"A sword is not just a weapon. It is a promise, a burden, a history written in steel."
The fire burned low.
Ren had drifted into sleep, her breathing slow and steady. Rei hadn't moved.
He sat by the dying flames, eyes unfocused, his thoughts lost in the past.
Aya's presence still lingered. Even now.
He could almost hear her voice.
"You said you wouldn't leave me behind."
He clenched his fists.
It was time.
Time to stop running. Time to reclaim what was his.
Time to retrieve the blade he had abandoned.
The blade that had chosen him.
They set out at dawn.
The forest had thinned as they traveled further north, the trees giving way to jagged cliffs and mist-covered valleys. The land here was old—untouched by war, untouched by time.
Rei could feel it.
That presence from before, the one that had been calling him ever since the battle with the Abyssborn. It was getting stronger.
The sword was close.
He hadn't been here in years, but his body still remembered the way.
The shrine had been hidden, sealed away in the depths of the mountains—a forgotten place, untouched by both the Dominion and the Abyss.
At least, that was how it was supposed to be.
But as they reached the final ridge, as the ruined shrine came into view, Rei felt his breath hitch.
Something was wrong.
The shrine was not abandoned.
It had already been found.
The courtyard was littered with signs of recent activity.
Footsteps in the dirt. Faint embers of a fire long extinguished. The scent of something foreign, unfamiliar—Sin, but not the kind Rei recognized.
And in the center of the courtyard—
They were waiting.
Three figures.
Cloaked, standing in a loose formation. Not Exorcists. Not Abyssborn.
Something else entirely.
Rei stilled.
Ren exhaled sharply, her hand already resting on the hilt of her sword.
"Friends of yours?" she muttered.
"No," Rei said quietly.
"Good," Ren murmured, "because they look like trouble."
The tallest of the three figures stepped forward, lowering his hood.
A man—lean, sharp, his features too composed, too calm. His eyes gleamed like polished obsidian, his dark robes embroidered with faint, silver inscriptions.
Rei recognized those markings.
Not from the Dominion. Not from the Abyss.
From the Third Path.
A group that wasn't supposed to exist anymore.
The Veilwalkers.
A faction of exiles, warriors who had rejected both Divine Oaths and Sin Covenants, choosing instead to forge their own path.
Ren tensed beside him.
"You know them?"
Rei's jaw tightened.
"I know of them."
The man studied Rei for a long moment.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"You took too long, Rei Aozora."
Rei's breath stilled.
Because this man—this stranger—knew his name.
And worse than that?
He said it like he had been expecting him.
Ren shifted her stance slightly, eyes sharp.
"You sure you don't know them?" she muttered.
Rei's mind raced.
The Veilwalkers were a myth. A rumor. A group that wasn't supposed to be real.
But if they were here… if they had been waiting for him…
Then this was bigger than just a sword.
This was about something else.
Something he didn't understand yet.
The man stepped forward again, his gaze locked onto Rei.
"You abandoned your blade," he said. "You thought you could walk away from it. But a weapon like that does not sleep forever."
He gestured toward the shrine doors.
The doors that had once been sealed shut.
Now? They were open.
And inside—something was waiting.
"You are not the only one who seeks the blade," the man continued.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
"If you want it back, you will have to prove you are still worthy."
Rei exhaled slowly.
He didn't have a choice.
He stepped forward.
And the shrine swallowed him whole.
The air inside the shrine was heavy. Thick.
Dark sigils lined the walls, their faded glow pulsing like veins beneath the stone. The scent of old steel and burning incense clung to the air.
And at the center—
There it was.
The sword.
Sealed in a pillar of blackened stone, the hilt protruding just enough to be grasped.
Rei's heart pounded.
It looked exactly as he remembered.
A katana—long, curved, forged from a metal darker than night. The hilt wrapped in worn, crimson cloth. A blade that had seen too much blood.
His blade.
Muramasa.
But as he stepped closer, the air around him shifted.
Shadows stretched unnaturally.
A whisper curled through the chamber, not in his ears, but in his mind.
"You abandoned me."
Rei froze.
Because that voice—
It wasn't the sword.
It wasn't a god.
It wasn't a demon.
It was Aya.
The chamber darkened.
The world around him warped, shadows twisting into something more than just shapes.
Figures began to form—half-seen, half-felt.
Familiar faces.
Familiar voices.
The dead.
Aya stood before him, not as a ghost, not as a memory.
As something else entirely.
"You left me behind," she whispered.
Rei's breath caught.
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be real.
But her eyes—they were the same as the day she died.
Filled with something he could never fix.
"Pick up the sword," Aya said.
The chamber pulsed. The weight of the blade pulled at him, calling him forward.
Rei stepped closer, his fingers hovering over the hilt.
But as he did—Aya smiled.
And in that moment, he knew.
This wasn't just a test.
This was a warning.
Because if he picked up this blade again—
There would be no turning back.