Chapter 3: That Flame is Called Hope

Unknown Space - Unknown Time.

In a world surpassing that of space-time itself, deeper than silence, the Fairy King stirred.

He did not sit on a throne.

He was the throne. A being of pure pink energy. Eyes opened where none had been. Mouths whispered songs in languages older than time, all layered upon one another until they became static then harmony.

The Palace of Petals, invisible to man, breathed with him.

He tasted the shift in the world.

A vibration.

A tremor through the oldest roots.

Like the first breath of spring piercing winter's heart.

The sword had moved.

A ripple through the Dreaming Vale.

A memory escaping the curse laid upon steel.

The King's voice did not echo. It unfolded like a thousand leaves opening at once.

"Shinkazura."

He spoke the name with no anger. No fear. But even the petals curled inward when it left his mouth.

From the blackened roots below him, figures emerged. Shapes not quite whole Fairy Lords, bound to him by law older than life.

First came Aoshi, The Lord of Silence drifting like a shadow of silence, his masked face unreadable.

Then Miyo, The Lord of Blossoms crowned in soft pink petals that twitched with excitement.

The King did not look at them.

He did not need to.

"It has been touched," he said.

Miyo tilted her head, a bloom twitching near her ear.

"…She lives?"

The words were small, almost curious.

Lord Aoshi didn't respond immediately. His hands remained still at his side, as if listening through the air.

Finally:

"Impossible. She should have crumbled by now."

The King's eyes, if they were eyes, narrowed.

"Time does not move cleanly around the cursed."

He turned then, not physically, but cosmically. Every root across the land twisted slightly, as though trying to find the pulse again.

"Shion…"

The name fell from his many mouths with venom and memory.

"The Iron Widow. The Silent Flame. I burned her name in seven tongues. Yet she whispers again."

Miyo stepped closer to the throne, petals drifting lazily around her ankles like snow.

"She was nothing without the forger. And he's long dead."

"Nothing," Aoshi echoed flatly. "But a myth clinging to bones."

But the King… did not agree.

"She was the only one who ever got close. Even closer than him"

For a moment, the air inside the throne room thickened. The roots shivered.

"She touched the blade," the King said slowly. "And it let her live."

The implication hung in the still air like a drawn bowstring.

A silence passed. Then Miyo, almost gently:

"Should we kill her again?"

The King paused.

Then:

"No."

"Let her run. Let her rot. Let her watch."

"I will bring a fate worse than death. You should've stayed dead Shion, The Wanderer."

Petal Era, Year 153 — Takao Dojo.

The mist hung low through the cedar forest as Ren walked, the map from Shion folded tightly in his coat. The trees whispered as though they remembered this trail. Though no road had touched it in decades. Lanterns rusted into their posts. The air smelled like iron and pine needles.

He stopped when the path split.

A faint symbol was burned into a tree. A black lotus, the mark Shion had told him to look for.

He stepped off the main trail, following roots like old scars in the dirt.

And then he saw it.

A half-buried stone archway, split by time but still standing. Beyond it, the remnants of a once-sacred ground carved stones, training poles, a meditation pond now overtaken by lilyrot and moss. The Dojo stood like a giant spine, weathered but proud, draped in tattered banners bearing kanji too faded to read.

As he stepped inside the outer courtyard—

CRACK

Something slammed into him from the side, throwing him against a wall. The world blurred. His hood ripped back.

A blade hissed past his cheek.

"Name!" barked a girl's voice, sharp and furious.

He blinked, stunned, her boot was on his chest, a dagger poised at his neck.

She couldn't have been older than him.

Dark red hair tied into a braid, wild eyes like flint, a thin scar cutting across one eyebrow. Her robes were torn at the sleeves and patched with raw thread, but her grip was perfectly trained. Deadly.

"I asked for your name!"

"…Ren," he coughed. "Ren Itsuki. I came looking for the old dojo."

"No one just comes here." Her blade didn't move. "Who sent you?"

He didn't answer.

"Was it the Fairies? Are you a spy?"

He gave her a look. "Do I look like a fairy?"

She paused.

