New beginnings part two

Late afternoon.

The sun was dipping low, painting the sky gold and crimson. Shiba was walking down an alley shortcut after checking in on his mom—headphones in, bag slung over his shoulder, thoughts drifting between Astra theories and what he could improve in training.

A scream ripped the air apart.

He yanked his earbuds out instantly and sprinted toward the sound.

At the end of the alley, a creature towered—not sludge, but something worse. A grotesque mess of pulsing flesh, twitching arms, and dozens of blinking eyes growing out of its back. It was a failed Astra experiment, something black market labs were rumored to produce—a Ruinbeast.

The creature had pinned a man to the wall, its tendrils ready to pierce.

Without thinking, Shiba launched forward.

He didn't have time to summon his shadow tendrils. Just his body.

"HEY!"

He grabbed a loose brick and chucked it as hard as he could.

The creature's eyes turned. The tendrils whipped toward Shiba.

He rolled just in time—scraping his elbow, pain searing through him—but he kept running, zig-zagging, trying to stay loud and keep its attention. The man managed to break free and flee.

But now the beast had locked onto him.

Shiba's shadows whipped out—but they were weak, lashing like black ribbons, barely making the thing flinch. He was out of breath. Out of strength.

And then he saw her.

Isla. Just around the corner, watching—frozen.

He saw the horror in her eyes. Her knees trembling. Hands shaking.

She couldn't move. Couldn't act. Couldn't even scream.

But he didn't blame her. Not once.

Because even though he was terrified, too—he moved.

The creature lunged.

And right before it struck him—

BOOM.

A blinding golden light exploded down from the sky. The shockwave sent dust and gravel flying. Shiba shielded his eyes.

A man stood between him and the beast now—tall, powerful, calm.

Hair styled sharp like a crown. Black and gold armor gleaming under the sun. His aura bent the very air around him. A calm storm of presence.

Prime.

The number one Sentinel.

"Get behind me, kid," Prime said coolly, cracking his knuckles.

The monster roared—and Prime didn't even move. His Astra, a radiant force of golden constructs, erupted like wings behind him.

Three strikes. That's all it took.

The beast shattered into harmless fragments.

When the dust settled, Shiba was still shaking, still bleeding.

But he was alive.

Prime glanced back at him once. "You've got guts, kid. But next time—don't try to be a hero alone."

Then he was gone. Just like that.

Later that night

Shiba sat on the rooftop, bandaged and sore. Isla sat beside him—silent for a long time.

Then, in a barely-there whisper: "You saved someone… and I couldn't even move."

He turned to look at her. "You were scared. It's okay to be scared."

She shook her head, gripping her knees. "You're not even strong. But you moved. I want to be like that. I want to be like you."

She looked up at him with a strange, burning admiration in her eyes.

From that day forward—Isla didn't just like Shiba. She idolized him.

Morning.

Beep. Beep. Beep—

Her hand slammed down on the alarm. The buzzing stopped.

Asahi Hima sat up in bed, golden hair messy, eyes sharp despite the early hour. Her room was pristine—awards lined the walls, medals gleamed under the soft morning light. Photos from training camps, Sentinel showcases, tournaments she crushed.

She stretched once, cracked her neck, and whispered to herself, "New day, same throne."

Her morning routine was militant: cold shower, 400 push-ups, 2km jog, protein-heavy breakfast. Her Astra aura flared every so often, wild and radiant like sunfire—barely contained. She practiced suppressing it. Precision mattered just as much as power.

Her mother called from the kitchen. "Don't forget, honey—only one month left until the entrance exams. The Hima name will be first again, won't it?"

Asahi smirked. "There's no second place for me, Mom."

She grabbed her bag—perfectly organized—and slipped on her uniform. Every piece ironed. Every step calculated. Even the scuff marks on her shoes were strategic, so people didn't think she tried too hard.

On the way to school, she passed the usuals. Kids who pretended not to stare. Adults who whispered after her.

"She's the Hima girl, right? With the lightforce Astra?"

"I heard she already took down a D-class villain."

"She's the one training with the Sentinels…"

Asahi didn't react. She didn't need to. She let her aura do the talking.

But as she neared the school gate, a shadow cut into her glow.

Shiba.

Standing there, talking to Isla Aoi—again.

She paused.

They were laughing about something. Isla's eyes sparkled. Shiba was smiling in that quiet, genuine way he did when he forgot how much the world sucked.

Asahi clenched her teeth.

What's she even see in him? He's weak. He's always been weak.

Still… that familiar ache pressed against her ribs. That part of her that remembered running with him through alleyways, pretending to be Sentinels together. Calling him "Malo" like it meant something.

In the classroom.

She walked in late—on purpose.

Eyes turned. Conversations stopped. Even the teacher paused mid-sentence.

Asahi didn't smile. She didn't have to. Her presence filled the room like heat on pavement.

She tossed her bag down next to Shiba's desk—not Isla's. Not today.

He didn't even look up.

And for the first time in forever, that irritated her more than she wanted to admit.

Lunch period.

Asahi sat at her usual table, flanked by classmates who laughed too hard at her jokes and nodded too fast at her opinions.

But her eyes kept drifting.

To Shiba.

