The laughter from the grand hall had faded into the night.Plates scraped clean. Sake cups emptied. Even Doma had grown quiet.
Now, only the hum of cicadas remained —and the sky, painted in deep indigo, watched in silence.
Outside, Alone
He stood at the edge of the compound —beyond the torii gate, where the gravel met the grass, where the land fell away into forest.
The Slayer, unmasked still, helmet resting at his hip.A pale moon hovered above him.
He looked upward.
Peace.
So rare. So distant.
But in its calm...He saw another sky.
Burning.
Ash-choked winds. Towers split open like veins.Demons pouring from the torn womb of Earth.People screaming. Fire licking the bones of cities.
He blinked.
Stillness returned.
But then—a whisper. Inside his mind. No—beneath it.
Familiar. Cold.A voice etched into his soul since the day he first picked up the blade.
Voice (deep, ancient, thunderous):
"They are rage…""Cruel… and brutal…""But you…""You will be worse."
"Rip and tear…""Until it is done."
And then it appeared.
In his mind's eye —blazing red, carved into the abyss behind his eyelids:
The Rune.His mark.
It spun, slowly.Turning like the wheels of fate.Burning like a sun beneath the surface of his being.
The ground beneath his boots vibrated — just slightly.The wind stopped.The trees did not move.
His grip tightened on his helmet.
He closed his eyes.
He would never forget.He could not.
He was here in this world —But that war was not over.
A footstep behind him.
Kagaya (softly):"You see fire, don't you?"
The Slayer didn't turn.
Kagaya:"Even when the world is calm… you still stand in ash."
Still, no reply.
Kagaya (quiet smile):"That is why you will win. Because you remember."
The Slayer finally spoke — voice low.
Slayer:"It's never done."
And he turned, slowly, placing the helmet back on.
A green glow shimmered for an instant behind the visor.