Year 6 Summer Moon
Six years had passed since the River of Blood delivered the pale child to House Van Helsing.
The castle stood like an obsidian crown above the valley. Its halls were carved with sigils that pulsed faintly whenever the Blood Moon rose. Servants moved in silence; even the bats avoided the boy who lived in the eastern wing.
Ketsuraku trained beneath the courtyard's dying sun. Barefoot, shirt torn, wooden blade in hand.Each strike against the post rang louder than it should have — as if something beneath his skin wanted to break free.
Lord Kain watched from the balcony. "Again."
The boy obeyed. The next swing split the post clean through.Blood trickled from his palm where the splinter had cut him — but instead of falling, the drop hung in the air, glowing red.
Lady Lirien stepped beside her husband. "It's starting."
The air thickened. Ketsuraku felt his heart pound like a drum inside his ribs. The glow in his blood spread along his arm, forming threads of crimson light that wove together into shifting shapes.
"What is happening to me?"
Kain's voice was calm, but his eyes burned. "Breathe. Do not fight it."
The boy exhaled. The glow flared brighter.The blood threads merged, forming a blade of liquid crimson that hardened in his grasp. Its edge curved, handle forming from bone-like light.
A scythe. Small, imperfect, yet alive.
He stared at it — his reflection rippled across its blade, showing eyes no longer merely red but laced with faint gold runes.
Then the world slowed.
Sound vanished. Time bent. The courtyard became a stage of still images frozen in crimson hue.
From the reflection of the scythe, laughter echoed — soft, musical, mocking.
"Ah … the curtain rises again."
Ix stepped out of the reflection, balancing on a floating mask above the still world. His black coat fluttered, the wide hat casting shadow over glowing red eyes.
"So soon, little echo? You've grown teeth already."
Ketsuraku swallowed hard. "You … you did this."
Ix spun his cane lazily. "No, no. You did this. I merely wrote the stage directions."
He tapped the ground; sparks of red code flickered in the air like confetti.
"A weapon born of blood and will. Fitting, isn't it? Every hero needs a prop."
"Is this … mine?"
"Yours to wield, not to own," Ix said. "Blood remembers everyone it's ever touched. Even the dead applaud when it sings."
The scythe pulsed in response, its core glowing brighter.
Ix's grin widened.
"Remember this feeling, Ketsuraku — the moment the river inside you decided to stop being quiet."
He twirled his cane once, and the carnival mirage collapsed.
Time returned. Wind rushed in. The scythe solidified, dripping faint mist.
Kain dropped to the courtyard, landing before his son.He knelt, eyes narrowing at the weapon.
"Put it down."
"I … can't."
The scythe refused to fade. Blood veins ran along Ketsuraku's arm, glowing brighter with each heartbeat.
Lirien rushed forward, pressing her hand to his chest. Her aura flared — silver light against crimson.
"Focus on my voice. Let it flow through you, not out of you."
Slowly, painfully, the light receded. The scythe dissolved into mist, leaving faint red markings on the boy's wrist — the Sigil of Blood Bond.
He collapsed into her arms, trembling.
Kain looked toward the horizon where the Blood Moon began to rise.
"So it begins," he muttered. "The river's heir wakes before his time."
Lirien held the boy close. "He's still our son."
"And one day," Kain said quietly, "the goddess will come to claim him."
Ketsuraku stirred, half-awake, whispering as if answering someone unseen.
"She's watching … and so is he."
From the shadows at the edge of the courtyard, the faint sound of a carnival bell rang once — then faded.
[ Blood River Interface Update ]
Weapon Unlocked: Crimson Scythe (First Form)
Ability: Blood Weave – Condenses spilled Qi and blood into weapons or armor for a short time.
State: Dormant (Requires stabilization of Blood Core)
Rank: Low Ethereal Artifact
That night, under the pale glow of the moon, the child dreamed of a river turning into glass and a woman's voice whispering through it:
"You are the river's son. Let no mortal chain your current."
And somewhere far beyond the dream, in a world of red masks and laughter, Ix raised a glass of shadowed wine.
"To the first act," he said. "The boy learns to bleed."