The dawn bathed the cabin's interior with a soft, warm glow. Outside, the dew still clung to the leaves of the trees, and the wind whispered through the pines of the Minagumo Valley. But inside the old wooden house, a tense silence reigned.
Jiro sat facing his grandfather, Kamimizu, and beside him, the young prodigy Shinji, whose mere presence was enough to disturb Jiro's thoughts. It was strange for him… too strange.
Shinji, the boy who had defeated him years ago with insulting ease, was now there, calm, sitting as if nothing had happened, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on him.
Since that day of defeat, Shinji had been cold, distant, as if Jiro were nothing more than background noise. To Jiro, that memory was a thorn in his soul.
Since then, he had trained in silence, harshly, with fury… all to one day surpass him. And now? Shinji had saved him. Shinji had brought him home.
The old Kamimizu, a man with a stern expression and firm voice, watched him with a furrowed brow. At over seventy years old, the elder carried the weight of battles Jiro would never know.
His face, wrinkled like the bark of an old tree, still held an intensity that would make even the youngest soldiers tremble.
For Kamimizu, hardening Jiro's heart was a duty… because deep down, he only wanted his grandson to survive in a world that had never been kind.
—What have I told you about Minagumo Hill, Jiro? —the old man's voice cracked like a whip— I've told you again and again! That place is cursed. Cursed!
—B-but Grandpa… that's not what matters now, you have to listen to me, please...
—We're tired of you, Jiro! —the old man shouted, slamming his staff against the floor— You're impulsive, stubborn! And now, in trouble again!
Shinji remained silent, watching with a calm that was almost unsettling.
—Grandpa, please! —Jiro shouted in anger— Can you stop for just one second!?
Kamimizu stood up abruptly, his hand raised in warning.
—Don't raise your voice at me, boy!
Jiro lowered his gaze, hurt, fists clenched.
—Can't you just listen to what I have to say...? —he whispered, voice cracking.
Between them lay the crimson spear, its red glow soft yet undeniable, like an open wound in the air. Shinji, with a measured gesture, glanced toward it and then spoke:
—Master Kamimizu —he said in a calm tone— I think you should listen to Jiro. What he experienced doesn't seem ordinary. That spear… do you really think it's normal to find it there, on those hills, with a boy fighting an unknown entity? There are more important things than his impulsiveness.
Shinji's words, though calm, carried a weight that could not be ignored. The old Kamimizu slowly lowered his hand, breathing heavily. For the first time in years, his hardened demeanor wavered.
—You're right… Shinji —the old man said with difficulty, his voice now softer, more human— I let anger get the better of me. I… I'm being too shallow.
He sat down slowly, letting out a sigh.
—Alright, Jiro… speak.
Jiro swallowed hard and nodded. He sat in front of them, and for a moment, stared at the spear in silence. His heartbeat still echoed in his chest like a sacred drum. He took a deep breath and said:
—As you can see… this is the Spear of Raizen Tenkuma.
The words fell like lightning.
Kamimizu's eyes widened in shock.
—What are you saying? Are you serious, Jiro?
—Calm down, Mr. Hachimizu —Shinji intervened— Let him speak.
Jiro continued.
—I faced a masked spirit named Jin, and he revealed things… things I can't ignore. It all started with Dad's pendant. It led me there, to the hill. It showed me… visions, fragments of something much greater.
The boy lifted the crescent-shaped pendant. Its light pulsed as if responding to his voice.
—That spirit spoke of the fissures. He said they're not natural phenomena, but doors opened by the will of the "Spirit Lord." A god that dwells in a realm beyond all worlds. He… absorbs energy and essence from our world, and has been doing so for eons. And now, we only have three years before everything shatters.
—Three years...? —Shinji whispered.
—Yes… —Jiro nodded seriously— The spear chose me. I know it. Raizen Tenkuma… must be dead.
A deep silence fell over them.
—And now, what are we going to do? —Kamimizu said— We can't access that realm without a talisman. And you, Jiro! You shouldn't be involved in something so dangerous!
Jiro stood up, furious, his gaze burning.
—But I have to! If not, this world will be destroyed! You, Mom, everyone I love… will die!
He began to pace, his frustration evident. He raised the pendant and stared at it with intensity.
—There's another reason too… Dad. He's still alive. Somewhere out there… I know it. This pendant is one of two. He has the other half. And every time I'm near this spear, the pendant reacts. It's… resonating. It's sending me a message.
—I'm really sorry.
Jiro looked up. His eyes sparkled with restrained emotion.
—I won't stand idly by. Not after all this.
Grandfather Kamimizu remained silent for several seconds. He looked at him with a mix of pride and fear. He knew what this meant. He knew that, just like the ancient warriors, his grandson had been marked by destiny.
—But Jiro... —said Grandpa Kamimizu with a trembling voice, barely holding himself up on his wooden chair as the fireplace flickered—. The problem is that you too... you're still just a child.
His voice broke. Not from weakness, but from love. From fear. From the weight of a lifetime of losses that still refused to heal.
—All of this... what's happening —he continued in a softer, almost pleading tone—. It's all too sudden. It would be too much for you to carry.
