The blazing sun hovered like a merciless god over the desert edge of the kingdom of Linka. Xzavier, starved and sun-scorched, stumbled through the thickening brush beyond the jungle's perimeter. After nearly a month at sea with only brackish water and the burning sting of memories to keep him company, the jungles of Linka had given him temporary shelter, but now his feet dragged him toward civilization—or whatever this unfamiliar land held.
A faint trail opened ahead, lined with worn stones and crude signs marked in a language only partly familiar to him. Eventually, the wilderness gave way to smoke trails and wooden homes surrounded by farmland and crude, metallic outposts. He had found a town.
The sign overhead read: "Ryokara"—a trade town nestled on Linka's southeastern shore.
As he trudged past the first cluster of buildings, eyes turned. A group of uniformed men and women approached him, clad in deep blue vests trimmed with white, metallic gauntlets and visors concealing half their faces. Law enforcers of Linka.
"Stop right there," one barked. "Identify yourself. Who are you and what's your business in Ryokara?"
Xzavier stood tall despite his fatigue. "My name is Xzavier. I come from a nation called Akira, but it's fallen—taken over by a monster named Gimori Aku no. I had no choice but to flee. I've been at sea for weeks."
The officers glanced at one another, brows raised. One whispered, "Akira? That's one of the forbidden zones."
"By order of the Council of Linka," the commander announced, "you are under arrest for illegal entry and potential threat status. You will be taken in for evaluation and possible deportation."
Before Xzavier could react, energy restraints slammed around his wrists. He tried to summon the Thunder Blade, but his body was too weak, his aura too drained. They threw a black sack over his head and shoved him into the back of a vehicle.
—
The enforcer encampment outside Ryokara was nothing like Xzavier had ever seen. Reinforced walls, gun-turrets manned by sharpshooters, and mechanical guards patrolled every inch. Inside, technology hummed—Linka was far more advanced than Akira. They pushed him through corridors lit with sterile blue light until they reached a dark chamber.
There stood Shoei Kazamura, the Elite Enforcer.
He was unlike the others—taller, broader, clad in a black armored coat etched with silver marks, and a long scar down the left side of his jaw. His eyes were steely silver, glowing faintly beneath his visor, and his white hair was tied into a high, military knot. He had an aura of silent command.
"Leave us," Shoei said to the others. The door hissed closed behind him.
He sat across from Xzavier at a metal table. "So… you're from Akira."
Xzavier nodded. "It was peaceful… before he came. Gimori Aku no—the Devil's son. He destroyed my town. Hypnotized them all with the Super Aku no Eye… he's enslaving the entire continent."
Shoei raised an eyebrow. "We've heard whispers of a spreading corruption in the East, but we assumed it was propaganda. You're saying it's real?"
Xzavier nodded solemnly. "I had two blades. He stole one… the Shadow Blade. But he doesn't know I still carry the Thunder Blade—my true weapon. I'm also one of the last Sacreds… maybe the only one left."
Shoei stared at him in stunned silence for a long moment. The air hung heavy.
"No one here knows of Thunder Blades. Sacred? That's not a term in our world. But if what you say is true…" he stood, walking toward a wall screen, then pressed a few buttons. Images flickered—reports of attacks, villages raided, strange robed beings with shadowy auras tearing through Linkan patrols.
"Bandits… we called them at first. But they weren't normal. Some of them hypnotized soldiers. Others used blade techniques we've never seen. I've now come to believe Gimori has already started invading Linka… quietly."
He turned, gaze sharp as a dagger.
"You're strong. You've survived what no one should've. You have a weapon no one understands. And you're hated by the very monster that's trying to take over our world. I think we can use you."
Shoei walked over to a steel cabinet and pulled out a folded navy-blue uniform, trimmed with dark gray and marked with the insignia of Linka's enforcement corps—a sword piercing through a thundercloud.
He slammed it on the table before Xzavier.
"You want to survive? You want revenge? Join us. We need power like yours, and you need sanctuary. But make no mistake…"
He leaned in, voice a low growl: "Either you wear that uniform, or you get deported back to… what's it called again? Akira? Yes, Akira. Let's see how long you last there with your monster friend hunting you."
Xzavier's eyes narrowed. His fists clenched. His glare met Shoei's smirk with fire.
Then, with a swift motion, he grabbed the uniform.
Shoei's smirk widened into a grin. "Welcome to the front lines."
—
Later that night, in a steel barracks on the edge of the Ryokara base, Xzavier stared into the moonlight. He now had a bed, food, and a uniform. But more than that—he had a mission.
This wasn't just survival anymore. It was war.