The sky was on fire.

Haru Kurogane stumbled forward, his legs trembling as embers drifted through the ruined village like falling stars. The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning wood, the once-lively streets now reduced to ash and corpses.

The screams had already faded.

His hands shook at his sides. His sword—no, the wooden training blade he had clung to like a fool—lay broken at his feet.

His people were dead.

And it was because of him.

"Run, Haru!"

His mother's voice still echoed in his mind. He could still feel her grip on his wrist, the desperate shove that had sent him stumbling through the back alleys, away from the slaughter.

He clenched his fists. His nails dug into his palms.

The Bloodforged Warlords had come for something. No—someone.

Him.

---

Hours Earlier

"Tonight, we forge a blade that will never break!"

The village chief's voice thundered through the small training hall, his words as sharp as the steel he carried. The young Ronin-in-training stood in a tight circle, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows across the cold stone floor.

Haru knelt among them, his heart pounding against his ribs.

He was the smallest. The weakest. The only one who had never awakened his Bloodflame.

"Kurogane Haru," the chief called, his gaze piercing through him like a blade.

Haru swallowed hard and stepped forward. He could feel the sneers of the other boys, the whispers barely hidden behind smirks.

"The flame-less heir."

"A Ronin without fire is just a body waiting to fall."

He ignored them. He had no choice.

"Draw your blade," the chief commanded.

Haru obeyed. His grip tightened around the wooden practice sword, his knuckles white. He had trained for years, studying the movements, mimicking the others. This time will be different.

This time, when he swung, he would feel it.

The heat.

The fire.

He exhaled sharply. Focus. He adjusted his stance and—

A blur.

Before he could even swing, the chief's foot struck his chest.

A dull crack rang through the hall as Haru crashed onto the stone floor. His ribs screamed in protest, but the pain wasn't what hurt the most.

The laughter of his peers cut deeper than any wound.

"That is enough." The chief turned away. "You are dismissed, Kurogane."

Haru didn't move. His body trembled, not from pain, but from something darker.

"Why?" His voice cracked.

The chief looked back, his face unreadable.

"Because a sword with no fire… is just dead metal."

And that was the last lesson Haru ever received.

---

The Invasion

Midnight.

Haru woke to the scent of smoke. Then—

Screams.

He threw off his blanket and ran to the window.

The Bloodforged Warlords had come.

Their banners, black and crimson, loomed over the burning rooftops. Shadows danced across the village as armored warriors tore through the streets, blades glinting in the firelight.

A cold terror gripped him.

A hand grabbed his wrist.

"Haru!" His mother's voice was urgent, her eyes filled with something he had never seen before—fear. "You have to run!"

"But—!"

The walls shook.

The door exploded inward, shards of wood slicing through the air. A towering figure stepped into the room, his obsidian armor drinking in the firelight. His crimson eyes locked onto Haru.

"The last Kurogane," the warlord murmured. His voice was deep, hollow. "The boy with no flame."

Haru couldn't breathe.

The warlord moved faster than thought—his blade whispered through the air.

His mother shoved him aside.

A flash of silver. A spray of red.

She fell.

Haru's scream never left his throat.

He didn't remember running.

Only the fire.

Only the blood.

---

Haru didn't stop until his legs collapsed beneath him.

He fell forward, his hands sinking into the cold mud.

His body shook. His breath came in ragged gasps. His vision blurred.

"They're all dead."

The words cut deeper than any sword.

Weak. Helpless. Worthless.

Haru Kurogane, last of his village, had nothing left.

And then… he felt it.

A warmth.

No, not warmth—fire.

A voice, ancient and hollow, whispered in his mind:

"Will you die here… or will you forge yourself anew?"

His vision blurred red. His blood burned. His bones felt like molten steel.

A roaring inferno surged through him, igniting veins that had once been lifeless. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, but his body no longer trembled in fear.

And for the first time in his life—

Haru Kurogane burned.

His body, once cold and frail, now pulsed with raw energy. His blood was molten, his bones forged anew. The pain that had gripped him moments ago was nothing compared to the fire raging within him.

He staggered to his feet, the weight of this new power pressing down on him. His breath was heavy, steam rising from his lips.

Then—footsteps.

Haru's head snapped up. Shadows shifted between the trees ahead. The scent of iron filled the air. He wasn't alone.

"He fled into the forest."

A deep voice.

"The boy with no flame. He dies here."