He was sitting on the rooftop again, probably with Isla. She couldn't see them from the window, but she knew. And it pissed her off more than it should've.

He used to sit at this table. Not saying much, sure, but always there. Always at her side. Like a dog. Her dog.

Now? He laughed with someone else.

"Hey, nerd," she called out when he walked past the courtyard later. "You forgot to bow to your queen this morning."

He didn't stop.

That was it.

At break, she caught up to him behind the gym, shoved him against the wall.

"You're real confident lately, huh? Hanging out with that creepy girl too much?"

He met her eyes. "Why do you even care?"

Something in her twisted. Her hand clenched into a fist.

She punched him in the stomach. Hard. He doubled over, coughing.

"I don't," she spat. "Just reminding you where you stand, Malo."

But it didn't feel satisfying.

No matter how many times she knocked him down, he always got back up. And now? Now Isla was watching. Looking at him like he was something.

Asahi turned away quickly.

Later that evening…

Asahi walked alone through the alley on her way home. Streetlights flickered overhead. The city was loud—distant sirens, honking, yelling.

She wasn't scared. Never had been.

Until it grabbed her.

Some thing slithered from the shadows—an inky, bone-covered creature with dozens of gleaming red eyes. She didn't even hear it move.

"W-What the hell—!?" She spun, Astra bursting to life in a flash of gold, blasting the thing back.

It hissed, melting into the ground and disappearing. She panted, teeth bared. "Tch. Coward."

She won.

Barely.

And it shook her.

The next day.

She didn't tell anyone. No way she'd admit that something almost got her.

But it came back.

This time, during school. While she was walking near the back parking lot, alone. This time—it was faster.

It didn't talk. Didn't hiss. Just lunged.

Before she could react, tendrils wrapped around her arms, legs, waist—pinning her to the concrete.

"A-astra—!" she gasped. But she couldn't move. Couldn't even breathe.

Everything blurred.

Help.

No one was there.

Until—

"ASAHI!!"

A blur slammed into the creature—not with Astra, not with strength—but with raw desperation.

Shiba.

No plan. No strategy. Just instinct. Just him clawing at the thing with his bare hands, tearing at the tendrils, shielding her with his body as the monster lashed out.

"W-why are you—!" she gasped.

"You said you wanted to be number one, right?" he muttered, arms shaking. "You're not dying before that."

She stared.

And then—

A crack of blinding white light shattered the sky.

BOOM.

The monster vaporized in an instant, a shockwave knocking them both back.

When the dust cleared, a figure stood tall, golden cape flapping in the wind, his symbol glowing on his chest:

Prime.

The number one Sentinel.

He stepped forward, towering, unreadable.

"Both of you okay?" he asked.

Shiba nodded weakly, helping Asahi sit up.

Prime's eyes lingered on Asahi.

"You've got guts," he said. "Power. Potential."

"I'm going to be watching you, kid. You've got what it takes."

Asahi blinked.

Then smirked.

Even after all that… he still chose her.

But when she glanced sideways at Shiba—bruised, bleeding, and still smiling faintly—something in her chest twisted again.

Not from pride.

Not from victory.

That night.

Asahi sat on top of the city, legs dangling off the ledge of a tall rooftop. The wind caught her golden hair, whipping it back as she stared out into the horizon—burning lights, distant sirens, the city breathing like a living beast beneath her.

She should've been satisfied.

She was chosen.

Out of all the wannabes, all the insects, all the weaklings pretending to be strong—he picked her.

The number one.

Prime.

His voice echoed in her head.

"You've got what it takes to change everything. You're the kind of fire this world needs—one that never dims. That's why I'm choosing you."

She clenched her fists.

It should've felt like a coronation. A prophecy fulfilled.

Instead… all she could think about was that damn look on Shiba's face. The way he threw himself into danger—for her. The way he stood up, bloodied and shaking, while she had been the one frozen.

"Idiot," she muttered, voice barely audible over the wind.

After the rescue, after the monster was gone, Prime pulled her aside. The world blurred around them—sirens, teachers shouting, people rushing in. But his presence made everything quiet.

He was tall. Radiant. Laughing like he had no care in the world, but his eyes were sharp—cutting.

"Bet you didn't expect that," he grinned, resting an elbow on her shoulder like they'd been friends for years. "You did good."

"I could've taken it if I had one more second," she lied, standing tall.

"I know you believe that." He paused. "And maybe you're right."

That grin dropped for a second. His tone lowered.

"But power alone doesn't make a hero."

She bristled.

He raised a finger. "Don't get it twisted—I'm not here to give some sob story. I chose you because your power is real. It's overwhelming. You've got the drive, the spark, the iron will."

His expression darkened.

"But fire left unchecked? It burns everything. And you don't even see the ashes you leave behind."

She froze.

Was he… criticizing her?

"You've got one hell of a future," he said. "But you need control. Not just over your Astra—but over yourself. So—"

He raised his hand and extended something toward her:

A pendant, shaped like a rising sun breaking through clouds.

"—I'm choosing you to be my successor."

Her heart stopped.

He was serious.

The number one Sentinel. The man above legends. And he was handing her the legacy.

Asahi reached out slowly and gripped the pendant. It pulsed faintly in her hand—warm, alive, heavy.

