Marked by Light

After a week on the road, the trio begins to loosen up. The scars of Nyika—both physical and emotional—still linger, but a warm breeze and clear skies help them breathe easier, a gentle balm to their weary souls.

On a hot Monday, Moto points ahead, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "Whoa… is that it?"

Najo, not looking up from his path, merely grunts. "What do you think?"

Up ahead, nestled against rolling hills, lies the entrance to Zen. It radiates tranquility. Gentle slopes, lush trees, and marble paths weave around peaceful, low-built structures. A group of people wait at the gates, dressed in long green robes with red and yellow stripes down the side, wooden beads adorning their necks and wrists. At the center stands a tall, dark-skinned man in a deep red robe with matching stripes. His arms are open in a welcoming gesture, a wide, serene smile on his face.

"Welcome! Welcome to our peaceful nation," the man greets them, his voice warm and resonant. "Please—make yourselves comfortable. I am Koji, follower of the Universal Light."

"Thank you, Koji," Moto replies, a genuine smile. "I'm Moto, and these are my friends—Najo and Sheu. We're travelers from Nyika, heading to Sango."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Koji says, his smile unwavering. "Allow me to assign you a guide. We believe in sharing what we have, as the Universal Light teaches."

Najo, squinting skeptically, crosses his arms. "Universal Light? What's that supposed to be?"

Koji's smile doesn't falter. "It's the source of life and love in the universe. The divine spark in every being. The truth that connects all cultures, beyond religion."

"Sounds like nonsense," Najo scoffs, a bitter edge to his voice. "People use beliefs to throw you away when you're no longer useful."

"I understand your skepticism," Koji replies, his gaze soft. "But truth reveals itself in the small things—nature's beauty, strangers' kindness, laughter, stillness. It's even in the gifts you wield."

"That's just interpretation. You can't prove anything," Najo insists, his jaw tight.

"Maybe not to your standard. But I don't need proof to walk my path," Koji says, his voice gentle but firm. "Hospitality is part of that. So please, don't let our differences spoil the occasion." He lifts a black clay bowl with red powder swirling inside. "As a new law, I must mark your foreheads. It lets us track guests—for the protection of our people."

"Of course, do what you need," Moto says, stepping forward, his usual cheerful compliance. Najo scoffs but follows as Koji dips his thumb, gently pressing a mark on Moto's forehead.

Moto grins, a playful taunt in his voice. "See? I'm alive. Your turn, skeptic." Najo sighs and leans in.

Lastly, Sheu steps up. Koji pauses as he reaches for her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Your eyes… they feel familiar."

"I doubt we've met," Sheu replies, a hint of confusion. "I've never left Nyika."

He hesitates, then proceeds with the mark. "What is your gift?" Koji asks, his thumb still on her forehead.

"Gift?" Sheu questions, surprised by the term.

"Oh—powers, as you call them. Is it wind?"

Her eyes widen, a flicker of shock. "Yes."

"A coincidence, perhaps. Or something more," Koji murmurs, a knowing look in his eyes.

At that moment, a young girl about their age steps forward, her expression quiet but composed. Koji smiles at her. "This is my daughter, Trinity. She'll be your guide during your stay. Don't expect her to match my chatter."

Trinity offers a small, polite bow. "Welcome to Zen, land of harmony and peace. I'm Trinity, your guide today. I hope you enjoy your time here."

As they walk deeper into the city, their awe grows. "This place is amazing," Moto breathes, his eyes wide. "Look at all the temples and statues—so colorful."

"I've never seen anything like it," Sheu agrees, absorbing her surroundings. "What are they for?"

"Zen houses many religious communities," Trinity explains, her voice soft but clear. "Their beliefs vary, but they share one core value: love."

Najo, arms crossed, scoffs. "Love? Sounds like naïve fluff. How do they survive chaos with something so… soft?"

Moto and Sheu glare at him. Najo shrugs proudly, unrepentant.

"It's not soft," Trinity counters, her voice gaining a quiet strength. "Love takes strength—wisdom to love without expectation. Here, we honor differences, not divide over them. No fighting. No hate."

"That's incredible," Moto says, genuinely impressed. "How do they live like that?"

"They express devotion in different ways—prayer, meditation, song, dance, art, writing. They also help the community and nurture the land. Harmony isn't passive—it's work."

"That sounds beautiful," Sheu says, a genuine longing in her voice. "Can we see?"

"Of course. Come. You'll see for yourselves."

Meanwhile… Beneath Denga's Shadow

Far from Zen's peace, a dusty, red landscape. In it is a crumbling warehouse sits isolated amid dry, cracked rock. We are in Gehen.

Inside, monstrous groans fill the air, echoing through the cavernous space. The old man with crimson hair—the same one from Moto's Succession Trial, his golden bracelet with seven engraved links gleaming faintly—walks toward a central shed. Behind the door: terrors. Grotesque creatures chained to the walls, their twisting bodies and snarling features barely contained.

Five men with matching crimson hair stand among them. One holds down a snarling terror with dread-like tendrils on its head and large teeth that read MELLY.

"What took you so long?" the Crimson Commander growls, his voice impatient.

Another, lounging in the shadows with a smug grin, steps into view. Kangetsu. "And why are you still wearing that ugly face?" he taunts, looking at the old man.

"The fights were more entertaining than I expected," the Old Man replies, a dry chuckle.

A fourth brother with sleek, long crimson hair flips open a black leather book. The Crimson Scribe. "Later. Let's start the experiment." He strips off his shirt and slices his chest—a long, cut from shoulder to kidney. Blood drips onto the dirt. The terrors, sensing the fresh blood, stop. Their pupils dilate. Their growls fade into eerie silence.

The restrained Melly Terror shudders as one of the brothers locks chains around its wrists.

"Well then," the Crimson Commander says, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "Let's test Zen's shiny new defenses."

The brothers release the rest of the creatures. One by one, the shackles fall. The last to be unleashed is Melly, its restraints still clinging to its arms as it bolts toward the path.

They run. Zen lies ahead.