Rain fell in heavy sheets, washing the blood from Kairo’s blade as he stood over the bodies of the mercenaries. The silence after battle was never peaceful—it was haunted. He sheathed his sword slowly, his body aching from the brutal skirmish, but his mind sharper than ever. He turned to Ayame, who crouched beside one of the fallen men, inspecting a black insignia burned into his gauntlet. "The Mark of the Hollow Circle," she muttered, her voice low. "They were trained assassins. Someone sent them." Kairo nodded grimly. “They weren’t random attackers. Someone knows I’m alive. And worse—they’re hunting me.” The road ahead was no longer just about vengeance—it had become a war of survival. They made camp under a craggy overhang, firelight flickering against the damp rock. The world beyond the flames felt distant, as if wrapped in shadow and fog. Ayame passed Kairo a flask of bitter herbal medicine. He took it without complaint, the burn in his throat dull compared to the chaos withi

The storm had passed, but its memory lingered. The dawn over the Howling Spires was a ghostly grey. Snow had covered the bloodstains and fallen bodies, turning the aftermath of war into something deceptively quiet—almost serene. Kairo stood at the edge of the shattered spire, staring down into the chasm where the Blood Regent had fallen. The wind no longer howled with fury but whispered like an old friend bidding farewell. “It’s over,” he muttered. But was it? Behind him, Ayame sat against the wall, her side bandaged, face pale but determined. She had refused to rest, eyes alert, fingers twitching around the hilt of her blade. “You look like you just buried the gods,” she said, her voice cracking the silence. Kairo turned. A rare, tired smile crossed his lips. “I might’ve.” Ayame gave a soft snort. “If you buried that bastard, I’d say you did us all a favour.” He walked toward her, knelt down, and helped adjust the wrappings on her wound. The blood had slowed, but it would be

The flicker of the fire cast elongated shadows on the stone walls of the mountain hideout. Ayame sat near the entrance, her back resting against the cold rock, her katana laid across her knees like a quiet promise. The silence was heavy, pierced only by the occasional crackle of burning wood and the distant cry of night creatures.Kairo stood inside, his cloak draped over his broad shoulders, watching the flames with a gaze that was both hollow and burning. The firelight danced across his scarred face, but it was the wounds beneath that Ayame saw most clearly now.They had escaped the ambush in the valley, barely. Kairo had taken a blade to the shoulder, and Ayame still winced at the memory of his blood soaking her palms. She had fought beside him, bled beside him, and now sat in the aftermath—wondering if they were any closer to peace or just more tightly bound to the chains of vengeance.“You’re quiet,” Kairo said, his voice low and rough.Ayame didn’t look at him. “So are you.”He

The trek to Serpent River took longer than expected. The once-clear paths were now overgrown and rugged, nature reclaiming what had been untouched for years. The forest was no longer welcoming—it whispered of dangers that watched from the shadows. Kairo and Ayame travelled in silence, their movements calculated, their senses sharp. They spoke only when necessary, not just to conserve energy but because the silence felt sacred—an acknowledgment of what they had lost and what lay ahead.Their wounds from the last battle had begun to heal, but the ache of betrayal and grief lingered beneath the surface. Riku’s death haunted their steps like a silent phantom. Ayame had said little since, but Kairo saw the fury in her eyes, the quiet promise of vengeance she made with every step she took beside him.The sun was dipping below the horizon when they finally reached the outskirts of Serpent River. The village nestled quietly between jagged cliffs and ancient trees, with modest wooden homes rai

The night smelled of iron and fire.The southern slope of the mountain roared with the thunder of charging hooves. Red Viper banners flared in the torchlight, carried by a swarm of mercenaries in crimson armor—faces hidden behind grotesque masks, blades gleaming with malice.Kairo stood at the entrance of the cavern with Ayame, Maeko, Rei, and the newly reawakened Silent Blade. He could feel the pulse of old memories in his veins. This was no longer about vengeance—it was about survival, legacy, and reclaiming what had been stolen.Rei crouched near the rocks, scanning the enemy’s formation. “At least thirty. Maybe more. They’re not here to intimidate—they’re here to end us.”Kairo nodded grimly. “Then we give them the opposite.”The warriors of the Silent Blade slipped into position, shadows among the stones and brush. Though few in number, they had something their enemies didn’t—discipline, stealth, and the fire of the fallen burning in their chests.Ayame unsheathed her daggers, tw