"Don't get cocky," Prime added, smirking again. "You've got a long way to go, heir."

Asahi exhaled, fire dancing just beneath her skin.

She remembered the look Isla gave Shiba. The way he smiled at her. The way he fought even without power.

And for the first time in a long time… she felt small.

Even with everything, something inside her whispered:

"He still stood up when I didn't."

She looked down at the pendant.

Fine.

Let them bond. Let them train. Let Shiba play hero in his little fantasy.

Because the truth was simple:

Asahi Hima was destined to be number one.

Two Weeks Later.

The training site wasn't a facility.

It was a mountain.

Remote. Cold. High enough to kiss the clouds.

Asahi stood at the edge of a cliff, sweat sticking her shirt to her back, her breath fogging in the early dawn air. Her fists were wrapped in tape—cracked, bleeding. Her knuckles were numb.

Prime stood a few feet behind her, arms folded, his white-and-gold coat billowing lazily in the breeze. Eyes hidden behind sleek shades, silver-blond hair wild as ever.

"You're stalling, Sparkplug," he said with a grin.

"I'm not," she growled.

He took a slow sip from a thermos, raising a brow. "Then jump."

She looked down.

A three-hundred-foot drop. Jagged rocks below.

"This is training?" she snapped. "You trying to kill me?"

Prime chuckled. "You think strength's just in the body? You've already got power in spades, Asahi. What you lack is control. Trust. Clarity."

He stepped closer, voice dropping.

"Right now, you fight like a grenade. Loud. Flashy. Unpredictable. But a Sentinel—especially my successor—has to be more than that. A Sentinel has to choose when to blow up… and when to wait."

She gritted her teeth, heart pounding in her chest.

"I don't wait. I win."

Prime shrugged. "Then prove it."

Without another word, she stepped off the edge.

The wind howled.

She didn't scream.

Didn't flinch.

Just grit and fury and will.

Right before impact, she activated her Astra—Solar Quake—a high-energy talent that converted inner emotion into explosive radiant force.

The ground erupted beneath her like a sunburst, vaporizing the rocks.

She landed in a crater, scorched and steaming—but alive.

When the dust settled, Prime stood above her, beaming.

"Now that was pretty."

Back at base camp.

Later that night, Prime handed her a protein bar as they sat near a quiet fire.

"You're improving," he said. "But there's more. The real test of a Sentinel is never in the heat of battle. It's the moment after. When your wounds are fresh. When your choices linger."

She looked into the fire, jaw tight.

"Why did you choose me?"

Prime looked at her for a long time.

Then smiled.

"Because your light's too bright to burn out. You've got the fury, the ambition, and the raw, uncut drive. You don't break—you ignite. All I'm doing is shaping the blaze."

She looked away quickly, masking the heat on her face.

But her heart beat faster.

For once—not from anger.

But something that felt like hope.

Prime's voice softened, but the gravity in his words didn't.

"You're talented. You're strong. And you've got an amazing talent. But strength without humility? That's not heroism. That's just power waiting to be corrupted."

Asahi crossed her arms but stayed silent. She listened—something she rarely did.

"You think you're the strongest because everyone around you tells you so. I was the same way. I had a head start on everyone. My talent, Friction, lets me decide what has resistance and what doesn't. No one could touch me. I could run faster than light if I wanted. Slide through steel. Stop others dead in their tracks. I thought that made me invincible."

His gaze sharpened, though his tone stayed calm.

"But then came my mentor. She taught me what strength actually is—who strength is for. She passed down more than just wisdom."

He turned slightly, a faint glow flickering around his chest—like a memory clinging to him.

"She gave me something sacred. An ancient connection. A spirit that's been passed from hero to hero since the beginning of the Sentinel age. It's called Eirenheart."

The name alone carried weight. Asahi leaned forward, intrigued despite herself.

"It's a bond. A world-spirit. Not just power—purpose. It connects to the heart of heroism itself. Everyone who's held it… their will lingers inside. Their ideals. Their dreams. Their pain. Their sacrifices."

He took a deep breath, the moment heavy.

"But it comes with risk. Eirenheart amplifies your soul, but it burns it too. I've only got a few strong hours a day left in me because of what I've given to this world. You abuse it—you lose everything. I can't give it to you yet."

Asahi scowled. "Why not?"

"Because right now, you'd burn up in it. It doesn't want arrogance. It wants conviction. You want to be the strongest? Fine. But if you want to carry Eirenheart… you better be ready to die for something greater than yourself."

She looked down, fists clenched, a flicker of respect dawning in her eyes—for Prime, for what he carried, and maybe… for what she could become.

Prime's voice dropped lower, the smile fading from his face as he turned toward the skyline, eyes distant.

"There was a battle," he said quietly. "One nobody talks about in the news. One the world didn't even know almost ended everything."

Asahi watched him, brow furrowed. She'd never seen him like this.

"It was years ago—when I was younger than I am now, but already the top Sentinel. I was cocky. Unstoppable. I thought I had nothing left to learn. Then he appeared."

"Who?"

"His name was Kurobane. A villain so dangerous, we don't say his name in public. His Astra—Anihil—erased things at the soul level. Not just matter, but meaning. Memories. Purpose. He could erase why something existed."

Asahi's mouth tightened. Even she couldn't imagine a power that terrifying.

