Chapter Twenty-Two:

  “Twin Fangs”

  John woke to the soft, rhythmic pulse of light filtering through the paper walls of The Drifting Lantern. The barrier still shimmered overhead, fractured and flickering, its glow cutting thin lines across the wooden floorboards. Outside, the cannon fire had fallen into a grim rhythm. Distant. Predictable. Like waves lapping a dying shore.

  He sat up slowly, his back stiff, arms sore. The room was warm, but not quiet. Haru’s tail flicked in sleep. Kei murmured once and rolled over. Akira sat upright by the wall, his eyes closed but alert.

  The past few days felt like a blur. The village, the Hall of Whispers, the stories passed around fires. Yumi.

  John rubbed his eyes, then stood.

  He stepped out onto the small balcony connected to his room. The sea breeze met him instantly—salted air, damp wood, and the faint trace of smoke. Below, Pearl Bay stretched toward the cliffs, half-shadowed in morning light.

  Across the way, on a parallel balcony, Elder Warabi sat sipping from a bowl of broth. She wore no armor, no insignia, only a shawl tucked neatly over one shoulder. Her golden eyes met his with the calm of someone who’d already accepted the day.

  "Sleep well?" she asked.

  John leaned against the railing. "Yeah... for the first time in a while."

  Warabi smiled faintly. "Then you're one of us now."

  He followed her gaze down into the village. A merchant tightening cords on a tarp. A blacksmith hammering red-hot metal. A soldier standing guard near the edge of the docks, eyes scanning the horizon. None of them looked up at the sky.

  "They don’t even notice it anymore," John murmured.

  "They do," she said, setting her bowl aside. "They’ve just learned to live without showing it. That’s what survival looks like, after the fear settles."

  John looked toward the cliffs. The path to the cove twisted downward there, a narrow thread leading into the mist. He thought of the legend—of the warrior who fell, and the blades he left behind.

  Behind him, the door creaked.

  Akira stepped out, giving a small nod. “You ready to go chase ghosts through a cursed cove?”

  John smirked. “As I'll ever be, I guess.”

  RW padded out onto the balcony. She let out a big yawn, her eyes narrowed against the wind. "Ugh. Who allowed morning to happen?"

  They stood side by side, silent for a beat.

  John glanced sideways. "RW’s barely keeping her flame lit. You’d think a walking torch wouldn’t be so bad at mornings."

  Akira finally spoke. “Ghosts or not, I’m ready. Let’s go see what’s waiting down there.”

  John nodded.

  Another presence joined them. Haru, ears twitching as he yawned. "You two getting ready to leave before breakfast?"

  “Wouldn't dream of it,” Akira said.

  “Then let's eat,” Kei called from inside. “We’ve got a cove to reach.”

  Elder Warabi rose from her seat. “The path will test you." Her eyes passed over Akira, down to his katana and tanto. "But if the blades accept you, they will change everything.”

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  Akira met her eyes. “Then let’s find out.”

  The path to the cove wound along the cliffs, slick with sea spray and half-choked in mist. It was narrow, carved from the mountain. Each step brought them closer to the water, and whatever waited beneath it.

  John kept near the front, eyes sharp. Akira followed just behind, calm as ever. RW walked low beside him, her flame flickering dimly in the fog. Haru and Kei flanked the rear, ears twitching with every distant splash.

  No one spoke.

  Pearl Bay was still visible behind them, but only just. The barrier hung high in the sky now, its light bleeding steadily as if the heavens themselves were unraveling. And ahead, the cove waited.

  They didn’t bring much. Just the essentials: a few potions, a couple Phoenix Feathers, and the will to survive.

  The first attack came fast.

  Still pools along the path erupted in a blur of thrashing light. Pale abyssal eels, veined with pulsing blue and fangs already dripping venom, burst from the water like living darts.

  “Left!” RW snapped.

  John ducked as one shot past his face. Another latched onto his arm, and pain bloomed instantly. His breath caught. The poison hit like fire under his skin, raw and spreading.

  "Antidote!" RW barked.

