Ray watched his students from the porch. They sat cross-legged in the clearing behind the house, far from the prying eyes of the village. Yume, Takahiro, and Kenji were perfectly still, eyes shut in deep mediation.

  “Hashi is the energy of the world,” Ray’s voice drifted over them like a calm breeze. “It is ever-present, floating free in the air. To manipulate it, you need a core—the very thing you three have finally formed.”

  A small, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of Kenji’s lips.

  “The core is your anchor. It allows you to draw in the world’s energy and bend it to your will. You are all at the first stage: the Beginner Stage.” Ray paused, his gaze sharpening. “Focus. Mastery of this stage is not about power; it is about feeling. Move the Hashi within you. Make it yours.”

  Kenji took a deep breath, reaching inward. At first, there was only silence. Then, he felt it—a subtle, creeping warmth. It felt like swallowing hot tea on a winter morning, a glow spreading from his chest to his limbs.

  But as he focused on that heat, it changed. The warmth sharpened into a jagged, searing spike that drove straight into his heart. Kenji’s eyes snapped open, his breath hitching in a gasp of pure phantom pain.

  The world rushed back. He looked up to find Yume and Takahiro staring at him with wide, worried eyes.

  “What?” Kenji panted, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He glanced up at Ray and Anna.

  When did she get here? He thought.

  Their expressions were tight, their brows furrowed with a concern that made Kenji’s stomach turn. It was only then that he noticed the sky. The brilliant blue sea of the afternoon had vanished, replaced by the bruised purples and oranges of a setting sun.

  Kenji blinked, stunned. Seven hours? It felt like seconds.

  -----------------------------

  Later that evening, after Kenji had been sent home, Ray and Anna stood alone in their room.

  “That isn't normal, Ray,” Anna said, her voice stern. “Not for a child.”

  “I know,” Ray replied. He looked older in the lamplight, the usual relaxed lines of his face hardened into a mask of unease.

  “A Master can meditate for days, but a Beginner? To lose seven hours in a total trance on his first try?” Anna shook her head. “Something is pushing him from the inside.”

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  Ray stared out the window toward the darkened forest. “It could be a unique constitution. A Special Ability awakened by the trauma.” He thought back to the previous days. Kenji’s physical output was monstrous, far exceeding a typical Beginner. He could even sense the subtle shifts in Takahiro’s Hashi during their spars.

  But there was that taint. A faint, dark oily slick in the clear water of the boy's spirit. Every day, it grew.

  “It’s not affecting him negatively yet,” Ray murmured, “but I don't like the smell of it.”

  Anna sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Take him to Yumiko. If anyone can see the shape of that shadow, it’s the Fox.”

  ----------------------------

  At the dinner table, the atmosphere was heavy.

  “You sure you’re okay, Kenji?” Takahiro asked, his voice soft.

  Kenji scratched the back of his head, feeling "off-beat" with the rest of the world. “Yeah. Just... out of it, I guess.” He looked closer at his brother. Takahiro’s handsome face was haggard. The dark circles under his emerald eyes made him look fragile, like cracked porcelain.

  “Are you okay?” Kenji countered, narrowing his eyes.

  Takahiro let out a hollow, uncomfortable laugh. “Just tired, Kenji. That’s all.”

  Kenji knew better. They shared a room; he heard the jagged gasps of Takahiro’s nightmares and the way he thrashed in his sleep.

  Yume sat quietly between them, her eyes darting from one brother to the other. Since they had returned from the castle, a wall had gone up. They were back to being "Brothers," and she felt the cold fear of being left behind in the shadows again.

  “Taka,” she panted, pouting.

  Takahiro turned to her, his expression softening instantly into that warm, protective smile. “Yes, Yume? Want to take a walk?”

  Yume beamed and nodded. As she scrambled toward the door, Takahiro gave Kenji a small, apologetic shrug. Kenji nodded back, unbothered—until a sudden, sharp prickle of annoyance flared in his chest.

  He watched them leave, his brow furrowed in confusion. Where did that come from? I’m not mad... so why does my blood feel hot?

  ---------------------

  Outside, the moon hung half-formed in the night sky. A cold wind rustled Takahiro’s golden hair as he stared blankly at the village lights.

  “Taka!” Yume called out, crossing her arms. “Are you even listening?”

  “I... no. I’m sorry, Yume.” He forced the mask of the "perfect older brother" back into place.

  “You’ve been acting weird ever since you came back,” she grumbled. “Both of you.”

  The mention of "coming back" was a trigger. Suddenly, Takahiro wasn't in the village. He was back in the throne room. He felt the sickening schlick of his blade sliding into Yellow Maw’s belly. He smelled the copper of the "blood soup."

  Bile surged up his throat. His face went pale as he clamped a hand over his mouth, his teeth grinding together to keep from retching.

  “Taka?” Yume’s voice was small, frightened.

  He couldn't hear her over the ringing in his ears. The memory was a physical weight, a ghost that clawed at his insides every time he touched a sword or heard a loud noise. He took a shuddering breath, forcing the nausea down by sheer will.

  He stood tall, smoothing his hair. “I’m fine, Yume,” he lied, his smile perfectly crafted. “Just still worn out from the fighting.”

  “O-okay, Oni-san. If you say so.”

  They continued their walk, the moonlight trailing behind them. But as Yume looked away, Takahiro’s smile vanished, leaving behind a gaze that was hollow and haunted.