Prime continued, "I fought him alone. Thought I could end it in minutes. But the moment I clashed with him, Eirenheart reacted. It screamed. Because it knew—he wasn't just trying to kill people. He was trying to erase the concept of heroism from the world."

He pulled down the collar of his suit, revealing a seared, jagged mark that ran from the side of his neck down his chest. The skin looked warped, like it had been permanently scorched by something more than fire.

"I pushed Eirenheart too far. Burned through more than I should've. I overloaded its tether with my ego, my desperation. I beat him. Barely. But the price—"

He clenched his hand, trembling faintly.

"The price was time. My body's limit now is a few hours of full strength. If I go past that, Eirenheart eats away at what's left of me."

He turned to Asahi, sharp eyes locking with hers.

"That's why I chose you. Not because you're perfect—but because I see what I used to be. And I don't want you to make the same mistake. This power… it's not a gift. It's a responsibility. If you accept it one day, you're not just inheriting my strength."

He tapped his chest.

"You're inheriting all of us."

Asahi stood still, arms crossed—but her usual smirk was gone.

For once, she didn't have a comeback. No arrogant retort. No smug scoff. Just silence. The kind of silence that swallows everything.

She looked at Prime's scar again. Not the mark itself—but what it meant.

"…You really almost died," she muttered.

He gave a slight nod, still staring at her like he was reading every thought behind her eyes.

She didn't like this feeling. This tightness in her chest. This… vulnerability. It wasn't like her.

"I always thought being strong meant never backing down. Never losing. But you…" Her voice faltered slightly, then sharpened. "You lost. You almost lost everything. And now you still go out there like nothing's wrong."

"Because that's what it means to be a hero," Prime replied gently.

Asahi looked away, jaw clenched. Her fists curled so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"…That power," she said at last. "Eirenheart. If it's really what you say it is—if it connects to the world itself… then why would it choose someone like you?"

That wasn't mockery. It was genuine confusion.

Prime didn't flinch. "Because I asked. And when I did, I meant it. All of it. I didn't just want to be a hero—I wanted to understand what the world needed… and then become that."

Asahi took that in. It landed somewhere deep, somewhere she didn't usually let people near.

"I don't know if I'm like you," she admitted, eyes burning. "I don't know if I care about people like you do. I don't think I have that kind of heart."

"Not yet," Prime said. "But I'm not asking for the perfect hero. I'm asking for someone willing to become one."

Asahi looked down at her hands—hands that had always been praised for their strength, their control, their power. But for the first time… she wondered what they were truly meant to protect.

Then, slowly… she nodded.

"I'll prove it. That I'm not just strong. That I deserve this."

Prime smiled, but there was weight behind it. "Good. Because your training starts tomorrow. And I won't go easy on you."

The sky was dimming as Shiba sat on a bench near the back of the schoolyard, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand, his other fingers drumming absently on his knee. He wasn't thinking about food. He wasn't thinking about school. He was thinking about her.

Asahi.

The words she said. The way she looked at him like he was trash under her heel. It still echoed in his head, even though he tried to let it slide off his back like rain. But it didn't. Not this time.

He let out a shaky breath and pulled out his notebook—his "Sentinel Log," as he called it. Inside were scribbled breakdowns of famous heroes, rough sketches of their gear, notes about Astra types, and personal theories. But on one of the pages, something new stood out.

"Portals – Isla Aoi."

He stared at the name, then closed the book.

"You alright?"

Shiba looked up. Isla stood there with a small snack box in her hands, a quiet expression on her face. She'd started spending more time with him lately—always watching, always hovering close. It wasn't bothersome. In fact, it felt… nice. Real.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

She sat beside him, too close for most people's comfort, but Shiba didn't move.

"You're always thinking."

He chuckled softly. "Guess I am."

There was a pause.

"I've been practicing," she whispered. "My portals. Just a little. In my room."

He turned toward her, curious. "Yeah? How's it going?"

Her shoulders tensed. "Still scary. I don't like how it feels when they open. Like I'm splitting something that shouldn't be split. Like the world doesn't want it to happen."

Shiba tilted his head, genuinely fascinated. "That's amazing."

She blinked. "What?"

"I mean it! That's incredible. A portal talent with an emotional resonance? That's rare." He pulled out his notebook again. "Can I ask you more? Like what triggers it, how it feels before and after, range limits, anything?"

She stared at him, stunned—then slowly nodded. "Okay… but only if you eat all your food."

He gave a lopsided grin. "Deal."

As Isla spoke, Shiba's eyes lit up more and more—not because of how powerful she was, but because he loved learning, understanding, documenting. It made him feel close to something bigger than himself.

[After School – Late Afternoon]

Shiba jogged up the hospital steps, the sound of his shoes tapping against the concrete in rhythm with his heartbeat. His hands gripped a paper-wrapped bouquet of wildflowers—bright yellows, deep purples, and one crooked sunflower that refused to stand up straight.

He smiled.

Today was a good day. His bruises didn't hurt too much. Isla had smiled at his stupid jokes. And most of all—his mom was doing better.

He hadn't seen her this energized in months.

Room 409.

He gently pushed the door open. His mom was sitting up in bed, her IV drip humming quietly beside her. The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over her thin, pale face.