Shinji looked at him in surprise from the corner, leaning against the wall. In all his years alongside Jiro, he had never seen old Kamimizu so... human. So vulnerable. That elder with the commanding voice, mythical wisdom, and eyes sharp as spears now seemed like any man… one with a broken heart.
—Besides —said Kamimizu, raising his gaze toward his grandson—, being a dimensional traveler is incredibly dangerous... You could regret it, you could suffer, you could lose… you could even die, Jiro... do you understand?
Jiro didn't reply. He kept his eyes fixed on the table, on the crimson spear, unmoving, unblinking. But something in his pupils trembled.
Shinji watched the scene with a knot in his throat. It was the first time he saw Kamimizu like this. A man showing his pain with tears unspilled, begging without shouting, breaking without falling apart. In silence, Shinji thought: Maybe those who appear the strongest... are the ones most torn inside.
Kamimizu stood slowly, the weight of the years etched in his steps. He walked to the center of the room, breathing with difficulty. His voice turned into a whisper that carried a thousand memories.
—Jiro... what will happen to your mother? To all of us who love you? —His voice cracked—. I live in constant fear of losing you. You're my grandson... I don't want you to end up like your father.
The old man turned around, his eyes now glistening.
—Do you know how much I've suffered, Jiro? When your father disappeared… when I saw your mother sink into depression night after night... when I had to bring offerings to an empty grave... of a body I never saw. Of a son who never returned...
The old man's voice faded. The entire room became a sanctuary of silence. Only the crackling fire responded.
Jiro, with his hands clenched into fists, lifted his head and whispered:
—Grandpa... I didn't know you felt that way... But I have no choice... I'm sorry...
He walked to the table and fixed his gaze on the spear. The reflection in the weapon returned a look that was no longer his, but of someone greater, more resolute, more wounded.
—I'm leaving... in three days.
The air froze. And then, Grandpa Kamimizu dropped to his knees.
His whole body trembled, his shoulders shaking, as if his soul was slowly slipping away. Real tears, at last, rolled down his time-worn face. Shinji could barely hold himself together, watching the scene without stepping in. He felt like an intruder in a grief he didn't fully understand.
The next day...
Jiro was in the forest. Alone. His silhouette stood out among the trees as sunlight barely slipped through the branches. The crimson spear shimmered in his hands with a pale glow, dormant, as if waiting for blood and fate.
—I need to prepare —Jiro muttered, panting—. To defeat that Spirit Lord... and find my father. All of this... I have to do it. Saving my world is my priority...
The forest responded in its mute language. Only the sound of steel cutting through the air broke the natural balance. Among the trees, Jiro remembered the scene from that day...
Memory
In front of Rayjou Tamashi's house, a dark shadow awaited him.
—What are you doing here? —said Rayjou's sister, her imposing figure blocking the door—. Yesterday Rayjou came home unconscious and beaten. Every time you're around, something bad happens to him.
The girl, intimidatingly beautiful, tall, her black kimono waving in the wind, held his gaze with coldness.
—Please... let this be the last time you come here. For his sake... and yours.
And she slammed the door in his face.
Jiro froze. He said nothing. His breathing was heavy. Deep down... he knew she was right. He... only brought trouble. A shadow that stained the light of others. What's the point of being a hero... if everything you touch ends up hurt?
Present
Jiro gripped his chest with contained rage.
—Well... it was good while it lasted.
He tightened his belt. Then, in the next instant, he gripped the spear with determination.
—But I can't afford to back down because of this.
A tree fell with a clean cut. Then another. And another. His entire body moved like a whirlwind through the wind, as if dancing with destiny itself.
Sweat ran down his back, his breathing grew heavy, but his gaze was steady. It was as if he had accepted the role the world had given him, even if it hurt. Even if it destroyed him inside.
High atop a tree, Shinji watched him. Unseen. Silent. But he understood him... more than he could express.
Then, he vanished among the branches, without a trace.
Later, in the village...
Jiro walked through the streets, the spear tied to his back. Everyone stared at him. Children, elders, merchants… All with curious eyes, intrigued. Not because of him... but because of what he carried: a spear red as blood, unusual, perfect.
And though he walked with firm steps, with the posture of someone who had chosen his destiny, deep inside… something in him felt good. He felt that finally, someone saw him... even if it was because of a strange object.
And then, he thought something.
—This spear... can open and close fissures. Its power is immense... destructive. —He stopped—. I wouldn't want to hurt anyone with this...
Night
The night sky stretched out like a living painting. Three radiant moons ruled the darkness, and the stars, in countless colors, wove constellations from another world.
Jiro slept. In silence. Holding the spear as if it were the only bond he had left with something beyond pain. The futon barely moved with his breathing. He seemed at peace. But inside... he still dreamed of future battles.
Somewhere else...
Far away, among destroyed hills and fields reduced to ashes, a sound emerged. Throbbing. Like a heartbeat... but bigger, more alive. The Shiketsu... had grown. Its size now surpassed that of a man.
And suddenly... an eye opened at its center.
One that shouldn't exist.
One... that had just awakened.