The rhythmic beat of wings echoed through the air, a melody both calming and eternal. The white bird glided through the heavens with divine grace, a solitary messenger of fate. Its feathers, radiant as starlight, shimmered even against the gray backdrop of the endless skies. Its eyes, ancient and vast, carried the weight of centuries.
This bird was no ordinary creature. It did not belong to the realm of men or beasts. It was a timeless witness, an unseen observer of the world's rise and fall.
Beneath it stretched a vast and untamed land. Mountains draped in a shroud of mist seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the earth itself. There, colossal figures from another age clashed in a titanic battle. Their massive forms emerged from the fog like shadowed nightmares, their thunderous blows shaking the ground and sending shards of stone into the air. They were relics of a bygone era, reminders of a time when men were as insignificant as ants in the presence of giants.
The bird did not linger. It soared higher, undisturbed by the chaos below.
As it reached the endless expanse of a blackened sea, it slowed, as if observing more closely. This ocean, vast and lifeless, seemed to devour light, a bottomless abyss that refused to reflect the heavens above. Below, an immense dragon of water thrashed against a relentless tide. A swarm of grotesque bats, creatures of an alien horror, descended upon the mighty beast, their shrill cries echoing across the waves. The dragon's roars of defiance were drowned out by the screeches of its attackers. It fought valiantly, but the swarm was unrelenting. With a final, heart-wrenching cry, the dragon sank into the dark waters, its majesty lost forever.
"This world is cruel," the bird thought. "But there is beauty even in its cruelty. Everything that rises must one day fall, and everything that falls will one day rise again."
The bird continued its journey. It passed over ancient forests, scorched deserts where firestorms raged, and radiant cities of gold where men dreamed of immortality. At last, it reached the Land of Lightning, a realm where the earth trembled with raw energy and the sky growled even on cloudless days.
But it was not the lightning that drew the bird's attention. It was the North, the domain of the Hojo Clan.
There, in the wild and frigid expanse of the North, lay a sacred yet cursed place: the Valley of Destiny. The bird descended gracefully, landing upon a colossal statue—or rather, its shattered remains. The statue's features were worn and broken, its body scarred by time. Yet even in ruin, it radiated an aura of power. This was Kagami Hojo, the legendary patriarch of the clan.
"Kagami Hojo," the bird murmured, folding its wings. "A man who defied the heavens and paid the price for his arrogance. He sought to master lightning itself, and found his end in the Infinite Abyss."
The bird's voice grew softer, tinged with melancholy.
"And now, his clan bears his burden. The Hojo, masters of lightning and wielders of the Eyes of Insight. Feared. Respected. Hated. Their power is both a blessing and a curse. And today, their future is more uncertain than ever."
The bird grew still, as if listening to a distant heartbeat. It could feel it in the air—something was about to change.
Masaru Hojo knelt in the snow, his breath heavy, forming clouds in the freezing air. His fingers, raw and bloodied, gripped the broken remnants of a wooden sword.
Before him loomed a colossal tree, its ancient trunk blackened with age and its gnarled branches reaching skyward like claws. The tree stood silent and unyielding, a sentinel to countless generations. Masaru had been here for hours, striking the tree with every ounce of strength he could muster. The scars across its bark told the story of his relentless effort.
His legs trembled, but he didn't stop. He raised what remained of the sword and struck again. The impact sent a sharp pain through his arms, but he ignored it.
"Again," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. "Again."
The wind howled through the valley, stinging his face and cutting through his thin clothing. Yet Masaru remained rooted in place. His fists clenched tighter around the splintered hilt of the sword as he swung once more, this time with his bare hands. The pain was blinding, but it was nothing compared to the ache that burned within him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and the wind carried him back to a memory he could never forget.
He saw his older brother, Izumi Hojo, standing tall and proud, his piercing gaze filled with disdain. Izumi was everything Masaru wanted to be—strong, respected, and confident. But on that day, Izumi had looked at him with nothing but contempt.
"Why do you even bother?" Izumi's voice had been cold, his words sharp as blades.
Masaru had been on his knees in the dirt, gasping for breath after a failed training session. He looked up at his brother, his heart pounding. "Because I want to be strong."
Izumi had laughed, the sound cutting deeper than any wound. "Strong? You? You'll never be strong, Masaru." He crouched, staring into Masaru's eyes. "You're weak. A disgrace to the Hojo name. Every time I look at you, I wonder how you can share our blood."
Masaru's fists had clenched, his nails digging into his palms. But before he could speak, Izumi stood and turned his back.
"Give up, little brother. You're wasting everyone's time."
Masaru opened his eyes, the memory fading like a shadow in the snow. His chest tightened, but his gaze remained steady.
"I'll prove you wrong," he whispered. His voice, though quiet, was filled with an unyielding fire. "One day, I'll show you. I'll show everyone."
The wooden hilt slipped from his hand, and he took a step back. The tree, scarred but unmoving, seemed to mock him. Yet as he stared at it, a flicker of determination burned brighter in his heart.
He raised his hand and struck the tree once more, his blood staining its bark. The impact sent a jolt through his body, but he gritted his teeth and struck again.
The snow fell heavier now, blanketing the valley in silence. The wind swirled around him, carrying the scent of frost and lightning. Masaru stood there, defying the cold, the pain, and the doubt that lingered in his mind.
"I may be weak today," he said, his breath steadying, "but tomorrow, I'll be stronger. And the day after that, stronger still."
Above him, the tree's dark branches swayed faintly in the wind, as though acknowledging his vow.
Masaru Hojo would not stop. He would not surrender.
And deep within the Valley of Destiny, his battle continued.