"Keoni," she said, brightening the moment she saw him.

He grinned. "I brought you some high-end luxury goods."

He presented the flowers like a magician. She gasped, dramatically putting a hand to her chest.

"My favorite. From the overpriced corner stand, huh?"

"Nothing but the best for you."

He sat beside her, placing the flowers in a chipped water jug. For a while, they just sat there, talking about school, about the latest Sentinel news, and laughing at a memory he barely remembered—him as a toddler pretending to be a flying hero with a towel for a cape.

Then she grew quiet. Her eyes softened.

"I think... I might be discharged tomorrow."

Shiba blinked. "Wait. Really?"

She nodded. "The doctor said my vitals are stabilizing. I'll still need care, but I might get to come home."

He leaned forward, grabbing her hand.

"I'll cook. I'll clean. I'll do everything. Just come home."

She smiled. Weak, but real.

"You've been such a good son, Keoni. Better than I deserve."

"Don't say that," he whispered.

She reached up, brushing his cheek.

"Your father would've been proud. I am."

He held her hand longer than usual that evening, not wanting to let go. When it was finally time to leave, he stood in the doorway and turned back one last time.

She waved gently, resting back on her pillow.

He waved back, heart full.

[The next day ]

Shiba walked down the hospital corridor, a rare bounce in his step. He clutched a small bouquet of wildflowers—nothing fancy, just something bright. Isla had helped him pick them out after school.

His mom was getting better.

The doctors said she might even be discharged tomorrow. For the first time in months, hope didn't feel like some distant fantasy. It felt close. Real.

He reached the door to her room. Room 409.

He paused, grinning, holding the flowers behind his back.

"Mom?" he whispered playfully, pushing the door open with his shoulder. "Guess who brought—"

His heart stopped.

The flowers hit the ground.

His mother lay curled on her side, peaceful… too peaceful.

A knife stuck clean through her back. Right between her shoulder blades. Blood soaked through her hospital gown, staining the sheets.

"No. No, no, no—MOM!!"

He fell to his knees beside the bed, grabbing her hand, shaking it. Her skin was cold.

His body trembled violently, breath caught between panic and disbelief. His shadow tendrils twitched from his arms, curling against the wall like they were trying to hold him together.

He turned toward the hallway—

Just in time to see the silhouette of a person slipping past the corner at the far end of the corridor.

Eyes wide.

He ran. Full sprint. Down the hall. Past confused nurses and patients.

"HEY!!" he screamed. "STOP!!"

But by the time he reached the turn—no one.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No door open. Not even a sound.

Like the person had vanished into thin air.

He kept searching. Running through stairwells, exits, waiting rooms. Asking nurses, guards—anyone.

No one saw a thing.

No cameras picked up anything unusual.

Just him. Alone.

Again.

Shiba stood alone in the empty corridor, breathing ragged, the world muffled like cotton had been stuffed in his ears. A nurse tried to talk to him, to pull him away, but her voice didn't register. His eyes were locked on the empty stretch of hallway where the figure had disappeared—like smoke in the wind.

Back in Room 409, time stopped.

She was getting better.

He said he'd clean. He said he'd cook. He said he'd do everything.

She was supposed to come home.

Shiba's fists clenched. The shadows around his body flickered, pulsing with his emotions. They reached out slowly, curling through the cracks in the tile floor, dark and trembling. One tendril knocked over the vase of flowers from yesterday. The water soaked into the sheets like blood.

He didn't go home that night. He couldn't.

When he finally did, it was hours later. A slow, numb walk through the cold. He stepped through the door of their apartment like a ghost, his shoes leaving bloody footprints of dirt and grief.

The moment the door shut behind him, everything broke.

The shadows burst out in a violent scream—dark tendrils spiraling from his arms, spine, and shoulders. They whipped through the apartment, slamming into furniture, slicing through cabinets, shattering plates. They weren't quiet. They were loud. They were angry.

So was he.

Shiba stood in the middle of the chaos, yelling through his tears as the black whips struck walls and shattered lamps. The more he cried, the stronger they got—longer, faster, wild. They didn't feel like a part of him anymore. They felt like rage that had grown teeth.

And then—

CRACK!

He slammed into the wall and everything went dark.

When he came to, the world smelled like rooftops and night air. He blinked, dazed, his cheek pressed to cool concrete.

And someone was standing over him.

White jacket. Tall. Lean. Mask pushed halfway up his face, wild silver hair dancing in the wind. A calm, piercing gaze.

"…Yo," the man said.

Shiba's heart stopped.

"Wait—are you—?!" he gasped, sitting up.

The man raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.

"You're—Prime."

And for the first time in hours, Shiba forgot the grief. The pain. The mess.

All he could think was:

Prime just saved me.

The wind whispered over the edge of the rooftop, brushing against the back of Shiba's neck as he sat up, still groggy. The city lights blinked below like distant stars—uncaring, silent. Prime stood tall beside him, back turned for a long moment, looking out over the skyline.

Shiba wiped his eyes with his sleeve, struggling to speak. "…Why… why did you help me?"

Prime didn't answer right away. His white coat rustled softly in the breeze.

"I almost didn't."

Shiba blinked.

