The forest grew darker as Hitachi walked.
Not just because of the hour—it was past midnight now, maybe later—but because the trees thickened around him, blocking out the moonlight. Their gnarled branches clawed at each other overhead like fingers in prayer or cages locking shut. The cold deepened too, sinking past his skin and into his bones. Every breath he took came out white and shallow, like his body was still trying to disappear.
But he kept moving.
Step by step. Wordlessly. Quietly.
Somewhere behind him, the world he knew was crumbling. His grandfather's fearful eyes still haunted him, the way they widened like they were looking at a monster—not a boy. And maybe they were. Maybe that was all Hitachi had become. Not human, not demon, not even a mistake anymore. Just a door that should've never been opened.
He didn't cry.
Not because he wasn't sad—but because something deeper had taken root inside him now. Sadness had thorns. And this new thing… this strange stillness blooming in his chest… it didn't allow tears.
It just whispered: "Keep walking."
The trail narrowed. His feet bled on sharp rocks and broken branches, but he didn't flinch. The cold had numbed everything below his knees. Even the wind didn't howl anymore—it just drifted around him like it didn't dare interrupt whatever was happening now.
Then, up ahead, he saw it.
A soft, unnatural glow.
It pulsed from beyond the trees, golden and faint like candlelight behind a veil. But there was no warmth in it. Only weight. The kind of glow that made you hesitate before reaching toward it. Like it didn't want to be touched.
Hitachi pushed through the last row of trees and found himself standing before something ancient.
A stone path, half-buried in roots, led up a steep hill. And at the top sat a broken temple.
Not a grand one—this wasn't the kind of place where gods listened. The stone walls were cracked, the pillars leaning like old bones. Vines covered half of it, and some parts had already collapsed. But the glow came from inside.
And something else came with it—a sound. A deep, low hum. Not mechanical, not musical. It vibrated in his chest like the rhythm of something sleeping. Something dreaming.
Hitachi stood there for a moment, just breathing.
Then the voice returned—not the swarm of demon whispers, not even the one that had guided him here. This one was different. Close. Inside.
"Beyond this point… you break."
He stepped forward.
The hum grew louder.
"Beyond this point, you change."
The stone burned cold beneath his feet.
"Beyond this point… there is no return."
He walked anyway.
Inside the temple, everything was wrong.
The walls weren't just broken—they were bleeding. Thin streams of black liquid oozed from the cracks, dripping into bowls at the corners of the room. The glow came from a floating symbol etched into the air—hovering over a stone altar, slowly rotating. It looked like a circle at first, but the more he stared, the more impossible it became. Shapes twisted inside it, symbols rearranging themselves like they were alive.
And behind it stood someone.
Or… something.
It wasn't the figure from the forest. This one had no cloak. No skin. No face.
Just a shape made of silver bones, floating an inch off the ground, crowned in burning white light. Its voice came not from its mouth—there was no mouth—but from everywhere at once.
"Name yourself."
Hitachi hesitated. His voice cracked.
"I… I don't know who I am anymore."
The being didn't move.
"You are the vessel. The blood gate. The cage of kings. That is what you are. But who you are… that is still your choice."
Hitachi's lips trembled.
"I didn't choose any of this."
"No. But now you must choose everything."
He stepped forward slowly. The light around the altar pulsed once, then again—matching his heartbeat. The closer he got, the heavier the air became. His legs shook, and for a second, he almost collapsed.
Then the whispers returned.
Not many. Just one.
But it wasn't angry.
It was calm. Tired.
"He's ready."
The light flared. The symbol froze in midair.
And then the pain began.
Hitachi screamed.
He didn't fall—he shattered. His mind split wide open like glass under pressure. Memories poured out, not just his, but thousands. Screams of dying demons. A battlefield in fire. A castle made of bones. The King of Shadows kneeling before a throne that bled light.
His chest burned. His veins turned black.
The seal was unlocking.
Not fully—but enough to show him.
Enough to hurt.
He saw the truth.
He saw the moment the Shadow King whispered his will into the body of a dying child. He saw the Underworld's last hope sealed behind fragile bones and weak flesh. He saw his grandfather's hands covered in blood—not from enemies, but from ritual. From sacrifice.
Hitachi wasn't chosen.
He was offered.
When the visions faded, he was on the floor, shaking. Steam rose from his back. His fingers were cracked and bleeding.
The silver figure still hovered.
"You have seen. You have endured. But the test is not over."
"What… more…" Hitachi gasped, eyes wide, barely breathing.
The figure raised a skeletal hand.
And from the darkness behind the altar, a new shape emerged.
A copy.
It looked just like him.
Same face. Same clothes. Same broken eyes.
But when it smiled, it wasn't kind.
It was hate. Pure and silent.
"The part of you that resists," said the figure. "Kill it."
Hitachi staggered to his feet.
The copy lunged.
He barely dodged in time. Pain exploded in his ribs as the copy struck him with inhuman strength. There was no warm-up. No hesitation. The copy fought like it had been waiting for this moment forever.
And it knew every move he would make.
Because it was him.
They clashed across the ruined temple—fists flying, blood spraying, bones crunching against stone. Hitachi grabbed a broken pillar, slammed it into the copy's back—but it laughed. The sound was just like his own voice. Mocking. Hollow.
"You're weak," it spat. "A child pretending to be a king."
"I didn't ask to be a king!" Hitachi yelled, swinging again.
The copy caught his arm and twisted.
"You're not even a soldier. Just a shell."
"Shut up!"
He headbutted it. Felt his skull crack. But the copy bled too.
"You're a burden. You ruin everything you touch. Even your grandfather hates you now."
"No!"
His scream tore through the temple.
Power surged through his veins—black and silver light twisting around his arms. His eyes glowed. The seal pulsed. And this time, when he struck, it wasn't with fists.
It was with rage.
The copy shattered—burst into shadow, then vanished like dust in the wind.
Hitachi fell to his knees, panting.
The silver figure drifted closer.
"You have passed."
He didn't answer. He just sat there, bleeding, broken, half-dead.
But alive.
And different.
The temple began to shake. The glowing symbol dimmed.
"Your training has begun," the figure said. "Rest. More will come."
And then it vanished.
Hitachi, alone again, crawled to the altar. He didn't pray. He didn't speak.
He just lay there, staring at the ceiling of a temple no god had entered in centuries.
And for the first time since the voices began… the silence felt real.