The train’s whistle sliced through the morning haze, a sharp cry that echoed across Tsukihara’s eternal twilight. Raiyo Kisaragi stood at the village’s edge, his small pack heavy on his shoulder, the scent of damp earth and charred wood clinging to the air—a bitter reminder of the Voidborn’s wrath. His dual-colored eyes—one a deep blue like a twilight sky, the other a violet that seemed to hold the stars—traced the horizon, where iron tracks stretched into a world he’d only heard of in whispers.

  Saya’s hands trembled as she adjusted the scarf around his neck, her touch a fragile warmth against the chill. Her dark hair framed a face etched with worry, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall. “You’ll write, won’t you?” she murmured, her voice a threadbare whisper, as if speaking louder might unravel her entirely.

  “Every week, Mom,” Raiyo said, his throat tight, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I promise.” The weight of leaving her—of leaving the only home he’d ever known—pressed against his ribs, a quiet ache that refused to fade.

  Saya pressed a small leather pouch into his hands, her fingers lingering as if she could hold him there a moment longer. “This was your father’s,” she said, her voice breaking on the edges. “A letter… for you. He wrote it in case… in case he didn’t come back. I couldn’t give it to you until now.”

  Raiyo’s breath hitched, his fingers brushing the worn leather. A letter from Renji—the man who’d faced the Sokān, wielded a Sōsei Jinken, and paid for it with his life? He wanted to tear it open, to devour his father’s words, but Saya’s trembling hands stopped him. He tucked it into his pack, the promise of its secrets a quiet fire in his chest.

  Shigure’s heavy steps broke the silence, his bandages peeking from beneath his cloak as he approached. The Sword Saint’s face was a mask of stern lines, but his eyes held a rare softness, like dawn breaking through a storm. “Don’t let those city brats look down on you,” he growled, his hand clapping Raiyo’s shoulder with a force that made him wince. “You’ve got something they don’t—guts. Use it, kid.”

  Raiyo nodded, Shigure’s words sparking a flicker of resolve in his chest. “I’ll make you proud, Uncle.”

  “You’d better,” Shigure said, a smirk tugging at his lips, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of worry. “And don’t die. I’d hate to have to train another brat.”

  The train’s whistle sounded again, impatient, and Raiyo pulled Saya into a final embrace, her warmth searing into his memory like a brand. He boarded, the carriage rattling beneath him as it pulled away. Through the smudged window, he watched Tsukihara fade, Saya’s figure shrinking until she was a mere silhouette against the twilight, her scarf fluttering like a flag of farewell. His violet eye pulsed, a storm of fear and determination swirling within him. I’ll protect them. No matter what.

  The world beyond Tsukihara unfurled like a tapestry Raiyo had never dared to imagine. Golden fields stretched toward the horizon, rivers glinted like molten silver, and then, abruptly, the city swallowed the landscape whole. Kyoden rose in towering spires of glass and steel, their surfaces catching the midday sun in blinding flashes. Trains crisscrossed above on elevated tracks, their hum a constant drone, while cars sped below, sleek and alien compared to the wooden carts of his village. Raiyo pressed his face to the window, his breath fogging the glass, his mismatched eyes wide with a mixture of awe and unease.

  A man in a nearby seat chuckled, his voice rough over the train’s rumble. “First time in Kyoden, kid?” He adjusted a glowing bracer on his wrist—a Jinken-powered device that pulsed with faint light, its hum a quiet menace. “You’ll get used to it. Or you won’t.”

  Raiyo didn’t answer, but the man’s words lingered like a shadow. Kyoden was a world apart from Tsukihara—loud, fast, and unyielding, a place where Jinken wasn’t just a power but a currency, a status. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, equal parts thrill and dread.

  The train screeched to a halt at Kyoden Station, and Raiyo stepped onto the platform, the air thick with the tang of oil and metal. The station was a cacophony—vendors hawking steamed buns, children weaving through the crowd, students in crisp uniforms with Jinken weapons gleaming at their sides. Raiyo adjusted his pack, feeling small in his worn cloak, his dull steel sword a humble companion compared to the polished blades around him.

  He followed the signs to Kyoden Academy, his steps quickening as the spires loomed into view. The academy was a fortress of white stone, its towers piercing the sky, each capped with a crystal that pulsed with Jinken energy, casting an ethereal glow. Statues of legendary users flanked the gates, their stone gazes heavy with judgment, as if daring him to prove his worth. A banner above the entrance rippled in the breeze: “Strength Through Soul.” Raiyo’s heart pounded, a drumbeat of hope and fear. This was where he’d become strong enough to face the Voidborn, to honor his father’s sacrifice.