"I'm not in the habit of saving kids having tantrums. But that wasn't what that was… was it?" Prime finally turned around. His voice was low. Steady. "That was grief. Rage. And something deeper."

Shiba stared down at his hands. They were still trembling. "She was supposed to be okay. She was getting better. Then she was just… gone."

Prime stepped closer, crouching down to his level, meeting his gaze. "You saw something. Didn't you?"

Shiba nodded slowly. "A shadow. A person. But no one else saw them. No one even believes me."

Prime studied him carefully, as if weighing something heavier than words. "They won't. Most people don't see the cracks in the world. But people like us? We get caught in them."

Shiba bit his lip, his voice hoarse. "Then what do I do now?"

Prime sat beside him, legs crossed like a monk at ease in the eye of a storm.

"You have two choices," he said simply. "Fall apart, or forge the pieces into something new. Pain carves paths in people. Deeper than talent. Deeper than training. The ones who rise from it… those are the real heroes."

Shiba stayed quiet, tears welling again—not from sorrow this time, but from something he hadn't felt in a long time: understanding.

"You've got power," Prime continued. "It's rough. Untamed. Unfocused. But it's alive. And that means you've got potential. I don't know if you'll be great. I don't know if you'll change the world."

Then Prime placed a hand on Shiba's shoulder.

"But I know you can. And that's enough."

Shiba looked up, eyes wide. "Why are you telling me this?"

Prime smiled faintly. "Because you remind me of someone. Me, before I became Prime. Angry. Powerless. Afraid. But ready to fight anyway."

He stood again, towering in the night sky like a monument.

"Get stronger. Not to prove people wrong. Not for revenge. Do it so next time… you don't have to watch someone else die."

Shiba's shadow flickered at his feet.

"I will," he said. "I don't know how… but I will."

Prime turned, beginning to walk away. "Good. Start by learning control. Focus. Find people you trust. You'll need them."

He paused at the edge of the rooftop.

"And one more thing, kid."

Shiba looked up.

"You're not alone. Not anymore."

Then, with a swirl of light and wind—Prime was gone.

Left in silence, Shiba stared at the stars overhead.

This time, they didn't feel so far away.

TV humming in the background. No soft coughing from the bedroom. Just silence. The kind that sits on your chest and doesn't let go.

Shiba hadn't been to school in days. Isla had tried texting. Even Asahi hadn't so much as tossed an insult. The world outside moved on, but inside—he was frozen.

Until—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three knocks. Firm. Measured. Not urgent, but deliberate.

Shiba wiped his eyes and dragged himself to the door, swinging it open with a dull, "Yeah?"

On the other side stood Mikari Tsukikage—still poised, still calm—and beside her, a tall man with a shock of white hair tied into a long braid. He wore a simple, dark martial arts gi with a long coat draped over it. His eyes were sharp, even behind the wire-rimmed glasses, and his aura had the heaviness of someone who had lived through wars.

The man gave a small bow.

"You must be Keoni Kamal Koa Malik Shiba," he said with a respectful nod. "I'm Tsukikage Ryuzo. Mikari's grandfather. And… I once fought beside your father."

Shiba's heart stopped. "You what?"

Ryuzo continued, his tone even. "He and I were rivals. We were both disciples of the Astra Way—though we chose different paths. He chose the sword. I chose the open hand. But we shared something greater: an understanding that the world… was changing."

Shiba stepped aside wordlessly and let them in.

The apartment was messy. Plates stacked, lights off. He didn't care.

Ryuzo looked around with a quiet, knowing gaze before sitting at the table.

"I came because I heard what happened. To your mother. And because I've seen the signs of something darker returning to this world. Something that's been buried for too long."

Mikari remained silent, standing by the wall like a shadow.

"You said you trained with my dad?" Shiba asked, sitting across from him.

Ryuzo nodded. "He was a good man. Fierce. Proud. Reckless, sometimes. But he cared deeply for people. That's why I think he would want me to make this offer."

He looked Shiba dead in the eye.

"Come live with us. I have a training hall. You'll go to school by day, and train by night. I'll teach you to fight, to survive, and to master your Astra. If you want answers about your father… about your mother's death… you'll find them faster at my side than staying locked in grief."

Shiba clenched his fists.

He remembered the tendrils spiraling out of him.

He remembered the blood, the knife, the mystery figure leaving the room.

And now, a chance.

Not just to get stronger.

But to chase the truth.

He looked up at Ryuzo, his voice steady.

"…When do we start?"

Ryuzo smiled faintly. "Now."

[Later That Night – Tsukikage Dojo]

The Tsukikage training hall wasn't massive, but it felt ancient—its wooden floors worn smooth by decades of footsteps. Lanterns burned in quiet corners. The scent of incense hung in the air, mixed with the faint sharpness of oil and steel.

Shiba stood barefoot on the polished floor. Mikari handed him a simple gi—white, no symbols. Ryuzo stood at the center of the dojo, arms folded, his coat drifting slightly in the breeze from an open window.

"I will not go easy on you," Ryuzo said flatly. "Grief is a fire. It can consume you, or it can forge you. But only if you're willing to burn."

Shiba nodded, jaw tight.

"Then come," Ryuzo said, sliding into a stance. "Show me how you burn."

The first strike came faster than Shiba could think.