  He didn’t hesitate. He dropped to one knee, dug through his pack, and pulled out the antidote. The bitterness of it hit hard, grounding him. The burn eased, but the fight had just begun.

  Akira moved silent and precise, his blade cutting arcs through the fog. Haru and Kei worked in fluid tandem, twin flashes of motion darting between eel strikes. RW pulsed with urgency, her voice cutting through the chaos.

  John pushed forward, his Moonlit Echoes glowing faintly as foxfire gathered around the edge. He struck once—twice—the flames eating through sinew and scale. The final eel shrieked before it dissolved into glowing mist.

  They regrouped, panting.

  “That,” John muttered, wiping blood from his arm, “was not normal wildlife.”

  “They never are,” Akira said. “And that wasn’t the real fight.”

  They pressed forward.

  The cove opened before them, a wide basin carved into the cliffs, filled with still black water. The air smelled of salt and something old, like wet stone and forgotten places.

  The second guardian came without sound.

  A massive shape burst from the water, a crab-like beast with hooked claws. Its black soulless eyes gleamed with hunger. It slammed into the rock with a crack that shook the basin.

  “Go for its joints!” RW shouted.

  “Yum, I love crab,” Haru muttered, sprinting in.

  The beast struck back hard. Its claw caught Haru mid-dash and sent him sprawling.

  John’s arms moved before thought. Blue fire flared across his hands and surged outward, forming a wall between Haru and the next strike. The impact hit the shield and scattered in a flare of light.

  RW blinked. “New trick?”

  John stared at his hands. “Guess so.”

  Akira and Kei struck from either side, targeting the legs. With each hit, cracks spread across its shell. John charged forward, blades low. The foxfire pulsed once—then again.

  He drove the blades up under the creature’s body. It shrieked. Its limbs thrashed once, twice, then collapsed.

  They barely had time to breathe.

  The water behind them churned.

  A low growl rumbled up from the depths.

  The serpent rose.

  It unfurled from the deep like a creature born of nightmares—long, scaled, eyes glowing like molten gold. Its mouth opened and hissed, spraying venom in a wide arc.

  “Final trial,” Akira muttered.

  They scattered. RW called out targets. John dove, slid, rolled. A tail whipped through the air and slammed into his chest, throwing him against the stone.

  He gasped. Every breath burned.

  He fumbled for a vial. Drank. Relief flooded through him, but his limbs still felt like lead. The serpent turned again, fangs bared.

  John gritted his teeth.

  He thought of Akira. Of RW. Of Rai and Yumi.

  He moved.

  Flames danced across his blade, a new kind of fire. He didn’t think. He struck.

  Again. Again.

  His sword carved through scale, fury and poison.

  The serpent shrieked.

  It crashed backward, its form unraveling into ash and light.

  Silence followed. Not peace. Just... the pause after.

  At the far end of the cove, resting in a hollow of black stone, lay two blades—one long, one short. The Broken Fangs.

  Akira reached them first. He stared at the weapons for a long moment, saying nothing. His hands didn’t move.

  John stepped closer. "You’re not taking them?"

  Akira shook his head. “My sensei gave me the blades I carry now. Her hands forged them. Her spirit lives in them. I’ll never give them up. These... these aren’t meant for me.”

  He stepped aside.

  John looked at the swords. "But I just bought mine."

  RW’s tail flicked. “Return policy’s a nightmare. Go, claim them for your own.”

  John stepped forward. The air pushed back, heavy and hot. A wall, unseen but unyielding. Like the weapons themselves were waiting for something more than touch.

  He pushed harder.

  Memories surged—of Yumi, of the family he'd found here. His boots scraped stone. His hands burned. And still, he moved forward.

  His fingers wrapped around both hilts.

  Heat surged beneath his skin. The tanto expanded, lengthening to match its sibling. The rough edges melted away, becoming razor sharp. Blue flames coiled around the blades, not consuming but remaking. The runes etched into the steel burned clean and new.

  The cavern groaned, stone and air shifting to bear witness.

  The Broken Fangs were gone.

  The Twin Fangs had awakened.