The city of Kaigen, once a thriving metropolis of scholars and sorcerers, now stood as a graveyard. The streets, once bustling with life, were now silent, save for the whispers carried on the wind—whispers that seemed to come from places unseen. The skyline, dominated by massive spires of obsidian and marble, now lay fractured, their broken forms casting long shadows over the decayed ruins beneath. The once grand metropolis had been slowly consumed by time, mystery, and something far darker.
Asahi walked through the ruins, each step echoing on the cold stone. His eyes, hidden beneath the shadows of his unkempt black hair, scanned the surroundings—ruined statues of gods, fallen pillars that once held wisdom older than the world, and broken windows that might have once gazed upon the shimmering glow of a thriving city.
Above, the sky was a sickly crimson, tinged with the aftereffects of something that had long since passed—an eclipse, perhaps, or the slow death of the sun itself. The heavens were fractured too, like the city. But unlike Kaigen, the heavens had not yet given up hope.
Asahi's left hand rested on the hilt of a broken blade—a blade that had once belonged to Suzu. It was an artifact of a time long lost, forged by the ancient sorcerers of Kaigen's forgotten past. The blade was old, its edges dulled, its hilt marked by strange symbols that no one had fully deciphered. The shard embedded within Asahi's chest, pulsing faintly beneath his skin, was connected to it. But its true nature, its true power, remained a mystery, just like the city around him.
He was not alone in the world of the living. Not truly.
The shard was an anchor to a realm beyond the mortal coil, a connection to the souls of the dead. Their whispers clawed at his mind, persistent, unyielding. The souls, lost and broken, clung to the shard like moths to a flame, their voices bleeding into his thoughts, demanding release. It was a curse, a prison that had taken root deep within him.
Yet, even now, with the shard as his constant companion, there were things he didn't understand. Things that were hidden, buried deep within the fabric of the world.
The Nine Orders.
They were the hidden organizations of Kaigen, the mysterious factions that governed the flow of knowledge, power, and souls. Asahi had learned of them only through the whispers of the dead, through fragmented memories that were not his own. But he could sense them watching him—behind veils of smoke and mirrors, in shadowed corners of the world. Each Order had its own purpose, its own rituals, its own secrets. But all were tied to the shard, and none had truly revealed their intentions.
The Order of the Silver Veil, an ancient society of sorcerers, were the first to recognize the true power of the shard. They had studied it, sought to control it, to use it to manipulate the flow of time itself. But the shard resisted them, as it had resisted all who sought it. They had failed, as they always did, and their efforts had led to the ruin of the city.
Then there was The Masked Hand, a shadowy organization that dealt with the souls of the dead. They were said to be able to summon the souls of the lost, to harness their power and bind them to their will. But no one knew how far their reach extended. No one knew who they truly were, or what they truly sought.
And finally, the Wraithborn, the rogue faction that had once been part of the Silver Veil. They were said to possess forbidden knowledge, knowledge that could pierce the veil between life and death. Asahi had heard rumors that they were hunting for the shard, believing it to be the key to unlocking a terrible secret hidden within the fabric of existence itself.
The World Beyond.
It was said that the shard had been forged in a time before time itself, in an age when the gods walked among men, and the lines between the living and the dead were not as clear as they were now. The gods, too, had been caught in the web of fate, bound by rules they could not break. They had long since disappeared, leaving behind only traces of their power. But Asahi felt their presence in the air, in the way the shard pulsed within him. The gods were still there, watching, waiting.
"You're the one, aren't you?" The voice pulled him from his thoughts, sharp and cutting through the silence like a blade.
Asahi turned, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the broken sword, his heart quickening. Standing in the shadows of a crumbling archway was a woman, cloaked in black, her silver eyes glinting faintly in the darkness.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice low, tinged with suspicion.
The woman didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stepped forward, her eyes scanning him with an unsettling precision. Her aura was familiar—one of someone who had seen the world's darkest corners and still walked in its light.
"Your curse has a name," she said, her voice echoing in the eerie silence. "And the world, as you know it, is but a veil hiding the truth."
Asahi's grip tightened on the blade, the weight of her words sinking into his chest. He had heard rumors of a woman like this—one who wandered the ruins, gathering knowledge of things that should remain unknown.
"You're... from the Orders?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Her lips curled into a faint smile. "I'm not from any Order," she replied. "But I know of them. I know what they seek. And I know what you are."
He narrowed his eyes. "What am I?"
"A warden," she said softly. "A warden of the dead, chosen by the shard. You carry their memories, their anguish. You walk between two worlds. And you will never be free until the souls within are set free."
Asahi took a step back, his mind spinning. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing," she replied, her smile vanishing. "I want you to understand. The world you live in is not the world it once was. It has been reshaped by forces you cannot comprehend, and the shard you carry is the key to unlocking everything—the past, the future, the gods, and the death that lies beyond."
Asahi felt his pulse quicken. "I don't understand. What am I supposed to do?"
"You'll figure that out soon enough," she said. "But know this—there are others who seek the shard. Others who will stop at nothing to use it for their own ends."
As she turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark recesses of the ruined city, Asahi's thoughts swirled in confusion and dread. The shard. The lost souls. The Orders. The secrets of the dead. It was all too much.
But one thing was clear: he was not alone in this. The journey ahead would be fraught with danger, and the path he walked would lead him deeper into the heart of darkness, where the dead spoke louder than the living.
And the truth of the shard was waiting to be uncovered.