Then looked down.

"…No. That's why I didn't kill you instantly."

She stepped back, lowering the blade, but didn't sheath it. Her eyes stayed on him like fire waiting to burn.

"I'm Kasane Takao," she said at last. "Daughter of the blade master."

Ren stood, brushing himself off.

"I'm not here to fight. I'm here to find someone who can teach me."

Kasane tilted her head, skeptical. "You don't even carry a sword."

Ren's gaze darkened.

"…Not yet."

She narrowed her eyes. Something in his voice pulled at her attention, but before she could ask more, a deeper voice echoed from within the Dojo.

"Kasane. That's enough."

A man stepped through the shadows of the entrance.

Broad-shouldered, silent eyes like still water. His face was marked by years of war, and he walked with the weight of someone who had buried too many dreams.

"I am Raien Takao," he said calmly. "Son of the man your looking for."

Ren stiffened.

Raien studied him for a long moment. Then:

"…You found the sword, didn't you?"

A silence.

Then, almost too soft to hear:

A single nod.

Kasane stared between them in confusion.

Her father sighed, and nodded.

The two looked at each other, not speaking, only feeling the weight of a thousand things not yet said.

A beat.

Then:

Raien smiled.

Ren didn't.

But he did relax.

Raien gestured.

"Come inside."

Raien's fingers hovered above the faded photograph on the shrine. Not of himself. Not of his father. But of a man with sharp eyes and long, calloused hands the Forger.

He didn't look at Ren when he said:

"My father served the one who made It. He was his only apprentice. He never dared to touch the sword itself… but he saw it born. Saw the soul it burned into the metal."

Ren's voice was low.

"Then where is he?"

Raien finally turned. "He died. Lived a very long life though."

Ren blinked.

"I see."

Raien sighed. "My old man entrusted everything to me, said if I ever find a being who can wield the sword, to train them."

A pause.

"He stayed behind when the Forger left. Stayed behind when The Wanderer searched. Stayed when the world fell apart. Dad had courage but not enough to help out the world himself."

He looked to the katana resting on the shrine, a blade of the same era as Shinkazura. Perhaps a cousin in spirit, if not in strength.

"He taught me everything. Not just how to swing a blade. How to survive one."

Ren absorbed this silently.

Raien's tone hardened.

"Look.... If you came here hoping for answers, I don't have them. But I can teach you how to stand without breaking. Like he taught me."

A beat.

Kasane, watching, gave a subtle nod.

Raien stepped back.

"Now. Rest. You made a great journey, we'll begin tomorrow"

Morning broke like a blade through fog.

The courtyard of the old dojo buzzed with motion. Ren's limbs ached from the night on the hard mat, but Raien had wasted no time. He'd tossed Ren a wooden sword before sunrise and pointed at Kasane.

No instructions.

Just, "Keep up with my daughter. I'll be back later." 

Raien walks out of the training room

Now Ren's arms screamed as wood cracked against wood again and again. Kasane moved like fire, fast, hot, and precise. Every strike she delivered had weight behind it. Purpose. Fury.

Ren blocked the next hit, barely, and skidded back, boots scraping stone.

"You're slow," she said, circling.

"You're annoying!" he muttered, raising his guard.

She smirked. "You're breathing wrong. Standing wrong. Thinking wrong."

Crack.

She slipped past his guard and swept his feet out. Ren hit the ground hard, groaning.

Kasane twirled the bokken once and pointed it at his throat. "I think it's safe to say you're dead."

He squinted up at her, chest heaving. "You… train like you're trying to kill someone."

"Maybe I am."

A pause.

She reached down, offering her hand.

Reluctantly, he took it.

But as she pulled him up, his foot caught on a loose stone as he stumbled forward.

Right into her.

He froze.

So did she.

He had collided fully into her chest, arms awkwardly catching her waist. Her eyes widened as their foreheads nearly bumped. For one breathless second, they were just two teens, not warriors, not survivors standing far too close in the chill morning air.

"Uh—sorry," Ren muttered, face heating.

Kasane blinked. "You idiot."

