The next morning, we were ready to depart.
Ken adjusted the gloves of his dual katanas. I sheathed the Sword of Fire, which for the first time in days, felt lighter, as if it had finally accepted my hand.
Rendhal watched in silence while Zayen and Rhok continued training under the supervision of a newly arrived figure, wrapped in a worn cloak and barely introduced by a name: Thoros. He didn't speak. He only watched. He only waited.
"The first Key you must seek is the Water Key," Rendhal said, lighting a rustic cigar, smoke escaping through his broken nose. "Its guardian lives among the dead canals of Asha'el, where the water no longer flows… but memory does."
Ken mounted his black baika. I did the same.
"What do you know about the guardian?" I asked.
Rendhal spat into the fire. "Only that you must not ask for permission to enter. Nor to leave." He looked at us with his incandescent eyes. "And if you hear singing underwater… do not respond."
We rode out like thunder.
The route to Asha'el was long and dangerous, through ruins of ancient dams and territories dominated by aimless mercenaries. But the wind was on our side, and for the first time, I felt the Sword propel me forward. As if it wanted to get there before me.
Red Basin
A day and a half later, moving forward was almost suicidal.
The roads were plagued with traps, snipers hidden in old towers, and asphalt fragments that crunched like broken bones under the wheels. It was at the Red Basin pass where we almost fell.
"Help, it looks like an attack!" I yelled from my baika.
Ken skidded to a halt, kicking up rusty dust. Three bodies. Smoke. Broken engines. But it wasn't an attack. It was theater.
"Back!" Ken shouted, but it was too late.
From the edges of the ravine, seven hooded figures leaped down with electric spears. Their rusty armors bore the symbol of an eye crossed by an X: The Blind Baikas of Larmak. Hunters with no cause, no faction, no flag. Only hunger.
Ken unsheathed his dual katanas and spun around. Two bodies fell, making no sound other than the clash of metal. I barely dodged a spear that whistled past my ear. I felt the heat on my neck.
"They want us alive!" one of them roared.
"They want the sword!" another said.
That was enough. I touched the hilt of the Sword of Fire. I didn't draw it. Not yet. I breathed. I felt its pulse. And then I drew it.
A wave of heat exploded. The ground cracked like a dry crust. One of the Blind fell into the fire before he could scream. Ken covered me from behind. Another enemy tried to attack me from behind, but his spear melted before it could touch me. We weren't just fighters. We were unleashed fire.
The fight was short. Brutal. It ended with one of them fleeing, screaming that we were demons.
Ken looked at me, sweating. "We can't go straight to Asha'el. They're already on us. Someone leaked information."
"Now what?"
"We'll take a detour. We'll go through Maribella. There's an old route beneath its dry canals. It will cost us time… but we'll gain silence."
Maribella
A ghost town that was once an aquatic paradise, overflowing with spring flowers and crystal clear sun. Now only damp ruins smelling of mold remained, trees twisted like skeletons, and broken memories. Wooden houses hung over rotten bridges. The fountains no longer sang. The water didn't flow. But people still lived here. Or survived.
"Don't make eye contact," Ken murmured. "Many here sell their loyalty to the highest bidder."
We passed among lawless motorcyclists, war scavengers, and disgraced soldiers. Some looked at us with desire. Others with fear.
Then, a teenager approached. "Are you looking for the way to Asha'el?" she asked. Her bare feet left prints in the mud. On her back, broken butterfly wings hung as if torn from a children's costume.
Ken watched her with suspicion. "Who told you?"
"I know because no one comes here without that intention. Everyone comes… few return." She extended her hand. "I can show you the way. But I'll come with you."
"No," I replied dryly.
Ken growled, ready to intervene, but he was interrupted by a new face. From the shadow of a tattered awning emerged a tall man, cloaked in motorcycle plates welded together. His eyes were white. Blind.
"I will take you."
"Who are you?" I asked, my hand already on the sword's hilt.
"A guide. And an exile. But if you want to go through Maribella's dry canals… you'll need my permission."
Ken raised an eyebrow. "Why help us?"
The man smiled. His blindness was physical. But his presence was imposing. "Because I heard the song of the Sword of Fire. And if you carry that flame… then perhaps, just perhaps, you can survive the Water Guardian."
He led us through tunnels beneath the city. They were full of roots, steam, and echoes as if someone was whispering from the other side of the world. Before opening the last floodgate, he stopped.
"From here, you're on your own. Don't look back. Don't drink the water. And if you hear it sing…"
"...don't respond," I said, completing Rendhal's words.
The blind man nodded. And disappeared into the shadows.
🌫️ Echoes
Hours later, after crossing a dry canal covered in mist, we thought we would finally see Asha'el.
Then it appeared. A leaning tower, surrounded by water that didn't reflect the moon. Like a broken mirror, refusing to show its truth.
Ken looked towards the horizon. "There's no turning back now."
I nodded. But something caught me. Not with words. With images. Fire. A child crying. Voices echoing my name from afar.
"Nilo!" Ken shouted. "Focus!"
I closed my eyes. The Sword of Fire burned. It wanted to protect me. But it also wanted to test me.
Then I saw her. A woman, at the top of the tower. White hair floating in the wind. Bluish skin. Eyes like a calm ocean.
KAELA MIZUHARA. Age unknown. Power: controls water with the Water Keyblade. The Guardian of the Water Sword.
It lasted only a breath… and then she vanished.
💧 Flashback – A Memory That Isn't Mine
Water dripped. One drop, two, three… on stone. A child cried. But it wasn't me. Or maybe it was. He wore an oversized blue jacket and clutched something in his hands. A stone. Or a fragment of crystal.
"Don't answer," a female voice said, soft as a river current.
"Who are you?" the child asked.
She didn't answer. She only touched his forehead, and the dripping water… stopped in the air. Suspended. Shining. Alive.
Then, darkness. The memory sank like a stone to the bottom of a well.
To be continued?