The sky above Akehiro burned red.
Ash fell like snow, settling on rooftops that no longer stood. The once-proud skyline of the Kagetsu Kingdom's capital, crimson gates, towering pagodas, and the marble fortress of the Taketa Clan had become a graveyard of fire.
Ichiro's hoverjet cut through the smoke, its hull trembling from the heat waves. From above, the city looked like a dying heart, pulsing with explosions and collapsing flames.
He couldn't breathe. Not from the smoke, but from the sight.
Ichiro (hoarse): "…No…"
He dove lower. The hoverjet skidded through the streets, scraping against crumbling walls before slamming into the edge of a ruined market. The boy stumbled out, eyes wide, his clothes already coated in soot.
The air was thick with screams and the crackle of burning wood. Bodies of villagers, soldiers, and even monks lay scattered, some still clutching weapons, others holding the hands of those they couldn't save.
Ichiro's knees trembled. His heart pounded against his ribs. The symbol of the Taketa clan, the twin blades of honor, was painted in blood on the ground.
Ichiro (trembling, whispering): "No… no, this isn't real."
A mother ran past him carrying a child—both faces smeared with ash and blood. Behind them, a building collapsed, crushing several soldiers beneath its weight.
Ichiro stumbled forward, his breath hitching. His eyes darted wildly across the inferno.
Ichiro: "Yuna! Rina! Father! Mother! Where are you!?"
No answer. Only the crackling fire and the distant, thunderous echo of battle.
He broke into a run, sprinting through the burning streets. His sandals slid on shattered glass, his shoulder slamming against a wall, but he didn't stop. Every turn was another memory burned away—a bakery where he'd stolen dumplings as a child, now reduced to cinders; the dojo where he trained under his father's stern gaze, now a pile of smoking rubble.
Ichiro's fists clenched. His teeth bared. Tears streaked down his face.
Ichiro (screaming): "WHERE ARE YOU!?"
A blast wave tore through the next street, flinging him backward. He crashed into the side of a collapsed gate, coughing blood. He blinked through the smoke—and saw it.
The Taketa Clan Headquarters—or what was left of it.
The proud citadel, with its roof tiles and sacred banners, was half gone. The once-blue pond of reflection now boiled with steam. Flames climbed the pillars, consuming the ancestral hall where generations of Taketa warriors once prayed.
Ichiro staggered toward it, his vision blurring. His father's sword—the family blade—was buried in the ground outside, broken clean in half.
He fell to his knees beside it. His hand trembled as he reached for the shattered weapon, gripping the hilt until his knuckles turned white.
Ichiro (whispering, voice cracking): "Father… No…
Ichiro cried, tears flowing out of his eyeballs: "You… you promised me… We'd fight together, for the… the clan… together…"
The ground shook again. Distant thunder rolled—not from the sky, but from battle deeper within the capital.
Ichiro turned, eyes narrowing through the smoke. In the distance, silhouettes moved—massive, distorted by heat waves. A shockwave rippled through the streets, tearing the remaining buildings apart.
And for a split second, Ichiro saw them.
Two figures—one cloaked in a golden white aura, the other wreathed in burning gold fire—clashed high above the palace ruins. The pressure of their blows split the clouds, golden lightning crackling across the sky.
Ichiro's heart froze. He couldn't tell who they were—but he could feel it.
That monstrous energy.
That overwhelming, inhuman presence.
Ichiro (whispering, in disbelief): "Soul Reapers…"
He gritted his teeth, rage clawing at his chest.
Ichiro: "…You bastards… you did this."
He stumbled toward the palace, his body screaming from exhaustion, but his will unbroken. Every breath burned his throat, every step crushed glass beneath his feet, but he didn't stop.
Around him, soldiers tried to regroup, their voices hoarse.
Soldier (shouting): "Fall back! The enemy—what are they?"
Another voice screamed as a surge of golden energy consumed them.
Ichiro kept running. His hair stuck to his face, soaked in sweat and ash. His eyes burned with fury and grief.
He passed the training courtyard—now a crater. The ancestral statues of the Taketa ancestors lay broken, their faces shattered. The cherry blossoms that once filled the air with fragrance were blackened sticks.
He fell again, knees hitting the stone. His breath came in shallow gasps. He could barely see through the smoke, but he could feel the fire everywhere—inside him, outside him, eating everything he loved.
Ichiro (broken voice): "…Yuna… Rina…"
He pressed his forehead to the ground, tears soaking into the ash.
Ichiro (screaming, voice raw): "WHY!?"
His scream echoed through the ruins, swallowed by the inferno.
Then, somewhere far above, the golden and white lights collided again. A wave of force rolled over the city, flattening everything still standing. Ichiro shielded his face, the shockwave hurling him into a burning wall. He hit the ground hard, pain blooming through his ribs.
He lay there, staring up at the red sky. The last thing he saw before his vision faded was a single cherry blossom petal, blackened by ash, drifting down onto his chest.
Ichiro (weakly): "…I swear… I'll make them pay…"
And then—a voice.
Soft at first, like a whisper from a memory.
???: "Ichiro…"
His eyelids fluttered.
???: "Ichiro… Get up, my son."
The voice became clearer, and something deep inside him stirred—a warmth, cutting through the pain and the smoke.
Ichiro's eyes snapped open.
He gasped, coughing violently as dust fell from his chest. His hand tightened around the sword hilt, blood mixing with ash.
His vision cleared enough to see a figure standing over him.
Not his mother—But Tadashi Taketa.
The old warrior's face was carved from stone, his white hair tied back in a simple knot. His armor was scarred, his eyes sharp despite the lines age had drawn across his skin. His broad frame cast a shadow even amid the firelight.
Behind him stood Yuna and Rina—their cheeks smeared with ash, their eyes wide but alive.
Ichiro blinked, disbelief flooding him.
Ichiro (weakly): "…Tadashi…-ojii…?"