The air in "Tenran" was still thick with fear. The ruined Council Hall stood as a silent reproach, a reminder of the powerlessness of the strongest. Repair work was underway, but every Kokuro master who tried to "rewrite" the Scar of non-existence left by "Kureina" failed. The hole in reality remained untouched.
It was at this moment of tense waiting that he appeared.
There was no warning, no message. One morning, the temperature in the academy dropped several degrees, though the sun shone brightly in the sky. The air gained a strange, crystalline clarity, and sounds became muffled, as if the world had been draped in invisible velvet.
He stood in the center of the main courtyard, by the crater left by "Kureina." Tall, in an impeccably clean white-blue kimono, with snow-white hair tied in a high topknot. His face was young and beautiful, but his eyes held the glacial weight of ages.
No one saw him enter. He simply was.
The guards reacted first. Half a dozen warriors with drawn blades surrounded him.
"Identify yourself!" the captain challenged.
The stranger slowly turned his head. His gaze, cold and indifferent as the depths of an arctic lake, slid over them.
"You make too much noise," his voice was quiet, but each syllable echoed in their bones like ice.
He made not a single gesture. But the air around the guards froze. Literally. They froze in attacking poses like statues covered in frost. Not with ice, but with some absolute stasis that halted the very possibility of movement.
Panic, silent and all-consuming, rippled through the observing students.
An alarm signal shot into the sky. Within seconds, the strongest appeared on the square.
Ryūnosuke was first, his face contorted with rage at such an intrusion.
"Who dares?!" his sword was already drawn, the Scar of destruction on the blade pulsing with leaden heaviness.
Following him, like a crimson banner, appeared Kaede. Her gaze was sharp as a razor, analyzing the threat.
The stranger looked at them. And for the first time in a long while, Ryūnosuke and Kaede felt something forgotten. A sense of their own insignificance. The aura emanating from the white-haired warrior was heavy as a glacier's mass, suppressing the will. They instinctively understood—any of their techniques would be useless against him. They were children playing with sharp sticks before a titan.
"My name is Shiroyama Raidou," he introduced himself, and his voice carried the hum of eternal permafrost. "I have come because I felt the awakening of an old nightmare. You have disturbed what should have slept forever."
At that moment, Director Fujibayashi arrived with the remnants of the Council. Seeing Raidou, the old man paled, his hand trembling involuntarily.
"Shiroyama-dono... The legends say you fell at the Battle of Crimson Skies..."
"Legends know little, Keiden," Raidou allowed himself a faint, cold smile. "I did not fall. I observed. And waited. And you... you have messed everything up."
He turned to the gaping hole in the Council Hall.
"This... trace. It is the work of 'Kureina,' is it not? A crude, ugly imitation. A child of your fear."
"An imitation?" Kaede breathed out, unable to hold back. "That creature nearly destroyed us!"
"Because you are weak," Raidou cut her off, and his voice held no contempt, merely a statement of fact. "You play with Scars without understanding their essence. 'Kureina' is but a pale shadow of what you may yet face."
He walked to the crater, and his gaze became distant, as if looking through time.
"Three centuries ago, the world trembled under the feet of one. Akatsuki Magoro. The 'Tenmaou' (Heavenly Demon Emperor). His Kokuro did not merely read or rewrite Scars... it possessed the very fabric of existence. He could command the sun to rise in the west, and the dead to rise at his will."
His icy gaze swept over the assembled crowd.
"You, your ancestors, all the great clans, united, could not kill him. You merely... scattered his spirit, tore it into millions of particles, burying them in the world's most stable Scars. You built your pathetic civilization on his grave."
In the ensuing silence, only Raidou's soul-chilling voice was heard.
"And now... something has disturbed his sleep. 'Kureina'... its devouring nature... it could have served as a beacon. As nourishment. If Magoro's spirit has begun to awaken... he is here. Among us. Seeking a vessel. And nothing you know can stop him."
It was at that moment that Akira appeared. He stood at the edge of the square, observing. While everyone was paralyzed with terror and awe before Raidou, he saw something else.
He did not see a shining aura or majestic Scars. He saw... an unnatural smoothness. Raidou's existence was too perfect, too frozen. It did not vibrate like all living things. It was like perfectly polished ice—beautiful, but dead. And when Raidou spoke, Akira saw how the Scars in the air around him didn't just quiet down, but froze, losing their natural, barely perceptible pulsation. As if reality itself was afraid to move in his presence.
When Raidou finished, Akira stepped forward. His quiet voice sounded like a gunshot in the tomb-like silence.
"He is lying."
All eyes turned to him. In the Council's eyes—fury and disbelief. In Ryūnosuke's eyes—mockery. In Kaede's eyes—analytical interest.
"This man," Akira pointed at Raidou, "is not who he claims to be. There is no life in him. Only cold. And he knows too much about the 'Heavenly Demon Emperor' for someone who was simply waiting."
Raidou slowly turned to Akira. For the first time, his icy composure faltered, replaced by mild, interested curiosity, like a scientist seeing a rare insect specimen.
"And here he is. The 'Mushiro.' The Void. The one without Scars. You are interesting. But your perception is distorted by your own defectiveness. You cannot feel Kokuro, and thus cannot comprehend its true nature."
Director Fujibayashi raised a hand, calling for order.
"Enough! Shiroyama Raidou is a living legend, the last witness of the Magoro era. His knowledge is priceless. And you..." his gaze on Akira was heavy, "may keep your opinion. But your word alone against his is nothing."
Akira understood. He would not be heard. The authority of the Ancient was absolute. He was the embodiment of everything they believed in—power, tradition, Kokuro. And he, Akira, was merely an anomaly.
Raidou, regaining his icy calm, addressed the Council.
"I will remain. I will help you strengthen the seals and find 'Kureina's' vulnerabilities. Perhaps we can avert the worst."
But Akira saw it. Saw how, at these words, a spark of something ancient, predatory, and patient flickered in Raidou's icy eyes.
War had been declared. But the true enemy already stood among them, clad in the robes of a savior. And only one man, bereft of the gift to see power, could discern the lie emanating from him.