The autumn wind whispered through the towering trees of the Akebono Forest, rustling golden leaves that danced like flames in the fading light. The sun, low on the horizon, cast long shadows that stretched like phantoms across the earth. Amidst this scenery, a lone figure stood—a man draped in black and gold, as if he himself was born from the season of dying leaves.
Kiryuu Renji.
His black kimono, woven with golden maple leaves, swayed with the breeze, each thread a remnant of a past long lost. His hair, dark as midnight, fell messily over his sharp gaze—one eye a deep onyx, the other marked by a faint scar tracing down his cheek. A single golden tassel hung from the hilt of his katana, swaying gently as his fingers rested upon it. His presence was both haunting and regal, as if he carried the weight of a dynasty on his shoulders.
He exhaled, his breath mingling with the crisp autumn air.
"Another step closer," he murmured, his voice a quiet echo amidst the whispering trees.
For ten years, he had walked this path—one of blood, vengeance, and memories too painful to forget. The world had long since branded him as a Ghost of the Fallen, yet the fire in his chest refused to be extinguished. His Kenmei, the essence of his soul, pulsed faintly within his blade. Hagane no Kōgetsu, the Steel Moonblade, a weapon that had tasted the throats of countless enemies yet still hungered for one final reckoning.
Then—
A sudden movement.
Renji's gaze flickered to the side as figures emerged from the golden-lit forest. Five men, clad in dark armor adorned with the Oboro Shogunate's insignia—a crimson sun eclipsed by a black crescent. Bandits? No. Their stance was disciplined, their eyes sharp with purpose.
"That blade of yours," the leader, a burly man with a jagged scar across his mouth, sneered. "The Shogun has placed a bounty on your head, Shadow of the Fallen. Hand it over, and we may grant you a swift death."
Renji tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. His fingers traced the hilt of his katana, feeling the weight of countless past battles.
"A bounty, huh?" His lips curled into a wry smirk. "And here I thought I was merely a ghost."
The wind picked up, scattering leaves into the air. In that instant, Renji moved.
His blade flashed like a falling star.
The first enemy barely had time to react before a thin red line appeared across his throat. Silence. Then, blood sprayed like crimson petals, painting the golden forest in hues of dusk.
The remaining men tensed, their Kenryoku flaring. One lunged forward, his blade igniting with Akatsuki-tier fire. Renji, unshaken, sidestepped effortlessly, his movements as fluid as the drifting leaves. A flick of his wrist—another body fell, lifeless before it hit the ground.
The leader snarled, eyes wide with fury. "You—!"
But before he could finish, Renji's golden-threaded sleeve billowed as he turned, his katana shearing through the air. A single, final stroke—clean, decisive. The leader's head tumbled, his body crumpling to the earth.
Silence returned. Only the rustling leaves bore witness to the fleeting carnage.
Renji flicked his blade once, letting the blood drip onto the ground before sheathing it with a quiet shhkt. His expression remained distant, unreadable, yet his heart pulsed with something deeper.
The path to vengeance was long, and this was but another step.
He turned, walking into the golden-lit dusk, the whispers of autumn carrying his name.
Kiryuu Renji, the man who walks in dusk.
And soon, all of Hinokagetsu would remember it.