The fire crackled softly beneath the heavy silence of the night. The village lay still, a blanket of peace laid over it by the dark sky. The trio—Hayato, Minamoto, and Yue—sat around the embers, their faces illuminated in the flickering light. Yue leaned against a stone pillar, resting with her bow close at hand. Minamoto was sharpening her blade with the focus of someone who had lived through too many battles to be distracted by anything. Hayato, however, was lost in thought, staring into the fire like it could tell him the answers he sought.
And then—the sound of dragging footsteps.
They all turned as the silhouette of an old man appeared from the shadows. He looked like the earth itself had decided to take human form. His robe was tattered, his face worn by time and the weight of things unseen. His staff scraped against the cobblestones like it, too, had seen too many miles.
"You're not from here," Minamoto said, her hand tightening on the hilt of her katana, ready for anything.
The old man's mouth twitched, almost smiling, as he lowered himself beside their fire, his weathered eyes gleaming under the dim glow. "A wanderer, I suppose. But I've learned enough about this world to understand when a flame burns brighter than its surroundings."
Without waiting for an invitation, he sat. The fire crackled as if recognizing his presence.
"The Sword of Souls"
The old man's gaze flickered to Hayato's katana, lying across his lap. A silent tension hummed in the air. The blade seemed to pulse, alive, though its wielder remained silent.
"That sword," the old man began slowly, "has a long history, boy. And a darker purpose than you'll ever know until you learn its true name." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of centuries.
Hayato's hand instinctively tightened around the hilt, but the old man raised his hand, as though to calm him.
"It's called Muramasa," the old man continued. "Not because it burns with fire—but because it holds souls within it. Souls of those who died violently, trapped in its edge, waiting for the right moment to awaken."
The fire crackled as if to confirm the words, its embers bursting in small flashes of crimson.
"Muramasa doesn't just cut through flesh—it cuts through existence itself. It holds the power to consume the essence of its victim, storing their souls within its blade, building strength… with each life it takes."
"A Weapon with No Master"
Hayato stared at the blade. The hilt felt cold beneath his fingers, but he didn't dare speak.
"But there's something more to this sword," the old man added, his voice lowering even further. "A curse, perhaps. Or a blessing. You see, demons—like the ones you hunt—don't have souls. They are born from the dark void between worlds, from chaos, void of life and purity. And that is why you have yet to unlock the true potential of your sword."
He paused, watching Hayato closely. Minamoto's eyes narrowed, but she didn't speak.
"Without a soul to capture, your sword is a weapon of potential—but not yet of power. It can never grow stronger until you face a true enemy with a soul to steal. And perhaps that is the curse of this blade—it demands the suffering of others, and the more souls it traps, the more it awakens its full power."
"Albedo, The Forgotten"
Minamoto shifted, finally breaking her silence. "So… what does this sword have to do with Albedo?"
The old man's eyes hardened. "Ah, Albedo. You've heard of her?"
She nodded. "I've heard whispers… of an angel cast down from the heavens. What's her story?"
The old man sighed, leaning closer to the fire as if he could draw warmth from it, though his gaze was far away.
"Albedo was once a beacon of light. An angel who guided the lost, healed the sick, and brought peace to the warring kingdoms. She was known as the light that could never fade. But she fell. Not because of a weakness in her spirit—but because of a love too powerful to deny."
His eyes flickered with something—sadness, regret, perhaps.
"She fell in love with a demon. A demon who defied his very nature. His name was Azazel, and he was born to lead the demon armies into the human realms. He was powerful, yes. But his soul—he longed for redemption. He believed there could be peace between demons and humans."
"Albedo loved him despite the council's warnings. She believed in him. And when the celestial court found out, they tore her wings from her back and cast her down to the mortal realms."
"The Wandering Angel"
The old man's voice trembled with the weight of his own memories.
"Her wings—her very essence—were severed. She was no longer the radiant being of light, but a fallen soul searching for the one she loved. Without wings, without grace, without purpose. She wanders between worlds now, lost to time."
The fire seemed to grow colder as the words sank in.
"Some say she still seeks Azazel… that her tears can turn demons into dust. But she's not the same. She's no longer an angel—she's something else. Something that has forgotten her past. But there's hope for her still."
The old man's eyes locked onto Hayato. "Her fate... might be tied to yours."
"The Great Cleansing"
A long silence followed.
Finally, Minamoto spoke again, her voice cold. "What about the Great Cleansing? I've heard whispers of it."
The old man's face twisted, as if recalling something painful.
"The Great Cleansing was a judgment, an annihilation. After the first war between humans and demons, when the kingdoms invited demons into their courts, the gods decided to cleanse the corruption from the world. The fire they sent wasn't mere flame—it was the wrath of the divine, a judgment that burned the land, turning human and demon alike into ash."
He paused, eyes glazed over.
"They say those who survived were marked by the fire, scarred not only on their flesh but in their very souls. And some believe that those who were touched by the flames… were never meant to be. They were damned."
He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Perhaps, Hayato, your blade is the one thing that can stop the cleansing. Or maybe... it is part of it."
"The Sword's True Origin"
Hayato stood up, his gaze fixed on the old man, still gripping the hilt of Muramasa. "Where did this sword come from? My master gave it to me. Her name is Malenia. She's the one who trained me. She said I would need it for the battles ahead."
The old man's eyes widened at the mention of Malenia. His voice dropped low, as if he was reluctant to speak further.
"Malenia…" he muttered, the name slipping from his lips like a dark secret. "I know her… I knew her a long time ago. She was once a woman of honor, but that was before she made a deal with a demon—a very powerful one. A demon by the name of Belial." His eyes narrowed, staring into the fire as if searching for something buried deep in the embers.
Hayato's heart skipped. "Belial… That's my father's human name."
The old man nodded gravely. "Your father—Shukaku, I presume—was a creature of great power. But Belial, that was a name whispered in the darkest corners of the world. Malenia had worked with him... once. He was the one who forged that sword you carry. It was meant to be an instrument of death, a way to entrap the souls of those who dared cross its path. I don't know the full story, but I do know that your sword is bound to him in ways you can't yet understand."
Hayato stood frozen, a chill creeping up his spine. The fire crackled in the silence, its warmth now a distant memory.
"Your Path"
The old man stood suddenly, using his staff to prop himself up. The air around them felt heavier, as if the night had grown deeper.
"There are truths hidden in this world, boy. And your sword is a key to them. The demons you've been hunting? They might have been sent for you. And you may be the only one who can stand against the tide of the Great Cleansing."
He turned to leave, then paused, casting one last glance over his shoulder.
"Remember this: a sword without a soul is a sword that can never be tamed. It can only consume."
With that, the old man vanished into the night as quietly as he had come. The embers of the fire flickered briefly, casting long shadows across the silent village.
Hayato stood, his heart heavy with the weight of the words. Muramasa. A sword that consumes. The souls trapped within its steel… waiting to be unleashed.