Ryuzo didn't move like an old man. He moved like a shadow—fluid, sharp, unrelenting. Shiba's body reacted on instinct, dodging barely, his shadow tendrils flickering out to shield his chest.

They clashed. Once. Twice. A third time.

Ryuzo didn't hold back.

Within minutes, Shiba was flat on his back, gasping for air, arms bruised, chest heaving.

Ryuzo stood over him, not unkindly.

"Your talent has power," he said. "But you've let it control you. You panic. You rage. And rage, boy, is a blade that turns on its wielder."

Shiba stared up at the ceiling, his lungs burning, but his voice was calm.

"Then teach me how to hold it."

Ryuzo knelt beside him, his expression solemn.

"I will. But understand this—true mastery will cost you. Comfort. Innocence. And the luxury of being ordinary."

Shiba looked at his hand, watching the tendrils crawl up his fingers like ink.

"I've already lost everything else."

Ryuzo said nothing more. He simply stood and walked away.

From that night on, Shiba's life was no longer his own.

[Tsukikage Dojo – First Morning]

Shiba stepped into the polished wooden training hall just as the early morning sun spilled through the open ceiling panels. The space smelled like cedar and incense. A breeze rolled in from the garden beyond, carrying the distant chirping of birds and the faint ring of wind chimes.

Ryuzo stood at the far end, arms behind his back. Mikari stretched off to the side, dressed in a navy gi, her long ponytail swaying with each precise movement. She glanced at Shiba and offered a rare, subtle nod—barely there, but it meant something.

"Today," Ryuzo said, "you'll meet your new teachers. You won't survive the coming storm with talent alone. You'll need grit. Body. Technique. And discipline."

He clapped once, sharp as a whip.

The first to enter was a short, squat man with a barrel chest and tree-trunk arms. He had a square jaw, buzzcut, and eyes like steel nails.

"This is Master Daigo Banshin," Ryuzo said. "He's the master of Tetsuzan-Ryu, the Iron Mountain Style. A martial art built on unshakable stances and explosive grapples. He'll teach you how to endure pain—and deliver it back tenfold."

Daigo grunted and cracked his knuckles. "Hope you don't mind a few broken ribs, kid."

Shiba gulped.

Next came a tall woman with icy white hair, a serpentine gait, and gloves that glowed faintly with Astra etchings.

"Master Ren Mizuhana. She leads Suigetsu-no-Ken, the Moonwater Fist. A flowing, deceptive style—like water. She'll teach you movement, agility, and how to strike from impossible angles."

Ren smiled. It wasn't friendly. "Let's see if you can dance, boy."

A third figure entered, cloaked in black robes with a hood that obscured most of his face. Only his chin and glowing red eyes were visible.

"And this," Ryuzo said with a grim tone, "is Master Karasu. He practices Kageryu, the Way of the Shadow Fang. Stealth. Assassination. Counter-strike. If you want to harness your darkness… you'll have to survive his lessons."

Karasu simply nodded once.

Mikari approached Shiba now, arms crossed, watching him with a mixture of challenge and… concern.

"You sure you're ready for this?" she asked.

Shiba stood straighter. "No."

She blinked.

"But I'm doing it anyway."

For a moment, her lips twitched upward. "Hmph. Good."

As the day's brutal training began, Shiba found himself always paired with Mikari. She corrected his stance. She tripped him a lot. She scolded him. She kept him alive.

And slowly, they began to move in sync.

Not quite partners.

Not quite rivals.

[Tsukikage Dojo – One Week Later]

The dojo grounds sprawled out like a forgotten fortress—old wood, reinforced stone, training posts battered from decades of use. Morning mist clung to the trees like spirits watching from the shadows. Shiba stood barefoot on the inner courtyard stone, sweat dripping from his brow as he tried to steady his breathing.

He'd been living here for a week.

Every bone in his body ached.

Ryuzo had warned him.

"You're not training to win. You're training to survive."

And he was right.

The Masters of the Tsukikage Dojo

1. Ryuzo Tsukikage – Astra Way: "Void Palm"

The master of the dojo. Specializes in pure energy manipulation through empty-handed combat. Strikes not only damage but disorient the soul's flow.

2. Master Renkai – "Falling Iron Doctrine"

A barrel-chested ex-mercenary who fights with brutal throws and earth-shattering slams. His martial art revolves around converting momentum into devastation, akin to judo mixed with seismic force.

3. Lady Setsuna – "Wind Serpent Dance"

A graceful, nearly ageless woman who moves like a whisper. Her style mimics wind itself—evasion, redirection, and slashing with hidden blades. She's said to be faster than the eye.

4. Brother Gaku – "Will Flame Style"

A former monk who fights with fiery willpower—literally. His Astra allows him to ignite his body using focused emotion. He teaches Shiba endurance, control, and the power of intent.

5. Mister Bohai – "Drunken Mirage Fist"

Eccentric, always drinking tea or something stronger. His style relies on unpredictable, erratic movement and sudden bursts of Astra-enhanced confusion. A trickster who teaches unpredictability.

6. Kaori "The Ogre" – "Muscle Hex Kata"

A giant woman with a heart of gold and fists of steel. Her style enhances muscle structure with Astra, creating temporary 'hexes' that boost strength beyond natural limits. Teaches brute control and body hardening.