  But as he joined the crowd of applicants, whispers trailed him like smoke. “Look at his clothes—where’s he from, some backwater?” “That sword’s pathetic. No Jinken glow at all.” Raiyo’s jaw clenched, Shigure’s words a lifeline in his mind: Don’t let them look down on you. He straightened, his dual eyes flashing with defiance, and stepped through the gates, the weight of their stares a challenge he refused to bow to.

  The admission test unfolded in the academy’s central arena, a vast dome with a glass ceiling that let sunlight pour in, painting the stone floor in shifting patterns. Hundreds of applicants filled the space, their Jinken weapons a dazzling array—sleek spears, fiery whips, blades that shimmered like liquid starlight. Raiyo felt like a shadow among them, his Gekkō Jinken a mere flicker compared to their brilliance, but he held his ground, his father’s letter a silent promise in his pack.

  The examiner, a tall woman with a scar slicing across her cheek, stood on a raised platform, her presence commanding silence. “I’m Instructor Kael,” she announced, her voice a blade cutting through the murmurs. “Welcome to Kyoden. You’ll face three tests: Control, Power, and Strategy. Pass, and you’re in. Fail, and you’re out. Begin!”

  The Control Test paired applicants, each tasked with channeling Jinken into a crystal orb without shattering it. Raiyo faced a boy with a fiery whip, the heat rolling off him in waves, making Raiyo’s skin prickle with sweat before they even began. He closed his eyes, reaching for the golden light of his Gekkō, picturing Saya’s pendant, Shigure’s steady voice. The light flickered to life, a faint glow with violet shadows lurking at its edges, like whispers of a storm. The orb hummed, glowing softly, but the violet surged, a crack spiderwebbing across the crystal’s surface. The boy smirked, his whip igniting the orb in a perfect blaze, the light steady and unyielding. “Better luck next time, village boy,” he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

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  Raiyo’s hands shook, the examiner’s voice cutting through the haze: “Passable, but sloppy. Next!”

  The Power Test took them to a field lined with reinforced dummies, each applicant tasked with destroying one in a single strike. The boy with the whip stepped forward, his weapon flaring like a small sun, and shattered his dummy in a burst of flame, earning cheers from the crowd. Raiyo swallowed hard, stepping up, his grip tight on his sword. Gekkō flared, the golden light cracking along the blade, violet shadows dancing at its edges. He swung, the strike a desperate arc, and the dummy shuddered, a crack splitting its surface—but it held. Laughter rippled through the crowd, the boy’s voice rising above it: “Go back to your cows, bumpkin!”

  Raiyo’s violet eye flashed, rage coiling in his chest like a living thing, but Shigure’s words anchored him: Willpower, not strength. He stepped back, head high, ignoring the jeers, his gaze locked on the horizon. The examiner’s eyes lingered on him, her expression unreadable, but she said nothing.

  The Strategy Test plunged them into a maze beneath the arena, a labyrinth of Jinken-forged illusions—shadowy beasts, shifting walls, false exits. “Find the core and destroy it,” Kael instructed, her voice a cold command. “Ten minutes.”

  Raiyo entered, the air icy against his skin, shadows lunging from the darkness. A wolf-like illusion snapped at his heels, its growl echoing, but his dual eyes saw through it—the blue eye caught the shimmer of its form, the violet sensed its energy, a faint pulse that betrayed its falseness. It’s not real. He moved forward, dodging traps, his mind sharpening with each step, the world narrowing to the maze’s rhythm. The walls whispered, their voices a chorus of doubt—“Weak… unworthy…”—but Raiyo pushed on, his dual vision a beacon in the chaos, seeing through each illusion with a clarity that felt almost alive.

  He reached the core—a pulsing crystal guarded by an illusory serpent, its scales glinting like shattered glass. His Gekkō flared, the golden light steady, the violet shadows controlled, a balance he hadn’t felt before. One strike, and the crystal shattered, the maze dissolving around him like mist. He emerged, chest heaving, as the timer hit zero. The crowd fell silent, Kael’s gaze sharp as a blade. “Impressive,” she said, her voice carrying a weight that made Raiyo’s heart soar. “You pass.”

  The boy with the whip glared, his jaw tight, but Raiyo didn’t care. He’d made it. Relief and pride surged through him, a quiet fire, but the whispers of the maze lingered, a shadow in his mind, as if something—or someone—had been watching.

