assemble around him.
First came the inner armor—woven from Ashen Threads, resistant to flame and forged in the aftermath of his first duel with Gimori.
Then the cloak—deep red fading into shadow black, symbolizing both his own blade and Katherine's memory.
Gold trims shimmered along the hem, representing honor.
Ember-sewn sigils flared along the sleeves, marking his mastery of the Flame Blade.
A shoulder sash, dark violet, bore the insignia of dual-blade mastery—a mark no other living Warden held.
The final piece was a long black mantle, fastened by a phoenix medallion glowing with the light of the First Flame.
Aizashi looked at his reflection in the enchanted mirror.
He no longer looked like a broken man.
He looked like something forged in loss… and sharpened by duty.
Gara stepped beside him.
> "Now that," he said proudly, "is a uniform worthy of a legend."
Aizashi adjusted the mantle. "Let's see if I remember how to use it."
> "Oh, you will," Gara grinned. "And these kids? They're not ready."