"A sword is only as strong as the hands that wield it. But some swords... choose their own masters."
The chamber was silent.
Rei stood before the blade, his fingers hovering over the hilt wrapped in crimson cloth.
The air around him felt wrong—thick, heavy, pressing down on his shoulders like an unseen weight. The whispers hadn't stopped. They curled through his mind like smoke, twisting into something deeper, something older.
"Pick up the sword, Rei."
Aya's voice. Soft. Familiar. Dead.
He exhaled slowly.
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be real.
But the feeling in his chest—the weight of her gaze on him—felt real enough.
His crimson eyes flickered toward her.
She stood just beyond the sword, a perfect image of the girl he had sworn to protect.
Small. Thin. Dark hair falling over her shoulders.
But her eyes—they weren't hers.
Not anymore.
There was something wrong in them.
Something waiting. Watching.
Rei clenched his fists.
This wasn't Aya.
This was the blade testing him.
Muramasa.
A sword forged not by human hands, but by something deeper—something that had existed long before the Holy Dominion, long before the Sin Covenants.
A blade that had passed through countless wielders, each leaving a piece of themselves behind.
Some had become legends.
Some had become nightmares.
But none had ever walked away unchanged.
And now, it was his turn.
Again.
Rei's heart pounded.
The sword was waiting.
Testing. Judging.
Would he reach for it?
Would he claim it again?
Would he let himself become the warrior he had once been?
A weapon for war.
A blade that would never be clean.
A soul that would never be whole.
His fingers twitched.
He didn't want to do this.
Didn't want to hold that blade again, didn't want to feel its weight in his hands, didn't want to become the person he had been when he last wielded it.
But deep down, he knew.
This wasn't a choice.
He had come all this way. The past had led him here.
And if he turned back now, he wouldn't just be leaving the blade behind.
He would be running from himself.
Again.
Rei inhaled slowly.
Then, finally—he stepped forward.
His fingers wrapped around the hilt.
And the world shattered.
The moment his fingers tightened, a pulse of power surged through his body.
The chamber darkened, shadows stretching across the stone walls. The air grew colder—not the kind of cold that touched skin, but the kind that sank into bone.
His grip trembled.
It was heavier than he remembered.
Not just in weight—but in presence.
The blade wasn't just steel.
It was hungry.
"Do you remember, Rei?"
The whisper came again, curling around his thoughts.
This time, it wasn't Aya's voice.
It was his own.
A memory—deep, buried, clawing its way to the surface.
The first time he had held this blade.
The first time he had killed with it.
The first time he had realized—
"This sword does not just cut. It devours."
His breath hitched.
The cloth wrapping around the hilt felt warmer now, slick beneath his fingers.
He knew why.
Because this sword had tasted too much blood.
It had been forged to kill.
It had been reforged with each life it took.
And when wielded by someone like him—
It would never stop.
The weight of the sword settled into his palm.
A perfect fit.
Too perfect.
Like it had been waiting for him.
Like it had always known he would return.
Rei exhaled, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
Then—slowly, carefully—he lifted the blade.
The crimson cloth unraveled slightly, revealing the black steel beneath.
It didn't shine like normal swords.
It didn't reflect light.
It absorbed it.
A blade made of something more than metal.
Something old. Something unnatural.
Rei ran his thumb along the flat of the blade, feeling the faint, unseen pulse beneath the steel.
This sword was alive.
Not in the way a living creature was.
But in the way that something cursed refuses to die.
He exhaled.
Then, finally, he whispered its name.
"Muramasa."
The sword hummed in response.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
But he felt it.
A quiet acknowledgment.
A promise.
He had reclaimed the blade.
But in doing so—he had accepted the cost.
Again.
The Return to Reality
The chamber shifted.
The shadows pulled back.
The whispers faded.
Rei blinked.
He was standing exactly where he had been before.
The shrine was the same. The air was still.
But the blade in his hand was real.
No longer sealed.
No longer waiting.
It was his again.
Ren's voice cut through the silence.
"You took long enough."
Rei turned.
She was standing at the entrance, arms crossed, her gaze flickering to the sword.
She studied it for a long moment—longer than she should have.
Then, finally, she sighed.
"That thing is dangerous," she muttered.
Rei didn't deny it.
Didn't argue.
Because she was right.
He could feel it.
The power. The weight. The hunger.
The blade had returned to his hands.
And now?
It would never leave him again.