  Exhausted, Raiyo sank onto the arena steps, the other applicants a blur of polished uniforms and confident laughter around him. He felt like an outsider, their world of privilege a stark contrast to his worn cloak and quiet resolve. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up, his breath catching at the sight of a girl with blonde hair, a small charm pinned to her uniform—a star with a crack running through it, glinting in the sunlight. Her smile was warm, her green eyes soft, and her presence felt like a ray of sunlight piercing a storm.

  “You’re the one who saw through the maze, right?” she asked, her voice light but laced with curiosity, as if she’d been waiting to find him. “I’m Aika, Class A. That was amazing.”

  Raiyo blinked, caught off guard by her kindness, a stark contrast to the jeers he’d faced. “Uh… thanks,” he managed, his voice rough from disuse. “I’m Raiyo. From Tsukihara.”

  Aika sat beside him, her movements easy, as if they’d known each other for years. “Tsukihara? That’s far. You must be starving after all that.” She pulled a small box from her bag, offering him a rice ball, its surface glistening with a faint sheen of salt. “Here. You’ll need your strength.”

  Raiyo hesitated, the gesture so simple yet so unexpected, a warmth spreading through him like the first light of dawn. He took the rice ball, their fingers brushing for a moment, and they ate in companionable silence, the arena’s noise fading into the background. “Why’d you join Kyoden?” Aika asked, her tone gentle, her eyes searching his with a sincerity that made his chest ache.

  Raiyo’s grip tightened on the rice ball, Renji’s face flashing in his mind, the Voidborn’s scars etched into his memory. “To get stronger,” he said, his voice low, the words heavy with purpose. “Voidborn… they took my father. I won’t let them take anyone else.”

  Aika’s smile softened, her fingers brushing the charm on her uniform, a quiet sadness flickering in her eyes. “I understand,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “My family… they’re gone too. Voidborn. This charm was my sister’s. I want to protect what’s left—my new family here.” She looked at him, her gaze bright with resolve. “Strength isn’t just power, Raiyo. It’s heart. You’ve got that.”

  Raiyo’s throat tightened, her words echoing the letter he hadn’t yet read, a connection he couldn’t name but felt deep in his bones. For the first time since leaving Tsukihara, he didn’t feel alone. “Thanks, Aika,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “I’ll remember that.”

  She grinned, standing with a lightness that made the air around her glow. “Good. Now let’s get you settled. You’re one of us now.”

  That night, in the dorm—a sparse room with a single bed and a window overlooking Kyoden’s glowing spires—Raiyo sat cross-legged on the floor, the leather pouch in his hands. The city’s hum was a distant lullaby, the academy quiet save for the occasional creak of settling stone. He opened the pouch, pulling out Renji’s letter, the paper worn but heavy with intent. His father’s handwriting was sharp, each stroke a testament to the man he’d been.

  Raiyo,

  If you’re reading this, I’m gone. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to guide you. Your Jinken is unique—born of light and shadow, like your eyes. It’s a gift, but a dangerous one. Power without purpose is a blade without a wielder. Find your purpose, son. Protect what matters. And beware the Sokān—it sees more than we do.

  Your father, Renji

  Raiyo’s hands trembled, the words searing into his soul like a brand. Purpose. The Sokān. His father’s faith in him was both a comfort and a burden, a call to rise above the fear that gnawed at him. He clutched the letter, vowing to find his purpose, to honor Renji’s legacy. Outside, a shooting star streaked across the sky, its light shifting from golden to violet, mirroring the colors of his Jinken. A voice whispered in his mind, soft but chilling, as if the stars themselves were speaking: “The stars are watching, Raiyo.”

  He froze, his heart slamming against his ribs, and stumbled to the window. The city glowed below, a constellation of lights, but a shadow caught his eye—a cloaked figure on the rooftop opposite, violet eyes glowing like twin stars, mirroring his own. The figure turned, dropping something that glinted as it fell, then vanished into the night, as if they’d never been.

  Raiyo bolted from his room, his bare feet pounding down the stairs, the night air biting his skin as he burst into the courtyard. On the ground lay a pendant, identical to Saya’s star—but this one was split, half golden, half violet, the engraving pulsing with a faint Jinken energy that made his violet eye flare in response. He picked it up, the metal cold against his palm, its weight a promise of answers—and danger.

  “Who are you?” he whispered, the city silent around him, the pendant’s glow fading like a dying star. Raiyo’s grip tightened, his resolve hardening, a fire igniting in his chest. Kyoden was just the beginning, and whatever secrets this pendant held, he’d uncover them—no matter the cost.

  To be continued…