7. Kaito & Kira – "Twin Fox Echo Style"

Identical twins who never speak directly. Their martial art is a synchronized form of misdirection and speed, using mirrored movement and mental connection. They teach reaction time, rhythm, and tactical deceit.

Mikari and Shiba

Mikari sparred with him every other night. She never smiled during training—only watched, corrected, and pushed him to the edge. But when the gloves came off, the tension faded. They shared late meals in the dojo kitchen, swapped music tastes, and argued about which Sentinels were overrated.

There was a quiet rhythm forming between them.

One night, after Shiba failed again to land a single strike on her, he collapsed onto the mat, groaning.

"You don't go easy on me, huh?" he panted.

She sat cross-legged beside him, sipping water. "If I did, you'd hate me for it."

He glanced at her, blinking through sweat. "…I don't hate you."

A rare smile crossed her lips. "I know."

They didn't say more that night. But something shifted. A kind of understanding. A flicker of something deeper.

And for the first time in a long time, Shiba didn't feel like he was training alone.

[Tsukikage Dojo – Late Evening, Training Hall]

The stars peeked through the paper windows, casting dim light across the worn wooden floors. Everyone had retired for the night—except Shiba and Ryuzo. The old master sat in silent meditation, his back straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. Shiba stood before him, towel draped around his neck, fists still raw from earlier sparring.

He shifted on his feet, hesitant, then finally said:

"…I want to apply to DX.H."

Ryuzo's eyes didn't open. "Why?"

Shiba swallowed. "Because I want to become a Sentinel."

"You don't need a badge to protect people."

"I know," he said, firmer this time. "But… I want to stand where the strongest stand. I want to be among the best, like my dad. Like Prime. I want the world to know that even someone like me—someone who wasn't born great—can still rise."

He paused, then added, quieter, "And I want to find who killed my mom. Whoever did that… they weren't ordinary. I'll need power. Real power. Connections. Information. And DX.H has all of that."

Now, Ryuzo opened his eyes. They studied the boy carefully—not the words, but the weight behind them.

"You'll be tested. You'll face people more gifted than you. Stronger. Faster. Better. Some will try to break your spirit. Others will try to make you forget why you started climbing in the first place."

Shiba stood straighter. "Then I'll remind them why I did."

Silence.

Then Ryuzo gave a slow nod. "Very well. We'll sharpen your blade until it's worthy of their gates."

He stood, placing a heavy hand on Shiba's shoulder.

"But remember, Keoni… DX.H isn't the peak. It's the battlefield where those trying to reach the peak begin to fall."

Shiba nodded. He understood.

And he was ready.

[Shiba – Six Days Before the Exam]

The early morning air burned cold against his skin.

Shiba exhaled sharply, black mist steaming from his breath as he dropped into another set of knuckle pushups. His arms trembled. The stone floor of Tsukikage's dojo bit into his hands like jagged ice. Mikari stood over him, arms crossed, unimpressed.

"You're slow," she said, casually dodging one of his exhausted swings as he rose to his feet.

"Maybe… you're fast," Shiba shot back with a grin, sweat dripping down his temple.

Mikari's knee slammed into his stomach before he could blink. He dropped like a sack of bricks.

"Flirting doesn't work if you're wheezing."

He groaned.

But as painful as the days were—blisters on his hands, tendrils out of control, breath stolen by intense training—he felt it.

Growth.

He still visited his mom's grave every night. Still asked her to forgive him for not being strong enough then.

But now?

Now he trained like his life depended on it—because it did.

Because DX.H wasn't just a school. It was the world's proving ground. The place where heroes were forged.

And he was going to walk through those gates—no matter what.

[Asahi – Five Days Before the Exam]

The morning sun glinted off the rooftop of the Hima estate as Asahi moved through her kata, sweat sliding down her back like a river.

Prime stood beside her, watching in silence.

Every step, every strike, every motion—sharpened by expectation.

"Again," Prime said coolly. "Your last punch lacked intent. You punch like a prodigy. I want you to punch like a survivor."

She growled, flames licking off her arm as her Astra surged again.

She knew what this week was.

The week she showed the world why Prime chose her.

The week she proved she was better than everyone—including that shadow boy, Shiba, who kept showing up in everyone's mouths like a ghost.

She hated it.

No. She hated how uncertain he made her feel.

"I'll pass," she whispered between sets, "and I'll be the top. Because that's what I was born to do."

Prime, arms folded, offered a faint smile.

"We'll see."

[Isla – Four Days Before the Exam]

The music in her headphones played softly as Isla walked through the city alone. The paper in her bag trembled—a printed copy of the DX.H entrance instructions.

She'd reread it ten times.

Her hands were still cold.

Still trembling.

Ever since that day, when Shiba stood between her and death, she hadn't stopped thinking about it.

Why couldn't I move?

Why did her body freeze?

Why did she watch instead of help?

Shiba… He had no talent. Not compared to her. And yet…

He had courage.

She wanted that. Not the flashy kind. The kind that moves even when afraid.

In her room at night, she whispered to herself, clutching a training stick, practicing movement drills in silence.

"I'll get in," she muttered. "And this time, I'll protect him."