Three warriors emerged from the darkness, clad in the same obsidian armor as the warlord who had slain his mother. Their blades dripped crimson.

Haru's chest tightened. He had never fought a real battle. He had never even won a sparring match.

And yet, the fire inside him demanded war.

The first warrior lunged.

Move!

Haru's body responded before his mind could. His feet barely skimmed the ground as he dodged the blade by a hair's breadth.

The warrior's eyes widened.

Haru hadn't just moved—he had vanished from sight for a split second.

The fire roared louder. His veins pulsed with heat. Something had awakened inside him.

The second warrior swung.

Haru twisted, the blade missing him by inches. Before the attacker could recover, his own hand moved on instinct. His palm struck the warrior's chest—

BOOM!

The impact sent the armored man flying. His body crashed into a tree with a sickening crunch.

Haru froze.

What was that?!

His hand trembled, wisps of red-hot energy trailing from his fingertips.

The third warrior hesitated, his grip tightening on his sword. "Tch. So the boy did have something hidden in him."

The first warrior—still standing—snarled. "Then we finish him before it grows stronger!"

They charged together.

Haru's pulse thundered in his ears. He barely had time to think, but his body moved like it had always known what to do.

A sidestep. A twist. A burst of speed that sent his vision blurring.

His instincts screamed—Counter!

He turned, his hand slashing outward—except this time, fire followed.

A streak of crimson energy sliced through the air.

The warriors barely had time to react. The first one dodged, but the second took the full force of the attack—his armor melted against his chest before he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Haru stumbled, his breathing ragged. Too much energy. He wasn't used to this power. His muscles ached, but he forced himself to remain standing.

The last remaining warrior hesitated. His expression, once filled with confidence, now held uncertainty.

Then—

"Enough."

A voice colder than steel cut through the clearing.

The warrior immediately stepped back, lowering his blade.

Haru's breath hitched as a tall figure stepped into the moonlight.

The Obsidian Warlord.

The man who had slaughtered his village.

His crimson eyes glowed in the darkness as he surveyed Haru with quiet amusement.

"So, the dead steel finally catches fire," the warlord mused. His voice carried no urgency, no anger. Only cold certainty.

Haru's fists clenched. The fire in his veins screamed for vengeance, but his body was already exhausted.

The warlord tilted his head. "Interesting. A flame that ignites in death. That is no ordinary Bloodflame." His gaze darkened. "But you are not ready."

Haru barely had time to react.

The warlord moved—too fast, faster than anything Haru had ever seen.

A fist slammed into Haru's stomach.

Crack.

Haru's vision exploded into white-hot pain as he felt himself lifted off the ground, his ribs shattering under the sheer force of the blow. He hit the earth hard, gasping for air.

His body wouldn't move. His arms, his legs—nothing responded.

The warlord loomed over him, sword in hand.

"This is where your story should have ended," he said.

The blade rose—

A blinding flash.

A roar of white fire.

And then—darkness.

---

Haru awoke to the sound of water dripping.

His body ached, his head throbbed. His limbs felt like lead.

Slowly, his vision cleared. He was inside a small, dimly lit cave. Torches flickered along the walls, casting shadows over a small stone altar in the center.

He tried to sit up—pain lanced through his ribs.

"You're lucky to be alive."

A voice. Calm, steady, yet ancient.

Haru turned his head.

A figure sat nearby, cross-legged. A man, cloaked in deep red robes, his face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

Haru struggled to find his voice. "Who…?"

The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gestured toward Haru's hands.

Haru followed his gaze—and his breath caught.

His hands were marked.

Thin, glowing red lines ran along his fingers, his palms, his wrists—like veins of molten steel.

"The Bloodflame of Kurogane has finally awakened," the stranger said. "But what you did back there… that was not ordinary fire."

Haru swallowed. "What… was it?"

The man studied him for a long moment before answering.

"A power that has not been seen in centuries."

Haru's heart pounded. He had always been the weakest, the outcast. Now, suddenly, he was something else—something dangerous.

His fingers curled into fists.

The warlord had destroyed everything. His mother. His village. His people.

And now… he had a power the warlord feared.

Haru met the stranger's gaze, his voice steady despite the pain.

"Teach me."

The man smiled. "Rest first. The path ahead is long… but if you are willing to walk it, you may yet become the blade that never breaks."

Haru exhaled slowly, the fire within him still smoldering.

The night the skies burned was over.

But his true battle had only just begun.