Chapter 3 Shadows of the Past

The forest was burning. Not with fire, but with silence,the kind that pressed against my chest, heavy and unrelenting. My body ached, every muscle trembling from the fight with the assassin. My arm still bled, sticky and warm beneath torn cloth. And yet... my mind wasn't in the forest. It was with my father. Flashback I was ten years old, standing on the ridge above the fields. The air smelled of wet grass and iron, the mountain winds biting against my skin. "Steady your breathing, Tokyo." My father's voice was calm, deep, and firm.

He crouched beside me, one hand resting on my shoulder, the other guiding my aim as I held a wooden bow. I squinted at the target carved into a tree trunk. My hands shook. The string felt too tight, the arrow too heavy. "You're thinking too much," he said. "Stop watching the target. Feel it." "I can't," I muttered. He chuckled softly. "You can. You're my son." The warmth of his words wrapped around me. I inhaled slowly, exhaled, and let go. The arrow soared. It struck the outer edge of the target, far from the center. I groaned, lowering the bow. But my father didn't scold me. He only nodded, his expression unreadable. "Strength without discipline is destruction," he said, his eyes narrowing on the arrow. "And discipline is built one breath at a time. Remember that." I frowned. "Why do I need to learn this anyway? You're the strong one. You can protect us." His gaze shifted, distant, as if he was staring at something beyond the mountains. "Someday, I won't be here. And when that day comes... the burden will fall to you." The words unsettled me then. Now, they clawed at my chest like a curse. Present My eyes snapped open. The forest loomed around me, dark and shifting, the memory fading like smoke. My breaths came ragged, uneven. "Father..." I whispered. The ache in my chest was worse than the wound on my arm. His words weren't just lessons. They were warnings. He had known. He had always known. And now he was gone. A twig snapped. I froze. My eyes darted to the treeline. Shadows shifted between the trees, faint but undeniable. Dozens of them. The assassin's final words rang in my head: The clans will come for you. They were here. Already. "Fan out," a voice commanded. Cold, sharp, and authoritative. The shadows spread, circling me. Blades gleamed in the faint moonlight, catching on the edges of their masks. These weren't ordinary raiders. They moved with precision, trained and silent, like wolves closing in on prey. I staggered back, my hand clutching the mark on my palm. The sigil pulsed faintly, as if aware of the danger, as if eager. The voice inside stirred again. "Yes. Let me out. Let me devour them." "No," I hissed under my breath, shaking my head. I couldn't lose myself. Not again. Flashback The image of my father appeared again different this time. I was older, I was fourteen, standing in the barn while he sharpened his machete. "You've grown stronger," he said without looking up. I grinned, flexing my arm. "I can beat anyone my age now." He paused, then turned to me, his eyes sharp. "Strength isn't measured by how many you can beat, Tokyo. It's measured by how much you can endure without breaking." I laughed. "Sounds boring." His hand gripped my shoulder, firm enough to make me wince. "One day, you'll understand." Present I understood now. Enduring wasn't about pain. It was about control. About not letting the fire consume you. But the circle of assassins tightened, and control was slipping away. The leader stepped forward. He was taller than the others, his mask etched with crimson markings that glowed faintly in the dark. His voice was calm but merciless. "Bind him. The clan wants him alive." Two assassins lunged. My body moved before I could think. I swung the rifle, smashing the butt into one man's jaw. He crumpled, teeth shattering. The second came at me with twin blades,fast, fluid. But I wasn't the same as before. The sigil flared, shadows spilling from my palm. My reflexes sharpened, my vision clear as glass. The blades seemed to move in slow motion, their arcs predictable. I ducked, drove my fist into his gut, then twisted, slamming his head into the ground. The earth cracked beneath the impact. Gasps rippled through the circle. The leader tilted his head. "So it's true. The curse chose you." His hand lifted. The assassins surged forward all at once. I fought. Gods, I fought. Every strike was faster, sharper. My body felt untouchable, my enemies movements laid bare before me. Each man who came close fell,bones breaking, masks shattering, blood spraying across the dirt. But with every blow, the voice inside me grew louder. "Yes. More. Feed me. Kill them all. Drown the earth in their blood!" I roared, slamming a man into a tree so hard the trunk split in two. Another tried to stab me I caught the blade with my bare hand. Pain flared, blood gushed, but the wound sealed almost instantly as shadows consumed the steel, twisting it to ash. The others hesitated. Fear crept into their movements. And I... I smiled. Not my smile. The spirit's smile. "Enough." The leader finally moved. He unsheathed a long blade, its surface etched with glowing crimson runes. Power radiated from it,different from mine, but just as dangerous. "This ends now," he said. He blurred forward, faster than the first assassin, faster than anything I'd seen. His blade came down with the weight of thunder. I raised my cursed hand to block And the world exploded in light and sound. When the dust cleared, I was on my knees, my palm burning, my breath ragged. The leader stood over me, his blade pressed against my throat. "You think you can control it?" he whispered. "Foolish boy. That curse doesn't belong to you. It belongs to us." The sigil on my hand flared in defiance. Shadows writhed, screaming to be unleashed. And in that moment, I realized,if I gave in, I might survive. But I might also lose myself forever.