He let go immediately, stepping back, flustered.

She turned away just as quickly, but not before he caught the flush creeping across her ears.

"…Still dead," she muttered, half under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." She spun her bokken, masking the moment with motion. "Again. And this time, try not to fall into me."

Ren grumbled, raising his sword again. But he didn't miss the tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as they circled once more.

Night had fallen.

The courtyard sat in stillness, broken only by the rhythmic chirp of insects and the soft clack of Kasane's boots as she walked toward the old water trough. Ren was already there, hunched over, sleeves rolled, scrubbing dried blood from his palm where the bokken had split skin.

She didn't speak at first.

He didn't look up.

The silence between them wasn't tense. Just… tired.

Finally, she sat on the worn bench opposite him, arms resting on her knees. Her braid was coming loose, a few strands clinging to her forehead.

"What did my father mean," she asked softly, "when he said it chose you?"

Ren frowned, wiping his hand on a rag.

"…It?"

She nodded. "The way he said it… I've only ever heard him talk like that about one thing."

Ren looked at her, eyes dim under the lantern light.

She held his gaze.

"The Ancient Weapon," she said. "Shinkazura."

The name floated between them, heavy and sharp.

Ren didn't speak.

Kasane leaned forward slightly. "You have it? But how?"

He looked away.

"I tamed it."

"How did you survive? Only two people have ever wielded the blade in over one hundred years."

He hesitated.

"I found it. Beneath the old cathedral, just like my granny said. But there was… something. Something alive sleeping next to it. Bigger than any Blossomed I've ever seen."

Kasane's voice dropped to a whisper. "And you walked away?"

"No," he said quietly. "I killed it."

She studied him. "I see."

Ren looked at his hand, the one that had been cut by splintered wood, but which still felt cold from that day.

Kasane leaned back, watching the sky.

"Shinkazura's just a myth to most. My father calls it a cursed relic. He always said if someone found it again, it would wake things that could recreate the first blossom over and over."

Ren's voice came low.

"I'll stop it. These Fairies have had control for too long."

She didn't reply.

The lantern above them flickered.

Then:

"Just promise me one thing okay?" she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"If that thing ever calls to you again…"

"…don't go alone."

Ren looked at her, uncertain. "Why?"

She stood, stretching.

And then she shrugged, turning away before he could see her face.

"Because I want to change the world too."

Ren watched Kasane's back as she walked away, her words still caught in his throat.

He stood, slowly.

"…What do you mean by that?"

His voice came quiet, cautious.

Kasane paused. Her shoulders rose, then settled, like she was deciding whether or not to answer.

Finally, she turned, only halfway.

"You're not the first person to chase a dream as crazy as that."

Ren furrowed his brow.

"I'm not chasing anything."

Her eyes found his in the dark.

"Then why do you look like someone who's sick of loss?"

That shut him up.

Kasane stepped closer, her voice low but steady now.

"When I was eight, my mother got sick. The kind of sick that doesn't come from Fairies or war, just the kind that… steals you slowly."

Ren didn't move.

"My father didn't know what to do. All he had were swords. So he did what sword-masters do. He kept working. Pretended she'd get better if he could just make something sharp enough. A technique that could cure her."

A bitter smile touched her lips.

"He didn't. And when she died… no one else would help. The city was already folding in on itself. So I buried her. By myself."

Ren swallowed hard.

No clever words came. Just silence.

Kasane looked up at the lantern.

"So yeah. That garden out back? She's under the tree. I put flowers there every spring even if nothing ever grows."

A pause.

"That's what I meant."

Ren exhaled slowly, as if letting go of something he hadn't realized he was holding.

"…I'm sorry."

Kasane shrugged. "Don't be. She gave me reason to wanna make a change."

Another beat passed between them, longer this time, heavier. The kind that made people either walk away or stay a little too long.

Ren didn't walk away.

Kasane didn't either.

Finally, she turned again.

"I'm going with you. We're gonna change this world together, Ren."

She disappeared into the hallway.

And for the first time in years…

Ren didn't feel tired from oppression

He was filled with an undying flame. That flame is called hope.